Stacking the Deck (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 2) (15 page)

“
You
tore it out?”

“And I’ve got the muscle aches to prove it. It felt good to get rid of it though. It never suited the house.”

Liz’s tongue flicked over her bottom lip, and Carter’s focus zeroed in on that one glistening spot. Her mouth looked soft, wide and full. He thought about how it’d feel under his.

“I could give you a back rub,” he offered.

“A back rub?” She gave a short, nervous laugh. “That sounds like some bad pickup line from college.”

She fiddled with the sponge, her breasts rising and falling beneath the thin fabric of her shirt. Carter wasn’t entirely sure she was wearing a bra. The uncertainty spiked his pulse a notch. To hell with Grams and her admonitions. Maybe he just enjoyed women. Did everything in life have to be serious?

“That would presume I was trying to pick you up.” He smiled.

“Of course you weren’t.” She turned abruptly to her bucket, dipping the sponge again. “
Idiot
,” she mumbled.

“Did you just call me an idiot?”

“
No!”
She whirled, water splattering the floor. “No. I was... talking to myself.” Pink tinged her cheeks.

“You do that often?” He stepped over and took the sponge from her fingers, set it on the stove. He was so close now he could see the light freckles on the bridge of her nose. Somehow they were both endearing and strangely erotic. Liz was always girl next door appealing, but now... ten years later... she was a knock-out. Why had he never asked her out?

Probably because the girl he remembered hadn’t glanced up from her college applications long enough to notice he’d had more interest in her than just passing trig.

“Not usually. No,” she said.

“I get the feeling you don’t think I’d be serious about giving you a pickup line.”

“You wouldn’t.” He watched her swallow. “Would you?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I’m leaving in two weeks,” she said, her eyes staring at his mouth.

“So, that just means I’d need to make it a really good pickup line. So we don’t waste time. Right?”

Her eyes met his, wide, luminous, the soft hazel turning a shade of something that reminded him of skittish woodland creatures. “You’re teasing me,” she whispered, a mixture of wariness and anticipation warring on her features.

His tongue darted out to stroke over his lips. Was he? “Only if you want me to be,” he replied, suddenly feeling quite serious. The blood thrummed in his veins, and if she stared at his lips like that one more second, he’d be forced to show her exactly how they tasted.

Her eyes darted away and she grabbed the sponge, sliding out from between him and the stove. “Well, as you can see, I’ve got work to do, and I’m sure you do, too, so I won’t keep you.” She was wringing the sponge out at the sink to within an inch of its life. “Thanks for stopping by. See you tomorrow? We still on for dinner?”

Carter nodded. If he hadn’t made that promise to Grams, he would have pressed the advantage. It was obvious he had an effect on Liz Beacon, and the fact that she’d only grown into a body to match the appeal of her intellect did nothing to curb his desire for her.

But he couldn’t treat Liz like other woman. For one thing, Liz had always treated him differently. She treated him as if he were smart. She’d taught him how to play chess and graph a parabola, and if he’d noticed somewhere along the line that she was pretty in a quiet sort of way, he hadn’t wanted to mess up a good thing.

So why was he tempted to do so now?

“Just for the record, I’m told I give great back rubs. Should you ever need one,” he said.

He had to tamp down the streak of lust that shot to his midsection as her gaze found his lips across the room.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she murmured.

T
HE FOLLOWING EVENING, Carter stood at Liz’s door, his hands behind his back as he elbowed the doorbell.

“I hope you like pot roast,” Liz said as she swung the door wide.

Carter smiled. Her face was lightly flushed, and a few strands of hair had escaped her ponytail, curling sweetly at her temples.

“Love it. Here.” He thrust his right hand forward. “I brought some wine for dinner. And, something for you.” He held out his left hand.

“Oh, you didn’t need—swiss cake rolls?” she laughed, taking the box from his outstretched hand.

“I think we pretty well decimated your supply the other night. I know not to get between a woman and her chocolate fix.”

“A wise man.” Her smile was cautious. “By the way, Bailey called. She had to cancel. Something’s up with her father, so it’s just us.”

“Just us, eh?” He liked Bailey well enough, but he couldn’t say he was upset by the news.

Liz licked her lips again and stepped back.  “You should probably come in. Before Eddie makes a break for it.”

“Oh. Right. How is he?”

“He mostly hides in the bedroom unless he’s in the mood to escape.”

“He’s probably still getting used to being here.”

“Could be. I keep wondering if I should have boarded him like Grant suggested.”

“Grant?”

“A friend. In Chicago. Coworker, actually.” Liz smoothed the wayward tendrils from her face and reached for the bottle of wine, avoiding Carter’s gaze. “I’ll go, ah, check on dinner.”

Carter trailed her into the kitchen and inhaled the robust scent of roasting meat and vegetables. Tossed salad sat in bowls atop the counter, and there were some baked goods under a dish towel that looked suspiciously like cookies. “Smells like heaven. You didn’t have to go all out like this, though. You’re here to work on the house, not cook fancy meals. I know I suggested it, but I’m feeling a bit like a freeloader.”

“You’re not freeloading. I offered. I enjoy visiting with... old friends. Besides, I wouldn’t call it fancy. Pot roast isn’t hard to make, and I plan to eat the leftovers for days, so it’s somewhat self-serving.”

“Self-serving,” he murmured as he settled at the kitchen table to watch. She lifted the lid and fragrant steam billowed out. His stomach growled. He jiggled his knee impatiently. “Want me to set the table?”

