Hot-Wired / Coming on Strong: Hot-Wired

“Beau’s crew chief.”

Right. “Oh. That Mr. Lewis.” Natalie laughed. She’d really liked Scooter, née Milton, Lewis. “I didn’t think his mother named him Scooter.”

Beverly rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Isn’t that the most ridiculous thing you ever heard to call a grown man? He picked up that name in high school when he and my late husband started tinkering with cars. Since Milton was the shortest, he’d scoot underneath the car to work on it.”

Natalie personally preferred Scooter to Milton, but she kept her own counsel. She’d quickly learned in this business when to hold her tongue. Well, most of the time. When she was around Beau, however, she didn’t manage nearly as well. “Hmm.” She, however, found Beverly’s blush sweet. “So, Mr. Lewis called you?”

Color rose in the older woman’s cheeks again. “To tell me you might come by.”

“Uh-huh,” Natalie responded with a knowing smile. Beverly was a beautiful woman and, well, bottom line, Scooter or Milton or whatever they called him was a man.

Another delicate stain of pink blossomed. “We talked for a while. I think he’s lonely since Emma Jean died.”

“And I think you’re a beautiful woman.”

“Well…why…thank you. That’s what he said, too,” Beverly told her in a sudden rush. She buried her hands in her face momentarily and then looked up, equal measures of excitement and mortification in her green eyes. “Oh, Lord, he asked me to go to dinner.”

Natalie had the distinct impression she’d just wandered into something intensely personal but was enough of a stranger to qualify as a confidante. And for whatever reason, people seemed to confide in her. “What did you say?”

“I said I’d let him know.”

Absence of a flat-out no meant yes. “Do you want to go?”

Beverly fluttered her hand nervously along her hairline. “I don’t know…it’s been so long…What if he tries to kiss me when he brings me home?”

Natalie pushed aside the memory of Beau’s mouth on her lips and breast that seemed seared into her brain. This wasn’t about her and this woman’s son. Regardless, her entire body went on red alert and her nipples stood at attention. She was pretty damn sure she was wearing her own blush now. “Do you want him to?”

Straightening a row of hangers that didn’t need straightening, Beverly avoided eye contact. “It’s not that. I haven’t…It’s been…Monroe, Beau and Caitlyn’s daddy, died sixteen years ago and I haven’t seen—” she glanced up meaningfully “—anyone since then.”

Seen? Natalie’s curiosity and confusion must have shone in her face.

“My children needed me and I was all torn up inside, and then when Caitlyn was older, I thought it was still best not to date and it’s just gotten to be a habit. What if I don’t remember how to kiss? And what will my children think? What would you think if your mother was about to start dating?”

She’d never thought about it. She took a second to consider, unwilling to throw out a glib response to something that was obviously so important to Beverly. “I think if my dad died I wouldn’t want my mother to be lonely. I think your kids will feel the same. Maybe not at first…but they’ll come around. Well, I think Caitlyn’s so wrapped up in the engagement and wedding and love in general that she’ll be right onboard.”

Beverly nodded. “I think you’re right. I’m more worried about Beau. He stepped right in as man of the family when Monroe passed.” The tension in the set of Beverly’s shoulders eased. Apparently she was more comfortable discussing her son and the past, even if it was a difficult time, than a future date and potential kiss with Scooter. “Lord, he was only sixteen but he finished school and worked in the evenings and on the weekends and we made ends meet. I cleaned houses to keep our heads above water but Beau’s the reason I have this business and the house I’m in now.” There was no denying the admiration and mother’s pride shining in her eyes. “That boy has worked his tail off to provide a home and this business for me and he’s made sure Caitlyn never wanted for anything she truly needed. He became a man at sixteen.”

Something warm and dangerous flip-flopped inside Natalie. In retrospect, she supposed she’d heard bits and pieces of this story from her sister, Shelby, but had not really paid much attention. She didn’t want to think of Beau as a man who mentored Tim, his now-fatherless pit-crew member, or busted his young butt to keep a roof over his mother’s and sister’s heads. That all ran counter to dismissing him as just another hot, albeit arrogant, guy. She realized, rather lamely, that a somewhat expectant silence had stretched between them.

“I can see why you’re proud of him. Hopefully he’ll be okay with you going out with Scoot—I mean, Milton.”

Beverly beamed, as if a tremendous weight had been lifted from her shoulders. “He’ll just have to be, won’t he?”

“And don’t worry that you won’t remember how to kiss. It’s probably been a while for him, as well. Y’all can remember together.”

Another blush, but somehow this looked more like a blush of expectation than embarrassment. She nodded, her eyes sparkling. “So, we need to outfit you because that son of mine was hard to track down.” She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “I know he’s busy but I taught him better manners than that. Exactly what got ruined?”

“Just a blouse and a jacket. That should cover it.”

“Did the jacket go with a suit?” Beverly quirked a salon-arched brow.

“Well, yes.”

She shook her head, clearly annoyed with the son she’d just venerated. “He knows better.” Her eyes gleamed as she nodded. “An entire suit and blouse. I raised him better than that.”

