An Imperfect Match / Next Comes Love: An Imperfect Match / Next Comes Love

“I’m not talking about the damn phone directory. I want to know who would want to hurt you and Honey.”

She swallowed, stunned at his blunt question and how easily he managed to zero in on her biggest fear. Her eyes widened and she shook her head. “I don’t know,” she lied. The less Dean knew about her childhood in Hinkley, the better off he’d be. It was her burden to bear. No one else’s.

Crossing into the living room, she curled into a ball on the sofa. “It was probably some dumb kid playing a prank,” she said, trying to throw him off the true reason for her fear. “I admit, it’s a pretty nasty prank.” And an expensive one, she almost added, but didn’t want him to offer to pay for it because she could almost sense that’s where he was going. “And here I thought small towns were full of nothing but nice people. Hmm, guess not.”

Dean exhaled, regarding her with that steady gaze, seeming to pierce right through her flimsy excuse until she fought the urge to squirm. “Are you in trouble?” he asked quietly.

She laughed, but the sound was ragged even to her own ears. “No more than anyone else who just found out someone had tried to mix baking ingredients in her gas tank. This is more of a nuisance than anything else. It really puts a cramp in my travel plans.” She tried joking but, damn the man, he wasn’t laughing. Suddenly tired of her own game, Annabelle dropped the act. “Dean…I don’t know who might’ve done this. All I know is I’m without a vehicle in a town without public transit. That’s what I’m focusing on right now. Okay?”

“I’ll help you.”

“I don’t want your help.”

“Why not?”

She sighed, wishing for a millisecond that her principles weren’t so ironclad, that she could just allow herself to sink into his strong arms, even for a moment, to let someone else shoulder the weight crushing her. But it was a foolish wish because Annabelle could never do that. She’d never allow herself to depend on someone else so completely. “Because I’m not the kind of woman who looks for someone to save her. I will save myself. I’ve been doing it for years and I’ve had plenty of practice.”

“I have a car you can borrow while yours is in the shop,” Dean said as if she hadn’t just spoken. “It’s in good shape and you need a reliable car.”

“What did I just say? Stop trying to save me! I can’t borrow one of your vehicles. What would people think?”

He looked at her incredulously. “Who cares?”

“I do.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that you worry about all the wrong things?”

She drew back. “Excuse me?”

“If you’re so worried about what people think why do you dress like you do?”

“I beg your pardon?” She could feel her cheeks pinking as a wave of mortification rolled over her. Suddenly, she was back in high school and the popular girls were criticizing her wardrobe. It was stupid to draw the parallel—she was not in high school any longer—but the feeling his statement evoked was pretty much the same. “Who are you to criticize my clothes?”

“Your boss,” he answered bluntly and she could only stare. Her momentary silence prompted him to continue though Annabelle was quite certain she didn’t want to hear any more of what Dean Halvorsen had to say.

“If you don’t want men to stare at your breasts don’t put them on a platter. If you don’t want people to think that you’re less than who you are, don’t give them an opportunity. You come to work decked out in hooker heels and tight tanks that leave nothing to the imagination and then act all indignant when men like Aaron Eagle come sniffing around.”

“I never encouraged that man’s attention. If you recall I was quite clear on how I stood in regards to his advances.” Stung, she blinked back angry tears. “And, excuse me, but I didn’t realize my wardrobe was so offensive. I thought I was dressed nicely,” she added, the starch in her tone disintegrating with a watery hiccup that made her cheeks burn that much more hotly for the pitiful sound. Grinding the moisture from her eyes, she pulled the afghan her mother had knitted from the top of the sofa and tucked it around herself as if the soft yarn could protect her from further insult, hoping the gesture was enough to communicate that he was no longer welcome.

But he didn’t leave. Damn the man. She sent a nasty look his way. “Anything else you have a problem with? My hair perhaps? Or my eyes? Maybe those aren’t to your liking, either.” Too bad. There was nothing she could do about those. Not that she could change her wardrobe, either. It wasn’t as if she had room in her budget for new clothes.

