Kimberly Raye – Restless (страница 6)

“About five years ago.”

“I don’t get around town much when I’m home.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“What?” he asked, as he followed her down the steps.

“Following me.”

“Maybe I’ve always wanted to go to a SAT meeting.”

“Do you even know what SAT stands for?” When he grinned, she shook her head, then elaborated. “It stands for Sick and Tired.”

“That’s just what I was going to say.” He fell into step beside her. “Sick and tired of what?”

She smiled at him. Maybe it was a good thing he was following her. If he was so determined to make a nuisance of himself, the next half hour would undoubtedly change his mind. “You’ll see.”

“I don’t know if I like the tone of your voice.”

“Too late to chicken out now. Come on.” She took his arm and tugged him down the street.

“SO I TOLD HIM,” Harriet Miller said, “I would really like dessert.” She shook her head. “Do you really need that dessert? Harvey asks me.” She frowned. “So I said, I want that dessert. I deserve it, Harvey. I deserve it.” Her words met with a round of applause from the other women seated around the circle of chairs that comprised Sick and Tired, the women’s empowerment group Paige had been hosting for the past month.

“That’s wonderful,” Paige told the woman, desperately trying to ignore the man who leaned against the wall just inside the doorway, his arms folded as he watched her.

She’d expected him to run the other way the minute he discovered the nature of the group. Not many men felt comfortable in a group of venting women, but he’d simply smiled, said hello to several of the ladies he knew, and propped himself inside the doorway.

“So what did you have?” Louisa Jenkins asked. “The brownie or the apple pie?”

“The apple pie,” Harriet declared with a smile. “With a double scoop of ice cream and caramel sauce.”

“Atta girl!”

“You go, honey!”

“Score one for women everywhere.”

“Thank you, Harriett,” Paige told the woman, determined to ignore the way her skin flushed hot and cold every time she glanced at Jack. She was making it a point to avoid glancing at him or even thinking about him. She’d made it twenty-five minutes already. She could handle a few more. “That was a wonderful example of exercising your empowerment. Does anyone else have anything they would like to share? A moment when you realized you needed to speak up for yourself and did. Or maybe you simply realized it, but haven’t yet had the courage to make the stand. Either way, we’re here to listen.” Paige glanced around the group, careful not to let her gaze linger too long on Jenny Turnover, the newest addition to Sick and Tired.

Most of the group was comprised of women rebelling against their husbands, but Paige had the feeling that Jenny had more bothering her than a spouse nagging her to lose five pounds, or one that wanted his beer brought to him in a glass rather than a can. There was a glimmer of fear in Jenny’s eyes that Paige recognized all too well.

“Anyone? Remember, we’re here to help each other. To encourage and listen.” The group remained silent and Paige clapped her hands. “Well, then, let’s end today’s session with a few words of encouragement. As women, we need to speak up for ourselves and do what we think is right. We don’t have to fit into the mold that society has shaped for us. I hope you all remember that. And don’t forget, you are special. You’re entitled to the best things in life. Until next week, ladies.”

After a little chitchat, the group disbursed and Paige turned to gather up her notes.

She paused, every nerve in her body going on instant alert when she felt Jack’s hand on her arm. She turned toward him.

“Now I know what’s wrong with you. This,” he fluffed her ruffled sleeve, “is just a disguise. You’re really a man-hater.”

“I do not hate men. Just because I’m a capable woman and I encourage other women to be capable, doesn’t mean I don’t like the opposite sex.”

“You don’t like me.” He seemed proud of the fact.

“I don’t dislike you. You’re just not my type.”

“But you want me anyway.”

“I do not.”

“Oh really?” He fingered her nipple through the thin fabric of her dress.

She stepped back from his touch. “That’s just physical.”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” And before she could say a word, his lips covered hers.

His mouth moved against hers, his tongue sweeping her bottom lip, begging her to open up and let him inside, and for a split second, she couldn’t think or even breathe. Her heart all but stopped beating and she just stood there, feeling him against her, coaxing her, seducing her.

His arms pulled her close and his body pressed the length of hers, his heat overwhelming her until her knees actually went limp. His tongue teased and his lips nibbled and she couldn’t stop her mouth from opening. He swept inside, tasting and stroking and stealing her common sense for a long, heart-pounding moment.

When he finally pulled away and stared down at her, she simply stared up at him.

“I was right.”

“About what?” she said, still dazed.

“You wanted to kiss me.”

“I…” The word yes was on the tip of her tongue, but it couldn’t quite make it any further. “I’m late,” she blurted. “I—I have to get back to the paper.” She snatched up her purse and notebook and left as fast as her feet could carry her.

She needed to breathe, to think, to figure out what the heck had just happened.

It was the worst kiss of her life.

IT HAD BEEN THE WORST KISS of Paige’s entire life.

Not the kiss itself, mind you. That had been terrific. Wonderful. Stupendous. Jack Mission knew exactly how to slant his mouth just so and stroke his tongue along the length of hers and lick…

She fought down a sudden burst of heat that pebbled her nipples and made her walk faster toward the safe refuge of the newspaper office.

No, it wasn’t the kiss itself that had been so horrible. It had been her reaction to it. The wonder she’d felt, the awe, the total cluelessness. Her mind had gone completely blank and she’d been dumbfounded as to what to do next. As if Jack Mission’s kiss had been her first kiss ever.

Pathetic.

True, it was the first kiss she’d had in months, but it wasn’t the first time she’d locked lips with a man. She knew how to kiss for pity’s sake.

Okay, so she’d only kissed three men and one qualified more as a boy, but she’d had many kisses since her very first during a game of spin the bottle at a birthday party when she’d been thirteen. She’d been married, for crying out loud.

Can’t you do anything right, woman?

The question echoed through her head and brought back a wave of anxiety. For so long, she hadn’t been able to do anything right. She hadn’t been able to dress appropriately or clean good enough or cook well enough or—

Water under the bridge.

She’d started a new life and broadened her horizons. Thanks to her weekly cooking lessons, she could actually do more than boil water. She could strip her no-wax floors better than Mr. Clean himself, and she actually wore more than just jeans and oversized T-shirts.

And the kissing?

Before she could dwell on the question, she heard a voice behind her. She slowed and turned in time to see Shelby gaining on her, his hat in hand.

“Hey, Shelby.”

“I hope I’m not keeping you from something. You look like you’re in an awful hurry, but I really wanted to talk to you about something.”

“I was just headed back to finish up a story. You can walk with me.”

“That’s okay. I’ve got a load of hay to drive back to my place. This’ll just take a second. Say, you did a good two-step the other night.”

“What?”

“I saw you dancing with Jack. You did a good box waltz.”

“That’s what I was doing?” Of course it was. She would have known a box waltz anywhere.

Except with Jack Mission as her partner.

He’d pulled her close and she’d been conscious of only one thing—him.

“Look, I was thinking that maybe, if you’re not busy next Friday night…”