Worth The Wait

Hogan smiled and came her way. When he reached her, he took the heavy tray from her hands.

“How are you feeling?”

“What are you doing here?”

His gaze searched hers. Then he started away, saying, “You first.”

“I’m fine.” Violet hustled along behind him. “Why aren’t you at work?”

“Liar,” he said, almost like a compliment. They were both quiet as he deposited the tray in the commercial sinks where two high school boys worked with awesome efficiency.

It wasn’t until they reached her office that Hogan said, “I’ll be working from home the rest of the week.”

“That doesn’t explain why you’re here.” She headed to the chair behind her desk and sank down to sit.

For too long, Hogan studied her.

She fought off a sigh, a frown and a cough. “What?”

“I wanted to check on you.” As if he had every right—and maybe he did after the weekend—he put the back of his hand to her head. “You don’t feel feverish.”

“Not even a little.”

“But you’re still pooped.”

Given she had both elbows propped on her desk to keep her head from hitting the surface, lying would be pointless. “Pretty much.” She forced herself into a more upright position. “But we won’t get that busy again until dinner and I can veg here while doing—” she made a face “—paperwork.”

To her surprise, Hogan looked uncomfortable. It took her about two seconds to realize why, and with renewed energy she rushed to her file cabinet, but the files were gone, just as she’d known they would be. Slowly turning to glare, she whispered, “What did you do?”

“I brought you into the twenty-first century, for one thing.” He took a step toward her, no longer abashed but now righteous. “I streamlined your really shitty records.”

“Hogan—”

“And I started the process for some cost analysis.”

Throwing up her hands, Violet asked, “When the hell did you have time? You spent all your weekend with me!”

“Not all of it. Most, yes, but—”

God, she felt inadequate next to him. Completely, utterly inadequate. “So you...what? In the random fifteen minutes you had free you updated all my bookkeeping?”

“As I said, I haven’t completed it yet, but I’ve made enough headway to know your old accountant sucked. Good riddance to him.”

Violet was barely listening. “I’ll pay you.”

He stiffened.

“What’s your hourly salary? Let me know, and how many hours you spent on it, and I’ll—”

Looking more than a little pissed, he took long steps to reach her, caught her chin and, after scowling fiercely, kissed her.

Oh, he was definitely fired up. Maybe in a good way.

When she didn’t fight him, didn’t lurch away, he lifted his head and stared down at her. Heat lightened the color of his blue eyes and his breath had thickened.

Violet licked her lips, tasting him. But it wasn’t enough. Without really thinking through the obvious consequences, she rested her hands on his chest and leaned closer.

Hogan groaned. By slow degrees he gathered her against his body until they touched from thighs to chests. His attention drifted back and forth from her eyes to her mouth until, finally, his mouth settled on hers again.

Slower this time, more gently.

Far more devastating.

Fisting her hands in his shirt, Violet fitted herself more tightly against him. Oh, she’d known he would be trouble to her senses, but heaven help her, it was even worse than she’d expected. He turned his head, and his tongue touched along her bottom lip. She immediately opened, making her own small, desperate sound of need.

He stroked a hand down her back to her hips, hesitated, then opened his fingers over her backside, cuddling, exploring—

The knock on the door sent them both jumping apart.

Hogan stared at her, unblinking.

“Dad?”

Colt’s voice. Dear God. Violet jerked away, pretending to be busy with her file cabinet. Honestly, she didn’t know what she was doing. Shuffling something...

Behind her, she heard the door open, and then Hogan said, “What’s up?”

“Someone just dropped off a stack of the Clearbrook Trickle. What should I do with them?”

“The what?”

Violet cleared her throat. “How can you have been here so long and not know about the Trickle?”

“What is it?”

Glad to have something to focus on, but keeping her back to them anyway, she explained, “It’s the free community paper. All the various establishments in Clearbrook set them out so the locals can know about any sales, public activities, school calendars and stuff like that. Each week they herald a local citizen for one reason or another, and there’s also this newly added advice column. Very delicious stuff.”

“Advice column?” Hogan asked.

