Chapter 13
Jesse gasped for air as they tumbled onto the bed.
Her body felt oddly numb after being pressed against the wall as Parker had pounded into her with a ruthless force.
She wasn’t sure if he was punishing her for being alone with another man in the bar or reminding her of the passion that exploded between them whenever they touched.
Probably both.
Whatever the reason, she was drenched in sweat and her muscles were as limp as noodles. Exactly what she needed to remind herself why she was selling the bar and moving on. This was her future. Right?
Turning on her side, she rubbed her hands over Parker’s smooth chest. He kept it shaved and tanned to impress the ladies at the club when he went shirtless, but Jesse preferred some fur. Like Noah …
No, no, no. She squashed the thought before it could form, grimly concentrating on the exquisite man lying next to her. And he was exquisite, she sternly reminded herself. There wasn’t a woman around who wouldn’t be eager to attract his attention.
She pressed a kiss directly over his heart. “Confess, is this why you’re here?” she teased. “To get me naked?”
He stroked his hand down the curve of her back. “It’s not a bad reason, is it?”
“Not bad at all.”
“Did you miss me?”
“Of course I missed you.”
“You’re sure?”
She tilted back her head to meet his brooding gaze. “Why would you even ask?”
There was a sullen silence. Not the comfortable silence that descended when both people were breathless from sex, but one that held a prickle of tension.
“Noah,” Parker growled.
She stiffened. “An old friend, nothing more.”
“He wasn’t looking at you like an old friend. Is he the reason it’s taking you so long to get stuff finished up here?”
With a sharp burst of fury, Jesse shoved her hands against his chest before climbing off the bed and crossing to the nearby chair. She grabbed an oversize T-shirt she slept in and jerked it on.
She didn’t know why she was so angry. Maybe because of guilt?
She couldn’t deny her treacherous mind was secretly comparing the two men.
Or maybe she didn’t like the knowledge that Parker was more obsessed with Noah than the woman he supposedly loved, despite the fact that he hadn’t seen her in days.
“I told you it was going to take time. You don’t snap your fingers and get a man declared dead,” she bit out. “And you don’t sell a building that’s been abandoned for over nine years without a few repairs.”
“I didn’t come here to argue.” Parker shoved himself to a sitting position, looking like a disheveled angel with his tousled curls and delicate features.
“You could have fooled me,” she muttered.
“All I’m saying is that you’ve obviously hired a handyman to deal with the bar and I assume you’ve done the paperwork to get your dad’s death certificate.”
“And?”
“And there’s no reason for you to still be here.
” He glanced around her childhood bedroom.
When she’d first returned to the Tap Room a musty emptiness had permeated every inch of the building.
Now it was messy with dirty clothes, personal items, and forgotten dishes she’d left sitting around like she was seventeen and confident someone else would clean it up.
It felt lived in. “Not unless you want to be here.”
She refused to consider the question. “And what about my father’s belongings that have to be packed up and taken to the thrift shop?
” she instead demanded, pacing the floor with short, angry stomps.
“And closing out his bank accounts and dealing with the life insurance policy? Plus, there are a few people I’d like to say goodbye to before I pack up and leave forever.
I know all you care about is the money that I’m going to inherit, but—”
“Stop.” With a swift movement he was blocking her path to wrap his arms around her. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve missed you.”
She remained stiff in his embrace. “How much time did you get off ?”
“I’ll have to be back in Chicago before my shift tomorrow night.”
Jesse considered his words. It was Sunday, which meant the club was closed tonight. She didn’t know if she was disappointed or relieved he hadn’t been willing to ask for actual time off to stay with her.
“So soon?” she forced herself to ask. “We’ll have to make the most of your flying visit.”
“I heartily agree.” He lowered his head to find the tender spot behind her ear. “Come back to bed.”
Jesse pulled away, heading toward the door. “I’ll meet you in the shower.”
A wicked smile curved his lips. “That works.”
An hour later they were back in the bedroom as Jesse pulled on a pair of cutoff shorts and a purple T-shirt that clung to her slender curves. Parker stood in all his naked glory in the center of the floor, his arms folded over his chest as he glared at her.
