Honey Pie (Cupcake Club)

chapter 9


Somehow, in the span of a short forty-eight hours, Dylan’s life had been tossed up in the air, twisted inside out, and had come flopping back down in a completely unrecognizable form. At least, that’s how it felt.

He’d been perfectly happy to work in his garage, fixing what was broken, then head home, work on his boat, have a glass of something cold, maybe a steak, and a decent view of the sunset. It was a peaceful, contented life, and one he was damn grateful for. Hell, adding a dog to that equation had been enough of an adjustment. More than enough.

Between the fire last year, starting over with the new garage location, and taking on the care and feeding of a four-legged companion, he’d had about all the upheaval and change he could stand. He was all set to keep things status quo well into the foreseeable future.

Then Honey D’Amourvell had shown up and shot his peaceful, easy existence all to hell and back. And he wasn’t happy about it. Not one bit.

So why on God’s green earth was he whistling—whistling, for Godsake—as he drove back to the county courthouse complex to pick her up for the drive back to Sugarberry? It certainly wasn’t because he was looking forward to the torture that surely awaited when she climbed in next to him with that odd exotic scent of hers, and those soul-exposing eyes. He’d be perfectly willing to keep his hands to himself if that’s all it was, but then she’d say something or he’d see that look on her face, and his protective instincts would get all riled up, which was bad enough, but no doubt they’d be shot down again when she gave him that dry smile and smarter mouth if he so much as tried to help.

Somehow, that ended up leaving him frustrated with her, annoyed at himself . . . and dying to kiss her again until she kissed him back. He couldn’t stop thinking about those soft little moans she made as want overcame worry, how, by turns, she’d be guarded, needing him to guide the way . . . and other times be bold and leading the charge. Kissing Honey twisted him up and wrung him out until he felt like the world would end if he didn’t have every last inch of her for as long as he wanted.

And, dear Lord help him, he wanted.

“Yeah, and I really don’t need this shit,” he muttered, then pressed his lips together in case the urge to whistle came over him again.

He’d gotten a call while picking up Frank’s lawnmower part that a junk car dealer he’d contacted about Honey’s car parts had actually managed to put his hands on a bunch of them, and at a substantially lower price than Dylan would have paid through his regular parts dealer. So he’d swung by to check them out, more than satisfied to discover they were in surprisingly good condition. He cancelled his other order and booked time with the junker to come back and look at a few of his other old wrecks to do a deal on some parts salvage, as well. The way it was looking, he’d not only be able to get Honey’s car done sooner, but for about a third the price he’d quoted her.

All good news. Hence, possibly, the whistling. At least that’s what he wanted to believe. The faster he got her car done, the faster she’d be out of Dodge and headed west again . . . and his life would go back to the way it had been—which was exactly the way he liked it. He could happily not get involved with the fine folks of Sugarberry’s personal business and they could stay out of his. And if he wanted to sink himself into a willing woman, he’d find one on this side of the causeway, a woman who didn’t want more than that. He’d make sure they both had a good time, then retreat back to his island. The more he’d thought about it, the more relieved he’d felt.

Then he’d stopped in at the farmers co-op to pick up a parts package for Bucky Werther’s tractor, get some dog food and milk bones for Lolly, and maybe flirt a little with Sally Jo, the good looking blonde who’d just started working the parts department counter. She’d made it clear on his last visit that she might be interested in more than idle chitchat and, at the time, Dylan had been thinking that might be just the thing to end the dry spell he’d been in since the fire.

Perky Sally Jo hadn’t changed her mind. She’d made it clear the minute she’d spied Dylan in the dog supply aisle. The problem was, he hadn’t found himself all that interested in responding to her playful, suggestive banter. In fact, by the time he’d finished his business and paid his bill, she’d been none too pleased with his businesslike responses and had let him know it. Apparently men didn’t say no to Sally Jo too often.