“Yeah. It’s been really fun.” She glanced back at Hogan, and with Colt standing there smiling at her in such a knowing way, she had to fight a blush. “It’s all worded in a way that you’re unsure who is who, you know? You were in it last week. Some lady wanted to know how to convince you to go shirtless.”

She watched his face blanch. Then, amazingly, hot color slashed his cheekbones. “You’re making that up.”

Feeling more herself, now that he was the uncomfortable one, Violet crossed her heart. “Swear it’s true.”

Colt laughed. “Did you keep a copy?”

Of course she had. She opened a lower drawer of the cabinet and withdrew her saved copy, already folded back to the right page. “Here you go, sugar. Bet you didn’t know your old dad was a hottie, did you?”

“Yeah, it’d be hard to miss the way the ladies carry on.” Colt shifted the stack into one arm, and with the other, he skimmed the paper. He read aloud.

“Many denizens of the female variety would like to know how to get a certain barbecue chef to tend his meats...shirtless.”

Hogan looked aggrieved.

“Ladies, I suggest you ask him. It appears he has few boundaries, if all the gossip is true. Or to be more effective, issue the request to the one who employs him. She seems to be a very competent business owner who won’t likely let a promo opportunity go unchecked.”

Colt’s laughing gaze met hers. “What do you think?”

“I asked him,” she said. “So far as I know, he’s considering it.”

Colt’s eyes widened and he guffawed.

“It’s absurd,” Hogan blustered, and he gave his son a shove, almost making him lose hold of the papers.

Colt caught his balance and laughed all the more.

“It’s entertaining,” Violet corrected, taking back her copy and storing it in the file cabinet again. “Go read it and you’ll see what I mean.” To Colt she said, “You can put the new editions on the counter next to the register. They won’t be there long.”

“Thanks.” Colt didn’t leave. “I also wanted to let Dad know I’m heading to the creek with friends after my shift ends in an hour. That is, unless you need me to stay longer?”

Well, shoot. Violet glanced up, trying for a bright smile, and said, “Not a problem, kiddo. Go and have fun.”

Of course Colt’s gaze jumped from hers to his father’s and back again. He grinned. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.” Holding a file in front of her, she faced him. “You look far too much like your dad with that particular expression.”

Both father and son blinked over that.

Hogan, bless the man’s prudence, stepped out of the office and took Colt with him. She could hear the low drone of their conversation, but not precisely what was said.

Colt’s laughter traveled back to her; because of the Trickle, or because he knew what they’d been doing?

For a brief second, Violet considered racing to the door and locking it while Hogan was on the other side. But that would be foolish, and besides, she didn’t have the energy for racing.

A few minutes later Hogan returned—and he let the door stand open.

Violet stared at him. “You overstepped,” she said and wished he’d kiss her again. She wanted him. Worse, she liked him.

The problem was that she very much disliked liking him.

Wanting him was a little easier to take.

“I know I did, but with good intentions.” He leaned back against the wall and tried to stare her down. “First, I don’t want your money.”

“I already pay you!”

“Let me clarify. I don’t want your money for helping out a friend and neighbor. For clocking in and standing over a hot grill, yeah, you bet I’ll take my pay.”

“You don’t consider snooping through my records real work? You do that for all your friends?” Maybe for all the women you lust after?

He smiled. “You’d be surprised how many people want free advice. Back in Columbus it happened all the time, especially with my wife’s...” He stopped, shook his head and frowned.

His wife’s what? Her family? Did he see them anymore?

Did Colt?

“Once I have you set up, you’ll be able to do the recording yourself. Or you can hire a good accountant to keep up.”

“Meaning someone other than you?”

“I’m as good as it gets,” he said without modesty. “I’m also expensive. Or used to be, anyway. I meant someone better than the idiot who mucked up your books in the first place.”

That idiot had worked for her great-uncle, and since she’d loved her uncle a lot, she’d tried hard to honor all his decisions. Unfortunately, even she knew Uncle Bibb had been out-of-date on many things, especially bookkeeping, and he’d been more interested in making the restaurant a family, rather than a thriving business.

Resenting Hogan a lot, she eased down into her chair. “You mentioned cost analysis.”