“Tell me again why you’re getting dressed.”
She slid her feet into a pair of leather sandals. “First off, I’m starving.”
“We can order in.”
Jesse snorted. “This is Canton, not Chicago. And second, I want to show you around. I spent nineteen years of my life here.”
His jaw clenched. “It’s important to you?”
She moved to stand in front of him, placing her palm over the steady beat of his heart. “Yeah, it’s important to me.”
“Fine.” He brushed a kiss over her lips. “Then it’s important to me.”
Less than an hour later, Jesse and Parker were standing in front of a narrow brick building that was half-buried into the banks of the Mississippi River.
“The Ice House?” Parker read the gold letters painted on the large front window. “What is this place?”
Jesse headed down the short flight of cement steps and pushed open the glass door. “A combination gift shop, butcher shop, and ice cream parlor. They have sandwiches and chips, along with orgasmic root beer floats.”
They entered the brightly lit restaurant, with a high ceiling where industrial lights dangled from the open beams and a stone floor that was worn until it dipped in the center of the room.
A dozen tables were haphazardly set around the space and glass coolers at the back where you could buy anything from deli meat and sliced cheese to a gallon of butterscotch ice cream.
To say the Ice House was retro was an understatement. It looked like it was a couple of centuries old, mainly because it was a couple of centuries old. And huddled so deep in the banks of the Mississippi River that time had simply passed it by.
She led him to a small square table pushed against the brick wall that was covered with framed photographs and settled on one of the chrome and fake, red-plastic-cushioned chairs.
You didn’t wait to be seated in the local restaurants.
It was first come, first served. Which was why the place was already half empty.
The locals showed up at five o’clock on the dot and were back home by six.
Jesse grabbed a laminated menu that rested between the silver napkin holder and the salt and pepper shakers, handing it to Parker. She already knew what she was eating.
A BLT with fries and a root beer float. The nectar of the gods.
Parker held the menu with the edges of his fingers, as if afraid it might be sticky, and ordered a house salad with water when the waitress appeared.
Jesse managed not to sigh, reminding herself that Parker was accustomed to the big city.
He no doubt felt like a fish out of water.
She should just appreciate the fact he’d driven hours on his day off to be with her.
With a determination to avoid any arguments, Jesse encouraged Parker to tell her what had been happening at the nightclub while she’d been gone, and even listened to his latest ideas on how they could use what they’d learned working at the successful club for their own business without reminding him they didn’t own anything yet.
Once they were done eating, Parker rose to his feet as she left money on the table and glanced at the wall of pictures. They started at one end of the building with black-and-white prints of Canton during the days of horses and buggies and ended near the door with current photos.
“Looks like this place has been here a while,” Parker said, slowly moving down the wall.
“It started off as an actual icehouse,” she explained.
“That’s why it’s built half underground.
There was also a creamery where the gift shop is now.
” She pointed toward a door across the room, where stairs led up to the connected building.
“Eventually, people started buying refrigerators, so they turned this part into a butcher shop and started selling sandwiches to the passengers getting off the ferry, along with ice cream from the creamery.”
Parker sent her a puzzled glance. “How did the gift shop get included?”
“The creamery closed down and the ice cream shop moved into this area, so the connected building was empty. The story is that the grandfather of the current owner went to St. Louis, where he met a pretty artist who he invited to stay at the shop and use the empty space as her studio and a place to sell her paintings.”
Parker chuckled. “Bold. I assume they fell in love and lived happily ever after?”
“Nope. His wife marched in one day with a shotgun and blew a hole in the ceiling and then turned around and walked out of the place.” She pointed toward the soaring ceiling, where it was possible to see the contrast of newer boards.
“You can tell where it’s patched, although it was probably just a leak in the roof that caused the damage.
Anyway, the next day the artist was packed up and on her way back to St. Louis and the wife was using the empty space to sell the dollies and pot holders she crocheted.
The merchandise has improved over the years.
” She sent him a wry glance. “If country crafty is your thing.”
“I’m not sure if that story is romantic or horrifying.”