Unbuttoned (2 page)

Chapter Two

“Oh . . . Mac. Why didn’t you mention that he was coming?” Carly peeked out the kitchen window and watched the navy blue pickup roar down the driveway and stop in front of the house.

Mac looked up from his place at the dinner table, his expression bland. “Who?”

“Lucas.” Carly practically growled the name. But she’d already seen him today and that was one dose of Lucas too many in her opinion.

She’d avoided him quite nicely in the two years since she’d returned from college. But now that the fundraiser was forcing them to cross professional paths, avoiding him wasn’t going to be quite so simple.

It didn’t help that Mac was being spontaneous, rather than sticking to his usual guys’ night schedule, which also played a big part in her ability to avoid Lucas.

“He comes over for a beer all the time. I didn’t think I needed to mention it. Anyway, he wants to see the finished kitchen.”

“You still might have mentioned it.”

“Did you not make enough food or something?”

She was ready to brain her brother with the saucepan she had on the burner. It would knock him cold, and scald him. It was a happy thought, but not one she’d follow through on. “I made enough,” she said carefully , “but it should have been, you know, leftovers, for your work lunches.”

“I can make my own lunch. You don’t have to be such a hen.”

“I like taking care of you.”

“I’m your older brother. That’s supposed to be my line.”

She crossed the room and set a bowl of salad on the large, mission-style dining table before going back to the stove.

Everything was open in her brother’s home, the kitchen, living room and dining area all a part of one expansive area. She liked it, usually. It was certainly nicer cooking here than in her little house. But today that meant that, no matter what, she would be sharing space with Lucas Miller.

Sharing space with Lucas Miller made her cranky. And edgy. And fluttery. She disliked all of the aforementioned feelings, which, really, was mainly why she disliked Lucas.

“Yes, well, until you get a new housekeeper to cook and clean up after you I worry that you’re going to expire from starvation beneath a pile of laundry.”

“And we all know mom’s not going to drop by with any chicken soup,” Mac said, pushing his baseball cap back and running a hand over his hair.

“No, she’s too busy keeping a tail on dad, watching him meet up with bimbos at sleazy hotels. Who says you can’t go home again? Our childhood lives on.”

“Yay us.”

The front door swung open and Lucas walked in, all broad and tall and grinning. It made Carly’s stomach curl in tight.

“Hey,” Mac said.

“Hey. Place looks great, Mac. They did a hell of a job.”

“Yeah, no more yellow tile,” Mac said.

Then Lucas’s focus landed on Carly. “Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise?”

He didn’t mean it. She could hear that in his tone. And maybe she couldn’t really blame him for not being thrilled to see her. She hadn’t been very friendly with him earlier. She never was.

But that was more about her than him, and she knew it. If she was friendly, they might end up spending time together, and more time with Lucas meant . . . What she needed was sanity. Self-protection. His ego didn’t really come into it.

“Isn’t it?” she asked, dumping her pasta from a pan into a bowl. If he was going to play civil, then so would she. She was hardly going to fire barbs at him over Mac’s head. Not that that usually stopped either of them. “Have a seat, dinner’s almost ready.”

She spent dinner watching Mac and Lucas BS about everything. Women, horses and Lucas’s rodeo rides past. There was something vaguely comforting about it. Something normal.

It had been so long since they’d all sat down together. But there had been a time when Lucas had been a fixture at their dinner table. She’d lost track of the times it had been just the three of them for dinner.

Lucas’s dad never noticed if his son was home or not, the haze of alcohol he preferred to be under keeping him from seeing much of anything clearly. Mac and Carly’s parents had simply been too involved in keeping Silver Creek supplied with new episodes of their live soap opera.

That had meant more than one dinner like this. Pasta, salad, and three people just looking for a little bit of normal in a world full of crazy.

She’d hero-worshipped Lucas a little bit back then. He was big and tall, strong. And in her opinion at the time, he’d been a better bronc buster than any cowboy on the pro circuit. And he was the handsomest man she’d ever seen. And to her thirteen-year-old eyes, the seventeen-year-old had been a man.

