Beauty's Kiss Page 7
Troy heard Taylor’s voice quaver and crack before she went silent. He watched the color storm her cheeks, and then saw her bite down into her lower lip, teeth ruthless and intent.
He was quite interested in what she’d have to say next. “Yes?” he prompted.
“Maybe I could go to the Ball... with you,” she rushed and stumbled through the words, before pausing to meet his gaze, her chin lifting fractionally, almost defiantly, “if we went as just... friends.”
“Friends,” he repeated, looking at her, and trying not to obsess over the fact that her glasses were slipping down the length of her small, straight nose and he itched to lean forward and push them back up. Not because the glasses annoyed him on the tip of her nose—they didn’t—he found it quite endearing. She looked like a very young and very pretty librarian. He’d always had a thing for smart girls, book girls and here was the epitome of a smart, book girl before him.
A single, smart book girl. Who also happened to be quite level-headed, and sweet.
Well, her soft pink lips looked quite sweet. He found the bow shape of her lips incredibly appealing. They were the lips of a pin-up, not a prim librarian, and Troy wondered if she’d kiss like a pin-up, or a prim librarian. He was tempted to kiss her now just to find out.
It probably wouldn’t do.
It might just scare her off.
As it was, she wanted to be... friends.
“I would hope we’re friends,” he said pleasantly, lazily.
“Yes, but only friends,” she said, emphasizing the friends part yet again. She sat up taller, shoulders squared. “I was thinking I might enjoy the Ball if it were purely platonic between us.”
She might enjoy the ball... if it was purely platonic between them.
His lips twitched.
But she wasn’t done yet.
“Troy, you seem like a nice man, but here’s my quandary—”
“Yes. What is your quandary?” he asked.
She pushed up her glasses, and sighed. “You are Jane’s ex and I appreciate that there’s nothing between you now, but it makes me uncomfortable, knowing that you were together and that she continues to have... some feelings... for you, so it’s best that we be just friends. Nothing romantic. Which is why, if you still need a date for the Ball, I’m happy to be that date, but I just want to be sure we’re on the same page, about... romance... and things.”
“If Jane were not in the picture, would your feelings be different?” he asked, amused.
Taylor hesitated, frowned, and then tugged uneasily on her ear lobe. “I can’t say. I don’t know. No... I don’t think so. I think I’d still only want to be friends with you. I don’t think a romantic relationship would work between us.”
She was so earnest that Troy bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud. Thank goodness he’d grown up in a family of boys and had developed a healthy sense of self-esteem. He might have found her rejection bruising otherwise.
It took him a moment to gather his thoughts.
“What is it about me you don’t like?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“It’s not personal—” Taylor broke off, frowned, dragged her coffee cup and saucer closer to the edge of the table. “Well, maybe it is. And that’s not fair of me, but the fact that you and Jane have history, and the fact that Jane continues—” she broke off again, her cheeks turning pink. Her gaze fell to the table, her long black lashes dropping to hide her eyes. She pushed the saucer again. “She’s my friend, my good friend, and I don’t want to create problems for you, or her, or me.”
“Most admirable,” he said, meaning it, finding everything about Taylor interesting and refreshing. “But you do know that Jane and I were friends before we dated, and we dated briefly as an experiment—an experiment that didn’t work out—but we managed to preserve and protect our relationship, so that we continue to be good friends today.”
“How long were you... together?”
“I don’t know that you could say we were ever truly together.”
“Jane was in love with you!”
He frowned. “I know she says that—”
“You doubt her feelings?”
Troy stifled a sigh. He shouldn’t have ever gone down this path. “No, I don’t,” he said firmly. “But Jane and I only dated for a couple weeks. Two and a half. Three. For a total of five dates. I knew it wasn’t right on date one, but I liked Jane so much. I liked her fire and ambition. She’s a great girl. Smart as a whip. It was easy to spend time with her. But at the end of the day, I didn’t have... romantic… feelings for her.”
Taylor stared at him from across the table, her eyes wide, expression somber. “Then you shouldn’t have slept with her.”
Troy nearly fell off his chair. “What?”
“You should never sleep with a woman you don’t have feelings for.” Taylor’s soft full lips pressed into a hard, uncompromising line. “Women fall in love through making love. It’s a bonding thing for us. Hormones and chemicals and—”
“We never slept together,” he interrupted, his own jaw set, suddenly irritated by the direction their conversation had taken, as well as Taylor’s low opinion of him. “We never had sex. Jane and I had too much history to just jump into bed together.”
For a moment Taylor said nothing, gazing at him intently from behind her big glasses.
For the first time since they’d sat down she seemed to have nothing to say.
Good.
He was fed up with this conversation, as well as having to defend himself. He didn’t even know why he felt compelled to defend himself to a little mouse. Except for some ridiculous reason he wanted her to understand how the relationship with Jane had been. Not how Jane had wanted it to be.
“Not everybody clicks,” he said crisply, battling his impatience and annoyance. “Not every man and woman belongs together.”