Clearly he’d dodged a bullet there, he’d told himself as he’d given Lolly some break time in the grassy field next to the shop. A demanding, temperamental woman he didn’t need, even for one night. Obviously he’d sensed that in her and that had accounted for the sudden shift in his interest. He did have a knack for that, after all. What with his amazing powers of observation and intuition and all. He’d given the dog some water and a biscuit before putting her back in the truck bed, and had managed to make it all the way over to the courthouse believing just that . . . until he realized he’d been whistling.

And thinking not about a sexy blonde with killer blue eyes and a body that would stop traffic, but a quirky brunette who wore utterly unsexy horn rim glasses, weird clothes, had spooky, scary visions, a sardonic smile that put him in his place . . . and kissed him like he was the only man in the world.

He couldn’t stop thinking about wanting to kiss her again, when what he should be thinking about was that, according to her, he quite truthfully was the only man in her world as there hadn’t been another for quite some time.

“Yeah. And I really, really don’t need that.” Idling at the curb in front of the courthouse complex, he squeezed his eyes shut and massaged the bridge of his nose, opening them again when he heard Lolly give a few happy yips. Honey would be gone soon enough, he reminded himself, and all this craziness would be over. After which he’d come back over to Savannah and find himself some other pretty blonde, or maybe a redhead who knew what was what without all the drama, and forget all about this crazy week in his life.

He looked up to see Honey walking up to the truck. She smiled at Lolly, paused to give her a good scratch and talk a little nonsense to her, before climbing in next to him. It didn’t take any superpower to notice that, despite her smiles for the dog, whatever she’d found out at the courthouse hadn’t been good news.

They hadn’t talked much during the thirty minute ride over the causeway and into the historic southern city. Honey had seemed caught up in her thoughts, probably still dealing with her little moment on the porch with Miss Barbara, and Dylan had been happy to leave her to sort things out. Bad enough that he had to find some way to talk to Frank Hughes about his damn hip and keep him from fishing with his own goddamn nephew. The last thing Dylan wanted or needed was to get more involved. Forty-eight hours in, he reminded himself, and he was already being rooked into providing taxi service, playing watch dog, and running interference, all because of the woman sitting next to him. Two more days and who the hell knew what else she’d drag him into. Damn good thing he could tell her she’d be on the road back to Oregon sooner rather than later.

He was all set to explain it to her, only he screwed up and glanced over at her first. She looked so damned . . . controlled, again. All boxed up and isolated, without a friend in the world. If he so much as mentioned that, he could well imagine she’d be happy to set him straight, inform him she was perfectly fine. More than fine. Never had he met a woman so at ease with her self-enforced seclusion—except she wasn’t as at ease with it as she wanted to be, or she wouldn’t have come all the way to Sugarberry, looking to end her isolation, and she sure as hell wouldn’t have put herself on a collision course with those visions of hers, again. Having witnessed them twice, he damn sure couldn’t blame her for wanting to head straight back into her cave. Hell, he’d chosen to lead a pretty secluded life himself, and that was just because he wanted to steer clear of people in general. If he had to deal with what she had to deal with, he’d live on the dark side of the moon if he could.

Problem was, he’d been perfectly fine living his life. Honey, however, wanted people in hers. She wanted to stop being so alone and apart.

Dylan shifted in his seat as those protective instincts showed up again. Dammit.

“Things get sorted out?” he asked, still with every intention of telling her she could get back on the road a lot sooner than she’d hoped . . . but not feeling so damn righteous and relieved about it any longer.

She’d been lost in her own thoughts and looked up in surprise, whether provoked by the question or his interest, he couldn’t have said.

“Somewhat,” she said, looking at him guardedly.

That pissed him off all over again. She didn’t have to want his help, but she didn’t have to look so damn wary. Pretty much the only person on the planet she didn’t have to be guarded with, was him. “Anywhere else you need to go before we head back across the channel?”

She frowned a little, surprised by the grit in his tone.

But he wasn’t about to apologize for it. Just as well for both of them if he stayed pissed off. The sooner he distanced himself from her, the better.

