Nicki smoothed a stretchy jersey dress down her body before her mirror, liking what she saw.
Only not.
Jesus, when was the last time she’d worn a dress? It looked nice, flattered her shape, but the woman in the mirror also didn’t look like her. It all felt far too formal, and in the end she chickened out and changed back into the jeans and sweater she’d been wearing all day.
She stopped by Matty’s room with a goodnight kiss and a warning to get to sleep ASAP. As far as he knew, she was meeting a friend for a drink, and how about that? She hadn’t even had to lie. No doubt he assumed it was a female friend, and luckily he wasn’t interested enough to ask for details.
Out in the kitchen, however, her mother was interested. Nicki offered a curt nod and incriminating, “No comment.”
“Just don’t come home pregnant,” her mom advised, more joke than warning.
“Not funny. See you in the morning.”
Knowing brown eyes made an inventory of her, head to feet. “You look nice.”
“Thanks, Ma.”
“He’d better say the same.”
Nicki smiled at that. “Yes, he’d certainly better.”
She’d kept busy all day, kept the butterflies at a safe distance, but any cool she’d mustered vanished the moment she buckled her seatbelt and turned the key. As soon as the car was in motion, so was her stomach. She spent the twenty-minute drive deep breathing, and not to much avail.
The ranch’s front lot was as empty as she’d ever seen it, just Miah’s pickup and motorcycle, plus the little Toyota sedan she imagined belonged to his mother. Nicki parked way out near the entrance, feeling, only half irrationally, like this was some kind of scandal. She was a big-city girl, but she knew how small towns worked—much like her old neighborhood. Word got around, and the last thing she wanted was word getting back to Matty.
Tote bag in hand, she slammed her door as gently as she could, paused, ran her hands over her hair, over her hips, blew out a long breath. As she headed for the house, she saw him—Miah, sitting on the porch swing, hands in the kangaroo pockets of a hooded jacket, one ankle resting on the other knee in that cocky, cowboy way. She felt her face burn, knowing he’d seen her little primping session. So much for playing it cool.
Like he doesn’t know damn well I’m here to mess around with him. And that thought warmed her in an entirely different way.
“Evenin’,” he said as she reached the steps.
“Evening. You catch me grooming?”
“No idea what you mean.” He got to his feet. His dark eyes moved over her, down and up again, and when she came close, he drew her against him. His lips were cold when they brushed hers, but thrilling all the same. She held his shoulders, wanting to rake her nails over his skin, fist his collar, throw him down on this porch and devour him whole. Instead she retained the last of her dignity, accepting his brief, teasing kiss, then stepping back.
She licked her lips and smiled up at him. “Been waiting up for me?”
“Maybe. My mom’s in bed, so I thought I’d save you having to use the doorbell. Since this affair is strictly hush-hush, right?”
“Very sneaky—I like it. Invite me in?”
He nodded, stepping aside and waving his arm.
She preceded him inside, and they held their tongues as they slid their shoes off in the front hall. Nicki wondered if his mom’s room was up the nearest set of stairs. As they made their way past the kitchen, Nicki whispered, “I feel about seventeen.”
He laughed softly and took her hand, leading her to the big, open den. She loved this room. It felt like some rustic old lodge, two stories high and overlooked by the second-floor landing, punctuated by thick floorboards and the fat beams buttressing the ceiling. A massive stone fireplace dominated the far wall. A modest television was mounted off to the side, relegated to a clear runner-up position as focal pieces went. Leering from here and there were the mounted heads of elk and antelope and God knew what else. Those were a little weird, but she’d be able to block them out as soon as things got handsy, she trusted.
“Make yourself at home,” Miah said. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“You may.” She set her tote on the hulking wooden slab of a coffee table and pulled out a bottle of white wine, still cold from her fridge.
Miah hefted it by the neck and studied the label.
She smirked. “You scrutinizing my taste?”
“Just taking notes,” he said. “Might come in handy, knowing what to have stocked if I want to keep tricking you into spending time with me.”
Her smile deepened. “It’s cute you think I’m here for the wine.”
He raised a rakish eyebrow at her. “Touché, Deputy.”