Ain’t Misbehaving

watching her and Mitch bicker over the number of presidents who’d had Franklin in their names.

“Benjamin wasn’t,” Stix whispered to her dryly.

“Well, he should have been.” The two men exchanged glances as Kay looked at the clock. “Stix, are you crazy? You’re going to be late. You said you had a date at eight and it’s already past.”

“So give us a kiss.”

She stretched up and got a stranglehold around her neck for her trouble as she walked him to the door. “Be good,” he ordered her. “Don’t do anything I would do. Try to remember to lock your door tonight…”

“The trouble with you is that you don’t have any sisters.”

“Is that my problem?”

Mitch collapsed on the couch a few minutes later. Keeping up with Kay occasionally required a rest period. Her house had everything he’d missed for years-noise and energy and bubbling laughter. Only it wasn’t the house; it was Kay.

She served him popcorn, with white wine to wash it down, then curled into the huge overstuffed chair across from the couch, her knees drawn up and her arms around them. The chair swallowed her up. She looked as feminine and helpless as a tiny kitten, but like a relentless prosecuting attorney she kept the questions coming.

He felt rusty, as though he was just learning to talk again. Of course, he’d talked to people for years-about politics, geology, sports, local affairs. On any number of topics, he could talk knowledgeably-it was talking about himself that he’d shied away from. Kay kept coaxing up things he barely even remembered.

“I don’t believe it, Cochran. You were actually kicked out of kindergarten?” She giggled.

“I skipped out during rest hour. Who wanted to nap? And one day I put a napkin full of butter on the teacher’s chair…” He shrugged, then cleared his throat. “I just didn’t seem to be cut out to sit in a classroom.”

“But you’ve got degrees, you said. In geology and mineralogy. You speak German and Italian and Chinese. You must have turned into a student sometime.”

“Well, I did. The other was before-” He checked himself.

They’d been doing so well! Kay could have cheerfully dumped the bowl of popcorn over his head for clamming up again. At least they seemed to be safe talking about their childhoods. She was willing to settle for that. For a while.

“The only time I ever got in trouble was in fifth grade,” she told him. “Judy Whitaker called me skinny. I glued her desk shut.”

“Were you?”

“Skinny?” Kay nodded morosely. “I started out a plump kid, but then it all disappeared. Every other girl was getting these nice little bumps on her chest and I was still concave. I probably would have gotten into a lot less trouble if I’d said I was sorry for sealing the desk, but I told the principal I was glad, glad, glad.”

“What happened?”

“The PingPong paddle.” She lifted her wineglass in salute. “They don’t allow that in the schools anymore. Child abuse and all that, but to tell the truth, it was only my pride that hurt for a week. The principal was shaking with laughter the whole time.”

“Ours was a ruler. I cashed in for decking Stoney Laker. He hit my girl.”

“How old?”

“Second grade. My first and only engagement,” he added. “God, I loved her.” He popped a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “She could play the best damn game of marbles…” He kept his voice deliberately serious, because that seemed to make her laugh and he loved the sound, loved the way the corners of her eyes crinkled and her hair cascaded back. Only by accident did his eye suddenly wander to the windowed wall, where a clay pot filled with dirt stood, a scrawny stick emerging from it. “What is that?” he asked.

“My fig tree.”

“I see.”

“No, you don’t. I absolutely adore plants. They refuse to grow for me, but that one-that one-is coming back. I feed it, water it, talk to it, turn it…” She uncurled from the chair long enough to refill his glass. “Cochran,” she remarked as she set down the bottle, “I wouldn’t say what you’re thinking if I were you. That plant is coming back.”

“Are we-” he cleared his throat politely “-talking reincarnation or…?”

“Not to threaten you or anything, but I’ve strangled little old ladies who cast aspersions on my fig tree,” she informed him.

She was close, oh so close, when she bent over to set down the wine bottle. Her lips were damp from her last sip of wine.

And she was laughing. He wanted to capture that laughter, bottle it, never let go of it. A warning bell in his head told him not to touch her; he didn’t want to start something. He wanted her…too much. And he couldn’t bear the thought that he might be awkward with her.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking,” Kay said lightly, “but I’ll warn you one more time. I’m more than a little sensitive on the subject of my brown thumb. Retaliation for insults will be both prompt and devastating.”

“You’ve got me terrified,” Mitch said, smiling.

She knew it was coming. She could tell from the look that had been in his eyes all evening. And suddenly he wasn’t smiling anymore.

He was reaching for her.

Chapter Six

Mitch was not shy. How on earth had she ever come to the conclusion that he was shy?

When it came to pursuing something he wanted, Mitch had a downright uncivilized streak. His lips swooped down and claimed, and the next time she opened her eyes the couch was a long distance up, the carpet was cushioning her back and the only scenery around was Mitch, stretched out next to her.

So fierce, the desire in his eyes. Such an incredible blend of tenderness and stark wanting. She murmured something, feeling the luxury of Mitch’s fingers sweeping roughly through her hair as he bent over her yet again to take her mouth. The sensation was like sinking a very long distance into a fathomless darkness.

The feeling was delicious. Mitch was delicious. And the rush of desire kept coming, her inhibitions jettisoned like the unwelcome cargo they were. Before, his embraces had been so preciously careful. She was not fragile and didn’t need to be treated as if she were, and his swift, drugging kisses, the strain of his lean muscles against her, the wildly possessive caress of his hands-well, she reveled in them. No man had ever made her feel so infinitely needed, as if the touch of her actually inflamed him, as if her closeness was something he could not get enough of.

His features were in shadow. Still, she could see the etched grooves in his forehead. She reached up to touch, wanting to erase whatever had caused those mysterious pain lines. With even that simple caress, she heard his ragged intake of breath. When he lifted his head for air, her lips felt abandoned, still trembling from the wanton pressure of his mouth on hers.

“Mitch,” she murmured, raising her eyes to his, “has anyone ever told you that you’re a lethal kisser?”

His brows lifted just slightly. “No,” he said shortly, but there was a curious sound of unexpected laughter in his voice. It was gone when his mouth hovered over hers again. “Did anyone ever tell you exactly what you do to a man when your eyes look like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like a witch’s promises. Like spells. Like this.” He hovered only a moment before tenderly claiming her lips again. And if she’d just lain perfectly still, he might have been able to control it at that. But she didn’t lie still; her fingers curled in his hair and gently tightened, inviting the sweet ravishing of her mouth. He could feel the groan rumbling from deep in his throat even before he heard the sound.

She was so…responsive. He’d never intended to make the pass; something had just happened when he touched her. And he’d never intended to drag her down to the carpet like some uncouth caveman… He