She shook her head. “No. Thank you for waiting for me and driving me back.”

So damn polite. Already in hiding, carefully tucking it all away. No one understood the need and desire to do that more than he did, but it still bugged the hell out of him that she did it with him. And it shouldn’t. He shouldn’t give a good goddamn how he made her feel or what she thought about him. “Turned out I had another errand to run, so it worked out. No big deal.”

Her frown smoothed at his curt reply and her expression shuttered completely. She shifted her gaze to the front, again. “Well, I appreciate it all the same.”

He had to fight the urge to floor the gas and peel away from the curb like some kind of pissed-off teenager—which made him feel like an idiot. He’d asked after her business, then made it clear he wasn’t in the mood for chitchat. She seemed fine with that. Problem solved. So it made no sense whatsoever that he was disappointed she hadn’t tossed his attitude right back in his face, or at the very least had the decency to look hurt or a little miffed. But no, no. She was apparently just as ready and willing to write him off as he was her. Happy for the shuttle service, and see ya later.

He started the engine, proud of himself for not gunning it. Small triumph, but at the moment, he’d take any edge he could get. He didn’t pull away from the curb, though. “I met up with a guy who found some parts for your car from one of his salvage yards.”

That roused her attention, which he realized was exactly why he’d said it. One step forward . . . one step back. He was busy watching her expression, so he’d have to kick himself later.

She turned and looked at him, her eyes a little brighter.

Naturally, since he was telling her she could leave Sugarberry sooner.

“Really?” She sounded a little more like the Honey he’d gotten to know and less like the Honey who’d shown up on the doorstep of his garage two days ago, looking like a nervous, wounded bird. “That is good news.” Her shoulders softened a little, and she pushed up her glasses.

He wondered if she realized that she wouldn’t have to do that so much if she didn’t keep her gaze half averted all the time.

“It’ll cut the estimate I gave you by a third, maybe more,” he said a little gruffly still, but trying harder not to sound like such a dick—despite knowing he was acting like one. “It’ll cut the time frame down, too.” He wished he didn’t care so much what her reaction was to that little piece of news, but he was holding his breath as he waited for her response.

She didn’t smile in relief as he’d half expected her to. In fact, she went right back to looking torn and pensive again.

“I really appreciate all the trouble you’re going to,” she said, looking down at the fingers she’d twisted together in her lap. “Both with the car and with . . . the other—”

“It’s fine,” he said, cutting her off in a tone that clearly said it was anything but.

She looked at him, her expression unreadable. “Is something else wrong?”

“I wish to hell I knew,” he retorted, raking a hand through his hair and swearing again because he’d meant to get it cut that day. It was easier to be frustrated by his long hair than it was by the woman seated next to him, who shouldn’t have that much power over how his day went. Any power, for that matter.

“Is it the truck?” she asked, apparently assuming as much since he hadn’t pulled out onto the road yet.

“No, it’s not the truck.” He took a moment to get a grip, then turned to look at her. “It’s the people in the truck.”

“People in the—me?” Her eyes went wide. “What did I do? I mean, I know what I did, but I apologized that Barbara asked you to play taxi driver, and I can talk to Mr. Hughes about the boat trip—”

“Just . . . stop, will you? Stop apologizing, stop thinking you know me, or know what pisses me off. That’s what pisses me off, okay?”

She sat back and folded her arms over her middle. “Okay. Not a problem.”

His breath whistled out through his teeth. He’d pissed her off, too. Finally. He shouldn’t be happy about that, but the fact was, she was sharper when she was riled up, more direct with him, more honest with him. Not so damn controlled. And not so damn absent. And not so damn . . . raw.

“You know what? I can get a ride back. I’ve troubled you enough for one day.” She gathered the small piece of luggage she regarded as a purse and reached for the door handle.

“See? You’re doing it again.”

She whirled back to him. “Doing what? Trying to be considerate?”

