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.
3
HE 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
