A Date with the Other Side (Cuttersville #1)(56)
Author: Erin McCarthy

“Want to watch a movie first?” he asked, trying not to sound desperate. If she retreated to her bedroom again, he was going to either howl in frustration or just beat down the door and drag her out à la King Kong. He didn’t think she’d appreciate either gesture.

“What movie?” Her voice dripped with suspicion.

Did she suspect him of wanting to entice her with  p**n ? “Whatever you want. Amanda rented twelve videos yesterday because she couldn’t decide what she wanted to see. Then she realized she couldn’t watch twelve videos in three days so she brought me eight of them.”

The TV in the parlor was small and the VCR ancient, but they worked.

Shelby rolled her eyes, but laughed. “We don’t need the Haunted Cuttersville news story; we have Amanda as a one-woman boon to the local economy.”

“Too bad she won’t be here very long.”

The smile fell off her face. “Yeah, too bad.”

And it hung in the air between them, the fact that he was leaving not long after Amanda.

“Shelby, we need to talk . . .” He reached for her.

She turned away from him. “I don’t want to talk about this on camera,” she whispered urgently. Popping another bit of bread in her mouth, she tried to smile. “Now let’s go watch a movie.”

Chapter Eighteen

If he touched her one more time, she was going to pull a Red-Eyed Rachel and clobber him.

Oh, he wasn’t being obvious about it. He wasn’t actually trying anything. But at regular intervals he was managing to stick his sexy man hands somewhere on her body, and it had her so wound up and sexually stimulated that one more arm brush was liable to make her groan out loud.

Picking a horror movie had seemed like a good move, since there wouldn’t be any sexual innuendos at all. But Boston had just used it as an excuse to turn the lights out to view the film with full effect. And in spite of herself, she couldn’t help jumping from time to time or shuddering in fear, and there he was, all over her with comforting hugs and massaging fingers on the back of her neck.

By the time the darn credits rolled, she was just about in his lap.

His arm was wrapped around her, and in spite of herself, she managed to let her head rest on his shoulder. And it was such a nice shoulder. Strong, but not brawny. It didn’t slump or slouch, but stayed upright, solid, aggressive. A man who liked to win.

Like he was going to tonight. He wanted her, had been very honest about it. And he was just going to be there, ready, when she gave in.

Shelby was already giving in. He smelled so good, a musky soapy scent that tickled her nose and reminded her of what it had felt like to be under him out in the cornfield. From time to time his bare feet brushed over hers, and his soft jeans were thin and worn and she could feel the heat from his thighs under hers.

The red blinking light of the Channel Five camera kept her sane.

When his finger brushed over her breast, she shoved away from him. “The camera,” she said under her breath, curling her legs under her on the opposite side of the couch.

Boston didn’t say anything, and she thought she’d finally made him angry. But when she looked, he was standing and eating up the parlor with long determined strides. He yanked the camera from the curio cabinet and turned it off. “There, it’s off.”

Uh-oh. He set it down none too gently and turned to her. It was too dark to see his expression but she could feel his frustration, his desire, rolling off him in pulsing waves and just about knocking her over flat.

“It’s not just about the camera,” she said, crossing her arms so he wouldn’t think she was actually interested in responding to him.

“What is it about?” He took several steps toward her, the moonlight from the lace-covered windows spilling over him in a spidery pattern. “I know you said you don’t want to have a casual affair, but I don’t see how it can be called casual when I’m in love with you.”

Shelby froze. “Come again?” He could not have said that, she must have misunderstood, because it was just plain ridiculous for Boston Macnamara, city slicker extraordinaire, to have fallen in love with her, Shelby Tucker.

He leaned over, putting his arms on either side of her, boxing her in between his chest and the floral sofa. “I’m in love with you. Never in thirty-two years have I told a woman those words, so I hope you appreciate the enormity of what I’m saying to you.”

Shelby’s feet fell to the floor as her heart swelled. Oh, Lord, he loved her. That was so wonderful and incredible and tragically horrible. She sucked in a shuddering breath and lightly touched the front of his chest.

“Oh, Boston. I love you too, I really do.”

His jaw twitched, and a sigh of relief fell from his lips. She stroked his chin, felt the stubbly beard growing there, brought his face down to hers. The kiss he took and she gave was passionate, open, vulnerable, tongues meeting with a kind of aching appreciation.

The video had rewound and ejected and the TV was a bright blue screen, sending an eerie cobalt glow across Boston’s skin as he stood up and ripped his shirt off in one forward motion.

“Can I make love to you, Shelby? I want to show you what you mean to me.” His hands were on his leather belt with the silver buckle, and she could see how important this was to him.

It was to her as well. When he left, which he would, she couldn’t go with him. She wanted to be with him one last time, knowing they both loved each other.

“Let me make love to you first,” she said and scooted forward on the sofa.

Her fingers brushed his aside and she undid his belt. He swore and pushed her away.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” She wanted to see him, to feel him. Popping his snap, she kissed his stomach, enjoyed the jerk he gave when her lips touched him.

There was a soft cluster of dark hair there that she nibbled at. She let her hands roll over his stomach, his sides, his tightly muscled back, wanting to taste him and explore, learn every inch of him.

He was standing still, but he wasn’t passive. His muscles were tense, his breathing labored and hard, his hands gripping her shoulders.

She took down his zipper, ran her fingers over the bulge in his boxer shorts, peeled back his jeans on either side. Then she nibbled at that bump, feeling the heat kiss her nose and lips as she tugged on the material and rubbed across him.

“Shelby . . .”

“Am I doing this wrong?” She hesitated, concerned that her pleasure wasn’t pleasing him.