“Yeah. For instance, you aren’t charging enough for the ribs, not with the way they’re selling. Same goes for the specialty burgers, the meat loaf and a few other menu items.” He came to lean on her desk and spent half an hour telling her his initial assessment, what should be adjusted up and what should be adjusted down. He even suggested she alter her specials based on sales stats.

She didn’t like owing him, and now she was more in his debt than she wanted to admit. She was also impressed. “I was thinking the same about the ribs, but until I can offer them through the week, I don’t want to tamper with success.”

“So let’s do a test week. Since I’m working from home, I can be around enough for you to sell ribs for dinner. We can keep track and see how that goes, plus see what sides sell the best with them. From what I can tell, it’s potato salad and leafy salad, but I’m not in the kitchen much, so I can’t say for sure. That’s just what I see with the customers sitting around me.”

Having Hogan around even more would be such a blast of temptation. She was only a flesh-and-blood woman and she hadn’t been with a man in too long to count.

But whoever wrote that advice column had recognized an important facet of her personality; she was a businesswoman down to the marrow of her bones. It would be completely stupid to pass up such a terrific opportunity. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“I can get most of my work done in the morning, then swing by to lend you a hand while I get things going.”

Disliking him and his unending helpful attitude, she had to fight not to curl her lip. “That’s an awful lot for you to have to do.”

“True.” He briefly touched her cheek. “But I haven’t been sick, so I don’t tire easily.” He smiled and stood again. “I’ll go get started, and seriously, Violet, if you need something, ask.”

* * *

The week went by in a blur of rushed activity, calculations and unending enticement. Between him and Violet, they kept track of menu items, especially those ordered with the ribs, which were an enormous success, just as they’d both assumed they’d be.

At first, Hogan had considered teaching someone to do the ribs during the week for him, for the times when he couldn’t be there. But the more time that passed, the more territorial he felt about it.

And damn it, he enjoyed himself. So much time spent in the fresh air instead of an office. The conversation with customers, many of whom had become friends. The freedom of it, being able to laugh and joke even while working.

He loved it—all but the endless, grinding lust for Violet. Lust, but also more.

Hogan didn’t mean to, but he continually compared her to Meg. His wife had been, at least seemingly, the perfect partner. He wasn’t the only one who’d thought she enjoyed the domestic life, making their home as perfect as she could get it, always clean and orderly and well decorated. She’d loved to cook, stayed involved in the schools and always took pride in her appearance.

Violet, on the other hand, thrived on her business involvement. She would run herself ragged and smile while doing it as long as she was working in the restaurant. By the end of the day her amazing hair was a mess, her subtle makeup smudged and her casual clothes stained, but she never seemed to notice.

He noticed. Hell, he noticed everything about her.

Though incredibly petite, probably weighing no more than one-fifteen, Violet had strength. He’d seen her heft heavy boxes, rearrange picnic tables to rake up leaves and carry platters that weighed nearly as much as she did.

She also handled the occasional disgruntled customer with Southern charm and the take-charge control of a grade school teacher. Far as Hogan could tell, everyone liked her.

Single males flirted with her, but Violet never flirted back, at least not in a way that any guy could take seriously. Her flirting extended to everyone, male, female, young and old.

Except with him. Yet Hogan wasn’t sure what to do about it.

Especially since she still denied him.

In no time at all, Hogan fell into an acceptable rhythm. Being away from the office, working from home, made him more productive. He got far more done in a lot less time without Joni constantly trying to get in his pants. And since Colt was still working at the diner, he saw him more often, too.

It made Hogan wonder about opening his own business, a place where Colt could work alongside him. If it weren’t for the college expenses...

Damn Meg for throwing away everything they’d worked for, including their son’s future.

And for what? Sex with strangers? A few fast good times? Was it a ridiculous midlife crisis, or had she truly, completely stopped loving him to the point that all she felt was disdain?

Hogan didn’t like thinking about it, but he couldn’t clear the thoughts from his brain. He frowned while standing in the prep area, readying his fully cooked ribs for the grill. He realized he was breathing harder as the old rage and helplessness burned through his blood in a fresh wave.

