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He drops his body into the futon with a groan, leaning back. “You say truce, and yet why do I feel like you’re here to bust my balls about something you think I’ve done?”
“Guilty conscience?”
“I have nothing to feel guilty about.” He takes a long swig of his beer, his focus on the game. “Is Ned still considering my offer, or did you somehow convince him it’d be a bad idea?”
“Ned’s a grown man who can make his own decisions. You can ask him. If you have time, that is. You know, given you’re so busy, running around town, ingratiating yourself with everyone. Getting cuts from the local ’80s hair salon.” I sidle up behind the futon and comb my fingers through his hair—because I can’t help myself from touching him. It’s as soft as I remember it. “Ann Margaret did a decent job.”
A deep hum sounds in his throat. “That feels good.”
“What, this?” I rake my fingers through a second time.
“Yeah. Keep doing that. Just like that.” He sinks farther back, his legs splaying, giving my imagination a mouthwatering view. “How did you know I went there?”
“People talk.”
“And what’d you say? Wait, let me guess … how I’m not such a bad guy after all.” He tips his head to meet my gaze, his Adam’s apple jutting out. “How you’re too stubborn to admit you like me, but you know you do.”
“Is that so?” Unable to stop myself, I reach down to trace the sharp point in his neck with my fingertip.
It bobs with a hard swallow beneath my touch. “And how many times you’ve caught yourself thinking about that Saturday night.”
“About how good I looked in that red dress? Trust me, I think about that all the time.” I drop my hands to his shoulders, taking a moment to admire their shape before my thumbs dig into his tense muscles, kneading at the knots. I used to do the same for Bill after a tough day. It always ended with me straddling him, sans clothes.
Garrett groans, and I feel it inside.
“Oh wait, I remember now. You mean, when you took advantage of a drunk and vulnerable woman.”
“You kissed me, remember?”
“I had no choice. It was life or death.”
His chuckle stirs my blood. “Okay, Justine, if that’s what you need to tell yourself. But I remember every second of that night. I remember the sounds you made, and how you felt.”
“Oh yeah?” I lean forward, sliding my hands over his torso. Angling my lips just close enough to brush against his ear, I whisper, “And how did I feel?”
A long exhale slips from his lips. “Soft … tight …” His voice has turned husky, and there’s a noticeable ridge in his pants. “Wet.”
I swallow against the surge of adrenaline his words are stirring. I had a half-baked plan when I stormed up those wooden steps—to taunt and fool him into thinking I was coming around on this business versus personal relationship, only to hit him where it hurts—but it’s backfiring. The smell of his cologne and feel of his body is kicking my hormones into overdrive. Now all I want to do is climb over this furniture and straddle him, a move that won’t hurt either of us.
I need to get out of here before this harebrained plan goes askew.
“I know about the height variance,” I whisper, nipping at his earlobe.
A sharp hiss sails from his lips.
“And about the town council meeting.” I trail the tip of my tongue along his jawline, just below his ear. “So does the granny gang.” The news gave Shirley her second wind.
“Ralph lied. This isn’t a dinner break.”
“They’re planning their attack. I’ve ordered them matching T-shirts.” I make to pull away, but Garrett seizes my wrists, holding me in place.
“Justine.” He turns to meet my gaze, fire burning in his. “It’s a minor variance. Six inches.” His lips brush against mine. Neither of us moves closer or farther away. “They’re going to approve it.”
“Probably, but then we’ll appeal, and it’ll have to go through the process. That could take months. Longer. And there aren’t any loopholes to avoid that.”
“So this is how we’re going to play now. Okay.” His jaw tenses but then he smiles—a devastating, full-dimpled smile—and his hands smooth over my arms. “You are so goddamn sexy when you’re picking a fight that you and I both know you can’t win.” He begins drawing circles around the inside of my wrist with his thumb, reminding me of that night in the linen closet, when he was exploring other parts of me.
Gooseflesh erupts over my skin. “What can I say, I’m naturally scrappy.”
“Every time I think of you now, I picture you in that red dress. But you know what I haven’t been able to get out of my mind since that night?” His voice has turned gravelly.