He saw a flicker in her wide green-brown eyes and a tiny pulse begin to dance at the base of her throat and he wished to God he could read Taylor’s mind right now and know what she was thinking. Feeling.
Did she truly have no feelings for him at all?
Or was she that protective of Jane?
Or was she simply... scared... that they were so different?
“A relationship can’t go the distance without friendship and mutual respect,” he said, “but there must also be chemistry.”
“Chemistry,” she repeated, before chewing on the inside of her soft lower lip.
He eyed the lip, seeing how her white teeth bit down into the pink plumpness and he wished it was his mouth on hers.
If only to know if they had chemistry.
It would be such a relief if there wasn’t anything between them. It would be the best thing for both of them if he kissed her and he felt nothing... absolutely nothing.
He should kiss her and find out.
Kiss her and be done with this foolishness.
They weren’t meant for each other. Troy didn’t do long distance relationships. Troy didn’t ever intend to live in Montana again.
“You didn’t have chemistry with Jane?” Taylor asked quietly.
“No.”
She fidgeted with the small ceramic saucer. “How did you know?”
“Because when I kissed her I felt...” He shook his head, not wanting to go there, not wanting to expose Jane but he felt caught, trapped. The villain and blackheart.
“Yes?” Taylor prompted, her voice but a whisper.
“Like her cousin or brother.” He hated saying all of this aloud. He wanted to protect Jane then, and now. “She’s smart and witty and perfect... for someone else, that isn’t me.”
He drew a deep breath, feeling awful. He’d disliked breaking the news to Jane eighteen months ago, and didn’t enjoy revisiting the topic now. “I ended it quickly with her. Perhaps that was the most hurtful part. We had a great date the Saturday night before, and she was expecting another great date, but instead over dinner I told her that althou
gh I cared for her, it wasn’t going to work. Would it have been easier by text or email or voice mail? Yes. But it wouldn’t have been fair to her. I don’t lead women on. It’s never been my style.”
For a long moment Taylor studied him, her fine arched brows pulled in concentration. “So you could just be friends with me?”
“Absolutely.”
He saw relief in her eyes. And then he ruined it all by adding, “As long as I didn’t physically want you.”
Her brows shot up. Her lips pursed. “You wouldn’t want me.”
“No?”
“No. I’m not your type, and you’re not my type—”
“What is your type?”
She gestured a hand in his general direction. “None of this.”
He should be insulted. Instead he nearly choked on smothered laughter. “Why not?”
“Because we’re total opposites. We’re oil and water. We’re salt and pepper—”
“And yet all those things go so well together.”
She glared at him even as her cheeks glowed pink, a dark luscious pink that made her eyes shine and her lips look positively edible. “We won’t go together. We won’t... click.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I can feel it.”
And yet her eyes were very bright and that little pulse at the base of her throat was beating wildly. Erratically. She was very aware of him, and very much engaged in the moment. And Taylor might not admit it, might not even know it, but she was as curious about him as he was about her.
And he was very curious about her right now. About her mouth and her taste and her smell...
“Perhaps you’d feel better putting it to the test?” he drawled, smiling inwardly as her eyes sparked and her teeth came down on the bottom lip again. “That way you can rest,” he said, his blood hot in his veins, his body heavy, thick. “Relax,” he added, “reassured that you are right, and that there is... nothing... here.”
Silence followed.
The silence crackled and burned.
She licked the seam of her lips as if her mouth was suddenly too dry.
Just like that, he hardened. At thirty-five Troy Sheenan didn’t walk around with erections, or get spontaneous erections. He wasn’t aroused by merely pretty faces, either. Not anymore. Because he craved more from a woman than lips and breasts and a firm butt.
He needed more. He needed his mind engaged and his senses engaged. Like they were now.
His pulse drummed harder, faster.
She wondered if there was chemistry.
He’d bet a thousand dollars—no, five thousand dollars--there was serious chemistry here, and she was either too innocent, or too inexperienced to recognize it. But this tension, this heat, this frustrating and yet wonderful anticipation was chemistry.
“Lean forward,” he said.
“What?”
“I’m going to kiss you and see if I feel anything. If I don’t, then I can safely promise you that if you went to the ball with me, it’d just be as platonic friends.”
“But if you do?” she whispered, brows knitting.
“Then I’d probably have a difficult time just viewing you in a platonic light.”
“So we couldn’t go to the Ball.”
“Or we could, and we’d both have a lot of fun, knowing that we’re attending a very special event for Marietta, something that might not ever happen again. We’d dine and dance, and sip champagne, and I can promise you that there would be no other woman in the ballroom that I’d rather be with, than you.”
Taylor stared at him and swallowed hard.
Tired of talking, fed up with thinking and waiting, Troy leaned across the table, captured her chin in his hand, and covered her mouth with his.
Chapter Six
His mouth felt firm and cool against hers and yet somehow the pressure of his lips against hers, made her skin burn and her lips tingle.
Hot, electric darts of sensation raced through her, making her ache.
Making her want more.
Her lips parted beneath his and she felt the tip of his tongue on the inside of her lip and she nearly whimpered at the pleasure of it.
