Chapter 6
6
A very’s heart was still racing from Trace’s sudden appearance. The disbelief in his voice only raked fingers across a chalkboard. To add to her irritation, shame ramped up her body temperature. Of all the people to catch her in this unholy state, sitting on the cement floor of her unfinished café in Delaney’s expensive dress eating a hole in the middle of a pie, Trace Hutton was the absolute worst.
Just perfect.
“Are you blind?” she bit out, embracing her complete loser status. “I’m eating pie. One I made from scratch for no one but me. So go away.”
She dropped the fork into the pan with a clank. She grabbed the bottle of wine and took a big swig, so she would be drinking when she heard Trace walk out. But he didn’t go anywhere. Avery set the wine down on the cement with a clank, hoping if she ignored him, he’d get the message.
Ah, but no. His footsteps came around the counter, and she took another drink of wine. She didn’t want it, but she knew she needed it. At the island, standing beside her, he checked out the disaster she’d left, which only made her cringe.
“Well,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “This is definitely an Avery I haven’t seen yet.”
Guilt snuck in as she envisioned the remnants of fruit, sugar, flour, butter, and vanilla she’d left strewn all over the brand-new butcher block he’d installed just two days ago. “I was going to clean it up. If you hadn’t come, you would never have even known.”
“It’s your kitchen, Jelly Bean. I’m just building it. I don’t care what kind of mess you make.”
“Jelly Bean? What kind of nickname is Jelly Bean?”
“They’re sweet. Forgive me for not finding one more closely related to baking. I’m tired, and I’m running out of originality. What kind of pie is that?”
Sweet. Yeah. That’s how he saw her. Not like the sexy playthings he was used to.
She licked her fork and sighed. “Mango-pineapple-coconut cream dream.”
He turned, hands in the front pockets of his jeans. His gaze darted to the pie but swung back to Avery, openly scanning her legs. “Damn”—he half laughed the word—“that’s one hell of a good look on you, girl.”
He turned his focus toward his feet, clearing his throat. Then he sighed heavily, pressed his back against the cabinet, and slid to a seat on his ass beside her. Knees up, he wrapped his arms around them and kept his attention straight ahead.
“Gram told me about the music you made for my dad. That was really sweet of you.”
There was that sweet again. And she didn’t want to talk about his father or the music or anything sweet . “ Why are you here?”
His gaze darted to her face, then back to the cabinets in front of them. “I was going to work on your kitchen. But seeing as it’s currently in use...”
“I guess you’re off the hook.”
A moment of silence passed. An odd, highly charged silence she didn’t understand.
“Why are you here?” he finally asked. “My grandma would tell you what she just told me—you’re burning the candle at both ends.”
“Pearl isn’t trying to start a business with every last penny she has in the world. That generally motivates a person to burn a hundred candles at both ends.”
After a moment, he turned to face her. “Whatever’s going on inside you is bigger than the business.”
“Ya think?”
He huffed a laugh and shook his head. “Baby, you give a whole new meaning to the slogan ‘Army Strong,’ you know that?”
That hit her hard—another one of those backhanded compliments she’d been getting since she returned to town. She might be proud of all she’d endured and how she’d matured, but tonight she didn’t want to be reminded that she’d done it all for nothing.
“Don’t,” she warned him. “Just don’t.”
“Avery,” he said, voice serious and soft. “What’s wrong? Did something happen tonight?”
Frustration skyrocketed. She didn’t need his smoldering temptation around when she was feeling weak. He was hard enough to resist sober and levelheaded.
“We already talked about this. I’m dealing with it the way I always deal with everything. Which means it’ll be fine, just like I told you it would be fine, because I always make everything fine. I’m the goddess of fine .”
“You’re a whole lot of goddess, sugar—that’s for sure. And while you definitely look fine,” he said, taking a sweeping glance of her legs before looking away again, “you don’t look fine, if you know what I mean.”
“No. I don’t know what you mean, because you’re sending all kinds of mixed messages.” And he was prying at a door she didn’t want open. Her eyes teared up against her will. “ Please , Trace, just go.”
“Hey, now,” he said, his voice softer as he leaned his leg toward hers until they bumped. “The goddess of fine would never cry.”
“You’re right, she’d eat.” She stuffed one more mouthful of pie between her lips, dropped the fork into the pie pan, and pushed it away, leaving a stupid mess of custard and cream on her mouth.
