Jill Shalvis - The Sweetest Thing

There were a couple of gasps from the others, and several “oh my’s” mixed in with a single, heartfelt “good Lord,” prompting him to look down at himself.

Nope, he wasn’t having the naked-in-public dream again. He was awake and wearing his favorite basketball shorts-admittedly slung a little low on the hips but covering the essentials-and running shoes, no socks.

No shirt, either. He’d forgotten to replace the one he’d stripped off. “Hey,” he said in greeting.

“What are you doing?” Tara asked, her voice soft and Southern and dialed to Not Happy to See Him.

And yet interestingly enough, she was looking at him like maybe he was a twelve-course meal and she hadn’t eaten in a week.

He’d take that, Ford decided, and he’d especially take the way her breathing had quickened. “I have a gift for you from Lucille.”

At the sight of the small wood box, Tara went still, then came around the table to take it.

“It looks just like the one we lost,” she murmured, opening it. When she looked inside, a flash of disappointment came and went in her eyes, so fast Ford nearly missed it.

“What?” he asked, ignoring everyone else on the deck as he took a step toward her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Tara clutched the box to her chest and shook her head. “It’s just that we lost the original in the fire. It was filled with Phoebe-isms.”

“Phoebe-isms?”

“My mom. She’d written these little… tidbits of advice, I guess you’d call them, for me and my sisters over the years. Things like ‘A glass of wine is always the solution, even if you aren’t sure of the problem.’ ”

The four women at the table, each of whom had known and loved Phoebe, laughed softly, fondly.

Ford had a soft spot for Phoebe as well. She’d been in Lucille’s “gang” and one of Ford’s best customers at the bar. As he smiled at the memory, Tara did that pretend-not-to-look-at-his-bare-chest thing again, then quickly turned away.

Interesting reaction for someone who’d exerted a lot of energy and time over the past months not noticing him.

“Get him a chair, honey,” one of the women said-Rani, the town librarian.

Tara turned to Ford, panic growing in her eyes at the thought of him hanging around.

Yet another interesting reaction. “Ford can’t stay,” she said, eyes locked on his. “He’s… busy. Very busy. I’m sure he doesn’t have time to bother with our little meeting.”

“I’m not that busy,” Ford said, looking around the table. Each woman had an assortment of plates in front of her, filled with what looked like delicious desserts that Tara must have baked at the diner since the inn’s kitchen wasn’t yet functioning.

They looked good, real good.

There was also wine, mostly gone now, and everyone but Tara was looking pretty darn relaxed for a meeting. “Besides,” he said, “this looks more like a party.”

“It’s the Garden Society.” Tara was still blocking his way from moving farther onto the deck. “The ladies here were gracious enough to come and sample some snacks that I hope to have available for our inn guests upon request.”

His belly stirred, reminding him he’d skipped lunch. “I’m an excellent taster,” he said with his most charming smile.

“But you’re so busy,” Tara said, with her most charming smile, although her eyes were saying Don’t You Dare.

“Aw, but I’m never too busy for you.” Ford had no idea why he was baiting her. Maybe because she’d spent so much time pretending he didn’t exist, and this was much more fun. Plus there was the added benefit that he knew her Southern manners wouldn’t allow her to say what she really wanted to, not in front of company, anyway. Heaven forbid we be rude in front of guests.

Tara was now giving him the look that assured him that she was indeed imagining wrapping her fingers around his neck. He smiled wider. He couldn’t help it. For the first time in too damn long, he was feeling alive. Very alive.

Admitting defeat with her usual good grace, Tara never let her smile falter as she shifted to the railing, where she had supplies stacked up. She grabbed a spare plate and loaded it with her goodies before wrapping it in foil.

Ford was getting the to-go version.

“He looks thirsty, too, Tara,” Rani said.

Ford loved Rani.

“Yes, dear,” another of the women said. “Pour the poor, overworked man a glass of tea. You don’t let a man of this caliber drink from a garden hose.”

“Thank you, Ethel,” Ford murmured, and since he was watching Tara’s arresting face, he saw the flicker of surprise cross her features. Yes, he knew Ethel, too. She ran the Rec Center. She’d been there when, twenty years ago now, he’d hit a baseball through her office window, nearly decapitating her. Good times.

“Please stay,” Ethel said to Ford, and patted an empty chair right next to hers.

“But he’s not dressed for this,” Tara said, once again eyeing Ford’s bare chest. Her pupils dilated. “There are health codes, and-”

“We won’t tell.” This from Sandy, the town clerk and city manager of Lucky Harbor. “Besides, we’re outside. He’s dressed just perfect.”

Sandy had gone to school with Ford. She’d been class president, head cheerleader, and a lot of fun. Ford smiled at her.

She returned it with a saucy wink. “My sister’s husband is looking into buying a boat,” she told him. “A fixer-upper. I told her that I’d ask your opinion.”

“It’s a good time,” Ford told her. “The market’s down so you could get a deal. If he wants my help working on it, have him call me.”

“A man who can wield a set of tools and read the market,” Rani said on a dreamy sigh.

“Yes,” Tara said, grinding her back teeth together as she looked at Ford. “Bless your heart.”

She didn’t mean it, of course, which only made him smile again. Sure, her voice was all gentle and soft, but her real feelings were visible if you knew her.

And whether she wanted to believe it or not, Ford knew her. He knew she wanted to knock him into next week.

“A moment?” Tara requested sweetly.

“Sure,” he said just as sweetly as he leaned back against the railing and got comfy.

“Alone.”

