The Fantasy Factor (4 page)

“I had to help with the punch. The lady who was supposed to man the table came down with a bad stomach virus a half hour ago so here I am.”

“And here I thought this was just another reason to avoid me.”

“I’m not avoiding you. I’m simply busy.” To illustrate her point, she reached for the ladle and served up another cup of punch. “Thirsty?”

“Actually, I’m hungry.”

“There’s everything from pigs-in-a-blanket to mini pizza rolls.” But she knew by the look in his eyes that he wasn’t talking about food. She tamped down on her own growling stomach and reached for another empty cup.

“The wedding is over.” His hand closed over hers. He took the cup from her hand and set it to the side. “It’s time to have some fun.”

“I promised I would serve the punch.”

“No one wants any punch. They’re too busy dancing.” He indicated the dance floor overflowing with couples two-stepping to an old George Strait tune. The only person who wasn’t dancing was Wes Early, the town’s only videographer. Cheryl Louise had hired him to record her wedding memories and he was currently walking from couple to couple, zooming in for close-ups and capturing good wishes and advice with his camcorder. “Let’s dance.”

“I can’t. I mean, I don’t want to. I promised my grandma Willie that I would keep her company.”

His gaze followed hers to the old woman who sat at one of the large round tables. A half dozen other white-haired ladies surrounded her. A maze of dominoes covered the table.

“I don’t think she needs you.”

She stared at her grandmother. The old woman lifted her head, caught her granddaughter’s gaze and smiled before turning her attention back to the game and her last domino—a double six—which she slid into the center of the table before letting loose a loud “I win!”

“That’s her domino club. They get together every Saturday night. I guess they didn’t see the wedding as an excuse to call off tonight’s game.”

“She looks happy.”

“She is happy.”

“And what about you? Are you happy?”

“I don’t mind serving punch.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. Are you happy here? In Cadillac?”

No.
“Yes,” she blurted. “I’m very happy. I’ve never been so happy. I’ve got my business and my grandma. Life is all right.”

“All right?” He eyed her. “What happened to amazing? Awesome? Explosive?” He named off every adjective she’d ever used when talking about the future and the life that waited for her beyond the city limits.

“I’m not the same irresponsible girl I was back then.”

“Because…”

Because she’d barely survived last night’s close encounter. If she had to feel his arms around her again, or smell his intoxicating scent, or stare into his eyes, she wasn’t so sure she could make it through with her cover still firmly in place. “Because I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s late.” She glanced at her watch, her brain scrambling for an excuse to step away from him. To run away before she did something really outlandish like throw her arms around him and kiss him right here and now with everyone looking on. “And I’ve got to get up early for work.”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday. The nursery is closed.”

“But I’m still working. I’ve got a full greenhouse to inventory before my new deliveries on Monday. It’ll take all day, so I have to get a very early start. Nice talking to you. If you’ll excuse me—”

“Not this time.” He caught her hand and tugged her after him, to the far side of the room and a small, private corner behind several large potted palms draped in white tulle and twinkling white lights.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to figure out why you won’t dance with me.” He hauled her in front of him and backed her into the corner. “Other than the fact that it’s late and you have to be up early. I know there’s more to it, Belle.”

Belle. As in Jezebel.
“Nobody calls me that anymore.”

“As I recall, no one else ever did. It was just me. I also recall that you liked me calling you that, almost as much as you liked dancing with me.”

“Maybe I don’t like to dance anymore.”

“You liked it just fine last night.”

“I wanted to win a game last night. I needed to dance with a hot guy to beat Maddie, and you were the only hot guy there.” When he didn’t look the least bit convinced, she added, “You were hot and I needed hot. It wasn’t because I wanted to dance, certainly not that I wanted to dance with
you.
I didn’t. Not last night, and not now.”

“Is that so?”

“Look, things are different now. I’m different.”

“Really?” He fingered the conservative neckline of the hideous orange bridesmaid’s dress. “You mean your heart doesn’t pound when I do this?”

She managed to shake her head despite that he could undoubtedly feel the frantic
thud thud
against the pad of his finger.

“And your blood doesn’t rush when I do this?” He trailed his fingertip over the edge of the dress, over the material until he brushed her nipple through the fabric.

“Not at all.”

