Page 144 of Confessions

“Hmm?”

He couldn’t stop himself. His arms surrounded her and he drew her close. His lips found hers and though he told himself to go slow, to kiss her gently, the passion that still burned through his blood exploded and his mouth moved urgently against her lips.

She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him with the fever that seemed to have infected them both. As the windows began to steam, her tongue mated and danced with his and the swelling in his jeans ached so badly, he thought he’d go crazy.

Shifting to get closer to her, he pressed against the small of her back, urgently dragging her atop him.

Carlie lifted her head and breathing raggedly, whispered, “Slow down, soldier.”

“You’re going to drive me crazy,” he said in frustration. With a groan he released her.

“That works two ways.”

“Does it?” His hands tangled in her hair and his breath whispered across her face.

“We’ve got time, Ben. We’re not kids anymore.” Again the pained shadow appeared in her eyes. She seemed about to tell him something vital, then forced a smile and kissed him quickly and chastely on the cheek.

“How much time do we have?”

“As long as you want.” She slid out of the truck and left Ben with an ache in his groin that refused to wither.

Half lying across the seat, he watched as she let herself into the building and closed the door tightly in her wake. Within a few minutes the lights of her apartment were switched on and she appeared in one of the windows of the turret.

She threw the sash open and stuck out her head. Ben rolled down his window and watched in fascination as the wind blew her hair, a black and gleaming banner, away from her face. “Go home, Ben,” she said, her laughter light as a summer breeze. She’d tucked her sadness away again.

“What if I refuse?”

“You’ll freeze.”

It was his turn to laugh. “Not likely, lady. Not if I’m anywhere near you!”

He rolled his window back up and put the old truck into gear. All the way home he reminded himself that she wasn’t the kind of woman he wanted, but by the time he opened his back door and his dog, barking and growling, raced out to the yard, he still hadn’t convinced himself.

Like it or not, he wanted Carlie Surrett.

Chapter Nine

TRACY STARED AT her reflection in the mirror over her sink in the bathroom. She frowned at the pinch of little lines near her eyes. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she wasn’t getting any younger.

“Hey, Mom, I’m outta here!” Randy called from his bedroom.

“

Got your lunch money?”

“Yeah, and my book report.”

“You have a good day,” she yelled at him.

“I’m gonna have a spectacular day,” he teased, using one of the vocabulary words he’d studied the night before.

“Good.” She smiled as she thought of Randy—the one joy in her miserable life. She turned that thought away; Tracy didn’t like feeling sorry for herself. Both she and Randy were healthy, she made enough money that life wasn’t the struggle it once was and now...Ben Powell was back in town. And still single.

Randy appeared in the doorway, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, then took off with his backpack swinging from one arm. Her heart squeezed as she followed him to the front hall and watched as he hurried to the bus stop where twenty kids from the apartment complex had gathered.

Maybe she’d made a mistake in not marrying. Randy had never known his father and the men that Tracy had dated, usually men who had picked her up at the Buckeye Restaurant and Lounge, had never shown the least bit of interest in her boy. Well, there had been a couple of guys who had acted as if Randy were something special, but those men, Red Langford and Terry Knapp, weren’t the marrying kind. Red was nearly fifteen years older than she was and worked as a driver for Fitzpatrick Logging. He had a steady job, but also kids from a first marriage who were nearly grown. Terry was closer to her age but spent his Friday and Saturday nights on the third stool of the Buckeye Restaurant and Lounge, sitting, watching the big screen, smoking and closing down the place. He’d been picked up by the police for driving under the influence of alcohol on more than one occasion.

Nope, not marriage material.