She’d actually fawned over him, rather embarrassingly, until she graduated from high school and gotten a giant slap of reality where he was concerned. Some might have even called her past feelings for him a crush. She didn’t. Nope. It was just youthful . . . whatever.

That was before that summer day just before she’d gone off to college. The memory still had the power to make her shake with anger, and she wasn’t sure why. She’d gone over to his brand-new ranch, the one he’d secured with his already respectable rodeo earnings. And she’d seen him. Lucas, with some hot brunette, pressed up against the side of the barn.

And, given the other woman’s state of undress and the flush on her face, her skin, there was more than kissing going on. Carly hadn’t stopped to look for details.

Her face had prickled like she’d run head on into a cactus, her throat burning with a rash of heat, tears stinging her eyes. Even now, it was easy to remember how acute the pain had been. Which was silly, then and now. Lucas had never asked for her admiration, and he’d never owed her anything. And it had served as a warning. One she’d held close to her heart, down deep, ever since.

By the time she’d come back for Christmas, Lucas was walking around town with a redhead wrapped around him like tinsel. When she came home in spring, he’d traded the previous one in for a shiny new blonde model, and that was when she’d had to face reality. It was who he was, what he did.

And men like that didn’t change.

Those memories were the biggest reason she treated him like she did, why she held him at a distance. They’d given her a window into Lucas Miller’s attitude on life. The kind of attitude one hid from one’s best friend’s younger sister.

From then on it was eyes wide open for her.

Mac picked his hat up from the kitchen table and rose from his chair. “I’m going to run out and make sure everything’s all secure.”

Her brother’s ranch was the most important thing in his life. A small operation catering to people who wanted extra lean, natural beef. Mac had built it up from scratch, with a bit of start-up money from Lucas. Which she had to admit was decent of him. She hated to admit that.

Lucas nodded from his position at the table, making it very clear he was sending his friend off and not going with him.

Oh, no.

She really didn’t want to be alone with Lucas, most especially with the memory of him, and just what he could do to a woman, fresh in her mind. That image still made her face hot and she was afraid the heat didn’t come purely from humiliation.

As soon as the front door closed behind Mac, a smile spread over Lucas’s face. “Twice in one day. What did I do to earn the honor?”

She stretched her lips into a fake smile. Anything to avoid being told she looked like she’d sucked on a lemon. “You could have gone with Mac.”

“I’d rather talk with you, actually. Is that so hard to believe?”

“A little surprising, is all.” She stood up and grabbed her plate, and Mac’s, walking across to the kitchen area and putting them both in the sink.

“Why is that?”

“Well, somebody told me earlier today that I’m mean. I would think you might want to avoid me, all things considered.”

“You aren’t
that
mean, sugar.”

“Until today I didn’t realize I was mean at all. That news flash came straight from you.”

“So it’s just me then,” he said, taking the bowls that had contained the pasta and salad, standing and making his way over to where she was.

“What do you mean?”

“You really do reserve the attitude for me specifically.” He set the bowls on the counter. “And that means one of two things.”

“Oh, good. I’m about to get some cowboy wisdom. Let’s hear it.” She crossed her arms beneath her breasts and rested her hip against the countertop.

“Either you like me a whole lot less than you like most people . . .”

“Good. Deductive reasoning. Very sharp.”

“Or you like me a whole lot more.”

Her chest tightened. “Are you serious?”

“I don’t know, Carly,” he said, his voice curling around her name like a caress and making her feel more than a little hot and bothered. “That’s the part you’ll have to fill in for me.”

She started to tell him just what she thought. Why not? It would be satisfying to take a little of that attitude out of his hide. He deserved it.

But then he shifted, moved so that he was standing in front of her, one of his hands on the counter behind her, the heat of his body in front. And she caught the scent of his aftershave. Clean. Masculine. Just like him. Like leather and soap. And beneath that, his skin.

And something in her, something she’d tried to suppress, more than suppress, beat into submission, every day since she was eighteen years old, woke up. And it woke up hungry.