“And you don’t get even the slightest bit wet when I do this?” His touch swept south until she felt the press of his fingertip at the vee of her legs. He traced a little circle and heat fired low in her belly.

“I…don’t.”

“Why?”

“Because…” She licked her lips and tried to ignore the sensation sweeping along her nerve endings. It felt so good and he felt so good and she wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and simply
feel.
“This is a bad idea.”

“Because you don’t want me?” He leaned down, his warm breath brushing the sensitive shell of her ear. “Or because you do?”

“Because…” She tried to think of an explanation, but then her gaze caught his and she couldn’t think. She could only feel. The warmth of his body so close to hers. The throb of her nipples. The tightening between her legs. The tingle of her lips. “I really want to kiss you,” she blurted. And then she did.

He didn’t seem the least bit surprised to feel her lips against his own. His mouth was wet and warm and welcoming.

He plunged his tongue deep, tangling with hers in a fierce kiss that made her thighs quiver and her nipples ache and her hormones chant
yes, yes, yes
while her brain screamed
no, no, no!
She tasted him, licking and exploring in a fast and furious rhythm that quickly calmed into something a little less frantic and a lot more dangerous.

But Sarah Buchanan didn’t do fast or furious or dangerous,
especially
dangerous. Not anymore.

The truth echoed in her head, but it wasn’t enough to make her stop. It was the voice that did that.

“Say something to the bride and groom.”

Sarah pulled away to find a video camera trained on her.

Reality hit her as Wes Early grinned and said into the mini microphone attached to his camcorder, “Weddings aren’t just about forming new relationships, folks. They’re about renewing old ones, as well. Houston and Sarah were once the hottest couple in high school and it seems they’re still heating things up—”

“Thanks for the suggestion,” Sarah cut in, with the only excuse her frazzled brain could come up with. “I’ll definitely give some thought to replacing the chamber’s annual bake sale with a kissing booth.”

“What?” Houston stared down at her, deep into her eyes, and her heart did a double thump.

“Your idea for the chamber of commerce to host a kissing booth instead of a bake sale. It’s got potential but you didn’t need to demonstrate.”

“I didn’t—” he started.

“Shame on me for getting caught up in the town’s business on your special day,” she cut in, fixing her gaze on the video camera and forcing a smile. “Congratulations and I wish you both the best.” And then she darted under Houston’s arm and left both men and a live camcorder staring after her.

A video camera, of all things. Not only had she blown the conservative image she’d managed to build for herself, she’d done it on tape for everyone to see.

She forced away the thought and headed out to the parking lot. She was already behind the wheel when she remembered that she hadn’t even said goodbye to anyone. Not Cheryl Louise or her friends or her grandma Willie, who’d ridden over with some of the ladies from her domino group.

It was all Houston’s fault. He was stirring the bad girl locked deep inside of her, coaxing out the old Sarah with his sinful smiles and naughty words and sexy heat.

If she wasn’t careful, she was liable to blow the good girl cover she’d spent the past twelve years perfecting. A cover so convincing that she’d actually started to believe it herself, to accept it, to
like
it.

No, she didn’t like the person she’d become any more than she liked this desperately small town. But this was the life she’d made for herself and so she had to live it.

For her grandmother’s sake.

She closed her eyes, remembering the night of Sharon’s death when Brenda had called, so tearful and frantic. While the news had devastated Sarah, it had nearly killed her grandmother.

The old woman had sat there, the phone pressed to her ear as she’d listened to Brenda’s voice. Her gaze had been fixed on Sarah, the awful truth vivid in her eyes—it could have been Sarah who’d died that night. It would have been had she not grounded Sarah because she’d been late for her curfew the night before.

The realization had been too much for her grandmother. Her blood pressure had escalated and she’d had a mild heart attack.

Sarah could still see her grandmother’s pale face, hear her frantic whisper.

“You have to take care, Sarah. You have to think. I can’t lose you the way I lost your mother. My heart can’t take it.”

“Everything’s going to be all right, Grandma. I promise. Things are going to be different. I’m going to be different. You don’t have to worry about me anymore. You won’t have to worry about me ever again.”

Sarah had made the tearful promise in the ambulance en route to Tyler County Hospital as she’d held her grandmother’s hand and prayed for the old woman’s recovery. A promise she’d kept for the past twelve years. One she would continue to keep until her grandma Willie drew her last breath.

