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Anything.
“What?” Her voice sounded as shaky as her legs.

He leaned close. “When you do get there, let me know.” With a small smile that tripped her heart, he turned and left.

Chapter 11

T
he Sunday events were usually Tate’s favorites of the weekend—the dog talent show was always good for a laugh—but today he was a little scattered, unable to focus properly on anything. At least a thousand times already—regardless of how inappropriate or inopportune the moment might be—his mind kept wandering back to Molly and that kiss.

And since summer had arrived in full force today, “hot and bothered” had taken on an entirely new meaning. He was sweaty and sticky from the heat and humidity and grumpy after a restless night caused by the aftereffects of that kiss. It felt as if the hormones of a sixteen-year-old were in control of all his higher brain functions. Just the sight of a Latte Dah to-go cup was enough to crank his engine.

As the day progressed, though, sightings of those to-go cups became few and far between. Molly had said she’d close Latte Dah when the parade started, but he hadn’t seen her at any of the other activities afterward. Had she just gone home? She had to be tired after a long day yesterday and an early start today. Or maybe she was avoiding him.

Stephen Leary was trying to make the family’s poodle dance a cha-cha without great success, but that just
made Tate think about how he’d teased Molly about her curls and how they’d felt tangled between his fingers. That led his thoughts to last night and how perfectly she’d fit in his lap, against his chest, how soft her skin was, and how she’d curved into his hands in all the right places. And her mouth, dear God, her
mouth
 . . .

But Molly wasn’t “there” yet. That was fair enough. There was definitely something bad in her past, something she wasn’t quite finished dealing with yet. He understood that and tried to keep that in the forefront of his mind.

He was definitely there, though, pitching his tent and flying the flag, which made this a little frustrating, to say the least, but he could give her some time. She was obviously
getting
there. Hell, she’d kissed him like she was starving; he’d actually
felt
the hunger.

He’d just have to be patient. Give her a little time and some space. She was still very guarded and needed to come to trust him a little first.

The sound of applause brought him back to the dog show rather forcefully, and he joined in politely, even though he had no idea how the cha-cha had turned out.

But that was the last act, and after the ribbons were awarded, the day’s events were pretty much done. He was completely done, though, and there was nothing else he
had
to do for the rest of the weekend.

He was loading up his stuff when Quinn came by. Sophie was hanging on to his arm, her nose pink from the sun and a goofy grin on her face. They were obviously deliriously happy together, and it added a poignant pang to the lust already simmering under his skin. “You want to grab something to eat before the concert?” Quinn asked.

Tate shook his head and picked at the damp fabric of his shirt. “I want a shower. I probably smell worse
than the horses after the parade. I’ll catch up with y’all later, though.”

“We’ll save you a seat at the concert,” Sophie said, waving good-bye as she pulled Quinn toward the food area.

It was a short walk home, and once he was out of the business district the streets were mostly empty, save the occasional family with young children calling it a day and heading home. As he passed the corner of Molly’s street, he snuck a peek toward her house. Her car was out front, but that didn’t actually mean anything other than that she hadn’t left town this afternoon. It certainly didn’t mean she was home, and just because he hadn’t seen her today, it didn’t mean she wasn’t downtown, but that she just wasn’t near him.

Cool air hit him the moment he opened his door, and he dropped the stuff he was carrying to embrace it.
Thank you, inventors of air-conditioning.
It only took a moment for his shirt to turn clammy against his skin, so he stripped it off as he headed to the fridge for a bottle of water. There wasn’t much in the fridge in the way of food, but he was too hot to be hungry anyway. He’d grab something from one of the vendors later on his way to the concert.

First stop, though, was a shower.

This was exactly what his plans for the weekend had always been, but that was before he’d kissed Molly, and now he was a little dissatisfied with the plan. Part of him wanted to call her, see if she wanted to join him and Sophie and Quinn at the concert, but that was pretty much the opposite of giving her space. Needless to say, it also reeked of neediness on his part.

But after that kiss, neediness had taken on a new meaning.

Sighing, he reached over and cranked the water all the way over to cold. It didn’t really help.

When he was clean, dry, and dressed—if still a little chilled—he thought he heard his doorbell, which was more than strange. Who would be looking for him here?

He entertained several possibilities on his way down the stairs, but Molly was still the
last
person he’d expected to find on his porch.

His response was instantaneous: heat rushing to his skin, pulse kicking into overdrive, blood rushing south. Then he noticed she looked like a very flustered angel, in a knee-length cotton skirt and a snug white-and-gold V-neck T-shirt that showed her chest was as flushed as her cheeks. Her curls were loose, framing her face like a halo, and she tucked the stray strands back behind her ears nervously.

That gesture tempered the rush, but only a little. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Her smile was shaky.

“Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. Am I interrupting? I’m sorry I didn’t call first. I can come back some other time if you’re busy.” Her words were tumbling over each other, and she was looking pretty much everywhere except at him. “You know, never mind. I’m going to go—”

He caught her by the elbow. “Just wait. You’re not interrupting anything. Why don’t you come on inside?” He still had no idea why she was here—and quite frankly, his body didn’t much care—but the part of his brain that was still working had him moving cautiously.

She jumped a little when he closed the door behind her.

“Would you like something to drink?”

She shook her head, still not making eye contact.

“Well, then would you like to sit down?”

She shook her head again. “How are you?”

“I’m good. And you?” he asked carefully, perching
on the arm of the couch. He was a little afraid that any sudden moves might cause her to bolt like a deer.

“I’m a bit nervous.”

He bit back a smile. “I hadn’t noticed. Want to tell me why?”

“Because this is awkward.” Molly tried to smile again, but it faltered. “When you kissed me the other night . . . Well, it’s been a really long time since anybody has kissed me.”