That part of her had wanted to be close enough to Lucas Miller to smell his skin for ages, and it was making itself known big-time now.

“I don’t—” she said, the words coming out more as a squeak than a beginning to a confident and witty insult that would take Lucas down a peg or two.

“You don’t what?” he asked, angling his body toward hers.

It was like magic. Or like a magnet. She found herself angling toward him too. Into his heat. Her heart was pounding fast, her head spinning. She had to bite her bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

Then, for the second time that day, Lucas extended his hand and brushed his thumb along her lower lip, his touch hot and rough, sending an arrow of pure want through her, hitting a target in her stomach, the impact vibrating through her.

Her eyelids started to flutter closed, and that was when she knew, even as she surrendered, that she’d lost this battle. And she was going out white flag waving, giving up of her own free will.

The sound of boots knocking against the front step, and the warning provided by the rattle of the turning doorknob, broke her out of her trance. She sidestepped Lucas and scurried to the center of the kitchen, her heart thundering in her ears, her entire body trembling.

If she hadn’t been so desperate to hide what had just happened from everyone in the entire world, including herself, when Mac walked through the front door she might have thrown herself at his feet and kissed those muddy boots in thanks.

“Thanks for having me over, Mac,” she said, crossing the room and pulling her brother in for a hug. She felt like she’d just had too much caffeine. Her words were coming out too fast, her body still trembling from the inside out.

“You aren’t going to stay to do the dishes?” She shot her brother an evil look. “I mean for dessert,” he amended.

“No to both. I think you can do it all without me.”

“All right.”

“I’m going to take off too,” Lucas said, pushing off from the counter.

“Beer tomorrow?” Mac asked.

A half smile curved Lucas’s lips and something tightened in Carly’s stomach. If Mac and Lucas were going out tomorrow night, they were probably going to try to pick up some women. And if they tried, they would succeed.

And after what had just happened . . .

No. Nothing had happened. Nothing at all. And being annoyed about Lucas and other women made even less sense now than it had six years ago.

“Well, I’m off. I have work in the morning,” Carly said.

“Someone in violation of the Historic Colors Ordinance?” Lucas asked, referring to the town regulation that ensured all historic homes and buildings were painted colors that were accurate to the time period they were built in.

“The Historic Protection and Design Regulation?” she corrected. Lord, she even sounded prissy to herself. “That rule has been around since long before I have been. And no. That’s not it. I’m going to the elementary school to help with the launching of a summer art program.”

“Well, it’s not baling hay, but it sounds like damn hard work,” he said dryly.

“Art is important,” she said.

“Not arguing with you.”

She let out an exasperated breath, feeling suddenly much more Lucas-impervious than she had a moment earlier.

“Well, anyway, see you later, Mac. Lucas.” She breezed out the front door, gulping in the crisp evening air as soon she was outside. She had to clear her head. Had to get her control back.

She wasn’t going to be like her mother. Not ever. She wasn’t going to be the idiot who fell for a charmer and then was shocked when he didn’t change. She doubted her father had been faithful to her mother at any point in their relationship, but her mother had always wanted him too much to give him an ultimatum.

And Carly hated that. Hated the scenes it created. Hated that her mother had so little pride.

She hated what her father did too. But her mother enabled it by staying. She gave it a stamp of approval. At this point, there was literally nothing her father could do to make her mother leave, and he knew it.

So he philandered. He did it publicly. He did it often.

And her mother was always on standby to make a tearful, shrieking scene.

Carly could just imagine what would happen if she ever did something like that. Councilwoman Carly Denton shouting down a bar while her husband made out with a busty brunette in the corner, totally unconcerned with her heartbreak.

She shivered and cast a glance back to the house. No. That would never be her. Not ever. Which meant Lucas Miller wasn’t getting within touching distance of her lips ever again.

Chapter Three

Lucas hadn’t had such a bad night of sleep in years. He’d had the hard-on from hell, and every time he’d taken it in hand to relieve himself of it, Carly and her pinched lips entered his mind.

And then, shortly after that, her expression softened, the way it had in the kitchen at Mac’s when he’d touched her lip. She’d softened then, but more than that . . . there had been heat. Serious heat.