For far too long that rage had chased him into being someone he hadn’t recognized, someone he didn’t respect.

Then Hogan felt a familiar hand swat his butt.

Immediately distracted from the choking memories, he glanced up into Violet’s light blue eyes. “There’s this thing called sexual harassment,” he teased, knowing how he felt about her and how he felt about Joni were two very different things.

Grinning, her thick red hair in a loose topknot, Violet said, “But, sugar, you haven’t even harassed me...today.”

She confused him more than any woman he’d ever known, including his wife. “No, I haven’t. You were busy talking to customers.”

“A group of young ladies who wanted to know Colt’s schedule.” She rolled her eyes. “I told them to ask him, and they said he wouldn’t share.”

“I’m surprised. These days Colt is all about the female attention.”

“I think he’s a tease, like his father.”

He’d like to tease her—in bed. He wouldn’t mind toying with her until she squirmed and panted and begged him to—

She bumped her hip to his. “You’ve got this glazed look in your eyes.”

Hogan scowled. “Do you want me to grill or make out with you?”

She pretended to pout. “It has to be one or the other?”

5

SEXUAL INTEREST CLENCHED Hogan’s muscles and shortened his breath. He looked at Violet, wondering if she meant it, if maybe the pressure was building in her the same explosive way it built in him.

The more they’d worked together, the more sexual their banter had become. It left him frustrated and, at times, annoyed.

Regardless of that, he liked seeing Violet every day. He especially liked stealing a kiss here and there—usually when he could catch her off guard.

Her protests were fewer and farther between. In fact, when he didn’t steal a kiss, she found a way to provoke him, as she did now.

She’d been nearly herself by Thursday, and today she looked even better—less tired, more refreshed. Recovered from her illness.

To be sure, he asked, “You’re feeling okay?”

“I feel terrific.”

“Not working yourself too hard?”

“No harder than necessary, definitely no harder than you.” She tipped her head. “What game are you playing now?”

“Game?”

Her look became accusing. “You going to give me that kiss or not?”

Hogan gave it quick thought and decided on a different tack. He held up his hands, now a little messy with seasonings, rub and sauce. “How about you kiss me instead? I believe in equal rights for women. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, or vice versa. If you want a kiss—”

“Are you challenging me?”

More like testing her, but he only cocked a brow and waited.

Giving it some thought, Violet gazed at his mouth until her own expression warmed, and Hogan knew she’d made up her mind.

Anticipation held him still.

Rising on tiptoe, she lightly touched his lips with a fingertip. He could feel her breath, his own suspended. She leaned forward, caught his bottom lip in her teeth and lightly tugged.

Interest keen, Hogan waited.

She soothed his lip with her hot little tongue and slowly, very slowly, fitted her mouth to his in a kiss that made him half-hard.

He held on to the counter behind him; not only were his hands messy, but if he touched her, he just knew he’d get carried away. They had relative privacy in his prep area, yet they weren’t alone, not in the restaurant with other employees around, customers coming and going.

For only a moment, her breasts pressed to his ribs and her hands held tightly to his shoulders. I want to do this again, Violet, with both of us naked and a bed nearby.

As she eased away she kissed his chin, his jaw and his throat.

In a soft, husky voice, she whispered, “How do you always smell so good?” She brushed her nose along his throat, his collarbone, rested her forehead against his chest for a heartbeat, and then with a sigh, she stepped away.

He was struggling to get his thoughts in order when she said, all brisk business, “I raised the prices on the items we discussed, and so far, no one has even noticed.”

Hogan stared at her. “Damn, you’re good.”

“At kissing? At conversation switches?”

So she’d done it on purpose? He growled. “At making me nuts.”

She gave an unrepentant grin. “I’ve learned from you. God knows you’ve done it to me enough times.”

“Is that so?” Sure, he’d stolen some kisses—and she’d enjoyed it.

Almost as much as he’d just enjoyed it. Damn.

Seeing that he understood, Violet laughed. “I like having you around, Hogan. I really do.” She patted his abs and sashayed away with her own sexy little swagger of triumph.

He had a lot to think about.

Luckily, an upside to grilling at a crowded restaurant was plenty of time to ruminate.