A long enough moment passed between them that Annabelle started to feel the silence as if it were a living, breathing thing and she wasn’t happy with its presence. She risked another glance his way, this time not as angry but still hurt, and she caught the open chagrin in his expression. She softened, knowing without having to hear the words that he felt bad, but she wasn’t ready to make the first move. Luckily, she didn’t have to.

Dean drew a deep breath. “You were dressed nicely. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it like that. Hell, I suck when it comes to saying things the right way.”

“You got that right,” Annabelle agreed softly, not quite ready to let him off the hook. She eyed him curiously. “So, what did you mean? Do you really hate the way I dress?”

“That answer is complicated.”

“Try simplifying.”

“It’s like this…” He drifted toward her, but she remained rooted where she stood. Soon, she was staring into a pair of eyes that were far too extraordinary to be called brown as they flared with brilliant flecks of hazel. She forgot herself and why she needed to keep her distance as he spoke again. “Annabelle, you have to know that you’re a beautiful woman with a stunning figure, but that’s just what’s on the surface and I know that’s probably all a lot of people see. I strive to keep things professional between us, but some days when you’re dressed like that…hell, woman, I’m just a man and all I can think of is you and it kills me. I shouldn’t be thinking of you in that way. I’m your boss.”

His eyes had the look of a man tortured by his admission, ashamed even by his perceived weakness, and Annabelle had a startling revelation. He was fighting as hard as she was to keep the lines drawn, but there seemed a current flowing between them that kept pulling them near to one another.

Annabelle was falling even though she was standing still, which was patently ridiculous. She realized with a breathy start that her gaze feasted on the promise of his lips, aching to know what it felt like to have them pressed against her own. Valid points. He made valid points, a voice in her head reminded her even as her feet seemed to move in the same direction, pulled on an invisible current toward one inevitable course.

“I like my clothes,” she said in a soft voice, looking up into Dean’s gorgeous eyes and wondering how she had never noticed their unusual color before this moment. “And I’m not going to change.”

“Yes, you will,” he murmured with a low growl that excited her in a way that defied explanation. His arms closed around her in a perfect fit, their bodies molding against one another until Annabelle struggled to remember why this was a bad idea. This was safety, a different voice whispered. This was home. No, this was a man who was off-limits and dangerous.

But it was too late. She was a goner. Probably hadn’t even had a chance from the moment he came toward her. Her fate had been sealed. But as far as fates go, she thought weakly, as his lips touched hers in a firm exploration that sparked little tingles up and down her body, this isn’t half-bad.

Shoot, if she was going to send her life to hell in a handbag, having Dean ride shotgun wasn’t a terrible idea.

What did she have to lose?

CHAPTER TEN

DEAN WAS a bundle of nerves. He wasn’t accustomed to acting like an idiot. Usually, he was the responsible one. The one who shouldered the family load without complaint.

And yet, here he was, itching from nervous apprehension over one stupid move.

What the hell was he thinking? That was an easy one to answer. He hadn’t been thinking. He didn’t know what came over him. It was as if he were under a spell or something. Yeah. That was it. A spell of stupidity. A wave of disgust rolled over him and he wondered if this was what happened to middle-aged men when they hit a midlife crisis. First comes the motorcycle, then the younger woman. Except, he’d skipped the wheels and gone straight to the hot babe.

Scrubbing his hands down his face, he tried focusing on the day ahead. Dana was bringing Annabelle and for that he was grateful. He needed a little time to get hold of himself. He’d spun away from Annabelle the moment his brain reengaged with a resounding What the hell are you doing? and after stammering some kind of lame excuse he’d practically run out of the house.

Judging by the stunned expression on her face, he doubted that was the reaction she’d expected. It probably made her feel like dirt, but he couldn’t help it. His feet had gone on autopilot and his body had had no choice but to follow. He’d screwed up. Dropped the ball. And now he had the aftermath to deal with, which would be awkward as hell as soon as she got here.

His heart pounded as the sound of Dana’s car in the driveway told him Annabelle had arrived. Under normal circumstances, he would’ve gone out to help with Honey, but he wanted to postpone this face-to-face as long as possible. Coward. He forced his attention to the bid sheet and not to the sound of footsteps coming toward the building.