“Trying to smooth everything out, like that will make everything okay. Everything’s not okay. I meet you and suddenly I’m worried about accidentally touching you so you don’t go headlong to some tortured place. I get roped into playing shuttle driver, and having to make sure Frank Hughes doesn’t lose his damn leg or worse. I’m spending time I don’t have tracking down salvage parts for a car that’s already nothing more than a welded pile of salvage parts to begin with, pissing off the blonde at the co-op—”

Her jaw dropped at the last one. “How is that my fault?”

He just glared at her and she raised her hands, palms out. “Fine, fine. Continue with your rant.”

“I’m not ranting, I’m—” At her lifted brow, he blew out another breath and swore under the next one. “I don’t know what the hell I am.”

“You’re frustrated because you’ve been dragged, kicking and screaming, into a world full of living, breathing people, and you’re not real happy about it. I get it. Trust me, I get it. I want to be in a world filled with living, breathing people, only I can’t be unless I want to spend every second of every day worrying about being shot off into Never Never Land at the slightest incidental contact, and I’m not real happy about that. Am I the only one who sees the irony here? Though I still don’t know what I did to piss off the co-op chick.”

She raised a hand to stall his rebuttal. “And, you know what? I’m sorry. For all of it. Utterly, sincerely, abjectly sorry. I don’t know what else I can say to you. I, better than anyone, understand the desire to stay out of the loop, out of everyone’s business, and just mind my own. I didn’t come here to wreak havoc or upset anyone’s life but my own, but, clearly, that’s not the way it’s turned out.”

She took a breath, and when she spoke again, her voice was quieter, but she wasn’t in that controlled, safe place she’d been before.

And damn it if he didn’t already feel better. Much better.

“I just want to get my aunt’s estate sorted out so things are square and being handled correctly and legally moving forward. Then I’ll get in my salvage-yard piece-of-crap car and drive, push, or have it towed all the way back to Oregon so we can both go back to our respective caves and leave the world to its business, okay?”

“That’s just it,” he told her, leaving his controlled, safe place, too. Fair was fair, after all. “I don’t know if that’s okay or not.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

He shifted in his seat, and met her gaze directly. It rocked him a little, every time he stared directly into those eyes of hers. Partly because he knew they saw far more than anyone else did or could . . . even when she wasn’t having one of her little events. And partly because he was getting better at seeing her inside of them, too. What he saw tugged at him—much as he wished it wouldn’t. On impulse, he reached over and slid her glasses off, careful to touch only the rims and not make contact with her.

“What are you—”

“Can you see without these things?”

She frowned again and looked confused. But she didn’t demand he hand them back. “Let’s just say the edges of the world get a lot softer without them.”

“Ever wear contacts?”

“Now you’re judging my appearance?”

He actually felt his mouth twitch and knew he was well and truly screwed. No matter how foul a mood he managed to put himself into, she managed to flip the switch. And damn if he didn’t like it when she got out of that self-imposed cave of hers, let her guard down, and was simply herself—smart mouth and all. Maybe especially that part. He turned the glasses around and looked through them. “Damn, sugar. You’re blind.”

“It’s not like I asked to be.”

He looked up at her, and felt his heart beat that strange tattoo again. He wished he was better equipped to handle that part. “Doesn’t matter anyway, as it turns out.”

“What doesn’t matter?” she asked, sounding a little grumpy.

Perversely, that made his lips curve despite himself. “My opinion on your glasses shouldn’t, for one. But I was thinking maybe if those eyes of yours weren’t so magnified, they wouldn’t have such a strong impact on me every time I looked at them.” He waited until she lifted her gaze to his again. Yep. Thump, skip, thump. It was enough to make a grown man nervous. “Turns out, glasses or no glasses, it doesn’t matter.”

Her frown had faded as he’d spoken, and her mouth dropped open a little.

It had the unfortunate effect of drawing his attention there, and led to him noticing how her throat worked a bit as she tried to swallow.

Suddenly it seemed like the temperature inside the cab of the truck had gone up a few dozen degrees. And it wasn’t the heat of the sun doing it.