Trace chuckled, reached over, and wiped cream off her mouth. But as soon as he touched her lips, his finger slowed and deliberately moved from one side to the other, his bright-blue gaze hot as it followed the movement. Then he sucked the custard off his finger with his eyes on her mouth, and the entire atmosphere in the room shifted on a dime.
Avery’s stomach pitched and swirled.
“I saw Huck Stevens at the gas station today,” Trace said. “He asked about you.”
What? If that’s where his head was at, she was reading him completely wrong.
“He says you keep turning him down for a second date.”
“That would be because I’m not interested in a second date.”
“He’s a really stand-up guy. Makes good money, smart, great family, and the girls seem to like him.”
“Which means he won’t have trouble finding female company.”
“Why won’t that be your company?”
She angled toward him, annoyed as hell that he was trying to pawn her off on another guy. “What the hell do you care?”
His gaze lowered to her mouth. “Just can’t figure you out.”
What a joke. “You’re not trying.”
He looked away, focusing on the pie. “Are you really gonna eat that all by yourself? Thought I was your official taste-tester.”
This was ridiculous. She was sick of wandering around on eggshells. She just needed to get this over with. Make the move he wouldn’t and get rejected. Then she could let go of this attraction and focus 100 percent on her business.
“You know, you’re right.” She rolled to her knees and scooped up another forkful of pie. “I should really get your take on it, shouldn’t I?”
Before he could answer, she slid the pie into her mouth, swung one leg across his lap, took his face in both hands, and kissed him.
He made a sound of surprise and grabbed her wrists. Before he could push her away, Avery added pressure. When he still didn’t open, she brushed her tongue across his lips with a little mewl of frustration.
That did it. With an answering growl, his fingers tightened on her arms, he tilted his head, and he opened to her.
Avery’s breath caught as his tongue stroked in, sharing the sweet, soft cream. He moaned, long and low. The sound rumbled through her mouth, and fire erupted low in her body.
In an instant, she lost track of everything but Trace’s mouth. Trace’s lips. Trace’s tongue. She hadn’t been kissed in so long, she’d forgotten what it felt like. Forgotten the heat of a man’s mouth. But even if she’d remembered, she wouldn’t have recognized this kind of kiss. A desperate, unrestrained, uninhibited, expressive kiss that sparked every single cell in her body back to life.
Wild.
She’d known Trace would kiss like this—absolutely wild .
She slid her hands through his hair, let her arms fall over his shoulders, and sank into him with a moan purring in her throat.
The pie was long gone, but Trace kept kissing her, and she kept letting him. His arms doubled around her and pulled her up against his body. His strength took her breath. The passionate way he kissed her and kissed her and kissed her washed away every thought. One hand cupped the back of her neck in a firm, controlling hold that made her feel safe and so completely desired. His other arm moved low, curved around her hips, positioning her in direct and perfect contact with his erection.
His erection .
The reality shouldn’t have been so shocking, but after living in such a screwed-up marriage for so long, Avery had begun to believe she was incapable of exciting a man. And she’d sure as hell never known the thrill of a man guiding her hips into a rich, slow grind that rocketed her straight into intense pleasure.
She was downright euphoric when she turned her head to break the kiss and draw air, whispering, “Oh my God.”
Trace froze. His hips stopped their erotic rock; his lips rested listlessly against her temple. And a whole different kind of tension filled him.
“Fuck.” His curse was barely a whisper, but it filled Avery with a frantic type of dread.
She closed her eyes and twisted her hands in his T-shirt. “Don’t you dare.”
“Avery—”
“I swear to God, Trace, if you pull back...” The mere thought ground her already-shattered heart into dust. She didn’t have an ultimatum handy, but she knew everything between them would change. It had to. She couldn’t keep living every day wanting someone so badly only to know she couldn’t have him. She’d wasted enough of life that way.
He exhaled heavily, rubbed his forehead against her hair, fisted the hand at her hip. “We can’t. You know we can’t.”
“No. I don’t.” She laid her hands against his shoulders and pushed back. Would have looked him in the eye, but his were cast down. “Give me one good reason. One. Other than the fact that I’m not as hot as your usual hookups.”
His eyes lifted and locked on hers with anger flashing. “That’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever said. And you know why. I’m too old for you. Too screwed up for you. Shit, I work for you.”
