A Date with the Other Side (Cuttersville #1)(10)
Author: Erin McCarthy

“It don’t work that way, Jessie. The fire department doesn’t pay for the damages made while rescuing people.”

“Well, why not? What are my taxes going for?” Took near half her damn income every year, at least the government could replace a broken window.

Lord, it was a good thing she was watching out for herself and Shelby, because no one else was.

Shelby was getting desperate. It had been half an hour since she’d called the fire department, and nothing. She and Boston were still trapped, and as the sun drifted westward, the lace on the windows was no protection from the pounding sunshine, forcing the temperature of the room higher, one hot degree at a time.

Or maybe it was her desire that had the room warm enough to cook a whole platter of ribs in five minutes. Boston had taken his shirt off.

She’d seen that chest before, just that morning in his bedroom. It had affected her then. Now it had her clasping her thighs together and praying she wouldn’t whimper.

Even the increasing needs of her bladder were nothing compared to the realization that it had been three years since she’d had sex. Three years that had flown by while she’d been living them, and now seemed like an abnormal, painfully large amount of time since her body was quivering and steaming and hissing, like the overheated engine of a Chevy.

Boston, who probably had sex scheduled in on the calendar of his fancy-shmancy computer every week with some suit-wearing, manicure-getting, leggy blonde, looked oblivious to her problem. After a few minutes of polite conversation, he had checked the voice mail on his cell phone, then had moved to foraging through his e-mails on his laptop.

Ignoring her, that’s what he was doing. No, that wasn’t true. He wasn’t ignoring her; he was just carrying on without her. Unimportant, that’s what she was. Irrelevant.

Every physical need her body required—thirst, hunger, sex—were all rearing up and begging for attention simultaneously, making her so uncomfortable she wanted to roll around on the floor and groan. Except that would make her bladder pressure worse. Yet Boston just sat with his legs apart, computer in his lap, eyes scanning, clicking and working and looking fit as a flipping fiddle.

He had no right to turn her on doing nothing.

Jerk.

Then he dug into the pocket of his jeans, lifting his hips up a little, a mock thrust, denim pulling, straining . . . and popped a Life Saver in his mouth.

Her stomach cried foul. “You’d better have another one of those.”

“Huh?” He glanced over at her.

“That piece of candy. Give me one too. I’m starving.” She thought about adding a please, then thought better of it. This whole thing was his fault anyway, for being such a dingleberry about letting her in the house. If he’d just been reasonable from the get-go, she wouldn’t have walked into the parlor, and they wouldn’t be stuck here together.

He’d be stuck alone.

Poor baby.

Boston tucked the candy into his cheek. “I’m sorry. It’s the last one.”

He looked genuine enough to believe him, but Shelby had male cousins. They’d tell her they were handing her a piece of candy, and wipe a booger into her hand instead. She knew not to trust a man until you’d gotten his measure. She didn’t know Boston that well yet.

“Where’s the empty wrapper?”

Boston tried to process Shelby’s words. Her thoughts moved in directions he didn’t understand, and sometimes it took him a minute to follow through to the conclusion. Then he fought a smile. She thought he was keeping a secret stash of Life Savers from her.

Like he needed to hoard hard candy for survival. Despite the slow appearance of the Cuttersville Fire Department, he was convinced it was only a matter of another hour or so before someone managed to spring them from the parlor. But Shelby looked suspicious, and hot, and impatient.

Her forehead was shiny, damp curls sticking to her temples, ponytail drooping, and that white T-shirt was clinging to her br**sts. She’d tucked the bottom of the shirt up through the neck hole, tugging it down to create a knot, exposing her stomach. The country version of air-conditioning. She looked like Daisy Duke, feisty and independent and sexy in a really strange, dusty, natural sort of way. If she put on heels with those denim shorts, he was going to be in trouble.

Except that Shelby would probably fall over if she put on heels, and he wasn’t supposed to be shopping the local merchandise anyway.

“The wrapper’s in my pocket. Would you like to inspect it?” Boston patted his pocket, sucking the cherry flavoring of the candy over his tongue, feeling rude for eating in front of her. He wasn’t used to thinking about other people’s feelings. He lived alone and he worked hard to get ahead, and while he could schmooze with the best of them, genuine courtesy wasn’t really a major part of his life any longer. Maybe it never had been. His parents hadn’t exactly been founts of thoughtfulness.

“Toss it this way.” She held out her hand.

Boston balled up the empty wrapper and threw it toward her.

Catching it, Shelby gave a heartfelt sigh. “It really was the last one, wasn’t it?”

He set his laptop down, not able to concentrate anyway, and dropped onto the hardwood floor next to her. Shelby gave him a disgruntled look and held his empty wrapper back out for him.

Stuffing it back in his pocket, he pushed the candy forward and caught it between his teeth, flashing her a glimpse. She glared at him and lust rose in his gut—plain, vicious, ball-gripping lust—which made him toss her a smile.

“Shelby, I’ll share it with you.”

Rich brown eyes widened. “Whatta ya mean?”

What did he mean? He wasn’t exactly sure, just that he didn’t like to see her so uncomfortable, and he was curious if she felt even a pang of attraction for him too.

Retrieving the sticky, slippery candy from his mouth with his fingers, he tapped it against her bottom lip with a light teasing motion. “You can have the rest.”

Her tongue slipped out and licked the sugary red droplet the candy had left on her plump lip. “Mmm, that’s good,” she said, eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment, sending Boston into a frenzy of sexual awareness. “I’m so hungry.”

That would be what she’d look like coming apart under him. Hot and damp and dewy-eyed, flustered and sensual, slow movements and sliding tongue. Rolling eyes and murmured approval.

Clearly not dating since Sheila had petulantly declared him a workaholic and walked out six months ago had been a mistake. He was as horny as a fourteen-year-old with a Pamela Anderson download.