Page 27 of Moonshine and Magnolias (Just Add Peaches #1)

The women went back to their charts and forms, with Jordan asking questions as they arose for the work she didn’t understand.

It was a good thing she was there, since Wendy had a hard time keeping her mind on assigning tasks to the lead volunteers with Rob being so close.

His hand rested casually between them on the vinyl seat and she stared at his tapered fingers.

Fingers that she’d love to feel caressing her head, her back. Her belly. Her breasts.

Her hand slipped from the table and onto her lap at the same moment Rob exited the booth to refill his coffee. His loose jeans did nothing to hide the great shape of his ass, which she took great pleasure in viewing while he walked away.

“Well, didn’t take you long to recover from last night,” Jordan remarked, following her line of sight. “Wow, and with good reason, too.”

Wendy swatted at her friend. “Hush, he’ll hear you.”

Rob picked up his drink, then turned back to them. Wendy grabbed some papers, watching his long-legged stride out of the corner of her eye.

What was she waiting for? She was single. And the man had made no secret he found her attractive. She’d deal with his medical issue. So why not engage in the kind of fling Brandi would have without thinking?

Because she didn’t do things without thinking.

Well, she could now. Apparently planning and organization and scheduling also meant passionless. So she could make all that disappear and work on instinct, right?

She gathered her confidence, then caught Rob’s eye on his return approach, keeping the contact while her cheeks grew hot. His lips twitched as if trying not to grin, making her stomach turn over twenty times of nervous when he retook his seat.

“Do you have someone for grounds work?” Jordan asked, forcing Wendy back to Pansy Hamilton. “You know, to mow the grass or clear away any fallen branches, to keep the trash from overflowing.”

“Mr. Sherman will be back by then, but I know we always hire more hands.” Wendy located another folder on her computer. “He has a small army at his beck and call - local lawn and landscaping companies that will do the work at a discount in exchange for publicity.”

Her hand made its way onto the seat again. She could feel Rob watching its progress with a frank look. His own large hand fell away from his cup and rested on his thigh.

His compliance with her desires made her breasts tingle with anticipation. She shifted against the unfamiliar sensation.

“I don’t get it.” Jordan said.

Wendy snatched her hand back from the seat and rested it on her lap. “Don’t get what?”

“You’ve told me about The Winning of Pansy Hamilton before, but the story, while fascinating, still doesn’t make sense to me. Take it slow.”

“I’d like to know how to win a Pansy Hamilton as well,” Rob said. He kept his hand palm-up on the seat, an open invitation to the path to sin. “I even went to her museum and I still don’t understand.”

Familiar territory. Thank God. “The Hamilton family lived in Claremont since before the Revolutionary War, though their last descendants moved to Boston about forty years ago,” she said. “Pansy Hamilton was rumored to be a quick-witted, beautiful woman with many suitors.”

“So this was in the eighteenth century,” Jordan said .

“That’s the appeal. No one knows exactly. The family Bible has several records of women named Pansy. Could be the seventeen hundreds and the American Revolution. Could be the eighteen hundreds and the Civil War. ”

“Actually, Georgia didn’t see much action during the Revolutionary War,” Rob put in. “Is it possible that it was the French and Indian war?”

“No.” Wendy narrowed her eyes, but couldn’t stop the grin from crinkling her lips. “Stop being academic about our verbal history.”

He dipped his head. “As you wish.”

“Anyway,” Wendy continued, “As enemy forces drew near, Pansy and her sisters were sent out of harm’s way. Unfortunately, their information on the enemy’s location was old, so the sisters were caught.”

“But you don’t know which enemy.” This was from Rob.

“Hush and let me finish.” She laid a hand on his bicep, enjoying the firm feel.

She let her fingers linger longer than necessary.

“Pansy was so beautiful that the officers all instantly fell in love.” Usually Wendy’s throat held a taste of bitterness at this part.

The woman could have been dumber than a bottle of wine, but that wouldn’t have mattered as long as she was a looker.

Today, though, with Wendy’s new attitude, the story was nothing other than fun.

“She then used their affections to change their minds about marching on Claremont, thus saving the town from destruction and falling in love at the same time.”

“But making some other poor town suffer,” Rob said.