That meant steering clear of Houston Jericho while he was back in town. Out of sight, out of mind, as the saying went, and now that the wedding was over, he would surely head back out of town. While he’d come home a few times over the years, he rarely stayed more than a day or two because of his busy rodeo schedule and the fact that he hated being cooped up in this town as much as she had so long ago.

He would hit the road again. Probably tonight. At the very latest, first thing tomorrow.

Good riddance. The sooner he left, the sooner she could get back to her life and forget about tonight and the kiss and the fact that she’d almost blown it in front of everyone.

Almost, but not completely. She’d managed to explain it away to Wes, and if anyone happened to mention it again, she would merely blush and stammer and repeat the lame excuse. And that would be that.

She drew a deep breath.

Yes, the temptation was over. At least in reality.

When she closed her eyes later that night, however, he came to her in her dreams, kissing and touching and stirring her in the most erotic fantasy she’d had in a long, long time.

Just
a fantasy, she reminded herself when she awoke with her heart pounding and her skin flushed and her body wet with wanting. It wasn’t as if the man who’d reached for her, pleasured her, was real.

No, the real man was long gone from Cadillac, or he soon would be. And with any luck, he wouldn’t ever come back.

H
E WAS STILL IN TOWN
.

Sarah discovered that the moment she walked out of her house early the next morning and headed down the walkway toward the three-thousand-square-foot greenhouse that housed the Green Machine.

Worse, he was here.

He’d traded in the old souped-up Corvette he’d driven back in high school for a brand-new gleaming black Chevy pickup truck—evidence that Houston Jericho was no longer the poorest kid in town. He’d made something of himself.

But then, she’d had no doubt that he would. He’d been so dead set on showing up his drunk of a father and proving to any and everyone that while he might look like his old man, he was nothing like him.

She glimpsed his handsome face through the window, his eyes trained on her, his lips set in a grim line. As if he was thinking real hard about some question and he wasn’t too pleased with the answer.

As if he wasn’t any more happy to be here than she was to see him here.

She pondered the notion for a few seconds as she unlocked the door latch and tried to pretend for all she was worth that his presence didn’t affect her.

Fat chance.

Every nerve in her body was keenly aware of him. She felt his warm gaze on her profile and a slow heat swept over her, from the tips of her toes clear to the top of her head, until she all but burned in the early morning heat. She shifted her stance, her thighs pressing together, and an ache shot through her. Her nipples pebbled, rubbing against her bra as she tried to unlock the stubborn latch.

The more determined she became, the more the old piece of rusty steel fought back.

“Come on,” she muttered. Her hands trembled and her heart slammed a furious rhythm against her rib cage. “I don’t need this today.” Not after the night she’d had. A sleepless, frustrated night that had her feeling nervous and anxious and dissatisfied. “I really don’t need this.”

“What
do
you need?”

The deep voice froze her hands as she realized that he was right here. Right now. Right behind her.

Worse, he leaned in, his arms coming around her on either side, his hands closing over hers to steady her.

“I, um, need to get this blasted thing open. It’s stuck.”

“Let’s see what we can do about that.” His large dark hands were a stark contrast against her pale white fingers. His warm palms cradled the tops of her hands. The rough pads of his fingertips rasped against her soft flesh and heat spiraled through her body.

Her grip tightened on the key.

“Easy, now.” His voice rumbled over her bare shoulder and warm breath brushed her skin. Goose bumps chased up and down her arms and she came
this
close to leaning back into him, closing her eyes and enjoying the delicious sensation. Just for a little while.

She stiffened and fought for her precious control. Twelve years of cloaking herself in it should have made it easy to find, but not with Houston so close. Too close for her to breathe, much less think, much less pretend.

“I don’t think it’s the lock that’s giving you trouble as much as the way you’re approaching the matter. You really need to loosen up.” As he said the words, she got the distinct impression that he was talking about more than just her grip on the key.

“Thanks for the advice, but no thanks. I do not need to loosen up.” To prove her point, she focused every ounce of energy she had on ignoring the delicious feelings assaulting her body. She held her breath and turned the key and tried to ignore the fingers that burned into her and guided her a little to the left and then a little to the right and…
click.