Natalie almost felt sorry for Beau Stillwell. And then she thought about him dragging her out to Belle Terre as if she didn’t have anything better to do than his bidding on a construction project and offered Beverly her brightest smile.

Chapter 7

NATALIE PULLED INTO the circular drive fronting Belle Terre and parked her minivan next to Beau’s truck. She drew a deep, steadying breath. She was being ridiculous. It was just his lousy truck—granted, she’d had a heck of a good time in that front seat as recently as last night—and her heart was galloping in her chest. She couldn’t seem to stop herself from a quick glimpse in the rearview mirror to check hair and makeup. No mascara smears, no oily spots on her face—blotting papers were a beautiful thing—and her lip gloss was fine. She smoothed down a spot where her hair was sticking up. Good to go.

She climbed out of the car and approached the house. It was imposing and, if she was totally honest, a little scary. While beautiful, there was an air of melancholy about it, but then again, how many generations had loved, lived, cried and died here? How could a place that had once held people in captivity as slaves to a master know anything but melancholy, despite the laughter that must have spilled from the shuttered windows that opened to the soaring, columned porch?

Beau opened the front door—apparently waiting on her to show up, she noted—and all philosophical and esoteric thought fled in light of her purely physical response to six foot plus of dark-haired, blue-eyed, well-muscled man in jeans, T-shirt and work boots. What had happened to her penchant for suits and ties? Gone. System bypassed in favor of hot and rugged standing with splayed legs in the doorway. Sweet, hot, immediate desire flooded her.

“You’re here,” he said, his dark-lashed eyes sweeping her, touching her in a way that left her breathless.

She marched past him into the foyer. “I am.” She strove to bring some semblance of detachment to the situation. She turned to face him, opting for the direct approach. “Now why don’t you tell me why I’m really here? You could have a high-school kid help you and they’d be more adept at this than me.”

Those eyes flickered over her again and it was a replay of the scene in The Libertine when just one look from Johnny Depp and she was ready to crawl naked across the floor for him. “But you’re the one with the insight into what Caitlyn wants done,” he went on. “And after you—how was it exactly—oh, right, drove me beyond the point of desperate with those kisses…you really didn’t leave me any choice, did you?”

She knew the moment that came out of her mouth she’d regret saying it. And she could only blame her lack of self-control on him. He was the culprit. There was something about him. He got under her skin. Wanting to crawl naked across a floor for him was a perfect case in point. She was good with crawling naked across the floor but not for him. She scrambled for some measure of sanity.

“I shouldn’t have said that. Occasionally, my mouth runs away with me. And about the other, I’ve been thinking—”

He interrupted. “The other?”

She was altogether too, too aware that it was her and him alone in an empty house and to stand about throwing the word kiss or kissing around seemed dangerous territory. Couldn’t they address the issue in a nice civilized roundabout manner? “You know what I mean.”

He closed the front door with a final, resounding click. He approached her with a measured, intent tread, and her pulse hammered. “You’ve got to speak clearly and slowly for us he-man types who are more brawn than brains, sugar.” He held out broad, masculine hands, palms up, as if for her inspection, approval. “These hands have calluses.”

In less than a second, she was imagining the erotic scrape of those calluses against her sensitive nipples, down her body, between her legs. Pathetically, that sent a shiver through her and a rush of liquid warmth between her thighs.

“Kissing.” Brief and to the point, and still the mere mention with him right in front of her left her tingling and aroused because her mind had taken her far, far beyond a mere merging of lips and tongues.

“Oh. That other.” He grinned, an evil, wicked, I’d-like-to-seduce-you-right-out-of-your-panties grin that set her heart knocking against her ribs. He dropped his gaze to her mouth. “I’m all for it.”

Good lord, she’d like to back him up against that door and eat him alive—especially when he looked at her like that. She grasped at the last few threads of sanity, reminding herself she was here to move this wedding forward and not to make out with Caitlyn’s big sexy brother. “Well, I’m not.”

His slow smile slid devastatingly up and down her spine. “Now you’re making me feel inadequate as a man.” Uh-huh. And there really was a Santa Claus. “I could’ve sworn you liked it.”

If ever a man needed taking down a peg or two, she was looking at his wicked sexy self. “It was…” She tilted her head to one side and pretended to search for a description. She deliberately brightened, as if suddenly enlightened. “Adequate.” She was dancing close to the flames again but she couldn’t seem to help it.

“Oh, hell no.” He shook his head. “I have standards and adequate isn’t one of them.” He took a step toward her and his slow, sexy smile spread a sweet heat of anticipation through her. “We’re gonna have to work on this until we’ve passed adequate.”

No, no and no. Kissing him had been like setting a blowtorch to a marshmallow inside her. She’d never been one to hop in bed with a guy, but Beau seemed to knock every aspect of her off course. She had a sinking feeling that a little more kissing, she’d be hard-pressed to keep her legs together and her panties on. And that was an understatement. She was about two seconds from she wasn’t exactly sure what, but it was dangerous.

She stepped back.