“What you are is an idiot, and I said a good reason.” Hurt joined her anger. “I may not have the experience of your usual flings, but I learn fast. It may not be the best sex of your life, but if you tell me what you like, what you want, I’ll make sure you’re not disappointed. And you don’t have to worry about me holding on. I’ve been permanently cured of wanting any kind of commitment.”
“Jesus Christ.” He rubbed his forehead, his voice soft, his expression pained, his gaze sympathetic. “Slow down, honey. I think you might have had a little too much of that expensive wine?—”
Anger seared a path down her breastbone. She picked up the bottle and shoved it into his hand. “Have I?”
He tilted the bottle, and through the light-gray glass, no one could mistake it was still more than three-quarters full.
“If you don’t want me, then just be man enough to say you don’t like what you’ve tasted. That you prefer something different. But don’t use bullshit excuses, and don’t put it on me.”
Holding the tattered threads of her dignity together, she pushed against his shoulders and tried to stand, which she immediately realized would be more than a little awkward in these heels. But before she could even get one foot underneath her, Trace gripped her waist and hauled her back to his lap. Then slid his hand around the nape of her neck and held his gaze on hers.
“I never said I didn’t want you.” His voice was gravelly, serious, and edged with something emotional—pain, anger, something.“I want no one but you. I haven’t been able to think of anyone but you. I’ve been trying to avoid exactly this for two goddamned months because I have a job to do here. One that means a whole new life for you. One that means a whole new start for me. And I’m trying like hell not to fuck that up for either of us.”
Stunned by his admission, her heart dropped to her stomach. All her anger drained, leaving behind hurt, confusion, and shame. She dropped her focus to his chest with a shake of her head. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I haven’t been thinking about anyone but me. I’m such a?—”
He pulled her in and kissed her quiet. “You’re always thinking about everyone else.” He kissed her again, tasting her in a way that reached between her legs and pulled. “You’re perfect.” He turned his head and kissed her the other way. “You’re beautiful and sweet and so fucking strong you amaze me.”
Both hands slid into her hair, and his fingers fisted. The sting radiated along her scalp and made her gasp. Trace drank the sound and did things to her mouth with his tongue that made her writhe against him, then broke the kiss suddenly.
“Your ex-husband was the biggest fucking idiot on the face of the planet.”
That made her laugh. A breathless, dizzy laugh that filled her with warmth from the toes up.
And he kissed her again, this time pulling away to say, “This is a really, really, really bad idea.”
“Maybe.” She scraped her upper lip between her teeth, hoping to quell the butterflies in her stomach. “But none of the ideas I thought were good ever panned out very well, so...” She shrugged, scanned his face again until she met his gaze, then forced herself to hold it. Forced herself to own this decision. “Guess I’m really, really, really ready to try a bad one.”
“Jesus Christ.” He dropped his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. “You’re fucking fearless.”
She huffed a laugh, picked up his hand, and pressed it over her crazily beating heart. “I’m not fearless. I’m just less afraid of being with you than I am of hating myself because I passed up the chance.”
She couldn’t read all the emotions that rushed across his face or filled his eyes. Only knew they seemed to spill into her body and tangle with her own to make her heart trip and her pulse speed.
“This could backfire big-time,” he said. “You know that.”
She shook her head and stroked his face with both hands, then ran her thumbs over his stubbled cheeks. “We won’t let that happen.”
He slid his arms around her and stroked his hands up her back, warm and rough against her bare skin. Then he pulled her in and kissed her again, his mouth gentler now, the kiss filled with the kind of emotion that had been missing in her marriage for so long she wondered whether it had ever been there.
Avery sank in, wrapped her arms around his neck, and soaked it up like a sponge. So needy after going without for so long.
Trace’s hands caressed her back, raising gooseflesh and tightening her nipples, before sliding down again, his fingers tugging on the bow holding her dress together. Avery tensed as Trace leaned back and let the sheath fall away until the fabric rested at her hips and she was all but naked on his lap. His gaze seemed to scour her forever while his hands fisted and released in the fabric pooled at her hips.
Avery found it increasingly hard to breathe as negative thoughts pinged through her mind. Her breasts were too small. Her body too boyish. She was too ordinary. The other women he slept with were hot and sexy and curvy—she’d heard the rumors. Seen them, with their long legs and big boobs, come by the site now and then, looking for him.
But then he breathed, “Holy hell.” His hands moved back up her body, warm and strong and sure, making her belly flinch, her breasts tighten. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”
And as if he couldn’t wait another second, he pressed his face between her breasts, his mouth open and hot on her skin.