And then he’d realized he was about to engage in a heavy sexual fantasy about his best friend’s little sister. His best friend’s little sister who, if she knew, would probably treat him to a stare so cold it would freeze his erection clean off.

Which was when he’d pulled his hand away and consigned himself to a night of discomfort because, dammit, he was not going there.

It wasn’t just that Carly was Mac’s younger sister, although that played into it. But Carly and Mac, and the dinners at their house, dinners a lot like last night’s, had been a part of his sanity growing up. Before he’d made friends with Mac he’d been drowning; an isolated kid whose drunk of a father spent half his time passed out, and whose mother had disappeared completely.

Carly and Mac had become like family. At least until Carly had decided she hated him. In the two years since she’d been back from school he’d hardly seen her, but the memories remained. The importance of what she and Mac represented remained.

And that meant no fantasies about her. And most definitely no acting on them.

He liked to harass her, no question about that. But that was a far cry from screwing her.

Of course, what had happened last night had gone a bit beyond just liking to annoy her. In fact, annoying her had been the furthest thing from his mind when he’d touched her lip.

A hard kick of desire assaulted him again and he swore internally. It didn’t help that he was going back down to Carly’s office today to drop off some more donations. When he’d volunteered to help organize the thing he hadn’t counted on having to deal with Carly on what was turning into a daily basis.

He was half hoping she wouldn’t be around and he could just leave everything with the receptionist.

It was just his luck that the receptionist wasn’t there, but Carly was.

She looked up and he noticed she didn’t pucker. He could tell she was fighting the urge to, her mouth twitching at the corners, but she did manage to keep her expression neutral. “Good afternoon, Lucas. Get your hay baled?”

“I didn’t bale any hay today.”

“Ah, I see. What did you do?”

“Rode a few horses, made sure they were still in top condition.”

“Ah, well, it’s not helping establish a new art program, but it sounds like damn hard work.” There was actually a ghost of a smile on her lips. The sight made his gut tighten.

He chuckled. “You’re a funny woman, Carly.”

“What do you have for me?”

“More donations. They came in from John’s.”

“Great.”

He put the bag on the desk and she unzipped it, taking the total slip out, a genuine smile spreading over her face. “This is just great. I think we’re going to be able to come up with something really amazing. And I think we’ll earn a lot of money for the hospital.”

“You ought to quadruple the donations made, at least,” he said.

She stood up from behind her desk and stretched. His eyes were drawn to the rounded shape of her breasts, pushing against the prim little jacket she was wearing. She was just so polished and neat. Pink, short-sleeved jacket, matching pencil skirt. Blonde hair pulled into a loose bun, a little pink band with flowers on it adding that touch of hyper-femininity that Carly was never without.

“I’m getting excited about it,” she said.

“Getting in the dunk tank?”

She narrowed her blue eyes. “No.”

“Aw, why not, Councilwoman? Making an ass of yourself in public for charitable purposes is a time-honored tradition.”

“Not one I partake in,” she said, her tone crisp. “I think we should enlist you or one of the other cowboys to do it. We could have you do it shirtless and charge extra.” She looked like she wanted to shove the words back in her mouth as soon as they escaped.

He arched an eyebrow. “You think my bare chest is worth extra?”

“I said you or one of the other cowboys. Generic bare cowboy chest is worth extra. You know, in the estimation of some women, not necessarily me.”

“Not your type?”

Her eyes drifted to his chest and then back up. “Not so much.”

“What is your type?”

She blinked a few times. “Uh . . . an accountant might be nice. I hate doing my own taxes.”

“Wow. An accountant. You sure are living fast and loose there, Carly.”

“I didn’t ask for commentary, Miller.”

“I mean, wouldn’t you stay up late nights worrying about his safety? What if he has some kind of horrible paper tray accident while trying to make copies of annual earnings reports?”

Then she shocked him, completely, by laughing. A short, snorting sound, like she’d been trying to hold it in. “I’m a rebel,” she deadpanned, “what can I say?”

“Obviously.”