He leaned forward, feeling like that proverbial moth drawn to the flame, knowing damn well he was facing the same risk, but not caring much at the moment. He was going to get burned either way.

Her eyes widened. “Dylan—”

“Shh.”

She started to shrink back.

Mostly out of habit, he thought. Her eyes were telling him a different story. They were big and wide, allowing him to clearly see the desire as it punched into her pupils. He stopped her by lifting his hands and carefully sliding her glasses back on. “I’m not going to touch you, sugar.”

But he stayed in her personal space, looking into those magnified, unearthly, beautiful eyes. And let a slow, lazy smile curve his lips as the last of his self-directed anger and most of his frustration dissolved away . . . replaced by a different kind of frustration all together.

Oddly, he was having no problem feeling the urge to flirt and seduce. “Don’t let this go to your head,” he said, the grit still there in his voice, along with heat and drawl, “but I think those glasses are sort of sexy . . . in a hot-for-schoolmarm kind of way.”

Her eyes were big, her pupils wide, and he knew she was thinking about the kisses they’d shared, maybe wanting another one. Or two. He sure as hell did. So, it surprised him when she barked out a laugh at his comment.

“Well, that’s certainly a first,” she said dryly, but a most becoming blush rose to her cheeks.

One thing was for sure, he’d never have to worry about his ego getting too big around her. For some reason, that only served to deepen his smile. “Given you don’t spend a whole lot of time with anyone, that’s not sayin’ all that much.”

She smiled then, too. “Too true. Of course, maybe it’s because you happily spend most of your time with your head under the hood of a car that you could possibly find these attractive to begin with. Maybe we both need to get out more.”

Or stay in, he thought, and his mind went straight back to what it would be like to have her completely stripped bare, literally and figuratively. What would she be like as a lover? Would the tentative, self-conscious, worried side take over? Or would the part of her that didn’t give a rat’s ass dominate and allow her to take what she wanted, how she wanted?

Of course, all of that was pretty much moot, given the whole crazy vision thing. Talk about a mood killer.

He realized he was staring at her mouth again when she swallowed, hard, and wet her lips.

“Aw, sugar, don’t go temptin’—”

“I—” She had to clear her throat. “Trust me, I’m not trying to.” She tried for a laugh. “I mean, it’s not usually a problem I have. Oddly, men aren’t generally lining up to get in my personal space. You’re the only one who actually seems turned on by the Magoo glasses.”

“You’re not giving yourself enough credit.”

She glanced up at him, her lips still twisted in a dry smile, but with a genuine twinkle of friendliness in her eyes. “And you’ve been sucking down too much car exhaust.”

He chuckled at that. She really was just the damndest thing. “You may have a point, but that doesn’t change things, here and now, does it.” He said it as more statement than question, but her gaze shifted away again, breaking eye contact completely.

“I . . . don’t know what I want, to be honest.” She kept her gaze in her lap, where she was back to twisting her fingers together. “I know what I wanted when I came here, but nothing has gone like I thought it would. Not a single thing.”

The wry humor was gone, replaced by a quiet sincerity. She was no longer the wary, reclusive cave girl, but wasn’t the bold, say-it-like-it-is girl, either. This was a new side of her, maybe more vulnerable . . . but definitely honest. He’d wanted that trust from her earlier, had been miffed that she didn’t just offer it up to him. Now that she was . . . he didn’t know how he felt.

More disconcerted than he thought he’d be, for one. He knew this wasn’t the kind of thing she did often, if ever . . . and he didn’t want to do anything, say anything, to abuse or ruin the trust she was placing in him. But he had no idea what to say . . . or, possibly more important, what not to say. So he did the one thing he knew how to do . . . he listened.

“I didn’t expect to be homeless,” she said without a trace of self-pity, but rather bluntly . . . baldly.

That tugged on him far more strongly than any woe-is-me story would have.

