Engagement and Espionage (Solving for Pie: Cletus and Jenn Mysteries #1)(6)

“I think so. Momma is going to drive out there tonight and drop off a deposit check, try to smooth things over with Mr. Badcock.”

“That was your idea?” I questioned, already knowing the answer.

It was a great idea. Of course it was Jenn’s idea. Diane Donner was one of the most powerful businesspersons in the region. A visit from Diane was a big deal indeed. As well, this would provide Diane a distraction from her divorce woes.

“Yes,” Jenn whispered, her eyes searching for mine, but seemingly unable to settle. My face must’ve been wholly in shadow. “We’re putting in an order for the entire year.”

“That’s good.” I nodded, but part of her story troubled me.

Why would Mr. Richard Badcock treat Jenn with even an ounce of hostility? It didn’t make any sense. Folks who knew Jenn—or of Jenn—considered her harmless, or less than harmless. A novelty, a local celebrity of no real substance or consequence, which was also how they saw me (minus the celebrity part).

I knew better. She’d revealed her genius to me last fall while proving to be the most brilliant opponent I’d ever faced, by far. She’d bested me. Consequently, having no choice in the matter, I’d promptly fallen in love with her and was now besotted. Obviously.

But back to Dick Mal-Rooster and his antagonism.

“Did he give a reason for his poor temper?” I asked, studying her.

The question seemed to agitate her, and she huffed, stepping forward and reaching out blindly. “Cletus, can we talk about that later? Where are you?”

My mental processes shifted gears away from her chicken troubles, and suddenly the flood of disappointment returned, rose to my throat. I swallowed, stepping away from Jenn’s searching hands as I stuffed mine back in my pockets.

“Jenn—”

“I am sorry, Cletus. I know I promised I’d be here on time, and I wasn’t here on time, and for that I’m sorry.” She found me, her hands grabbing the front of my shirt. Her warm palms slid over my chest, up to my shoulders, her arms twisting around my neck.

I braced myself for the feel of her body, but I was unprepared for the reality of it. Soft and warm and impatient, Jenn pressed herself to me in a way that felt at once impatient and content. Her lips brushed lightly over my neck, causing me to tense. But her hot tongue coming out to lick a path to my ear made me jump, every inch of me aware of every inch of her.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispered, a note of vulnerability in the words, her breath scorching as it spilled over my skin, a counterpoint to the disappointment still burning my chest. “Have you missed me?”

I was at once inebriated by her actions and incredulous of them.

“You know I have,” I answered gruffly, keeping my hands in my pockets for both our benefits.

Likely she didn’t want our first time together in over six weeks—and our second time together ever—to be me ripping off her underwear and taking her against the backstage wall of the Green Valley Community Center. Rationally, I knew this to be true.

Irrationally, however, I wanted to rip off her underwear and take her against the backstage wall of the Green Valley Community Center. I wanted to rip open the buttons of her dress and feast on her body, the smooth silk of her skin, while I filled her and claimed her and satiated myself with what would surely be an unrefined display of possessive carnality.

And also complicating matters, resentment lingered like a hangnail. Part of me wanted to punish her. I know that’s not noble nor gentlemanly, but I am neither noble nor a gentleman.

Yet, I was trying to be. For her.

Probably not a good idea to be intimate until such time as we—

Jennifer pressed her body more fully against me, one arm still hooked around my neck, a hand sliding dangerously lower, from my shoulder to my chest and stomach. I caught her fingers before she could slip them between us and cup me over my pants. Or inside my pants.

“Not a good idea.” My body shook, a surge of covetous mindlessness threatening to overtake my good intentions.

“It’s been weeks,” she complained between biting kisses on my neck, bringing my hand to her breast, pressing it there. “Don’t you want me?”

I choked on nothing but air. If she didn’t know how much I wanted her, then either she was stupid—which she wasn’t—or she was pretending to be in order to test my control.

“You’re asking me foolish questions,” I ground out, catching both her hands and holding them between us, forcing her to back away a step. “And you’re not foolish.”

I needed a minute.

“Then what’s the problem?” She pressed forward, not fighting my hold but feeling restless beneath my fingers. “Why aren’t you kissing me back? Why do you keep stuffing your hands in your pockets? Why won’t you touch me?”

Lost for words, I settled on whispering truth, “I’d like nothing more than to rip off your underwear and—”

“No need, I’m not wearing underwear.”





Chapter Three





“If there is one thing I dislike, it is the man who tries to air his grievances when I wish to air mine.”





― P.G. Wodehouse, Love Among the Chickens





Cletus