“I don’t have four thousand dollars.”
“I don’t want four thousand dollars.”
Don’t ask. Turn. Walk away. Do anything but ask.
Something about the intense light of his gaze compelled her, however, almost as much as the need that suddenly gripped her body.
“What do you want?”
“This, for starters.” And then he kissed her.
Jimmy Mission tasted even better than she remembered. Hotter. More potent.
His hand cupped her cheek, the other splayed along her rib cage just inches shy of her right breast, his fingers searing through the fabric of her blouse. His mouth nibbled at hers. His tongue slid wet and wicked along her bottom lip before dipping inside to stroke and tease and take her breath away.
Now this…this was the reason she’d dunked him at the carnival.
Because she’d been a heartbeat shy of crawling into the dunk tank with him, throwing herself into his arms and begging for another kiss. No way could she have allowed herself to do such a thing with a marriage-minded man like Jimmy Mission.
A girl had to have her standards, and married men, engaged men, men who walked and talked and reeked of home and hearth and tradition, like Jimmy, were completely off-limits. No marriage for her. Just freedom and fun and…
The thought faded as his fingers crept an inch higher, closer to her aching nipple which bolted to attention, eager for a touch, a stroke, something…anything.
His fingers stopped inches shy, but his mouth kept moving, his tongue stroking, lips eating, hungry…so hungry. His intent was pure sin, and Deb couldn’t help herself; a moan vibrated up her throat.
He caught the sound, deepening the kiss for a delicious moment that made her stomach jump and her thighs quiver, and left no doubt as to the power of the chemistry between them.
She’d been burning for him all these months, the flames fed by memories and fantasies and his constant pursuit.
“What are you doing to me?” she murmured, dazed and trembling, when he finally pulled away.
He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “Not even half of what I want to do.” His words made her shake and quiver all the more.
Shaking? Quivering? Over a man?
This man, a voice whispered, that same voice that had warned her off him so many months ago. The voice that kept her one step ahead of him because no way was Deb Strickland going to find herself trapped all over again. She was free now, and she was staying that way.
She pulled away, desperate to put some distance between them and find the common sense that seemed to desert her every time he was near. “I’ve got work to do.”
“Don’t even think about running now,” he cut in, his fingers tightening on her arm, his hold firm but not painful. His mouth grazed hers before she could tell him exactly where to get off. “I’m calling your bluff, Slick.” The words vibrated against her lips. “You say all you want’s a little fun. Well, that’s all I want. You. Me. Two weeks of fun. No strings attached. Then we’ll call it even.” He gave her another lingering kiss before letting go of her. “Think about it.”
2
“SO WHAT DO YOU THINK?”
“That’s the dress?” Deb asked as she stared at the wedding gown Annie Divine, her best friend and star reporter—make that ex-reporter—had just pulled from a large white box.
“There has to be some mistake.” Annie’s frantic fingers rifled through the layers of tissue paper and white satin. “This isn’t the dress I ordered. Laverne!” she shouted past the drapes that hung over the dressing room doorway of Inspiration’s only bridal shop. “They sent the wrong dress!”
“They couldn’t have.” Laverne Dolby, proprietor of the dress store and president of the local Reba McIntyre fan club, shoved the curtains aside. “I’ve been here nigh on twenty-five years and not once…” Her words faded as she pulled heart-shaped, rose-tinted glasses from her pile of Reba-red curls, and slid her second pair of eyes into place. “Land sakes, this is the dress my niece, Rita Ann, ordered.”
Hope lit Annie’s tear-streaked features. “So if I have hers, she has mine, right?”
“’Fraid not. Hers—I mean, yours is on back order. Won’t be in for another six weeks.”
“But my wedding’s in exactly three weeks. What am I going to do?” Annie turned stricken eyes on Deb.
Deb handed Annie a tissue and turned to Laverne. “We need another wedding gown.”
Laverne shook her head. “All of mine are special order. I’ve got a nice selection of bridesmaid dresses, some mother-of-the-bride, that sort of thing. As for wedding dresses…” Her gaze fell to the box. “Hey, I bet Rita Ann wouldn’t mind you wearing this one. Her wedding’s not for two months. I could let you have this one and get her another.”
Another glance at the dress and Annie burst into fresh tears.
“I guess this isn’t exactly what you had in mind,” Laverne said. “Lordy, this is a pickle.”
“A pickle?” Annie cried. “This is the worst day of my life! And here I thought I was finally going to have a happily ever after with Tack.” Annie Divine and Tack Brandon had been high school sweethearts. Tack had been the captain of the football team, handsome and popular, and Annie had been invisible. Somehow, and Deb felt certain it was because Annie was as sweet and understanding as Texas was big, she and Tack had gotten together. They’d been right in the middle of a hot high school romance when Tack’s mom had died in a tragic accident. He’d left the Big B, a large ranch bordering the Mission spread, and spent the next ten years racing the motorcross circuit. Finally, he’d come home for good and set his sights on Annie who’d been working for the In Touch, aspiring to be a big-time reporter.
Annie had tried to resist him, but her love, still alive after all these years, had won in the end. She’d decided she’d be happier freelancing for magazines and making babies than working for a major newspaper.
While Deb wasn’t too keen on the baby part—her own mother had passed away when she was three and she’d never really experienced the nurturing-mother phenomenon up close, much less developed a craving for it—she still wished Annie every bit of happiness.
“I should have known something would go wrong.” Annie’s words faded into a series of sniffles and choked sobs.
Sympathy tears burned Deb’s eyes and she blinked frantically. “Laverne,” she snapped, dashing away one lone, traitorous tear before anyone could see, “why don’t you go dig up some bridesmaid dresses for me while I talk to Annie in private?” Before the woman could respond, Deb hustled her toward the doorway, yanked the curtains closed behind her. She turned to Annie.
“I’m sorry,” Annie blurted. “I’m not usually such a mess.” She wiped at her face. “It’s just that I’ve still got to find a photographer and a florist, pick out and mail the invitations and find a caterer and a baker. And Tack’s racing friends are coming in next Saturday. I don’t have time to drive to Austin and look for another dress.”
“We’ll figure something out.” Deb studied the gown. “You know, this material’s not half bad.”
“How can you tell with all that stuff on it…?” Annie’s words faded as her gaze locked with Deb’s. “I know what you’re thinking and you can just forget it. This dress is awful.”
“That’s because it’s just lying there. Formals always look that way. Then you put them on, and voilà, it makes all the difference in the world.”
A moment of thoughtful