And then, without waiting for an answer, she dropped his foiled to-go goodies into a pretty bag, poured one of the glasses full of iced tea, and walked right past him, hips swinging with attitude, inside the inn.

Clearly assuming he’d follow.

He watched her go, enjoying the view, but he didn’t move. He wasn’t much into being bossed around, even by an incredibly beautiful woman who was anal retentive and a bit of a control freak.

Well, unless they were in bed. He didn’t mind then, not as long as he got to return the favor.

But there was something about Tara that drew him in spite of himself, that snagged him by the throat and held tight. Maybe it was the tough-girl exterior, which he knew barely covered a bruised and tender heart. He’d seen that heart once, and truth be told he wasn’t all that interested in going back there. But he wouldn’t mind seeing her other parts.

He couldn’t help it. She had really great parts.

And he wanted that cold iced tea, bad. Almost as much as he wanted…

Her, he realized grimly. Against all caution and sanity, he wanted her. So he followed her inside the inn.

Tara waited in the freshly painted hallway off the inn’s large, open living room with what she felt was admirable calm until finally, a half-naked Ford slowly strode inside.

Not hurrying.

Of course not. Ford never hurried when he could saunter. He never rushed a damn thing in his life. The big, sexy lug moved when and where he wanted.

She knew she was just damn lucky he’d decided to move at all. He was unpredictable.

Spontaneous.

Not to be confused with uncontrolled. Because Ford, for all his sense of humor and smart-ass-ness, was one of the most controlled people Tara had ever met. It was one of the few things they had in common. She did her best to keep her eyes on his, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. She’d seen him without a shirt before, of course. But it’d been a while.

Watching her watch him, he reached out and played with the lace on her collarbone. “Why are you always dressed like you’re going to a business meeting?”

“I am at a business meeting. Sort of.” She paused and admitted the truth. “But mostly I wear dresses or skirts because I don’t have a good butt in jeans.”

With a laugh, Ford stepped close, so close that she could smell the ocean on him. He was salty and tangy, and so indelibly male that Tara almost closed the last inch between them simply so that she could lick him like a lollipop. Just one lick, she told herself, from sternum to the very low waistband of the basketball shorts…

His eyes lit with wickedness, as if he knew her secret longings, but he said nothing as he leaned over her shoulder to view her backside.

Ford Walker, Resident Butt Inspector.

“Looks fine from here,” he assured her in a low, husky voice that scraped at every single erogenous zone she owned. “Damned fine.” He paused. “Maybe I should give it a hand test to be sure.” Before she could say a word, he slid a hand down her spine, heading south with wicked and nefarious intent.

With a shocked laugh, she shoved him away. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“So,” he said, recovering far faster than she. “Still constipated?”

Tara choked. “What?”

Ford lifted a broad shoulder and unsuccessfully bit back a smile. “After the other day, it got around town that you were having troubles.”

“ ‘Got around town,’ ” she repeated faintly and closed her eyes to count to ten. For peace and Zen.

Neither made an appearance.

“I think Lucille tweeted it, and it ended up on Facebook,” he said, amusement heavy in his voice. “She took the opportunity to put up a recipe to fix the problem. You take a few plums, pit them, get a blender and-”

“I’m not-” Tara broke off, glancing through the inn to the sliding glass door before purposely lowering her voice. “Constipated!”

“You sure?”

“Very!”

He grinned, and she felt conflicting reactions-her brain melting, and steam coming out her ears.

How could this be? How could he drive her so insane and make her want him with equal intensity? She didn’t understand, she really didn’t. “Here,” she said and thrust the glass of iced tea and the bag of desserts at him. “And you should know, regarding your friend request the other day at the music fest, I’ve thought about it. Us.” Fact was, she’d done nothing but think about it. But they’d failed once. More like crashed and burned, spectacularly, and she shook her head. “I can’t go there again, Ford.” The last time had nearly destroyed her. Only he seemed to have the power to do that, and she wouldn’t, couldn’t, let it happen again.

“I didn’t ask you to go there again,” he said.

She met his gaze, his giving nothing away, and she flushed because he was right. He hadn’t asked her to fall in young, crazy love; he’d only suggested they have sex. Very different. “That’s an equally bad idea. You know it, and I know it. Now please go.”

“You’re big on that word,” he noted. “ ‘Go.’ ”

His was a not-so-subtle rebuke, and an unpleasant reminder of their past. And she resented like hell that he was throwing it in her face. By leaving as she had, she’d done him the biggest favor of his life. And not for one minute did she believe he hadn’t been thrilled to see the last of her, given how she’d turned his life upside down. He certainly hadn’t chased after her. He’d just let her go. The painful memories reared up and bit her, making her voice tight. “We are not doing this now, Ford.”

“Fine. Later then.”

“Never.”

“Never is a long time,” he said evenly, calmly, and since she couldn’t find her even or calm to save her life, it pissed her off. That he could be so relaxed through this conversation made her fingers itch to pour the tea right over his damn sexy head. Two things stopped her. One, he’d be half-naked and wet, and watching the iced tea drip down that bronzed chest, with its barely there spattering of sun-kissed hair and six-pack abs, might just be too much for her to take. And that was just his upper half. Lord almighty, if his basketball shorts got wet, they’d cling to all his glory.

And there was a lot of glory.

The second problem, the real problem, was that dumping the tea over his head would show her hand to him, because she could make no mistake with Ford. He might look and act like a frat boy with no concerns beyond the next good time, but she knew better. Behind that lazy smile was a mind as sharp as a tack. She thrust the goodie bag and the glass at him.