His arms fell away as she unhooked the padlock and tried to calm her thundering heart.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded as she turned on him. She busied her lips with the tightest frown she could manage, considering she wanted to kiss him more than she wanted her next breath.

“Inventory. You said you were starting early, so I thought I’d stop by and give you a hand.”

“I mean here. In town. I thought you were leaving.”

“I was. I am. But Miss Marshalyn’s party is in two weeks and I’d planned on coming back for that before heading off to Vegas for the PBR finals. It didn’t make much sense to make a second trip here when the only thing on my schedule for the next two weeks is practice. I can hang around and do that right here instead of going back and forth.”

It made sense, and it also made her heart give a double thump.
Two weeks.
She’d barely made it through last night. How ever was she going to endure two solid weeks knowing he was right here in town, a phone call away?

“You look awful pale. Is everything all right?”

“I’m tired,” she muttered.

“You sure about that? Because, for a second there, I could have sworn you were going to kiss me.”

“Trust me, I’m not going to kiss you.”

“You kissed me last night.”

“That was temporary insanity. I was tired because of the wedding and I wasn’t thinking. If I had been, I would never have kissed you. I don’t do that anymore. I’m different now.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “Maybe not.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That
maybe
you just want me to think that you’re different, the way you want everyone else to think that. But I know better. I know you.”

“You did. A long time ago.”

“I still do. You kissed me because you wanted me.” His gaze darkened. “You still taste as good as you did way back when.”

“I really have a lot of work to do.” She grabbed her clipboard.

“Where should I start?”

“You don’t have to help me.”

“I want to.” His gaze told her he wanted a lot more, but he was backing off, giving her some space to come to terms with what she was feeling. As if she could.

Coming to terms involved acknowledging her feelings and deciding on a course of action. And action, as far as Houston Jericho was concerned, was completely out of the question.

“You start on that end. All the plants are labeled. Simply write the name down and do a count for each one. There’s another clipboard behind the counter.”

She turned and wound her way to the far side, putting as much distance as possible between them. She needed some distance.

From the past.

From the present.

From
him.

If he wasn’t so close, then he wouldn’t be so tempting, and maybe, just maybe, she could make it through the rest of the day without another fall from grace.

With that in mind, she put every ounce of energy into writing and counting and forgetting. Soon she started to relax, the tension easing from her body as she fell into a steady work rhythm. Not that she managed to forget his presence. She was keenly aware of him, especially when he started whistling. But oddly enough, the noise didn’t spook her or make her heart thunder. It eased her mind, as if she liked having him close by almost as much as she’d liked kissing him last night.

She ignored the crazy thought. The last thing she wanted in her life, the last thing she needed, was to relax her guard where Houston Jericho was concerned.

She had to remember who she was and where she was and the all-important fact that a girl like Sarah—a nice girl like Sarah—had no business getting up close and personal with a man like Houston Jericho.

Even if she did like having him close enough to hear him whistle.

H
E WASN’T WHISTLING
.

The truth hit her the moment she returned from the back storeroom to hear the deep rumble of his voice coming from the front of the nursery.

“We’d be glad to do that….”

“That would help me out so much.” The voice came from Edward Jenkins, a retired judge who lived out near the county line. He was a stern old man with beady black see-everything eyes that always made Sarah feel as if she’d done something wrong.

A feeling she’d had many times while growing up in Cadillac. Because she’d often been guilty.

But things were different now. She was all grown up and she didn’t cause the same scandal.

She knew that, but damned if she didn’t feel as if she were seventeen again and she’d just been caught red-handed toilet-papering the statue in front of the courthouse.

Tamping down on the emotion, she walked over, forcing a smile. “How are you today, Mr. Jenkins?”

“Fine and dandy thanks to the excellent service I just received.”

“Service?” Her gaze went from Mr. Jenkins to Houston. “But we’re closed today.”

“But I just bought a dozen of those azalea bushes over there.”

Her gaze went to Houston and he shrugged. “We’re here so you might as well do a little business.”

“You can deliver them first thing tomorrow. I’ll be waiting.”

“Deliver?” Her gaze switched to Houston again. “We don’t make deliveries.”

“What she means,” he told Mr. Jenkins, “is that we haven’t made deliveries in the past. This will be our first.”

“Wonderful.” Mr. Jenkins waved. “See you tomorrow.”

