“Maybe Dana could give us a ride home,” Annabelle suggested, hating the nervous quality of her voice. When he looked at her oddly, she explained with a fair amount of awkwardness. “Well, you know, I don’t want you to think that I expect you to drive us around all the time. Dana and Sammy would surely take us home if I asked. And, I don’t want people to think…” She blushed. “You know. In the absence of facts, people make up stories.”
Instead of answering, Dean gently took Honey from her arms and said, “Are you hungry, monkey? I am. Let’s get something to eat. All that talk of cucumber and aram sandwiches has made me hungry for some real food.” He turned to Annabelle with a twitching grin. “You coming? Or would you rather stand out here in the dark discussing the merits of the Emmett’s Mill gossip grapevine? Which, I might add, started talking the moment Sammy hired you. Since there’s nothing we can do about it, let’s eat.”
Smart. And utterly frustrating because he was right.
“I’m uncomfortable with everyone knowing my business,” she said quietly when she caught up to him. “I’d rather whatever is happening between us—if anything—is kept between you and me. People might not look at me very kindly if they thought I was trying to move in on Emmett’s Mill’s favorite widower.”
“No one would think that.”
“Yes, they would. I know how people think about strangers in small towns. Guilty until proven innocent and I don’t want anyone to judge me or Honey.”
He shot her a quick look that was incredibly protective and warmed her heart in a silly way. “No one is going to say a word about either of you. I wouldn’t allow it.”
Dean buckled Honey into her seat and Annabelle climbed into the truck, struck by how comfortable this moment was. They felt like a family. Shaking off that ridiculous—and dangerous—thought, she strapped on her seat belt and exhaled a short breath. “Well, thanks, but you can just take us home. I’ll just throw in a pot pie for me and Honey to share.”
“How about you let me take you and Honey to dinner?”
Annabelle balked. “Out? In public? That’s just begging for tongues to wag at my expense. No thanks. Are you ready to answer questions about…this?” Not that she knew what this was herself.
His mouth compressed into a tight line and she had her answer, though it poked her in a vulnerable spot. She straightened. “See? Home is best.”
“Right.” He sighed and put the truck in gear.
DEAN COULD smell whatever fragrance Annabelle always wore, whether it was simply her shampoo or perfume, and it made him want to bury his nose in the waves that fell down her back in an inviting tumble. He’d gone and screwed things up royally, but he couldn’t say he regretted it. No, he could admit it hadn’t been smart, but he couldn’t say he wouldn’t want to do it again if given the chance. Annabelle was under his skin in the worst way and he hungered to know more.
But she was right. He wasn’t ready to answer questions. Not even his own.
Honey was already asleep by the time they reached Annabelle’s house. Frowning because Honey hadn’t eaten before she conked out, he wondered if they should wake her. He followed Annabelle inside, casting a wary eye around at the premises, then went straight to Honey’s crib to put her down.
“Shouldn’t she eat first?” he asked softly, moving aside so Annabelle could put the baby into her pajamas. He watched as she maneuvered Honey deftly into a sleeper without waking her. Beth had been able to do that, too. He’d always managed to wake Brandon every time he tried to do the same. He smiled. Must be a woman thing. Annabelle gestured for them to leave the room.
“I fed her before the meeting because I knew it might get late,” she answered with a smile that was far too fleeting for his liking.
“Something’s bothering you.”
She avoided his stare and moved past him into the kitchen. “I’m just a little hungry. Do you want something? I have some pot pies that are pretty good for microwave food.”
He shook his head, catching her hand and gently pulling her to him. He ought to leave. Stop complicating an already messed-up situation, but he wasn’t going to. The breath hitched in her chest and the subtle movement created a cascading response in his body. He swallowed, feeling as if he was standing at the deep end of the pool and he’d suddenly forgotten how to swim. “I can’t think straight when you’re around,” he said softly, dipping to inhale the sweet skin at her neck. “Why is that?”
She shivered and angled her head, glancing at him through thick lashes. “I don’t know but it seems to be contagious,” she said, her voice husky and warm.
He chuckled, loving the fact that even though they were both practically burning up, she still managed to hold on to her sharp wit. He could barely handle a coherent sentence at this point.
“We should stop.”
He heard the regret in her voice. “You’re right,” he said, swallowing around the feel of his heartbeat banging in his throat. God, he felt like a damn kid again. “One kiss and we’ll call it a night,” he suggested and she nodded eagerly.
“One kiss. One kiss isn’t going to hurt anything.”
“One kiss…”
But Dean should’ve known that one kiss would never be enough. It didn’t sate his appetite the way it should have; it increased it tenfold.
Slanting his mouth over hers as his arms wrapped around her body, he drew her flush against him until the ripe fullness of her breasts pressed against his chest, igniting the skin.
Her tongue slid along his, playing and teasing as much as tasting and devouring, and he spiraled in a heady dance of desire that made his eyes cross. She sucked his bottom lip between pearly white teeth, hinting at the way she liked to play, and the blood flow immediately stopped elsewhere in his body to reroute south. Feeling himself straining against the unforgiving fabric of his jeans, he grabbed her behind and hoisted her into his arms, loathe to break contact even as he took them out of the room and straight to her bedroom. Of all the crazy things he’d ever done in his life, this ranked in the top three, but he’d lost any chance of listening to reason. He wanted—no, needed her—the way a man on the edge had to have someone to talk him down before he jumped.
They fell to the small bed, sending pillows bouncing to the floor and he climbed her body until he was back at her mouth. Her lips, swollen and red from his attention, were sexy as hell, beckoning as she twisted and gasped in his hold to better feel him against her. The spaghetti straps on her sunshine-yellow top were little match for him as he easily divested her of the flimsy fabric, tossing it over her head to join the discarded pillows. A peach lacy bra with scalloped edges flirted with her creamy skin and he groaned at the beauty of the sight before him. Damn near perfection. Cupping both breasts, reveling in their full weight, he gently squeezed and nearly lost it when she arched and moaned, gripping his shoulders and digging her nails in with a breathy demand for more.
“Annabelle, you’re amazing,” he murmured, running the tip of his tongue along the shallow valley of her breasts, while he sent one hand sliding down her belly to the tops of her Capri pants. Her legs scissored languorously and she sighed with pleasure as he made short work of the buttons so he could work his fingers beneath the matching peach froth caressing her hips and hiding from view what he ached to see. He worked the pants down slowly, and she helped him by kicking them free until they fell to the floor. Gazing down at her body, her skin heated and flushed, he drank in the sight. As the moment cooled between them, Dean watched as uncertainty clouded her gaze. She tried shifting, but Dean held her still, going down to lightly kiss the faint spidery lines marking her belly, where Honey had grown safe and