“Sure. That’d be great. The silverware—”

“I remember where it is.” He jumped up, glad for something to do.

Her gaze met his then skittered away. “Of course you do.”

“So, this Grant guy… coworker you said?”

“Mm-hmm?”

“You wouldn’t by chance be sleeping with him?”

The spoon she’d been testing the broth with clattered to the floor, little dots of pale gravy spattering the linoleum. “No! Of course not. Why would you even ask?”

He shrugged, pleased this Grant guy wasn’t getting any. “Just wondering.”

Liz swiped at the floor with a sponge, her slim khaki pants molding tight over her rear as she pounced on each little dot. “I fail to see how it would be any of your business even if we
were
—which we’re not.” She swept the sponge up a dribble on the table leg. “You know, maybe this wasn’t a good idea. I’m sorry if I gave the wrong impression, but I—”

She stopped mid-sentence as his hand covered hers. “I can take it from here,” he offered.

Her fingers flexed, then she slid her hand from under his, avoiding his gaze. “I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

“I believe you were cleaning the table leg.”

She stood abruptly and tugged the hem of her shirt into place as she returned the sponge to the sink. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I.”

“You’re making fun of me,” she accused, turning to meet his gaze. “And I’m not the one who asked the inappropriate question.”

“Inappropriate? I wasn’t the one that got all flustered and red-faced when his name came up. An office romance, Liz?
Tsk. Tsk
. I thought you were smarter than that.”

“I—” The stove timer dinged and she turned to pull a tray of biscuits from the oven. “I’m sorry to say this, but I think having you here is a mistake.”

“Because I ask awkward questions or because you don’t want to answer them?”

She pursed her lips and refused to reply.

“Aw, come on,” he coaxed, grabbing the bottle of wine and inserting the corkscrew. “We’re just old friends catching up, right? I’ll behave and won’t ask any more questions about your little interoffice flirtation, and we’ll enjoy a nice, relaxing dinner together. What do you say?” The cork popped temptingly and he poured a splash of wine into two tumblers he’d found in the cupboard and held one out to her.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
____________________

Twelve years earlier…

“I
DON’T NEED TO GO FIRST.”

Beth stared down the neck of the wine bottle like it was the barrel of a gun.

Valerie’s annoyingly perfect, bow-shaped lips smirked. “Nervous?”

“No,” Beth lied. “I just don’t want to, ah, take the fun away from you guys.”

“I’d kiss her,” Rudy West piped up.

Beth’s heart thudded hard in her chest. Rudy had thick, red hair and beefy lips and was on the wrestling team. Beth dared not meet his eyes, looking instead at his sausage-like fingers. She imagined them groping her up in the Whitmeyers’ pantry. She swallowed over the lump in her throat and prayed no one would discover her nylon-enhanced boobs.

“Maybe it’s her first time,” Cindy Townsend murmured from across the circle. Beth turned toward Cindy and wondered what she’d ever done to have her say something so evil. Except Cindy didn’t look like she was paying attention to torturing Beth seeing as Evan Rollins had his hand up the back of her shirt. As if no one could see!

Valerie rolled her eyes. “Come on, Beth. We’re waiting. If you’re not going to play the game…”

“I am,” Beth said, standing up hurriedly. “Sure. Why not? Of course, I am.” She laughed in what she hoped was a carefree, adventurous way so no one would suspect the icy dread slicking through her veins.

“This way,” Valerie said, leading her out of the kitchen into a little back hall and an even smaller, dark room off of that.

The room was lined with shelves. Fancy pasta. Soup. A large stand mixer in the corner. Beth turned as Valerie unwound a long silk scarf from around her neck, revealing a giant purple hickey beneath. Beth stared at the hickey and then Valerie tied the scarf around Beth’s eyes. It was still warm from Valerie’s neck.

“Can you see anything?”

“No,” Beth answered. And she wasn’t lying. She’d hoped the gauzy scarf would have given her a little sense of the world beyond, even just the outline of a profile. But she saw nothing. Sensed nothing. Nothing but the faint scent of Valerie’s perfume as she adjusted the scarf at the back of Beth’s head. The idea that a boy would come in and touch her, kiss her, made Beth feel intensely vulnerable.

“No peeking,” Valerie warned, her voice growing fainter as she moved away. “Have fun.”

And then Beth was alone. At least, she assumed she was.

She swallowed, the fruit punch in her stomach making her slightly queasy as she stood there, waiting, wondering. She licked her lips and strained to listen outside the confines of the pantry, but Valerie had closed the door on the way out, so all Beth could hear were distant, muffled voices and the steady beat of pounding rain.

She had no sense of time. It had probably only been a couple of minutes since Valerie left, but it seemed like hours already.

A dog barked somewhere in the neighborhood. Beth wiped her mouth with her hand, then wiped her hand on her jean skirt. She stuck her hands in her pockets and then took them out again. What was she supposed to do with them anyway? Was she allowed to touch him? Would she want to?

The idea of kissing a pair of lips without touching anything else struck her as slightly ludicrous and a bubble of nervous laughter rose to her lips before she tamped it down again. God forbid he find her in the closet laughing to herself. He’d think she was unstable.

Maybe they all did.

Beth bit her lip.

Who was to say they weren’t planning to leave her in here? Maybe they were all in the kitchen right now laughing their butts off because they’d tricked dorky Beth Beacon into standing in the pantry… waiting for her first kiss.