A Winter Wedding(75)

She was probably looking at another one of those long stretches now—once she returned to Nashville—so she figured she might as well enjoy herself in Whiskey Creek. Kyle wasn’t the kind of man a woman ran into every day. She didn’t agree with Noelle’s methods of trying to keep him, but she could see why his ex was sorry about losing him. Not only was he easy on the eyes, he was solid in every other way—and there was no question that he knew how to arouse a woman.

Just before they reached his bedroom, she pulled him back to her for another kiss—and pressed her face into his warm neck as he unzipped her dress. These days she was constantly plagued by agonizing worries. Everything had such high stakes and dire consequences. But for right now, for this minute, Kyle seemed capable of holding all of that at bay. He made her feel something both powerful and positive, and she wasn’t about to deny herself what she most needed. After what Derrick had done, why should she?

She watched Kyle’s face, noting his anticipation as he tugged her the rest of the way to his room and finished removing her dress. Maybe he was just a friend, but with him, she felt more desirable than she’d ever felt before. He didn’t offer her the outlandish praise or the promises that Derrick had in the beginning. Kyle said nothing. It was the way he touched her that seemed so meaningful.

Goose bumps broke out on her arms as he took the time to look at what he’d revealed. She still had on her bra and panties, but he smiled as though he liked what he saw. In any case, he didn’t take off the rest of her clothes. He kissed her until she was so ready for him to go further she was about to take them off herself—and yet she stiffened when his hand finally slipped inside her panties.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, raising his head in concern.

Nothing was wrong. That was the problem. This was almost too right. What if, in the process of slamming the door on her relationship with Derrick, she ran headlong into a love that could be even more consuming—and ravaging? One that might have the power to make her want to stay in a place like Whiskey Creek?

That was a frightening thought. She’d sworn she’d escape Small Town, USA, that she’d make a career in music, and she had. Why would she ever allow herself to be tempted back? To follow in her mother’s footsteps, after all?

And yet...this wasn’t feeling nearly as mechanical and strictly physical as she’d anticipated. There was a tenderness that could easily be misconstrued...

She should voice her concerns. She didn’t want either of them to get hurt—and what had seemed unlikely a few minutes earlier suddenly didn’t seem so unlikely at all. This was more of an epic event than it should be. But when he murmured that everything was going to be okay, and his mouth came down on hers, coaxing her to relax by giving her a kiss so achingly sweet that she couldn’t help arching into him, she swallowed her fears. And the next thing she knew, they were rolling around in his bed, completely naked as they kissed and touched and tasted.

Part of her wanted to stop, but she couldn’t. She was reveling in the pleasure he seemed to provide so naturally, so intuitively. But it ended far sooner than she expected. He’d just begun to push inside her when someone banged on the front door, yelling in a voice filled with panic, “Kyle, get out here! Now!”

*

“What is it?” Although Kyle wasn’t happy about it, he’d left Lourdes in his bed and yanked on his jeans so he could let his neighbor in. Warren Rodman rented one of his houses just down the road—the one Kyle had yet to renovate—and he worked at the solar plant. But he was quite a bit older, nearly sixty-five, and recently divorced. He didn’t usually bother Kyle after hours, especially this late. It was nearly eleven. And he was such a mellow guy. It took a lot to get him so anxious.

“There’s a fire at the plant,” he said. “I could smell the smoke when I stepped out on the back porch to have a cigarette, so I drove over there, and...sure enough.”

Stunned, Kyle blinked at him. Maybe he was still a little dazed from what had been going on before Warren arrived, because it sounded as if he’d said there was a fire at the plant. His plant.

Before he could interpret those words and form an appropriate response, Lourdes came hurrying out, wearing a pair of his boxers and one of his Tshirts—what was at hand in his room and easier to put on than her dress. “Have you called 911?” she asked Warren.

“I have. The fire department’s on the way, but—” he turned back to Kyle “—I thought there might be a few things in there you’d like to try to save.”

The reality finally cut through the testosterone-induced fog that’d momentarily put him out of touch with the regular world. He could even smell the smoke, drifting toward him on a brisk wind. “Hell, yes, there’s stuff I want to save,” he said and ran to grab his keys from the kitchen counter.

Lourdes must’ve realized he was going to rush out dressed the way he was, despite the cold, the rough ground and everything else, because she stopped him and hurried back down the hall to get him some shoes.

“How bad is it?” Kyle asked Warren.

Warren rubbed his neck. “I have no idea, boss. I didn’t go very close. I saw an odd glow against the sky and knew immediately what it was. So I called 911. Then I came over here.”

When Lourdes returned a few seconds later, she carried a sweatshirt as well as his boots. “Nothing in the plant is worth your life,” she said, squeezing his arm. “Don’t get hurt.”