Private Affairs. Tori Carrington
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every five minutes. And the nerdy bank vice president who pushed his glasses up constantly and rarely met her gaze, and then grabbed onto her so tightly when she’d kissed him good-night that she’d been half afraid he wouldn’t let go. She’d nearly pushed him down the stairs just to get him to disconnect.
So on the date scale, Barnaby was the best match yet.
If only kissing him wasn’t like kissing her grandmother.
She made a face at the comparison and then realized that the house was too quiet. And it wasn’t just the absence of the two old biddies who had gotten her into her current mess either.
“Thor?” she called out.
No response. Which wasn’t all that unusual. If he was curled up sleepy somewhere, he’d likely stay exactly where he was.
She opened the pantry door and took out the bag of his favorite dog treats. Still no Thor.
That was odd. By now he would be panting at her feet.
She shook the bag. “Who’s been a good boy?” she called out in a lilting tone. “Who thinks they’re deserving of a goodie?” She shook the bag again.
Nothing.
Huh.
Then it dawned on her that she might have left him out back.
She unlocked the door and pulled it open. Nothing. She flicked on the back light.
“Thor?” she called into the night.
A single bark somewhere in the yard.
She grimaced and stepped onto the back porch. Please don’t let him have cornered another badger. Or, worse, another skunk. She’d bathed him three times, once in tomato juice, another in lemon juice, but nothing but time had seemed capable of ridding him of the god-awful stench. They’d kept him locked outside for two miserable days with him whining the whole night through.
“Thor, come here,” she ordered, giving an experimental sniff. Nothing but the fragrant scent of her rosebushes.
Another quiet bark.
Penelope navigated the stairs and walked up the pathway. She heard his panting before she saw him. Or, rather, saw his tail wagging where he sat inside the gazebo.
“What are you doing there?” she asked, coming up behind him.
He turned and licked her outstretched hand, then sniffed animatedly at the bag she still held.
“I have half a mind not to give you a treat because I don’t think you’ve been a very good boy.”
His tail was now little more than a blur as he picked up wagging speed and began doing his crouch and bark and run in circles treat-dance.
She laughed. “Oh, all right. Maybe just one.”
A shadow moved in the gazebo. “How about this bad boy?” a familiar voice asked. “Do you think he’s entitled to any treats?”
3
PALMER HADN’T EXPECTED her to return so soon. Had even feared she might not be alone when she did. But here she was, and there was no suspicious sheriff in tow. Which made him much luckier than he’d been earlier in the evening when he’d paid his surprise visit to his father.
“Palmer!” she whispered. “What are you doing in there?”
He grimaced. What was he doing in there, indeed? “Sitting.” He went for the obvious.
There was a long silence as the summer night sounds penetrated the thin walls of the gazebo. The structure smelled of wood and flowers, the cushions on the bench soft and accommodating.
How many times had the two of them met secretly in this very place, concealed by the shadows? A dozen times? A dozen dozen?
“Have you been here since I left?”
“No.”
Although he wished differently. His father’s reaction had hit him hard. Harder than he would have imagined it might. What man turned his own blood away from the door? Especially considering that man didn’t appear to have anyone else.
To his surprise, Penelope came inside the gazebo and sat opposite him. She was little more than a warm blur and quiet breathing, the subtle scent of jasmine tempting his thoughts … elsewhere.
“That was a short date,” he commented.
He heard her soft laugh. “Yes. It was.”
“I hope I didn’t ruin things.”
She shifted, leaning back against the cushions. “Why is it that I doubt that?”
“Maybe because you always did know me better than I gave you credit for.”
He heard her swallow. “Not as well as I’d hoped, it appears.”
The words were said so quietly he nearly didn’t hear them.
While years separated tonight from the last time they’d shared the gazebo, it seemed as if it could have been yesterday. Not because of what he said, or she did. But because of the way he felt.
Palmer planted his forearms on his thighs and joined his hands between his knees. The movement put him within touching distance of Penelope. He waited to see if she’d move away or stay put. He knew a little thrill when she stayed put.
It was odd, the … need he felt for her. Even now. Time and space and maturity had made him believe that what he remembered was kid stuff. A major crush. A hormonally induced love.
But that theory no longer held water. Because right now he felt just as needy as he had back then. Perhaps even more so. All he wanted to do was reach over and haul her into his lap. Claim that mouth of hers with his. Lay his hand against her soft breast. Hear her sigh in his ear.
He cleared his throat. “I went to visit my father tonight.”
He swore he could feel her gaze probing his face in the dark.
“I know I should have gone before now … He’d heard I was back …”
He ran his hands through his hair and then returned to clutching them between his knees.
“He pretended not to know me and closed the door.”
She made a small sound he interpreted as surprise.
Palmer squinted in her direction although he couldn’t really see her. “Is it possible that he didn’t recognize his own blood?”
Penelope knew of his awkward at best, animosity-filled at worst, relationship with his father going way back. In fact, she was the only one who’d known outside his own mother. He’d told her all about it. Well, not everything.
“I knew who you were instantly,” she whispered.
Thank God for that, he thought. He didn’t know what he would have done had he faced rejection twice in one night.
Then again, if it weren’t for Penelope’s suggestion that he see his father, he might never have gone over there.
“So why do you think he did it?” he asked.
She made another small sound, but this time not because of what he’d said, but because he’d stretched his fingers and the tips were touching her knees. The hem of her dress fell just above, leaving him free to feel her warm skin.
And she was warm … And soft … And inviting …
God help him, but he wanted her so badly he hurt.
“Palmer … please …”
His hands drifted upward as if on their own accord, tunneling under the material.
Penelope gasped and trapped them with hers.
He