something now...and even if it was only something temporary, it was still tempting.
She should shut him down. Turn away and then purge him from her life so she wouldn’t pine for him.
“Addy,” he murmured, that caressing thumb seducing her again.
Seducing the wallflower. Wallflower Addy, who after years of hiding herself away had finally learned that when her shoulders were flat against a hard surface, it was time to push back. “All right,” she said, making a sudden decision. She shot an apologetic glance at the attractive Teague, then focused on Baxter once again. “Let’s go to your place.”
He blinked. “What?”
There was a way to exorcise him other than running off with another man. She and Baxter could have sex again. Maybe the problem was that her experience with him was squarely in the sentimental category of first times and girlish dreams come true. Now, older and more experienced, she’d realize he was a mere man.
And that there wasn’t anything especially captivating about Baxter’s tab A sliding into her slot B.
She’d purge all right. All the stupid stars from her eyes.
* * *
BAXTER DIDN’T KNOW WHAT was going on in Addy’s mind, but he knew one thing for sure. They were not going to have sex.
He’d done that with her way too soon six years before. So when he opened the door to his condo and ushered her inside, he reminded himself he was no longer a twenty-three-year-old hothead. Which, actually, was a weird reminder in itself, because he’d never been a hothead. Not at fourteen, not at eighteen, not at twenty-three. Baxter had been focused on the BSLS. Hotheadedness was Vance’s domain. The only time Baxter had been driven by impulse was that particular night six years before.
So, no, this wasn’t going to be a repeat of that rash act. There was plenty of safe daylight left. It was summer and just past six o’clock, the perfect hour to have a reasonable, adult, getting-to-know-you interlude over a bottle of wine and some appetizers on his twentieth-floor balcony.
Because he did want to get to know her better. It was much too hasty to be considering a serious relationship according to the Baxter Smith Life Schedule, but there was nothing wrong with furthering their acquaintance. After that hike around Crescent Cove, he’d found himself charmed by her enthusiasm, entertained by her tales of the silent film era and completely unwilling to merely settle for her acknowledgment of and his apology for That Night.
Because she did remember it.
As he watched her move out of the entryway and into his living room, that six-year-old memory welled in his own mind. Addy was crossing the carpet to approach the sliding glass doors and the city view they afforded, but in his inner vision they were at the family ranch. The summer’s night air was redolent with barbecue, watermelon and beer. The deep rural darkness was held at bay with strings of small bulbs edging the rooflines, wrapping around the trunks of the oak trees, crisscrossing above the designated dance floor. Still, even though larger spotlights illuminated the players in the band and the booths providing food and drink, there were plenty of pockets of warm darkness.
Baxter had taken to one, his shoulder braced against the heated stucco of his parents’ house, listening to the country performers who did damn good covers of the latest hits. He’d been watching the dancers when, through the circling couples, he’d spied a pixie. In a pale yellow sundress a near color match to her hair, she’d been standing on the edge of more shadows. He might have missed her, except that she was moving to the beat, just the tiniest bit, the swaying of her belled skirt catching his gaze.
Without thinking, he’d been on the move toward her.
He was on the move now, making his way into the galley kitchen. “White wine okay?” he called to Addy.
“Sure,” she said, turning from the vista of skyscrapers and SoCal traffic to follow him into the small room. “What can I do to help?”
He glanced over. Froze. At the beach he’d noticed what she’d been wearing. White jeans, a simple pair of flip-flops, a thin white-and-turquoise-striped tunic-type shirt that fell to her thighs and buttoned down the front. Then, it had been fastened to her throat.
Now it was open near to her navel.
No, not even close really, but damn, from certain angles it would reveal the top curves of her breasts. Like from his angle. He was tall enough that when he