Only His (Fool's Gold #6)(39)

“I want you,” he murmured, then lightly touched the side of her face.

His fingers were warm. She was already melting inside. Imagine what would happen if she gave in.

“I really like my job,” she whispered.

“This has nothing to do with that.”

She knew what he meant—that giving in or refusing wouldn’t affect her employment. Tucker wasn’t going to fire her for saying no. But making love with him would change everything.

He leaned in to kiss her. She met him more than halfway and anticipated a deep, sensual, passionate kiss. Instead he barely touched his mouth to hers. The light brush of sensitive skin against her own trembling mouth aroused her more than nearly anything else she could imagine. The restraint and the promise weakened her resolve.

Her br**sts ached for his touch. Between her thighs, she was already swollen. Just trying not to think about how it would feel to have him touch her made the image even more clear.

Give in, she thought. She wanted to.

“I can’t,” she whispered, against his mouth, then slid out of the booth. “I can’t.”

She stood beside the table, frustrated, near tears and yet determined. “This has to stay strictly business.”

“It’s already too late,” he told her.

Maybe, but for now she could pretend. She opened her mouth, then closed it, turned and fled the bar. She made it all the way home without once looking back, without admitting that she hoped he would follow her. He didn’t. When she reached her house, she went upstairs alone and faced a very cold, very empty bed.

TUCKER DIDN’T LIKE to lose. Not in business and not in his personal life. He’d spent a hellishly long night wanting what he couldn’t have. He was pissed off and didn’t care that all the reasons against it made sense, that Nevada had made the right decision.

What had started out being driven by having something to prove had turned into something else. Something more important. That didn’t ease the ache or the hunger. Sometimes, life was a bitch.

He stalked back to the trailer, thinking coffee would help his mood. When he arrived he faced not only an empty pot but a well-dressed, white-haired woman sitting in the chair beside his desk.

“Mr. Janack,” she said, coming to her feet. “I’m Mayor Marsha Tilson.”

“Mayor Tilson.” He held out his hand.

They shook. “Call me Mayor Marsha,” she said. “Nearly everyone does.”

“All right, Mayor Marsha. How can I help you?”

“I wanted to talk about the project out here. What you’re doing and how it’s going.”

Visiting local officials rarely brought good news, he thought. He crossed to the coffeepot and replaced the used filter and grounds. After flipping the switch to start, he faced the older woman.

“We’re still on schedule. Of course it’s been all of a month, so that could change by this afternoon. We’re current on all our permits. We’ll start excavating to put in the sewer and water pipes within a week or two.”

He leaned against the trailer’s counter and crossed his arms over his chest. Now it was her turn.

She stood and moved closer. Her light blue suit and fussy blouse were out of place in the construction trailer. The strange thing was, she wasn’t out of place. He’d met people like her—those who belonged anywhere. It was an important gift, especially in a politician.

“The town is very happy with your work,” she told him. “You pay attention to local regulations and you don’t cut corners. Your employees are respectful.” She smiled. “They’re also generous tippers.”

He raised an eyebrow. “An interesting fact to keep track of.”

“This is my town. I care about what happens here, and very little happens that I don’t know about.”

He wondered if she was going to take him to task for trying to sleep with Nevada. Although if she were a man instead of a grandmother, she would be congratulating him on his good taste and wishing him luck.

“We appreciate what the resort will bring to Fool’s Gold,” she continued. “Business, jobs, tourists. There will be complications, of course. Something this big will have a settling-in period. We’ll get through it—we always do.”

He sensed there was more and waited.

“Your company won’t be running the resort.”

She wasn’t asking, but he answered anyway. “No.”

“But you do have a say in who is hired. Janack Construction is part owner.”

“We’ll have input. Why? Do you have a nephew you want me to recommend?”

She smiled. “No. But I would like to be consulted when the upper-level management decisions are made. People have to fit in, respect the town. I’m not interested in an us-versus-them mentality.”

On the surface she looked like the kind of old lady who got her hair done once a week, baked cookies and clucked her tongue at “young people today.” But he could tell those assumptions were wrong.

“You’re pretty tough, aren’t you?”

“When the situation calls for it,” she admitted. “Will you do as I ask?”

“Sure. But in return I want to know why Jo Trellis keeps blowing off Will. He’s only trying to get to know her.”

“You’re assuming I have that information.”