Making It Right. Kathy Altman
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speak geek.”
“I used to work for a software development firm.” Why did you go there?
“I don’t have my keys,” she added quickly. “I was about to break the news to Eugenia.”
“No need.” He dangled a braided plastic key ring. “Eugenia and I exchanged keys when she first opened her store. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you hung on to this until you find yours.”
“Thank you,” Kerry breathed, and offered an apologetic nod as she took the key ring. “That’s twice you’ve rescued me tonight.”
“I don’t think you were in any danger of freezing to death.”
“I meant back at the bar, when you saved me from demolishing Snoozy’s entire supply of hurricane glasses.” She grimaced. “Three martini glasses and a brandy snifter weren’t quite so lucky. That’s why he sent me home early. I think he was afraid if I stayed, I’d start working my way through the liquor bottles.”
“He didn’t fire you, did he?”
The alarm in his voice touched her. “No,” she said. “But he probably should have.”
When she shuddered, he mistook it for cold. “You should go in.”
Yes. She should. She didn’t want to, but she should. She forced herself to take a step away from the car, then another, until finally she turned and started toward the metal staircase that led up to the second-story apartment.
He followed. “Sorry you had such a rough day.” Something about the way he said it...
She paused at the bottom of the stairs. “You, too?”
“Let’s just say that ten minutes ago, I was seriously considering heading back to the bar. For another beer, I mean,” he added hastily.
She snorted. “You’d have probably had to drink it out of a to-go cup.”
When she made to shrug out of his jacket, he stopped her with a quick squeeze of her forearm. “Why don’t you wait till we get to the top? Sometimes the key sticks.”
Kerry managed a nod and led the way up, her palms going slick as she grew overly aware of the brush of his jacket’s sleeves across the bare skin of her arms, the chill of the night air soothing her blush, his solidness at her back.
Would he kiss her?
When they reached the top of the stairs, she unlocked the door and turned to face him. “Thank you for looking out for me,” she said huskily.
“Don’t even. It was my pleasure.” He lifted an arm, but by the time she realized he was only gesturing her over the threshold, she was already stepping in for a hug.
She slid her arms around his waist and pressed her forehead to his chest. A telltale cylindrical bump revealed the presence of a pen in his shirt pocket and she almost laughed out loud. Or maybe that was from the pleasure of touching him.
Not that she should be touching him. But God, it felt good. His back was warm and hard beneath her palms, his chest a tantalizing sanctuary of firm muscle over bone. He smelled like sunshine and maple syrup, and it kicked off a hunger that had nothing to do with pancakes.
For long seconds his arms hung awkwardly. Then he raised his hands to her shoulder blades. She fought the need to free one of her own hands and press it to her heart, where an actual ache had set in. Instead she lifted her head and nestled against his throat. His skin was cool from the night air, and the almost irresistible urge to taste him left her trembling. The ache had spread, traveling east and west to her nipples, which were smashed enticingly against his chest, and south to her belly. The ache was seriously considering venturing even lower, where a dangerous heat had already started to build. The attraction was one part physical, one part remedial and two parts situational.
Free. She was free.
Free to find herself unable to let go of him.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “This feels good.”
Good? This was pure bliss.
“You can say that again,” he rumbled, and this time the cylindrical shape pressing against her was not an inanimate object.
A thrill shot through her. At the same time she shoved back a step and ran a self-conscious hand through her hair. “Pathetic, I know, but I don’t remember the last time someone hugged me.”
“So what you’re saying is, nothing personal?”
“How can it be?” she said lightly. She hunched her shoulders under his jacket, suddenly wishing she could keep it. A flash of brass gleamed as the zipper caught the light. “We just met.”
“I’m glad we did.”
The conviction in his voice pushed her back another step. “I won’t be in Castle Creek for long.” She reached behind her and swept a hand up the wall. Light from inside the apartment illumined the stark need on his face and she went still. An answering need surged into her chest, like the foam of a poorly poured Guinness, and she pushed the words out before she could second-guess them. “But I’ll be here long enough to share a drink with you before you go back across the street. You know, to toast the end of what has been a sucky day for us both.”
“That’s not much of a trade.” His words were all grumble, but the low-pressure kind.
“It could be,” she said archly. “I mean, it depends on what’s in the fridge.”
He laughed out loud, then shot her a curious glance. “Wait, you don’t know what’s in your own fridge?”
“I just moved in today. I never had the chance to look.”
“Knowing Eugenia, there’s probably enough provisions in there to last a month. She likes to be prepared.”
“We could check it out together,” she said, not quite managing a casual tone. “Or if you need to go now, I’ll make sure the next time you’re here I can tell you exactly what’s on offer.”
He lifted an eyebrow.
“To drink,” she added. She was too distracted to be embarrassed because, of course, there wouldn’t be a next time. Living in an everyone-knows-your-name location like Castle Creek guaranteed it wouldn’t be long before he’d heard every last detail of her sordid story. Was she so wrong to want to savor each moment before he did?
“I could definitely use something wet,” he said.
It was Kerry’s turn to laugh out loud. “Then follow me.” She winked. “To the kitchen.”
“That’s as good a place as any.”
With a shake of her head, Kerry led him through the living room and dining room to the kitchen, which overlooked both the side parking lot and the street. Their teasing had diffused the tension. She would offer the man a drink, share a few more laughs with him and send him on his way. Yes, being in his arms had helped ease the relentless ache of her father’s rejection, but using him to temporarily forget her problems was not the way to go about rehabilitating herself.
“This is great,” he said behind her. “My space seems bigger, but maybe that’s because—” He stopped.
Kerry turned and leaned back against the refrigerator, the immaculate white enamel cold and unyielding against her spine. She tipped her head as he hesitated in the kitchen doorway. “Because you’re lonely?”
They stared at each other across the small space. Gil’s jaw had gone tight, his narrowed gaze focused on Kerry’s face. Her breathing got desperate and his gaze dropped to her chest. Color invaded his cheeks and a shimmering warmth flooded her belly.
Something shifted in the sink—the spoon she’d used for coffee, maybe—and the sudden metallic clatter had the effect of a starter pistol on Gil. He was across the room in two strides and shoving his