“I’m actually just headed out,” she said.

For some reason, he was reluctant to let her go. He’d felt that way the past few times he’d seen her and, all things considered, it didn’t make any sense.

“To?”

She blinked. “Lunch.”

“How about I join you?” Again, he wasn’t really sure why he felt like sitting down and sharing a meal with her, all things considered. He was just sure he wanted to stay with her a little bit longer.

She hesitated and he could tell she was weighing how much she cared about seeming “mean” versus how badly she wanted to get rid of him. “Yeah, okay,” she said, finally. “We can discuss some more about Ride for Hope.”

He shrugged. “Whatever makes it palatable.”

“I don’t want to start rumors either.” She reached to close the laptop that was sitting on her desk and unplugged it from the monitor, shoving it into a large, patent leather bag. “Working lunch will do.”

“Whatever helps,” he said, following her out of her office and onto the main street.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re looking for ways to justify letting yourself spend time with me.” Which he’d been doing just a minute ago, but he’d decided not to worry about it. He wanted to be with her, and he was going to choose to believe it had nothing to do with the way her top molded to her curves.

“I’m not . . . pfft. I’m not
letting
myself spend time with you. You’re here, I’m here, we’re people, we need to eat. And also, we have a working connection.”

“You’re doing it again.”

“I’m not—” She shut her mouth, cutting herself off. “I usually work over lunch. Maybe that’s what I’m justifying.” Because there was no point in her pretending she wasn’t justifying something. They both knew that.

“I don’t think that’s it.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Lucas, do you practice being this obnoxious in the mirror?”

“Right after I finish practicing my pickup lines,” he said. “How long have you known me now, Carly? More than a decade?”

“Eleven years,” she said. Interesting how quickly she knew the answer to the question.

“Right. And still you have to come up with a million excuses for why having lunch with me is okay.” He opened the door to the bistro and held it for her, the little bit of chivalry his mother had imparted on him before she’d left him and his dad.

Carly walked in past him and went straight through to a table in the front corner. “My spot,” she said, taking a seat.

“A regular, are you?”

“Well, I don’t go to the bar for lunch.”

“Neither do I. I’d run the risk of running into my dad.”

“Or mine,” she said.

“True enough.”

“My dad and a companion even,” she said, her tone brittle.

“We have awesome parents, don’t we?”

“If nothing else, we’ve all proven that you can have success regardless of where you start out in life.”

“You sure have, Ms. City Councilwoman.”

She toyed with the edge of the menu that was already sitting on the table. “You like my title, don’t you?”

“I’m impressed with it,” he said, the honest truth.

“Well, thank you.”

“You got yourself into college, and through it. You got yourself elected, when your family’s reputation was pretty damned abysmal. I’d say I’m very impressed with you and what you’ve done.”

Her brow wrinkled. “Thank you.”

“I’ve never seen anyone look so distressed over a compliment.”

“I’ve never gotten a compliment quite like that from you.”

“Well, I’ve never gotten a compliment from you,” he said, badgering her because everything had been too sincere there for a second.

“Fine. I’m impressed with you too. You’ve done well for yourself. You did great in the rodeo, obviously, considering the size of your ranching operation, and you helped Mac too.”

“Mac helped himself. He had a great idea, I just helped him start up. And I’m a better investor than I was a bronc buster. I’m practically an accountant, actually, you just wouldn’t know it.”

“Are you serious?”

He shrugged. “Turns out I’m better at investing than riding.”

“I just thought . . .”

“That I was a dumbass who did a good job of holding on to a horse?”

“No. I never thought that.”

“Yeah, you did.”

“I have total respect for riders,” she said. “It’s a skill. I can’t tell you the last time I was on a horse.”

“I can’t imagine you riding in one of your prissy little suits.”

“It’s just not really my thing.”

“What’s not?”

She shrugged. “The whole . . . physical thing. I’m not big on sweating.”

A very clear, dirty picture flashed through his mind of just what it might take to make her sweat and like it. He blinked, trying to will it away. “You used to like it. I have a very clear image in my head of the first time I saw you. You had mud up to your elbows, and the skin on your face was peeling from a sunburn. You’d been out catching frogs, I believe.”

