was hers, until she tried to get him to sit up, and then stand. He was heavy and sleepy and wobbly, but he put his arm around her when she told him to and she managed to lead him across the grassy park and across the street. There were lights on in most of the houses that lined the residential end of West Beaumont Street. They crossed Comstock without any problem, though Jess was a large man and Lorna was beginning to wonder if she had made a mistake in her plan of action. Screaming herself hoarse yelling for help might have been better than risking a broken back.
By the time she coaxed him up the three stairs to the front porch of her aunt’s narrow yellow house, Jess had begun to walk under his own power.
“Where are we?” he asked when she settled him against the front of the house so she could get the key out of her pocket and unlock the front door.
“My house.” She swung the door open and urged him to enter the living room.
“Why?”
“Because I couldn’t leave you there in the park,” she explained as she turned on a light. “Not after everything you did.”
“Oh.” He looked confused.
“How’s your head feeling?”
“I’ll live.”
“I hope so.” She smiled up at him. “I didn’t know if I should take you to the hospital. I’d be glad to drive you home now if you’ll tell me where you live.”
He frowned and felt the back of his neck, then looked around the curtainless living room. Boxes were stacked neatly against the walls and the wood floor was bare. “Are you coming or going?”
“I just moved in,” she said, and would have explained about her aunt and her job and probably blabbed the complete unabridged story of her life, but Jess began to sway again. She caught him before he toppled over, then hurried him to the bedroom off the living area, a room she hadn’t had a chance to paint, and the only bed in the tiny house. Thank goodness she’d had time to make it this morning before leaving for the park.
“Sorry,” he managed to say. “The wedding—the whiskey—” He stared at her as she pushed him backward against the pillows. “Funny hair,” he muttered, touching one of the loose tendrils that had fallen on her cheek when she bent over. “Who are you?”
“Lorna,” she replied. “And we may have to go to the hospital after all to get your head examined.”
He grinned at her, making him look devilishly handsome and causing Lorna’s heart to beat a tiny bit faster. “Honey, do I look crazy to you?”
He looked as if he belonged there, was her first thought. And then she caught herself. “You look like a man who has had too much to drink. Sleep it off and I’ll drive you home later.”
“Home,” he repeated, then yawned. “Good idea,” was the last thing he said before leaning back against the pillows and closing his eyes.
Lorna watched him for a moment and then decided he was asleep and would likely stay that way until she woke him to take him home. And she’d wake him, all right, as soon as she scrubbed off the barbecue sauce and washed her hair. She may have had a big crush on Jess Sheridan, star football player of the Marysville Marauders, when she was thirteen. She may have worshipped the rugged sheriff’s deputy who didn’t give her a speeding ticket the first day she got her driver’s license, and she may have even secretly hoped that Jess wouldn’t marry snippy Sue Miller, who didn’t deserve him, and instead would notice that the girl down the street had grown up.
But she didn’t expect him to remember her, even if tonight he was actually in her bed. Aunt Carol would roll over in her grave at the very idea, since the elderly woman hadn’t exactly thought a whole lot of men and had held very loud opinions on the kind of women who took men into their beds before their wedding days.
“Well, Aunt Carol,” Lorna explained aloud as she headed toward the bathroom, “I’m sorry, but I didn’t know what else to do with him.”
HIS OWN SNORING woke him up. That, and the pain throbbing at the back of his neck. Jess opened his eyes and expected to be in his motel room, but his motel room didn’t smell like vanilla and hadn’t been shared with a woman. And there was definitely a woman curled up in the bed beside him. He was afraid to move for fear of waking her up, but his eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness and he saw a faint light at the other end of the room that he hoped led to a bathroom.
He lifted the sheet and saw that he was fully dressed, which only added to his confusion. When he slid out of the bed, he knocked over his boots. The noise didn’t appear to bother the woman, though. She lay curled away from him, long curly hair covering most of her face, her body relaxed and quiet.
Jess managed to find the bathroom and, realizing he smelled like someone had spilled booze all over him, took advantage of the pink-tiled shower and some vanilla-scented soap. He found mouthwash on the counters, towels in a narrow closet behind the door, and aspirin in the medicine cabinet above the sink. And since he didn’t know where he was and didn’t particularly care about it in the middle of the night, Jess went back to the bedroom—and found the sleeping woman sprawled across his side of the bed.
Who was she? He remembered a wedding. Jake’s wedding. But he was a little fuzzy about the rest of the day and night leading up to being in bed with a beautiful blonde. He wasn’t sure whether or not to untie the pink bath towel from around his waist and climb into bed with her, or if he should put his clothes back on and get the hell out of town.
If he knew what town he was in. The throbbing in his head lessened, but Jess figured he was better off staying where he was, which—before he woke—was in bed with Blondie here, if he could get back into it without waking her up.
His body definitely awakened the moment he touched her. Oh, he didn’t mean to make getting into bed an erotic experience, but he couldn’t explain that to the part of his body that reacted the moment he kneeled on the bed and attempted to scoot Blondie over a couple of inches. She moved easily, curling on her side again. She wore something soft, something with little flowers on it, and her arms were bare.
And her skin was soft. So soft that Jess dropped his towel on the floor and decided that the woman—whoever she was—must have invited him here, into her bed, and he damn well was not putting his jeans back on. He’d be a gentleman—or die trying—but he wasn’t going to be uncomfortable. He’d never be able to get his pants over his erection now anyway.
Jess adjusted the pillows, slid under the soft, clean sheet and tried to get comfortable in the small bed. Trouble was, the woman’s bottom curved against his thigh. And he had no place for his right hand, unless he put it over his head.
It wasn’t easy to relax, and when the woman turned over and pressed her nose into his rib cage, relaxing became downright impossible.
“Honey,” he muttered, lowering his arm in an attempt to move her before she tickled him again. His fingers touched soft curls and ended up brushing them off her face. And what a face. Skin as soft as flower petals, delicate bone structure, lips soft against his body. Jess didn’t know what to do with her, but his body was sure trying to explain it to him.
Selfish bastard. His ex-wife’s words mocked him. Was it selfish to seduce a sleeping woman? He’d tried it—once—with Sue and had been thoroughly chewed out for it the next morning. No, he decided, removing his hand from Blondie’s silky hair. He’d keep his hands—and
