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“The experience must have been at least a little traumatic.”
His expression relaxed, and he smiled. “It was the worst moment of my childhood. And the best.”
“How could it have been the best? Surely you got caught?”
“Oh, yes.” He gazed at the English landscape hanging over the fireplace. “I didn’t meet my father until I was nine—long story—and when we did meet, it didn’t go well. He expected something else in a kid, and I expected a different kind of father. We were both pretty miserable. Until that day at the Statue of Liberty.”
“What happened?”
He smiled again. “I learned I could count on him. That changed both our lives, and from then on, nothing was the same between us.”
Maybe it was the wine. The fact that they were both tired from a long day and the strain of dealing with Spence and Sunny. All she knew was that they were staring into each other’s eyes one moment, and the next, for no discernible reason, they both moved, and their bodies touched. She tilted her chin and he lowered his head, his eyelids dropped, and just like that, they were kissing.
She was so shocked that her arm flew up and banged him in the elbow, but her clumsiness didn’t stop either of them. He cupped her face in his hands and tilted her head to exactly the right angle. She was too curious and too turned on to pull away.
He tasted good, like beer and bubble gum. His thumb slid into the tender place behind her earlobe while his other hand tunneled into her curls. No doubt about it. She was on the receiving end of one of the best kisses of her life. Not too hard. Not too soft. Slow and perfect. But of course it was perfect. He was Ted Beaudine, and he did everything impeccably.
She didn’t remember putting her arms around his shoulders, but there they were, and as his silver tongue worked its magic against her own, she melted.
He eased away first. Her eyelids fluttered, and as she gazed up, she met a look of shock that must have matched her own. Something had happened. Something unexpected. And neither of them was happy about it. Slowly he released her.
She heard a noise. He straightened. Sanity returned. She hooked a piece of hair behind her ear and turned to see Sunny Skipjack standing inside the French doors, hand at her throat, her customary self-confidence crumpling. Meg had no idea whether the kiss had been the same impulsive act for Ted that it had been for her or whether he’d known Sunny was standing there all along and recklessly initiated the kiss to discourage her. Either way, he regretted it, something that was as clear as the trembling in her knees. He was tired, his defenses had been down for once, and he knew he’d just screwed up royally.
Sunny struggled for composure. “One of life’s awkward moments,” she said.
If Sunny bolted because of this, the people of Wynette would sure enough blame Meg, and she had enough problems without that. As she gazed up at Ted, she reassembled her features into a portrait of a damsel in distress. “I’m sorry, Ted. I know I can’t keep throwing myself at you like this. I understand how uncomfortable it makes you. But you’re just so . . . so . . . frickin’ irresistible.”
One dark eyebrow shot up.
She looked over at Sunny, girlfriend to girlfriend. “Too much wine. I swear it won’t happen again.” And then, because she was only human, “He’s so vulnerable now. So sweet and helpless from the mess with Lucy. I took advantage.”
“I’m not vulnerable or helpless,” he said tightly.
She pressed her index finger to his lips. “An open wound.” With the dignity of a brave woman suffering from unrequited love, she edged past Sunny and headed for the patio, where she reclaimed her purse and set off for what currently passed as her home.
She’d just washed her face and slipped the happy printing company T-shirt over her head when she heard a car outside. A random Texas serial killer could have just shown up, but she was putting her money on Sunny Skipjack. She took her time hanging the Modigliani dress in the old choir robe closet, then let herself out the door by the altar into the main section of the church.
She was wrong about Sunny.
“You forgot your party favor,” Ted said.
She didn’t like the heady rush she felt at the sight of him standing at the rear of the sanctuary holding up a wooden paddleball stenciled with an American flag. “Shelby had a basket of patriotic yoyos, too, but I figured you’d like a paddle better. Or maybe that was just me projecting what I thought you needed.” He slapped the paddle hard against his hand.
Although her happy printing company T-shirt hung over her hips, she wore only an ivory thong beneath. She needed more clothes, like chain mail and a chastity belt. He took a few swipes at the rubber ball with the paddle and sauntered forward, his eyes all over her. “Thanks for helping me out back there with Sunny, although I could have done without your commentary.”
She eyed the paddle and then him. “You brought it on yourself. You shouldn’t have kissed me.”
His brow knit with phony indignation. “What are you talking about? You’re the one who kissed me.”
“I did not. You were all over me.”
“In your dreams.” He gave the paddleball an extra-hard slap. She cocked her head. “If you break a window with that thing, I’m reporting you to my landlord.”
He caught the ball, gazed at what he could see of her bottom, and ran his thumb along the curve of the paddle. “The strangest idea just came into my head.” The high ceiling fan ruffled his hair. Once again, he slapped the paddle against his palm. “I’d tell you about it, but it’d only make you mad.”
Sex hung in the air between them as explosive as the evening’s fireworks. Regardless of who had initiated their kiss, something had irrevocably shifted between them, and they both knew it.
So much for playing games. Although nothing was more repugnant to her than becoming another of Ted Beaudine’s sexual conquests, the idea of making him one of her sexual conquests was worth pondering. “You can have any woman in this town. Probably in the whole state. Leave me alone.”