He ended the kiss, stroked his thumb across her cheek and then sat back and regarded her from beneath lowered lashes.
“Well?” Taylor whispered, amazed that a kiss could feel so good.
“I think we can be friends.”
Her heart fell. He felt no chemistry with her, and it’s what she wanted. At least, it’s what she told herself she wanted. But hadn’t she also told him the very same thing?
Taylor pressed her lips together, fighting the sudden urge to cry. “Good,” she said huskily. “That’s great news.”
“So you think you can manage the Ball?”
Her eyes felt hot and gritty and she swallowed hard. “Should I just meet you there?”
“You don’t want me to pick you up?”
“Well, if we’re just friends, it seems silly to make you leave your own hotel to come get me.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I know you don’t. You’re quite nice about things like that, and I still appreciate you taking the time to return my phone to me last night.”
“Friends do nice things for each other.”
She struggled to smile but couldn’t. Her eyes burned and her throat ached and she wanted to climb into her bed and pull her covers up over her head and cry.
And she didn’t even know why she wanted to cry. It’s not as if she liked him. It’s not as if she had any feelings for him, either...
“So I’ll pick you up,” he said after a moment. “How does five forty-five sound?”
“Good,” she said.
“Great. It’s a date.”
Troy walked Taylor back to the library parking lot. He waited until she’d safely left before he started his SUV.
He’d eaten dinner but he needed a drink.
He was staying at the Graff tonight, and he could easily get a drink there. It’d be convenient to pull up to the hotel, have valet take the car, and be done with it. He’d get served fast in the bar, too, as the staff at the hotel knew him and jumped to please him, but Troy wasn’t comfortable with all the jumping and scraping. The constant display of deference put him on edge. For God’s sake, this was Marietta, Montana and he wasn’t a Rockfeller but a Sheenan.
One didn’t bow and scrape to a Sheenan. Sheenans got into scrapes. Sheenans were tough and practical. Sure, Troy had made some money in the fifteen years since he finished college, good money, money didn’t make a man, and money certainly didn’t define him.
Troy drove down Main Street to Grey’s Saloon.
No one at Grey’s bowed and scraped. Grey didn’t tolerate airs. The only one at Grey’s Saloon with attitude was Grey himself, the surly bastard.
Troy stepped from his SUV, pocketed his keys, entered the corner building, and took a seat at the bar. Tonight it was Reese behind the counter and Reese poured Troy a shot of whiskey, neat, before giving Troy space. Good man.
Troy nursed the whiskey for a bit, welcoming the space and quiet. After a bit, Reese returned and they talked the way men liked to talk, about not much of anything, which was the best sort of conversation because it was never too personal and, therefore, never too uncomfortable. Men didn’t need to share their feelings, not like women.
“Another one?” Reese asked, approaching Troy and gesturing to his empty tumbler.
Troy nodded and slid the glass across the counter.
Taylor Harris kissed like a pin up. Her lips were soft and sweet but she kissed with heat.
There’d been serious heat in that kiss. Serious chemistry, too.
Troy hardened, remembering.
“You’re in town for the Ball,” Reese said as he placed the fresh whiskey in front of Troy.
“Yeah.”
“Who are you taking?”
Troy shifted. “Taylor Harris.”
Reese frowned. “Do I know her?”
“The librarian?” Reese shot him an amused glance. “Not your usual type.”
Troy chose not to dignify the remark. He took a long drink from his glass. The whiskey burned going down, a good kind of burn. “So are you going Friday night?” he asked Reese.
“To the Ball?” Reese shook his head. “Not my thing.”
“Apparently it’s not a lot of folks’ thing.” Troy grimaced. “Seemed like a good idea back in the Fall, but I’ve been away from Montana a long time. I’d forgotten that folks here aren’t into fancy dress balls.”
“Especially in the dead of winter.”
“Winter’s harsh this year.”
“Winter is harsh here every year.” Reese leaned against the counter behind him. “I guess it’s easy to forget the twenty below zero wind chill when you don’t even need a coat in February in San Francisco.”
“Oh, you need a coat in San Francisco. But just a thin one,” Troy retorted. He raised his glass. “To all the idealistic bastards in the world with more balls than brains.”
“The world needs idealistic bastards to balance out the assholes and realists.”
“Which one are you?”
Reese smiled darkly. “What do you think?”
“I think there’s a tender idealist buried somewhere deep inside you.” Troy grinned crookedly. “But I won’t tell anyone.”
“And I was just about to compliment you for doing a good thing here in this town.”
“The Ball?”
“The Graff.”
“Huh.”
“Marietta didn’t need the Graff, but you’ve done something this town can be proud of. And that’s a good thing.”
“Maybe you should have been my date Friday night,” Troy said, lifting his glass.
“You are pretty, but you’re not quite my type.”
Troy laughed. “I’m crushed.”
Taylor couldn’t wait for work to end Wednesday. She was looking forward to meeting up with McKenna and going dress shopping at Married in Marietta, because now Taylor needed a dress, too.