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A growl rides out through his lips, a very masculine noise that comes from the back of his throat. The hand on my thigh moves to my hip, then my waist, then my ribs. When he moves to kiss my jaw, I tilt my head and close my eyes, gulping down breaths as my hands scramble to unbutton his shirt and push it off his shoulders.
Rudy’s lips find mine as he rips his shirt out of his pants, helping me with the last of the buttons. The shirt falls away and his hands are on me again, as hungry as his mouth.
He cups my breasts, and a dart of panic makes me freeze.
Rudy immediately lifts his head. “What’s wrong?” His eyes search mine, a little wild.
I shake my head and swallow a breath. “Nothing.” It’s a lie, but the truth is worse.
The frantic need that had gripped us a moment ago seems to ease out of both of us. I put my hands on his chest and trace the hard muscles of his body, closing my eyes as he kisses me again more tenderly. When he touches my breast again, I manage to keep my body from seizing, but Rudy must still feel something in the energy between us, because he drops his palms to the counter on either side of my hips. He leans his forehead against mine and lets out a shuddering breath.
“I’m not doing this here,” he tells me quietly. “Not with my entire extended family in the other room. Not when you feel like a scared rabbit every time I touch you.”
I pull away and arch a brow. “A scared rabbit? I’m a forty-year-old woman, Rudy.”
“A forty-year-old scared rabbit,” he amends, then chuckles at the look on my face.
I open my mouth to explain why I reacted that way to his hand on my breast—but nothing comes out. The words are there, on the tip of my tongue, but I just can’t make them come. Relenting, I straighten up and nod to the crumple of white fabric on the ground. “You think your shirt survived the evening?”
Still standing between my spread knees, he glances at the bloodstained shirt on the floor. His hands move to my thighs as he gives me a gentle squeeze, then he leans over to pick it up. After he flicks his wrists to straighten the shirt with a snap, turning it this way and that to inspect it, he gives me a rueful glance. “Barely.”
After sliding his arms into the shirt, he leaves it open and turns to me. Strong hands wrap around my waist as he lifts me off the counter and deposits me gently on the floor, his bare chest brushing against the soft fabric of my dress. His finger tilts my chin up, and he kisses me gently.
Even in the soft brush of his lips against mine, I feel a fire burning low in my gut. It’s like my body is fully attuned to his, and any touch can make me melt.
Then, we’re both busying ourselves cleaning up first-aid detritus and straightening our clothes. The reflection that stares back at me in the mirror is one of a flushed woman with bright eyes. I brush my fingers through my hair and do my best to tame the hairspray-and-champagne-soaked mess, then tug my dress to straighten it over my chest.
I don’t know what the hell I’m going to tell Trina about her dress. The truth, I guess. Knowing her and her cackling coven of girlfriends, they’ll probably think it’s funny.
When my hands brush the curves of my breasts, my throat tightens. But I shake the thought away and turn to face Rudy, who’s straightening the cuffs of his shirt to let them poke out of the black tuxedo jacket.
His gaze meets mine. “Ready?”
Suddenly nervous about facing a room full of people after falling into a tower of champagne glasses and making out with a man six years my junior, I nod and manage to keep my voice neutral. “Let’s do it.”
CHAPTER 11
Nora
The last of my boxes is finally unpacked. It took me nearly a month to get my new apartment set up, but it feels good to be here. I’ve made a few trips over and back from Reno, transitioning to a full-time work-from-home arrangement. Well, mostly full-time. There seem to be more mandatory meetings in the office than I remember ever having before.
My mother straightens up from putting a mug in the dishwasher and glances at me from the kitchen, arching a brow at the box at my feet. “Is that the last of them?”
“I’m officially a resident of Heart’s Cove,” I say with a smile. I can smell Ma’s famous carrot cake baking in the oven, and my mouth waters. She knows it’s my favorite, and she said she made it to celebrate me moving in—which I understood to mean that I needed to unpack every last box if I expected to eat any.
She tilts her head, studying my face. “You like it here.”
“If you stick around more than a week, you might start liking it too.”
My mother waves a hand, but there’s a grin on her face. I’m driving her back to Tahoe in a few days’ time, and now that I’m settled into my new place, I’m sure she feels more comfortable going back. My mother might let Fallon and me live our own lives, but she’s got a protective streak a mile wide.
I know part of the reason she’s staying here has to do with Fallon too, of course. The two of them have been spending time together for the first time in two decades. Her staying with me doesn’t fool me—she just wanted to give Fallon enough space to retreat if he didn’t want to see her.
What my mother doesn’t understand is that Fallon pushed her away because he was ashamed of himself, not her. Since he met Jen, that’s changed.
A knock on the door draws our attention. I cross the small, open-plan living room to unlock the door, only to see Dorothy and Margaret, the two ladies who own the Heart’s Cove Hotel, on the other side. They’re both wearing leather jackets.
“Someone let us in downstairs,” Margaret says after nodding to me to explain how she and her sister bypassed the buzzer. She glances over my shoulder. “Hamish wanted to know if you wanted to go for a ride, Prisha.”