But as the moment he’d been dreading arrived, Annabelle shocked the hell out of him when she did the exact opposite of what he expected.

She smiled as if nothing had happened.

“Good morning,” she said, placing Honey’s diaper bag in the corner and Honey on the floor while she constructed the playpen. “Don’t forget you have that lunch meeting with that new concrete guy over at The Grill and Brandon is going to be late tonight. He’s going over to Jessie’s after school.”

Startled by the ease with which she pretended nothing had happened between them, Dean could only stare for a moment until Honey climbed into his lap and his arms went around the toddler as she grabbed at the items scattered across his desk. So, was this how they should address the issue? Pretend?

It should’ve been the answer to his dilemma. Obviously, they were on the same page. Neither thought what they did was appropriate, and it was better just to let it go. So, why did he suddenly want to talk about it?

It didn’t feel right to act as though nothing had changed. Or maybe it hadn’t for her, which left him feeling like the complete sap for letting it affect him in such a visceral manner.

Jerking his gaze away from Annabelle, his mouth softened as he looked at Honey. She smelled of baby shampoo and powder. Her silky blond curls hung in lazy ringlets against rosebud cheeks and he was reminded of something far more pressing than his momentary lapse in judgment.

“You should file a police report,” he said to Annabelle as she finished with the playpen. She straightened and offered a brittle smile but little else, which told him that despite her seemingly sunny disposition, she was rattled as well. “I don’t feel comfortable knowing someone deliberately sabotaged your car.”

Annabelle laughed and brushed past him accidentally, sending his whole body on alert, as she traveled to the file cabinet. “You worry too much. I told you it was probably just a prank. I’m not going to bother the authorities over something like this. Besides, it’s not your problem, okay?”

Polite but firm, the message was loud and clear. Back off.

Honey voiced her opinion with a string of nonsensical babble and he renewed his efforts. “What if it hadn’t been sugar in your tank but your brake line cut, or your tires? What if you were driving down the road with Honey and you careened down a cliff? There’re bigger things at stake here, don’t you think?” Annabelle blanched and Dean knew he’d made his point. “What’s it going to hurt to talk with a deputy? Besides, you might need a police report for your insurance company to cover the damages.”

“Insurance covers stuff like this?”

“Some. Depends on your policy. Did you get full coverage or just liability?”

“Full.”

“Well, then, I’d say it’s probably covered under comprehensive. I’d bet you have a $500 deductible, though.”

She chewed her lip. “Well, that’s a little better than the $800 Jonas quoted me,” she said, thinking out loud. “All right. I’ll make a report but not because I’m worried or anything. Just for the insurance. No one is out to get me or Honey,” she assured him, but the subtle quiver told him differently. Since she’d agreed to make the report, he decided to stop pressing the issue. The end result was to his liking so he figured he’d let the rest go. For now.

“Good.” He checked his watch. Time to go. He had appointments one on top of another and he was glad. Annabelle might be able to pretend that they hadn’t locked lips, but he was having a hard time doing the same. Now that he’d tasted those plump, pouting lips, it was all he could do not to lean in for another. She smelled like a sexy fruit salad—if there was such a thing—and it was hard to ignore the sensory overload.

He stood and gently handed Honey over to Annabelle, swallowing the impulse to babble all sorts of ridiculous stuff about last night, and headed for the door.

Her voice—oddly forlorn and at odds with the strong woman he knew her as—stopped him.

“I know you didn’t mean to kiss me.”

He wished that were true.

“It was probably just one of those spur-of-the-moment, high-emotion kind of things. I know it didn’t mean anything.”

A part of him desperately wished he’d felt nothing but uncomplicated desire as their lips touched. It would simplify the situation by half. But he knew the truth. He’d never been the kind of man who could be intimate without involving his heart. Sex for the sake of physical release never felt right.

Closing his eyes for a split second, he opened them as he turned to face her. She stood, cradling Honey on her hip, backlit by the sun coming in from the far window, and his throat closed at the sheer beauty of the picture she made. He couldn’t lie. “Kissing you was my choice.” And given half a chance I’d do it again.

