Starting on the backs of my knees, they began to ascend the backs of my thighs, moving steadily inward. His face was still concealed, still hidden. And then?

He put his mouth on me. Glorious. Rapturous. Erotic. Inescapably wanton.

My world stopped—and then started up again, as though anew. As I kept my hands on the wall for support, my cries of passion tumbled toward him. Only a shock of hair was visible in the low light as he buried his mouth between my thighs. I shook and shivered, and as my eyes began to close, I forced them open. I had to see him.

“Vivian,” that dark voice rolled through me. “You taste as decadent as I dreamed you would.” And just as he began to lift his head and open his eyes—

I awoke.

 “Dammit!” I screamed, punching the pillow.

I didn’t sleep again that night.

So when Friday dawn arrived? I was one cranky Viv.

Chapter fourteen

Caroline was due to arrive at 10:30 a.m. Since Simon was on location in Mexico, she’d planned on spending the night before heading back into the city. I was glad to have my first houseguest; the quilts were clean and the pillows were plumped.

As I waited, I was still shaken by my dream. Part of me was so angry that I’d almost gotten to see his face, yet another part of me was terrified to see it. Not seeing it meant it was still just a fantasy. A fantasy with the fastest tongue in the West, but a fantasy nonetheless.

Both the librarian and the cowboy had been scarce this week. I hadn’t seen Hank once, but I’d seen evidence that he’d been around. Paula was out in the pasture with Paul, the chickens were fed. His tire tracks in the mud after a rainstorm. And of course we know why Clark hadn’t been around.

“This project has already taken up enough of my time,” he’d said, then left me with a secured tarp and a frown. I’d thought that he’d cave, and Nighttime Clark would call. But both Nighttime Clark and more persnickety Daytime Clark had steered clear all week. He’d finally be here today.

Nervous? Nah. The pacing is my usual cool, calm, and collected self.

The smartest little Mercedes convertible I’d ever seen came up the drive, and Caroline stopped next to the house. “Hey, girl,” she called out with a grin. “This house just gets better and better each time I see it.”

“Yes, and today’s the day we decide how we’re making it better,” I answered, grabbing her bag out of the backseat and swinging it up onto my shoulder before she had a chance to get it herself.

“You sound like a motivational speaker!” She laughed, stepping from the car and stretching her arms over her head after the long drive. She was dressed for work, long legs encased in trim black pants, a raspberry-colored sweater with a soft pink scarf accenting her long neck. She had the kind of easy good looks I’d always envied—that, and her ability to navigate a gravel driveway in three-inch heels.

“You make that look so easy,” I told her, looking down at her shoes as she followed me onto the back porch.

“I learned from the best—you should see my boss walk around a job site. Add sawhorses, electrical cables, and another two inches, and you’ve got Jillian.” She looked around the kitchen. “It looks good in here. I like what you’ve done.”

She examined the open shelves over the stove that I’d cleared off, and then filled with an old set of heavy orange pots and double boilers I’d found in the basement. I’d arranged them by size. “Fuck me, these are all Le Creuset. You brought these with you, or they were here?”

“I found them in the basement behind a bunch of old canning jars.”

“Watch them carefully, please, and you might want to go through my bag tomorrow before I leave. If I’m listing to one side, you’re for sure going to want to check my duffel,” she warned, turning to take in the expanse of cleared counter space. “And you’re very lucky that’s not a KitchenAid,” she finished, pointing to an ancient-looking mixer. I’d left it on the counter, even though I had no idea if I’d ever use it. It looked homey. It felt homey. So it stayed.

I led her upstairs, and she exclaimed in delight over how much progress had been made. I let her pick which guest room she wanted, and she marveled in the view of the ocean. She bounced on the bed, pronounced it good, and then watched me raise and lower the blinds three times until I had them the exact height I wanted. She watched as I made sure the windows were open to the same level, and then she watched as I adjusted the books on top of the dressers, fanned with exactly two inches of space between them.

“You nervous about something?” she asked.

“Nervous? No, why?” I asked, just as the doorbell rang. The books were now all on the floor, the result of my involuntary muscle spasm at the dingdong. I sighed as I bent down to pick up the books.

Jesus, Viv, get a grip.

Caroline watched with raised eyebrows as I said, “Pretty sure Clark’s here. I’ll go get the door.”

I hurried down the stairs, spying the familiar outline on the other side of the lace. It had been a long week. Stomach in knots, I practically jumped the last two steps, flew across the floor, and wrapped my hand around the doorknob. Once there, I finally paused to breathe. What would I find on the other side? Familiar and Funny Friend Clark? Or Distant and Detached Clark?

I opened the door. He filled it. Tall, dark, and tweedy. I smiled without even thinking about it. His brown eyes warmed instantly, taking me in and then, as usual, dropped down to scan me head to toe. Per usual, I let him look. I leaned against the doorframe as he took in my legs, clad in the shortest cutoffs I owned. I didn’t really plan out my outfit this morning at all. Not at all . . .

When he got to my stomach and its jewelry, his eyes widened. I wore a T-shirt casually knotted in the back to bare my navel. He stopped somewhere around my chest and I puffed up a bit, letting my fingers play with my cameo. He pushed his glasses farther up his nose. The brief perusal felt like hours. And when his eyes finally made it back up to mine, they were warm and kind and happy to see me. But then they became all business.

“I trust you have everything in order before the contractor arrives?”

My stomach rolled over. He was still pissed.

“Good to see you too, Clark. Come on in.” I sighed, holding the door open wide and ushering him in. His arm brushed mine and my fingers touched my skin absently as I watched him walk into the room, turning in a circle and examining the work I’d done this week. He raised an eyebrow when he saw the Post-it I’d stuck on the loose newel.