“I didn’t count on losing my business before I even got it started, didn’t count on being trapped with no mode of transportation. I’ve been truly terrified of letting the visions come back, of making direct contact with anyone, and then folks here didn’t seem to be all that freaked out by the idea. Apparently, Bea had been giving them the benefit of her second sight all along.

“Except they have no idea how different mine is from hers. I don’t know what to make of the fact that the first vision I had was far stronger and more detailed than any I’ve had before, or why it affected me so deeply, so . . . personally.” She paused for a long moment before finally lifting her gaze to his. “And I definitely don’t know what to make of you. Any part of you.”

“Well, that makes us even, Honey Pie.”

Her lips quirked the tiniest bit at his use of her nickname, but her eyes were still so unguarded, and he wanted nothing more than to taste that mouth of hers one more time. Take away that uncertainty and replace it with . . . something stronger, something more stable, something just . . . more.

“Part of me still wants what I came here for, a chance at a normal life, or as close to one as I can have.” She glanced away again, looking through the front windshield, though he doubted she saw anything beyond the dashboard. Her viewpoint was entirely internal now. “And then things happen, like what happened on the porch this morning, or I find out that my inheritance is quite legally leased out for the next three and a half years and out of my reach for at least that long.”

She was finger twisting in earnest now, her tone agitated as she spoke faster, like she had to get it all out before running out of time.

He was prepared to give her all the time she needed.

“Not that I’d kick the cupcake ladies out at this point, anyway. That would guarantee my own business would be a failure before it even started. Plus, I like them, or the ones I’ve met, anyway, and I’d like to think we might become friends. Lani even invited me to come bake cupcakes with their baking club, and, you know what . . . I’d like that. No, I’d love that.” She broke off, took a breath. “I know I’ve lived under the proverbial rock for far too long, and I’m willing to work—hard—to get the life I want, but that life doesn’t seem to want me back.”

She stopped then, seeming more pissed than sad or lost, and he thought she might swear at the injustice of it. He sure as hell would have. Instead, she got that resigned, squared shoulder look back, which made him want to swear at her.

“It would be easier,” she said evenly, flatly, and worse, unemotionally, “and definitely smarter, to just go back to what I know I can make work.”

“Only?” His question seemed to surprise her, jerking her gaze back to his.

She held it for such a long moment, he fully expected her to continue her retreat, scrambling rapidly back into her cave. So it surprised him when she answered truthfully, openly.

“Only I don’t want to go back.” She paused, blew out another breath. “Wow. Just saying it out loud makes it a lot more real. But it’s the honest truth. I don’t know what I could have here, but . . . I don’t want to go back.”

“Then make Sugarberry work.”

“How?”

He liked that she’d asked honestly, sincerely, with no sarcasm, no wry note. No whine or wail. If he’d doubted how much she wanted to find a way to make her plans work, that answered it for him. And he was smiling again. “Well, darlin’, you’re a pretty smart girl. You started up and have run a successful business, after all.”

That seemed to surprise her. “What do you know about my business?”

“You told me you ran a mail-order business, said you wanted a shop front. I assumed that means it’s a successful one.” He didn’t have to tell her that he’d done a little research on it—on her—the night before. Damn computers. He usually tied himself to one only when he was searching online for boat parts. Somehow he’d found himself typing in her name and up popped her website, complete with a note saying she was relocating and would post an update when she was up and running again. He’d wondered what it was costing her, suspending operations like that. From the list of happy customer quotes she had on the site, it looked like she was doing quite well.

She was also a very talented artist. He might not personally be in the market for her array of little fantasy woodland creatures and garden critters, but he’d been around enough wood carving while looking at boat pieces like his mermaid to know real quality and craftsmanship when he saw it.

“Thank you,” she said. “It is . . . or it has been. It was a huge risk, taking a hiatus in order to move lock, stock, and garden gnome across the country, but that was part of the budget in making this decision. It’s also why I have no wiggle room when it comes to spending money I don’t have to lease new property.”

“Your budget assumed you already had a location.”

“And the living quarters above it.”

“You do it all yourself? Making the products, shipping, all of it?”