ANNABELLE stared, not quite sure she’d heard that right. But the tight set of Dean’s jaw and the piercing look in his brown eyes told her differently.

“So why do you look as if you just admitted to something awful?” she asked, putting Honey into her playpen for the time being.

“It is awful,” he said simply, his gaze tracking her movements, sliding over her like a caress. “It’s inappropriate given our working relationship, but it wasn’t an accident. There’s no sense in lying. I wanted to kiss you.”

Heat curled deep in her belly and pooled in her pelvis but she managed to nod. She’d wanted to kiss him, too. But where did that leave them? The question must’ve flashed in her eyes.

“We go back to the way things were. It shouldn’t be that hard. We hardly know each other, right?”

“Right.”

“So, we just tuck this incident away in our private thoughts and leave it there. We both know it can’t go any further and there’s no sense in chasing after something that’s doomed to fail.”

Very sensible. But her chest felt leaden. Had she hoped for more? Flustered by her own reaction, she offered a breezy smile that she certainly didn’t feel, and nodded. “Absolutely, that’s the best idea. I’m completely on board with that. Much less complicated. Good thinking.”

He eyed her with suspicion and she wondered if she was smiling too brightly to be taken at face value. What did it matter what he thought? They’d agreed to a course of action and it seemed the most logical given their circumstances, so whatever else she was feeling—disappointment, chagrin, frustration—would just have to dissipate on its own.

“Glad we agree,” he said slowly, though he didn’t make a move to leave as she’d expected. In fact, the air between them felt heavy with unfinished business and Annabelle knew what was missing.

“Just one question,” she started, her heart rate kicking a tango in her chest as she closed the short distance. He regarded her with wary interest, his whole body tense. She swallowed, wondering what the hell had gotten into her.

“Yeah?”

The tight scratch of his voice rubbed against her raw nerves and sent heat curling through her body.

“What if I didn’t want to pretend that nothing happened? What if…I wanted to try it again?”

Dean’s eyes darkened, and she could tell he fought a war against himself. She sensed the battle between propriety and desire, and the fact that he struggled made her want him all the more. It was insane and went against every principle that she stood for. Don’t lust after your boss. The rule was very simple. Sticking to it was not so easy.

“Annabelle…”

“I know.” She lifted on her tiptoes and did the very thing she knew she should never do. But as her lips touched his, she wondered if being good was overrated.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“ANNABELLE? Did you hear me, dear?”

Annabelle started, embarrassed to have been caught daydreaming during a committee meeting by none other than Dean’s mother, Mary. She adjusted Honey on her lap in an attempt to look as though the baby had needed her attention. Shameful to use her own daughter that way, she thought ruefully and pressed a quick kiss on Honey’s head.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t catch that,” she admitted, feeling her cheeks heat. She couldn’t very well tell Dean’s mother that the reason she wasn’t paying attention was because she was replaying that day’s activities in her head. Repeatedly. Well, mostly only a few select moments. But they were really good moments.

“Would you like us to bring the lemonade canisters to Dean’s office or to your house?”

“The office would be fine,” she murmured.

“They’re heavy once you fill them,” Mary said, then looked to Dean. “You can help her, right, son?”

Dean caught Annabelle’s gaze and she felt the power of his stare all the way down to her toes. Before she knew it, a smile was curving her lips and all but announcing to the room that something was going on between them.

“No need,” Annabelle said quickly, dropping the smile in favor of something more businesslike. “I’m sure I can manage on my own. I’m stronger than I look.”

A wave of light laughter filled the room but all Annabelle could see was Dean as he told his mother that he’d help in any way the committee might need him.

He was an incredible kisser. Sweet, yet firm; gentle yet demanding. He’d possessed her mouth with nothing less than mastery and Annabelle had had to fight to keep her expression carefully schooled lest it drift into something akin to blissfully dreamy.

“You look like you have something juicy to share,” Dana whispered out of the corner of her mouth. “Tell now? Or later?”

“What are you talking about?” Annabelle said, trying to bluff, but Dana wasn’t buying. She tried harder to throw her best friend off the scent. “I’m just happy to be involved. Feels good, you know?”

