Jill Shalvis: The Sweetest Thing

“Are you buttering me up?”

“Trying.” He smiled. “Is it working?”

“No.” Yes . Dammit.

Through the sliding glass door, she could still hear the ladies chattering amongst themselves, and she kept her voice as low as possible. “Just drink up. You looked parched, and I don’t want you passing out.”

“Aw. You care.”

Yes. But caring wasn’t the problem, for either of them. Longevity was. His. She was no longer seventeen and looking for a good time. She wanted more. Certainly more than Ford was looking to give. She knew him, or at least she was pretty sure she did. She’d read about him over the years and followed his career. For the six months she’d been in Lucky Harbor, she’d paid attention to his current life as well.

He’d grown up, there was no doubt. Once upon a time, he’d been headed for trouble but he’d gotten it together. He was a good man who was doing exactly as he wanted for a living and making it work for himself. But he was still content to live his life c’est la vie , to let the cards fall where they might, not all that interested in keeping anything, or anyone, long term.

And then there was her real stumbling block. They’d already had their chance and had missed it. End of story. “I don’t want to make Lucky Harbor’s Facebook page again,” she said. “We don’t need that kind of publicity.”

“You care,” he repeated softly.

She paused, but there was no reason not to admit it when he’d always been able to read both her heart and her soul like a book. Once, he’d seen everything she was, and he’d made her feel like the most beautiful, love-worthy woman on the planet-at least as much as a seventeen-year-old could feel. “Yes,” she said softly. “I care.”

He looked at her for a long moment, clearly surprised at the admission. Then he broke eye contact and downed the iced tea she’d given him in approximately two huge swallows. Letting out a heartfelt sigh of appreciation, he smiled down at her from his towering height as he handed back the glass.

Which was another thing. She wasn’t petite. She was five-seven in her bare feet, but today she was wearing three inch heels, and she still felt small next to Ford.

Small and… feminine. “Okay, then.” Tara set the glass aside and turned him toward the front door, ignoring the way her hands tingled at the feel of his biceps beneath her fingers, hard and warm. “This has been fun,” she said. “But buh-bye now.”

“What’s your hurry? Afraid you’ll be unable to keep from having your merry way with me?”

Since that was far too close to the truth for comfort, she nudged him again, a little harder now. “ Shh! If the women hear you talk like that, I’m going to blame you.”

“Not my fault. You’re the one who can’t keep her hands off me.”

She looked down and realized her fingers were indeed still on him, practically stroking him. Crap . She snatched her hands back and searched for her dignity, but there was little to be found. “I didn’t say it would be your fault. I said I’d blame you.”

He laughed. “Since when do you care what anyone thinks of you?”

“Since I want to impress these women-all of whom have connections and will hopefully send their family and friends here to the inn. So please. Please , Ford, you have to go. You can mess with my head another time, I swear.”

From outside on the deck, the women were still talking and their voices drifted in. “Lord alive,” someone said, possibly Ethel. “I’m still having a hot flash. If this inn comes with that man walking around like that, I’ll shout recommendations for this place from the rooftops.”

Ford’s gaze met Tara’s, and he slowly raised a brow.

“Oh, for God’s sake.” She gave up trying to push him out. “It’s your damn body, that’s all!”

“I have charm, too,” he cajoled. “Let me back out there, Tara. It’ll help, you’ll see.”

And here was the thing she knew about Ford. He never made pie-crust promises. His word was as good as money in the bank. If he said he’d help, he would.

She could trust him.

Problem was, she couldn’t trust herself.

Not even a little bit. Leaning back against the wall, she covered her eyes, thinking that not looking at him might help clear her thoughts.

Except that he planted a hand on the wall next to her head and leaned in.

“Stop that,” she said weakly when he leaned close. “You’re all…” Delicious . “Sweaty.”

He sidled up even closer, so that their bodies were brushing against each other. “You used to love it when I got all sweaty.”

Oh yeah. Yeah, she had. She’d loved the way their bodies had heated and clung together. She’d loved how they’d moved together, she’d loved…“That was a damn long time ago,” she said, ruthlessly reminding herself how it’d ended.

Badly.

Eyes holding hers prisoner, Ford remained against her for an interminable beat before finally taking a slow step back, still far too close for comfort.

She busied herself by grabbing the empty glass and striding back out onto the deck to refill it. She smiled at her guests and said, “I’ll just be one more moment.”

“Take your time, honey,” someone replied. “I certainly would.”

Doing her best not to grimace, Tara once again entered the cool interior of the inn.

Ford was almost at the front door, but he turned when she said his name. She watched the surprise cross his face when he took in the refilled tea. He moved back toward her and never took his gaze off her face as he accepted the glass.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because you looked like you’re still thirsty.”

His mouth quirked. “Thanks. But that’s not what I meant.”

Tara exhaled in an attempt to hold it together. No, she knew that. “You make me forget my manners. I hate that.”

“Can’t have you without your manners.” He ran his fingers over her jaw, his eyes at half-mast as he took in her expression. “You ever remember it, Tara? Us?”

She’d done little but remember. Her emotions had long ago been shoved deep down, but being back in Lucky Harbor had cracked her self-made brick walls, and all those messy, devastating emotions came tumbling down every single time she looked at him.

She’d first arrived in town, a pissed-off-at-the-world seventeen-year-old, banished here by her father and her paternal grandparents for the summer, and she’d resented everything about Lucky Harbor.

Until her second night.

She’d had a simple but particularly nasty fight with her mother. Tara hadn’t known Phoebe well, which hadn’t helped. The fight had sent Tara sulking off to the marina, where she’d run smack into another seventeen-year-old. A tall, laid-back, easygoing, sexy-as-hell Ford Walker.

He’d been sprawled out on one of his boats, hands behind his head, watching the stars as if he didn’t have a care in the world. One slow, lazy smile and an offer of a soda had pretty much been all it’d taken for her to fall, and fall hard.

He hadn’t been like the guys back home. He hadn’t been a rancher’s kid or a cowboy. Not an intellectual or the typical jock, either.

Ford had been the bad boy and the good-time guy all in one, and effortlessly sexy. He’d drawn her right in, making her laugh when she hadn’t had much to laugh at. His eyes had sparkled with wicked wit and a great deal of promised trouble, and yet he’d also been shockingly kind. They’d gone out sailing by the light of the stars and swam beneath the moon’s glow.

She’d escaped to his boat every night after that.

As unbelievable as it seemed, they’d truly been just friends. She’d come from a broken home and had all the emotional baggage that went with that, including anger and confusion and restlessness.