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He hadn’t been. But now... Her simple act of biting her lower lip sent his mind on a detour. His hand slid up, slowly, along her thigh to her hip. “Sexy thoughts? As in?”
She turned an adorable shade of red, still whispering, “All the things you want to do to me.”
“You mean all the things you want me to do to you?” His fingers traced up her side, around her rib cage and up. His hand hovered, inches from her breast.
Her breathing picked up. “Maybe.”
“Has to be your bed, considering mine probably has a toddler in it.” He grinned. “What you have in mind might just take all night.”
She was smiling again. “Mine. My apartment is downstairs—out of the way and quiet.”
“Good.” His thumb brushed the hardened tip of her nipple, causing her to arch into him. “You’re noisy.”
Her hand clasped his wrist and pulled his hand closer. “I’ll bite the pillow,” she gasped. “Since this is all about what I want... Kiss me.”
He did, focusing entirely on the woman in his arms.
Chapter 12
“Check.” Renata drew a line through the Gingerbread Festival. What a festival it had been. Poor Ash might never recover. Still, he’d kept his cool, and no one—gingerbread houses included—had been injured in the judging process.
The Stonewall Crossing High School Ag Club had won. And while three long-standing competitors and previous winners had argued and questioned the decision, the judges didn’t budge. And the kids were ecstatic. She didn’t know what made them happier, bragging rights or the five-hundred-dollar prize that went to the winner. Either way, the town had been pleased when the kids’ names were called out—silencing any further protests from their competitors.
“Tomorrow is the Christmas parade and then it’s Christmas Eve, babies. Then we’re taking a vacation.” She ran her hand over the slightest swell of her stomach. “Your mom needs a vacation.”
As if the stress of the holiday season and the Gingerbread Festival hadn’t been enough, she’d had to grin and bear many a question about Ash Carmichael, her pregnancy and their impending engagement. Lucky for her, she had allies. Between her sisters-in-law and, surprisingly, the mothers, Renata had managed to escape before questioning turned truly invasive.
Overall, it had been a good week. The more time she spent with Curtis, the more in love she fell. His easy nature and quick smile were impossible to resist. He was a mini-Ash, all dimples and charm. And the mothers? Well, they were hysterical. She looked forward to them playing just as big a role in her children’s lives as they were doing for Curtis.
Ash did his part to make the week pretty incredible, too. He managed to sneak in at least a dozen stolen kisses, several lingering touches and one night of invigorating lovemaking, followed by whispering in her bed into the wee hours of the morning. If there had been any remaining doubts about her feelings for the man, they were gone. She loved him. Unconditionally.
And it had to stop.
But he was making that impossible.
Her desk phone buzzed. “Miss Boone, there’s a delivery for you.” Irma sounded delighted.
She glanced at the clock. Right before lunch. “Coming.” The same time, every day for the last four days, Ash had sent her a surprise. After she opened one, he’d call and they’d have lunch. When it was just the two of them, the intimacy felt real and promising. But this whole public display of whatever this was made her nervous. Was he still planning something calamitous—like he had at Archer’s ball? The pressure he was under, as an outsider, was incredible. If he buckled, could she blame him?
Yes, she could. He knew how she felt about marrying without love. And this, the presents and the lunches and the smiles and the touches, only toyed with her heart and weakened her resolve to hold out for the real thing.
Not that the surprises were in any way romantic. They were...interesting. Ash had a unique sense of humor. One more thing to love about him.
As if I needed something else.
Surprise one, a picture of a partridge badly photo-shopped into a pear tree, sat in the bookcase opposite her desk. Quirky as it was, Renata loved it.
A carved wooden ornament, two turtledoves beak-to-beak, was day two.
Her coffee cup rested on day three’s surprise: a ceramic coaster, painted with three hens in berets.
Day four, he’d sent her four wind-up birds. They hobbled around, stopped, opened their wings and made the most horrible grating sound she’d ever heard. She’d burst out laughing but vowed never, ever, to wind them up again. If she were smart, she’d put them someplace her nieces and nephews couldn’t reach or they’d be squawking all the time.
Day five meant...rings.
She paled, eyeing the box the delivery man carried into her office with apprehension. A small box. Rings. Engagements. Nausea. And...hope.
Damn you, Ash Carmichael.