Dana nodded but a shrewd light shone from her eyes. “Mmm-hmm” was all she said, but Annabelle breathed a secret sigh of relief that Dana didn’t seem inclined to press just yet. The operative word being yet. That was okay. By the time Dana got around to squeezing something out of Annabelle, whatever was going on between her and Dean would likely be over. Annabelle wasn’t a fool. Well, at the moment she was certainly acting like one, mooning over her boss, but in the long run, she knew where things really stood. This was a fling. Plain and simple. Ordinarily, Annabelle wasn’t one to play that game, but there was something about Dean that robbed her of the ability to think straight. Especially when he hit her with those smoldering glances that all but screamed he was thinking of one thing.

And that should piss her off. She hated being objectified. But coming from Dean it didn’t feel like something cheap and tawdry, though a part of her was petrified that it was exactly that, but she was too googly-eyed to notice it for what it truly was. Ugh. She rubbed her temple as her own dizzying logic sent a stabbing pain straight to her brain.

Somehow the meeting ended and she managed to make all the appropriate head bobs and agreements though she couldn’t for the life of her recall what had been the topic of discussion. Something about refreshments? Cucumber sandwiches? Who eats those? Sounded dreadful. Hope she’d heard that wrong.

They filed out of the community hall, which was really a glorified barn that had been retrofitted for the town’s purpose of a meeting center, and Annabelle said her goodbyes to everyone, hoisting Honey higher on her hip as she awaited Dean. She hated being dependent on him, but they’d arrived together, and he had the car seat in the truck. It didn’t seem right to arrive and leave together. She didn’t want people to talk.

“Maybe Dana could give us a ride home,” Annabelle suggested, hating the nervous quality of her voice. When he looked at her oddly, she explained with a fair amount of awkwardness. “Well, you know, I don’t want you to think that I expect you to drive us around all the time. Dana and Sammy would surely take us home if I asked. And, I don’t want people to think…” She blushed. “You know. In the absence of facts, people make up stories.”

Instead of answering, Dean gently took Honey from her arms and said, “Are you hungry, monkey? I am. Let’s get something to eat. All that talk of cucumber and aram sandwiches has made me hungry for some real food.” He turned to Annabelle with a twitching grin. “You coming? Or would you rather stand out here in the dark discussing the merits of the Emmett’s Mill gossip grapevine? Which, I might add, started talking the moment Sammy hired you. Since there’s nothing we can do about it, let’s eat.”

Smart. And utterly frustrating because he was right.

“I’m uncomfortable with everyone knowing my business,” she said quietly when she caught up to him. “I’d rather whatever is happening between us—if anything—is kept between you and me. People might not look at me very kindly if they thought I was trying to move in on Emmett’s Mill’s favorite widower.”

“No one would think that.”

“Yes, they would. I know how people think about strangers in small towns. Guilty until proven innocent and I don’t want anyone to judge me or Honey.”

He shot her a quick look that was incredibly protective and warmed her heart in a silly way. “No one is going to say a word about either of you. I wouldn’t allow it.”

Dean buckled Honey into her seat and Annabelle climbed into the truck, struck by how comfortable this moment was. They felt like a family. Shaking off that ridiculous—and dangerous—thought, she strapped on her seat belt and exhaled a short breath. “Well, thanks, but you can just take us home. I’ll just throw in a pot pie for me and Honey to share.”

“How about you let me take you and Honey to dinner?”

Annabelle balked. “Out? In public? That’s just begging for tongues to wag at my expense. No thanks. Are you ready to answer questions about…this?” Not that she knew what this was herself.

His mouth compressed into a tight line and she had her answer, though it poked her in a vulnerable spot. She straightened. “See? Home is best.”

“Right.” He sighed and put the truck in gear.

DEAN COULD smell whatever fragrance Annabelle always wore, whether it was simply her shampoo or perfume, and it made him want to bury his nose in the waves that fell down her back in an inviting tumble. He’d gone and screwed things up royally, but he couldn’t say he regretted it. No, he could admit it hadn’t been smart, but he couldn’t say he wouldn’t want to do it again if given the chance. Annabelle was under his skin in the worst way and he hungered to know more.