Her cheeks turned a delicate shade of pink. “Well . . . I’ve changed.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“Hi, Carly,” a smiling waitress said as she approached the table. “The usual?”

Carly smiled. “Yes, thank you.”

“And, uh . . . for your friend?”

“Just a burger is fine,” he said.

“I’ll have it up in a second,” she said, casting Carly a long, questioning look that Carly very purposefully ignored.

“Now the rumor mill will get going,” she muttered.

“Why? Because we’re having lunch together? Almost everyone knows who I am. They know we’re family friends.”

“Is that what we are?” she asked. “Family friends?”

“I suppose so. But friends might be a strong word for it.” He studied her face, the hard lines, the exhaustion. She tried so hard to be perfect he was afraid one of these days it would break her. “It didn’t used to be though.”

“Things change, Lucas.”

“What changed, Carly?”

She let out an exasperated breath. “Does it matter?”

“I think you’re the only one who knows that.”

“Just leave it.” She pulled her computer out of her bag and opened it, typing for a moment and then looking back up at him, her composure so firmly in place it was laughable. He had to wonder if she ever lost control. “All right, let’s talk charity. I think we can do that without bickering.”

And they managed, keeping the topic to the Ride for Hope events, until their food arrived.

“Grilled chicken salad with dressing on the side,” the waitress said, putting a plate in front of Carly. “And a burger,” she finished, setting Lucas’s lunch in front of him. “Holler if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” Carly said. She dipped her fork into the dressing and started flicking it over the lettuce leaves. She was so meticulous in everything she did. Every movement a practiced routine. She was tied up so tightly inside that even eating a salad was a ritual. He’d never seen anything like it.

He picked his burger up, in defiance of her restraint, and took a bite. He noticed that while she ate her salad, she kept her eyes pinned to his french fries.

“Do you want one?” he asked. She looked at him like he’d just asked her to come to the Dark Side.

“I shouldn’t.”

“Do you ever do anything you shouldn’t do?”

She frowned. “No.” Her denial was followed by another bite of salad.

“Doesn’t that get boring?”

“It’s not boring. It’s stable. I had all the unstable I could get growing up. There’s a reason for restraint, you know. A reason for . . . behaving a certain way.”

“So you always behave?” he asked.

“Yes. Always. I’m a representative of the people of Silver Creek. I can do nothing less.”

“You’re twenty-four years old, Carly. This much self-control can’t be healthy.”

“The lack of it certainly isn’t healthy, I don’t care what age you are,” she said. “Look at our parents for your example.”

“Granted”—he picked up one of his french fries—“but eating a little fried food is hardly equivalent to being an alcoholic.”

“Slippery slope,” she said, eyeing the offered treat.

“Come on, Carly,” he said. “Eat a fry. Live dangerously.”

“You’re such a pain,” she said, taking the french fry from him and making quick work of it.

“Do you regret it?” he asked.

“No,” she said around a mouthful of potato.

“See? The world didn’t even cave in. Living dangerously didn’t hurt you at all.”

“One french fry isn’t going to entice me to change the way I live.”

“That would be pretty ambitious for a french fry.” She snort-laughed again, turning her focus back to her salad. “Is that why I bother you, Carly?”

Her head snapped up, blue eyes meeting his. “What?”

“That I don’t play by the rules of what’s safe to you?”

Her forehead crinkled, eyebrows drawing together. “You think I’m jealous of you, is that it?”

“Well, is it?”

“Am I jealous of you, Lucas Miller, who changes women like most people change their socks? I am in no way jealous of that kind of behavior.”

“And where are you getting this impression of me?” Lucas had been celibate for eight damn months. Casual hook-ups had been fine for him a few years ago, but these days he liked to be in a relationship with a woman before he took things to the bedroom. Maturity or something like it, he assumed. The kind of behavior she was talking about was a thing so long in his past he could hardly remember ever doing it, so he was hardly going to sit there and listen to Carly Denton call him a player.