She nodded. “A one woman show.”

“You plan on keeping it that way with a shop?”

“Well, my hope, I guess, when I allow myself to think that far ahead—dream that far ahead—is to get to know my customers, put a more personal face on both sides of the transaction. I want to be engaged in the world around me, and I want to engage my customers in my world at the same time. What I’d really like to do is to invite them to be part of the process, see the work, how I work. Maybe even teach wood carving and clay building and sculpting classes. I know the interaction would inspire my work as well.” She lifted a shoulder, looking a bit abashed now that she’d blurted out her most personal dream. “I don’t know. I figured I’d work my way into it. There was so much to overcome first, so . . .” She offered him a half smile, shrugged again. “Now there’s way more to overcome to even get to the original obstacles I was worried about.”

What it was about her that made him want to move mountains, slay dragons, he couldn’t rightly have said. He’d been the downtrodden, so he identified, even helped out now and again, in his own low key way. A tractor part here, a lawnmower part there. Things he could do, small scale, to help out someone in need. But that impetus had never inspired him to want to leap over tall buildings in a single bound and save the day for anyone.

“If you really want it, don’t turn tail and run,” he told her. “Nothing happens if you don’t try.”

“If I keep my online business on hold too long, I may not have much to go back to.”

“See, that’s the problem right there, sugar. You already don’t have much to go back to. Not in the way that matters to you. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here in the first place. Seems to me you’ve got every reason to try, and a long list of reasons not to give up. Instead of thinking about your farm as your backup plan, use it as motivation. The farm is not your backup plan, darlin’, it’s your give up plan. That’s not the same thing.”

She considered him for several long moments. “How’d you get so smart?”

“Life is long. You learn from things. If you pay attention, then you make better choices next time, and you don’t have to learn them all over again.”

She let out a soft laugh at that. “I hear what you’re preaching . . . and I agree with the philosophy. Wholeheartedly. I just don’t know exactly what to do about it.” She held his gaze for several long moments, her expression bemused. In the end, it was the spark of hope his words had put in her eyes that told the story. She was going to stay. She was going to try.

And damn if that didn’t make him feel like he’d leaped over a building or two. Small ones, to be sure, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make him feel a might smug. Of course, what he should be, was scared spitless. Not thirty minutes ago, before she’d climbed back into his truck, he’d been quite relieved and happy at the prospect of her getting back in her old rattletrap car and driving out of Sugarberry forever. He should remember that, and likely would . . . later . . . when he wasn’t in the middle of the hormone-induced fog he seemed to descend into every time she got within five feet of him.

“You know what I think?” he asked.

Her lips twisted in a wry grin. “Only when you grab me when I’m off guard.”

It was his turn to bark out a surprised laugh. “Okay, maybe not quite that literally. What I think is that you don’t give yourself enough credit. You say you hide out, and maybe you have, but it wasn’t from being weak. It was an honest attempt to preserve your own mental well-being. Nothing unhealthy or weak about that.”

“So say you.”

“So I do say. We have different demons, sugar, but we’ve both chosen a path of least resistance, rather than one that constantly forces us to grapple with and overcome obstacles that don’t benefit anybody by being tackled. There’s a lot to be said for peaceful living.”

“So why are you trying to talk me into staying? You’ve been up close and personal with both of my ‘events’ since coming here. Nothing peaceful about them, obviously. And I don’t know what it’s going to take to figure out how to lease shop space with no operating capital, but I doubt it’s going to be smooth sailing, either.”

Hormone fog or not, Dylan was quite aware, without a single doubt in his mind, that very moment was the time to pull back, step out of her business once and for all, clear his head—and his body—and get back to his own business, his own life. He’d been her cheerleader for five whole minutes. If it helped to get her on the path to where she wanted to be, power to them both. But that needed to be the beginning and the end of it. Even Superman had his kryptonite and he was pretty damn sure she could be his.