He didn’t know how to respond, or even whether he should. “I think that’s a shame.”

He got a weak smile in response.
Progress.
“And the last time anyone seriously asked me out . . . I was in high school. Before I got married.”

The word brought him up short, but it made sense. A bad marriage could have done a number on her head and would explain why she wasn’t “there” yet. So maybe he wasn’t the problem after all.

“So I’m definitely rusty at everything, and after the disaster of my marriage, I’m not entirely sure about anything . . .” She looked up at him quickly, then dropped her eyes back down to her hands. The corner of her mouth turned up. “But it was a really
good
kiss.”

God, she was killing him. He dug his fingers into the fabric of the couch to keep them from reaching for her. His throat was tight, but he managed to say, “I thought so, too.”

“And you wanted me to let you know when I was ‘there.’”

He realized he was holding his breath.

She licked her lips and cleared her throat. “Well, I’m not quite all the way ‘there’ yet.”

He waited.

Molly took a deep breath. Then she lifted her eyes and met his evenly. “But I’m
here
.”

Christ
. The possibilities implied in that sentence lit
him up like a bottle rocket. But those possibilities were all across the spectrum, and while he was on board no matter what that “here” might entail, the ambiguity kept him frozen in place. She still looked ready to bolt. At the same time, though, her hands had stilled, as if saying the words had committed her to whatever “here” was. He realized the ball was in his court, and she was waiting for him to make his play.

He held out a hand to her.

She took it, curling her fingers around his and giving it a squeeze, letting him guide her forward until she stood between his thighs. A curl had sprung loose again, and he pushed it back into place, letting his thumb stroke over the soft skin of her cheek. “So, would you like to go to dinner?”

“Maybe another time.” And then she kissed him.

All that nervous energy in her seemed to disappear, and her mouth was hot and sure when it found his. It broke the thin thread of his control, causing him to groan as he pulled her against him from hip to chest. She answered him with a sigh, arching into his body, twining her arms around his neck.

Molly tasted like wine, making him wonder whether she’d needed to seek a little liquid courage to come over. She was kissing him with a passion that had him feeling drunk, but he didn’t want Molly making this decision anything other than clearheaded. As much as his body screamed at him that it didn’t matter what got her here, only that she was here now, it did matter. It nearly killed him, but he pulled back and waited until she opened her eyes. There was a glaze across them, but it seemed like it was more from desire than alcohol. Still . . .

“Do I want to know how many glasses of wine it took to get you here?”

She blinked, momentarily confused, but then her
tongue slipped out to taste her lips. Then she smiled. “Just one. To calm my nerves.” Taking a step back, she reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it up and off in one quick move. “I’m fully aware of what I’m doing,” she said as she walked back into his arms.

Molly was soft and warm and wonderful. She sighed into his mouth as he cupped a breast in his hand, then shivered when his thumb raked over her nipple, and her hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt.

Those fists moved to his hair as he kissed his way down her neck and used his tongue to trace the skin that swelled above her bra before sucking her through the fabric.

He’d thought that kiss last night was incredible and insane, but this was something else entirely. Freed from whatever had been holding her back, she was a fantasy come to life in his arms. He tasted her neck again, nibbling his way to her shoulder, easing the straps of her bra off her shoulders and releasing the clasp so it joined her shirt on the floor. Molly responded by pulling his shirt up, forcing him to release her as she pulled it over his head and tossed it aside.

She ran her fingers over his chest, around his nipples, tracing the line from sternum to navel. He was being inspected, appreciated, and damn if it wasn’t sexy as hell.

His balance on the arm of the couch was too precarious for this, but as he stood, his chest slid over Molly’s and the sensation was enough to make him wobble. Molly sucked her breath in sharply, and he knew she’d had the same reaction.

It made him smile.

Hands in her hair, he tilted her face up to his and kissed her hard. When she was breathless, he pressed his forehead to hers and fought to catch his own breath.

“Do you want me to carry you up the stairs?”

•   •   •

It took a moment for the words to penetrate the fog, and another moment for Molly to recognize the words as English and give them any meaning at all. Kissing Tate had turned her mind to mush. Last night had been only a sample of what he was capable of.

That small taste had haunted her, turning her dreams into erotic X-rated movies, throwing her off her stride all day when a memory would pop up—in full sensory detail.

She’d served a hell of a lot of coffee this morning, but she remembered nothing of it. She’d watched the marching band and the cheerleaders line up for the parade in front of Latte Dah and then walk away, and the symbolism of her life and good times passing her by smacked her in the face almost painfully.

She didn’t have to live like this. Either everything would work out or it wouldn’t, but if she wasn’t helping or hindering anything by inaction, then action couldn’t help or hinder, either.

Either way, she knew she was tired of spending her life
waiting
.

Then the next thing she knew, she was on Tate’s front porch.

But Tate was now waiting for an answer to his question—the bigger one lurking underneath the question he’d actually asked. She recognized this as her chance to back out and go home, or even just back up to an evening of heavy petting on the couch.

It was tempting. It would be safer. Easier. Less scary.

No
. She wanted this. She wanted
Tate
. He’d lit a fire inside her with that kiss, showing her what she’d been missing—and not just recently. She’d
never
been kissed like that. Like he couldn’t get enough of her.

And
damn
, he was just so perfect. She’d known he’d have a good chest, but it was broad and defined, hard
in all the right places, the crisp, dark hair narrowing to a thin line before it disappeared into the waistband of his shorts.

He was breathing hard, but then so was she, and those blue eyes burned hot. His hair was mussed and sticking up everywhere from where she’d played with it, gentling the angles of his face.

And he was still waiting for her answer.

“Lead the way.”

He kissed her instead, both hungry and sweet at the same time, and it thrilled her all the way to her toes. It went on for a long time, making it hard for her to find her breath.