* * *

When Nathan pulled into his driveway at 7:00 p.m., grimy from head to toe and still seething, he paid no attention to his neighbors. He had a cloth wrapped around his bleeding hand and an attitude that could spit nails.

He didn’t notice Brooklin out front until he slammed his car door, and then heard her call out.

“Nathan? Oh my God, what happened?”

Curt, he said, “Nothing.” Which was stupid, given how blood dripped from the soaked cloth and down his forearm. The woman was elusive, but she wasn’t blind.

“Are you okay?”

Just freaking dandy. She never wanted to talk to him, so why now? “Fine,” he said, still terse, and kept walking.

It shocked the hell out of him when, before he could reach his front door, she joined him on his porch.

“You’re bleeding.”

Briefly, he closed his eyes, trying to get his temper under control. “An accident. Nothing major.”

“Let me see.”

“Shouldn’t you be running the other way?”

She pulled her head back, glared at him, then took the keys from his hand and, scowling as much as him, opened his door.

“Go to your kitchen,” she ordered, and now she was the one being abrupt. “Do you have a first-aid kit?”

He didn’t know what the hell to think, but having her in his house quickly took the heat from his rage. Wondering what she would do, he said, “Under my bathroom cabinet.”

“I’ll be right back.”

As if she invaded the homes of bachelors every day—bachelors she usually avoided—Brooklin went down his hall. Their houses were set up the same. Hell, most of the houses on the street were the same inside, with only subtle differences outside.

Wondering if he’d picked up his dirty clothes after his shower that morning, Nathan went to the kitchen sink and unwrapped his hand. The pad of his thumb on his left hand had already bruised around the two-inch slice. He threw away the cloth and ran water over his hand so he could see how deep it might be.

“Here, sit down.” Brooklin showed up with his first-aid kit and pulled a chair toward him. She looked at the blood and bruises, assessing the damage, then began cleaning it with an antiseptic. “How’d you do this?”

She held his large, tanned hand in her much smaller, much paler fingers while she worked. Nathan studied the top of her bowed head. “Stupid cat got stuck in a stupid old air conditioner, and I had to get it out.”

“And you stupidly cut yourself on a stupid, jagged piece of metal?”

Her take-charge, sassy attitude lightened his own. “Something like that.”

“The cat?”

“Back in the arms of the old lady who owns his mangy ass.”

“I trust he fared better than you?”

“Not a scratch.”

Once she’d cleaned it, Brooklin carefully prodded. “Since your kit has nylon butterfly bandages, I don’t think you’ll need stitches.”

“I already decided that.”

“I’m going to put some medicine on it, okay? Then the bandages, then I’ll wrap it.”

Nathan was busy noticing that for once she wasn’t in running clothes. She also wasn’t wearing a bra under her tan T-shirt. Heat ran up his spine until his collar felt too damn tight.

So did his pants.

“Sure,” he said. “Knock yourself out.”

Instead of activewear, tonight Brooklin wore loose, striped pajama pants. Her thick hair fell free around her face, half hiding her concentrated expression, occasionally brushing his forearm.

Breathing her in, Nathan enjoyed the scents of floral shampoo and sweet, warm woman. She’d broken with her normal routine and that interested him. A lot. “What were you doing before I interrupted?”

She bent closer to his hand. “Waiting for my toenails to dry.”

He glanced down at her bare feet and saw her toenails painted a sparkly purple. For some reason, that made him smile.

“Does this hurt?”

“No.” Not his hand. Other parts were starting to strain a little. “You a nurse or something?”

She hesitated, frozen, then shook her head. “No.” She wrapped some gauze around the bandages.

With his uninjured hand, Nathan lifted her hair away, then held the thick tresses in a loose fist. Their eyes met. “You don’t sound real convinced.”

She straightened abruptly. He didn’t let go of her hair fast enough and she winced at the tug, but said nothing about it. “All done. I hope you’re right-handed.”

“I am.” This time he brushed her hair back over her shoulder. Her hair was thick and warm and it turned him on. Hell, everything about her turned him on, even her obstinate and secretive attitude.