“We ignore that part. Every year the reenactors choose a Pansy and her sisters and a Captain and they act out the capture and their love story throughout the day. Brandi’s been Pansy for years, even during college when we didn’t have a game scheduled.

” Because she was beautiful and charismatic.

It used to hurt, but Wendy had long embraced the truth.

And she would’ve hated playing the heroine anyway.

Opening a hotel was nothing compared to the pressure of being Pansy.

“I should have taken you up on an invitation to come when we were in college instead of studying,” Jordan said. “Can’t wait.”

“Me, neither.” Rob gave Wendy’s hand a quick squeeze under the table .

The reenactment was a few weeks away. Maybe he was planning on hanging around. Fear and excitement rippled across her skin.

“I hear you’re writing a book.” After that random statement, Jordan popped a piece of cake in her mouth.

That tone disguised as avid interest was the what she used when starting an interrogation of any potential significant other disguised. Wendy tried for another kick under the table.

Rob’s eyebrows furrowed and he gave his head a quick shake. “Not writing a book, no.”

Jordan raised a brow. “But you’ve thought about it.”

He shrugged and leaned back in the seat. “Who hasn’t?”

“Me,” said Wendy.

“And me,” Jordan added.

“I learn so much from each client that it’s hard not to see it as a story,” Rob said.

Jordan leaned forward. “It’s all very fascinating. It would have to be non-fiction, right? Why are you at the Inn at Fountenoy Hall now?”

He glanced over at Wendy. “History led me here.”

Not everyone submitted to this kind of friendly inquisition nearly as graciously as Rob, who seemed to enjoy the exchange.

His smile never left his lips as the questions continued, and his coffee-warmed hand curled around her fingers.

When Jordan leaned back in her seat with astonishment at some little-known historical tidbit, Wendy knew he had passed the Shoenover Test.

“I never realized history could be so fun. You know so many weird, untold stories,” Jordan said. “Who in their right mind would drink honey and cider vinegar?”

“Thirsty troops in the hot sun that didn’t have access to Gatorade.” He shifted his attention to Wendy and his eyes changed into something different. From friendly to interested. Definitely interested.

The sudden, fierce attention left her weakened. “I’m just glad there are people like you to write everything down so we don’t forget,” she blurted in the silence

His face went blank for a moment, then returned to its relaxed state. “You two have me thinking I should write that book.”

Jordan scooted out of the booth and stretched.

“Man, I don’t know how Sebastien does it.

He had me and Brandi out until three and he was up at, what, seven?

Said he was going to sketch the early morning light over the trees of the orchard.

Whatever. I need to take a quick walk before we finish up.

” She held out her hand to Rob. “It was nice to meet you.” With a wave, she disappeared, leaving Wendy alone with him.

Talk about a dual personality. With Jordan gone, Wendy’s practicality overrode her desires.

She wanted to touch him all over, to stand with the hard planes of his body against her, to feed her hunger.

But it was too soon. Too soon to take a chance on feeling instead of being.

She ached, the conflicts of her heart and mind paralyzing her into doing nothing.

“It’s right,” he said softly, echoing what he had said that morning. Heated pleasure swept through her blood at the husky tenor of his voice. That was for her. Only for her. His fingers interlaced with hers. “Now it’s right.”

But he didn’t move. She was frozen in place, but she forced herself to lean in, closer to his strong mouth, even as the fortress she built to shield herself from any sentimentality wrapped its ugly tendrils around her waist and tried to force her back to her seat.

He met her halfway, not stopping until his hand was threaded in her hair and the other around her waist, and yanked her against him in the confines of the booth.

His full lips lingered on hers, torturously slow, before forcefully demanding more.

His kiss sent jolts of pleasure through her that settled low in her belly, fanning embers of heat that spread to her limbs and her blood.

The firmness in his jeans indicated he was feeling much the same way.

She forced what Hal had shared out of her mind.

“Wendy.” Rob’s voice was half groan, half plea. “Before anything else happens, I have to tell—” He broke off as her phone played a sweeping orchestral song. He huffed out a quick breath. “Saved by the bell.”

“You don’t need saving.” The protest felt foreign on her lips but right with the rest of her body, and she pressed closer. “Just kiss me.”

He stroked the smooth skin on her jawbone and brushed a light kiss on her mouth. Then another one. Then one that wasn’t so light.

Her lips parted. She wanted the taste of him on her tongue.