“What are you doing?” Sarah turned on Houston the moment the bell tinkled behind the old man.

“Giving the customer what he wants. He wanted a delivery, so I offered a delivery.”

“But I don’t make deliveries.”

“You should. People want full service and they’re more than happy to pay extra for it.” He held up Mr. Jenkin’s check. “Twenty dollars for maybe ten cents of gas and a little trouble. Not bad for a day’s work.”

“But I don’t have a truck.”

“I do.”

She shook her head. “You can’t just come in here and start pushing me.”

“Who’s pushing? I saw an opportunity and I took it. Isn’t that what building a business is all about?”

“But this isn’t your business. It’s mine.”

“Then you should be thanking me. If you advertise a little, you could make a killing.”

“I don’t want to make a killing. I just want to do my duty for as long as necessary, and then I’m out of here.”

“So make a killing in the meantime. Haven’t you ever heard of living for the moment?”

Of course she’d heard of it. She’d practically invented it in her previous life.

One that didn’t seem nearly as far off and distant with Houston Jericho so close and staring at her so intently.

“Leave things alone. Leave me alone.” Her voice softened and the desperation rolling inside her crept into the next word. “Please.”

He shrugged. “Is that what you really want?”

No.
“Yes. I’ve been doing fine, just fine, and I want to keep doing just fine. I don’t need you making my life more complicated. I want to keep things simple.”

“You mean boring.”

“I mean simple. I go to work each day, I look after my grandma, and I go home. Simple.”

“Sounds boring.”

“It is. That’s the point. It’s boring and it’s easy and I’ve fallen into a nice routine. I don’t need you stirring things up.”

“Maybe you do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That maybe me leaving you alone isn’t the answer. Maybe the answer is for me
not
to leave you alone.” His voice dropped to a low murmur. “You thought about me last night, didn’t you?”

“In your dreams.” She turned and busied herself spraying the leaves on a ficus.

“No.” His deep voice came from behind a heartbeat before he forced her around. “In
your
dreams. Your fantasies. You saw me last night, didn’t you?”

No. The word was there on the tip of her tongue and all she had to do was open her lips and let it out. But she couldn’t. Not with him staring at her, into her. She nodded.

“I saw you, too. I saw you all slick.” He touched her cheek, traced the shape with his callused fingertip before making his way down the damp skin of her neck. “As slick as you are right now.”

“I saw you,” she admitted. “You were slick, too. And soapy.” And aroused. He’d been fully aroused and she’d been ready for him.

“The shower scene. I’ve thought about it so many times. And the others, too. I can’t help but wonder what you would look like in number five. What you would sound like in number six. What you would taste like in number seven.”

“The same as the first three. All the same.”

“Probably. But I don’t know for sure. That’s the damned trouble of it all.” His gaze fired an intense gold as hot as the Texas sun and just as scorching. “I need to know, and so do you.”

“I don’t—” she started, but then he pressed a fingertip to her lips.

“Think about it.”

He didn’t touch her again or kiss her. He merely turned and walked away.

She expected to feel a rush of relief when the door shut behind him. Instead, she found herself walking to the door to stare out as he gunned the engine. The truck growled and spewed gravel as he pulled out of the parking lot. She caught his gaze as he glanced back, as if he knew she would be watching him.

The same way he knew she would be thinking about him. Dreaming. Fantasizing.

“I need to know, and so do you.”

He was right. The need was there, fierce and gripping, and it was all she could do to turn away and finish the rest of her inventory.

But she did. She had to because, as much as she needed to know, she didn’t
want
to know.

He lived and breathed in her fantasies and that was okay, because they were her fantasies. He wasn’t real then. He didn’t show up at her work unannounced, or touch her in aisle three or set up a delivery she couldn’t possibly make without his help. The fantasies didn’t upset her life the way the real man did.

She
controlled the fantasies. She could think about him when and where she wanted, and those thoughts didn’t affect her real life.

Even so, she couldn’t seem to shake the memory of their kiss or forget the fierce look in his eyes just before he’d left the nursery. He consumed her thoughts for the rest of the afternoon, so much so that she actually forgot the time.

For the first time in twelve years, forever reliable and punctual Sarah Buchanan was late for her Sunday dinner with Grandma Willie.