and a jacket. That should cover it.”
“Did the jacket go with a suit?” Beverly quirked a salon-arched brow.
“Well, yes.”
She shook her head, clearly annoyed with the son she’d just venerated. “He knows better.” Her eyes gleamed as she nodded. “An entire suit and blouse. I raised him better than that.”
Natalie almost felt sorry for Beau Stillwell. And then she thought about him dragging her out to Belle Terre as if she didn’t have anything better to do than his bidding on a construction project and offered Beverly her brightest smile.
Chapter 7
NATALIE PULLED INTO the circular drive fronting Belle Terre and parked her minivan next to Beau’s truck. She drew a deep, steadying breath. She was being ridiculous. It was just his lousy truck—granted, she’d had a heck of a good time in that front seat as recently as last night—and her heart was galloping in her chest. She couldn’t seem to stop herself from a quick glimpse in the rearview mirror to check hair and makeup. No mascara smears, no oily spots on her face—blotting papers were a beautiful thing—and her lip gloss was fine. She smoothed down a spot where her hair was sticking up. Good to go.
She climbed out of the car and approached the house. It was imposing and, if she was totally honest, a little scary. While beautiful, there was an air of melancholy about it, but then again, how many generations had loved, lived, cried and died here? How could a place that had once held people in captivity as slaves to a master know anything but melancholy, despite the laughter that must have spilled from the shuttered windows that opened to the soaring, columned porch?
Beau opened the front door—apparently waiting on her to show up, she noted—and all philosophical and esoteric thought fled in light of her purely physical response to six foot plus of dark-haired, blue-eyed, well-muscled man in jeans, T-shirt and work boots. What had happened to her penchant for suits and ties? Gone. System bypassed in favor of hot and rugged standing with splayed legs in the doorway. Sweet, hot, immediate desire flooded her.
“You’re here,” he said, his dark-lashed eyes sweeping her, touching her in a way that left her breathless.
She marched past him into the foyer. “I am.” She strove to bring some semblance of detachment to the situation. She turned to face him, opting for the direct approach. “Now why don’t you tell me why I’m really here? You could have a high-school kid help you and they’d be more adept at this than me.”
Those eyes flickered over her again and it was a replay of the scene in The Libertine when just one look from Johnny Depp and she was ready to crawl naked across the floor for him. “But you’re the one with the insight into what Caitlyn wants done,” he went on. “And after you—how was it exactly—oh, right, drove me beyond the point of desperate with those kisses…you really didn’t leave me any choice, did you?”
She knew the moment that came out of her mouth she’d regret saying it. And she could only blame her lack of self-control on him. He was the culprit. There was something about him. He got under her skin. Wanting to crawl naked across a floor for him was a perfect case in point. She was good with crawling naked across the floor but not for him. She scrambled for some measure of sanity.
“I shouldn’t have said that. Occasionally, my mouth runs away with me. And about the other, I’ve been thinking—”
He interrupted. “The other?”
She was altogether too, too aware that it was her and him alone in an empty house and to stand about throwing the word kiss or kissing around seemed dangerous territory. Couldn’t they address the issue in a nice civilized roundabout manner? “You know what I mean.”
He closed the front door with a final, resounding click. He approached her with a measured, intent tread, and her pulse hammered. “You’ve got to speak clearly and slowly for us he-man types who are more brawn than brains, sugar.” He held out broad, masculine hands, palms up, as if for her inspection, approval. “These hands have calluses.”
In less than a second, she was imagining the erotic scrape of those calluses against her sensitive nipples, down her body, between her legs. Pathetically, that sent a shiver through her and a rush of liquid warmth between her thighs.
“Kissing.” Brief and to the point, and still the mere mention with him right in front of her left her tingling and aroused because her mind had taken her far, far beyond a mere merging of lips and tongues.
“Oh. That other.” He grinned, an evil, wicked, I’d-like-to-seduce-you-right-out-of-your-panties grin that set her heart knocking against her ribs. He dropped his gaze to her mouth. “I’m all for it.”
Good lord, she’d like to back him up against that door and eat him alive—especially when he looked at her like that. She grasped at the last few threads of sanity, reminding herself she was here to move this wedding forward and not to make out with Caitlyn’s big sexy brother. “Well, I’m not.”
His slow smile slid devastatingly up and down her spine. “Now you’re making me feel inadequate as a man.” Uh-huh. And there really was a Santa Claus. “I could’ve sworn you liked it.”
If ever a man needed taking down a peg or two, she was looking at his wicked sexy self. “It was…” She tilted her head to one side and pretended to search for a description. She deliberately brightened, as if suddenly enlightened. “Adequate.” She was dancing close to the flames again but she couldn’t seem to help it.
“Oh, hell no.” He shook his head. “I have standards and adequate isn’t one of them.” He took a step toward her and his slow, sexy smile spread a sweet heat of anticipation through her. “We’re gonna have to work on this until we’ve passed adequate.”
No, no and no. Kissing him had been like setting a blowtorch to a marshmallow inside her. She’d never been one to hop in bed with a guy, but Beau seemed to knock every aspect of her off course. She had a sinking feeling that a little more kissing, she’d be hard-pressed to keep her legs together and her panties on. And that was an understatement. She was about two seconds from she wasn’t exactly sure what, but it was dangerous.
She stepped back.
“You’ll have to practice with someone else. I’m sure you won’t have any problem locating a partner—” or two or ten, she thought, recalling the two women who’d stopped by post-race “—but it’s not me. No more kissing.”
He frowned in mock consternation, a wicked gleam in his bedroom-blue eyes. “Now that puts me in a downright awkward position, baby girl.”
God, she was certifiably losing her mind because she found his baby girl incredibly sexy. “How is that awkward? Awkward is carrying on when we’re supposed to be working.”
He reached out and tilted her chin up with his fingertip. One touch—just his fingertip against her skin rendered her breathless. “I suppose I need clarification…Surprised you with that fancy word, didn’t I? Do I go with this or do I kiss you when you ask me to?”
She pushed his hand away. “That’s easy to answer…because I won’t be asking.”
“Right. You do like to take matters into your own hands.” For one moment she was mortified that he knew he’d inspired her to fire up her vibrator last night. Then she