He told himself to put the truck in gear and drive them back to Sugarberry, whereupon he would return to his life and leave her to hers, whatever course she decided to chart. So, naturally, he sat right there and asked, “If you could get the business space, think you could figure out how to handle the rest?”

“You mean like a place to live?”

He shook his head. “That’s not the hard part in all this, darlin’. Folks here’d find a way to help you out until you got on your feet. Lani Dunne might have a lease on your property, but I’m betting she feels pretty damn bad about leaving you homeless, unintentionally or not.”

“I don’t want anyone to house me out of pity or misplaced guilt.”

He stared at her, a little annoyed because he knew that would have been his exact response had the tables been turned, so he could hardly hold it against her. But what he said was, “A hand up isn’t the same as a hand out.”

“Easy to say, harder to accept.”

“Don’t I know it.” Most of the folks on Sugarberry had next to nothing good to say about the other members of the Ross family, and only pity for him for being born into it. But that hadn’t stopped them from trying to help him. Help he’d mostly turned down, but that was arrogance, pride, and stupidity on his part. Something he didn’t learn until much later. Maybe he could save Honey the same hard learning curve.

“Okay, say that gets worked out,” she said. “What did you mean then? The visions and being back around people?”

He nodded. “Including people who knew your aunt Bea and, once they learn you’re a chip off the old visionary block, aren’t likely going to leave you to go about your business without tryin’ to get you tangled up in their own, same as she was.”

Honey surprised him by smiling that crooked smile and her voice was good and dry as she seemed to have found her footing again. “One minute you’re telling me to follow my dreams, the next you’re trying to warn me off?”

“I’m just walking through the paces, getting you to think it through. You can’t fix things until you know what things most need fixing.”

“Can I ask you something? Does it matter to you if I stay or go? I know it shouldn’t matter, you barely know me. But I know I have turned some parts of your life upside down, and now you’ve been dragged into the whole Frank thing. I could promise that from now on I’ll do my best to leave you out of it, to leave you alone . . .”

“But?” His heart was pounding and he didn’t want to examine the reasons behind it.

“But only if you want me to.” She smiled at him. “Don’t let this go to your head, but it turns out you’re a pretty good kisser. I realize I say that with little experience to back up my opinion, but I’d be lying if I said that I haven’t given some thought to trying it out again.”

He had no idea what he’d thought she was going to say, but that wouldn’t have even made the top ten list. His heart kept right on pounding, with a healthy punch of heat added to the mix. He should have run while he had the chance . . . because, foolish or not, it didn’t look like he was going any-damn-where.

His grin was slow, wide . . . and he took great pleasure in watching her pupils swallow up that all-seeing, all-knowing sea glass green. “Would this be for personal or scientific reasons?”

She tried to pretend he wasn’t having an effect on her, that she could say something and keep the conversation focused on her relocation woes. But the way her throat worked told him differently . . . as did the bit of roughness in her own voice when she asked, “You mean to test whether or not I’d have a vision the next time you make, um . . . personal contact with me?”

“I’m not a lab rat, sugar.”

“No, you’re definitely not that. Although I won’t lie and say I’m not curious . . . trepidatious, even, about the scientific part, as you call it.”

“Don’t go using big words and wearing those glasses at the same time, schoolmarm.”

Honey’s cheeks bloomed with color and her pupils bloomed with something else entirely. “I . . . might be a bit personally curious as well.”

“Only a bit?”

“Okay, at the risk of feeding your ego, a lot.”

“Sugar, the last thing you need to worry about is feeding my ego. You set me in my place often enough.”

“Do I?”

His grin deepened. “Handily.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Let’s just say I’m a little trepidatious.”

She giggled at that, something he hadn’t heard from her, and it did funny things to his insides. He leaned in closer.

“Dylan—”

“Just a little scientific discovery.” His gaze dropped to her mouth, and his own voice grew just a little gruffer. “To help you make your very important decision.”

“You’re incredibly generous,” she said wryly, but her gaze dropped to his mouth, too.

“That, too.” He leaned in and brushed his lips across hers. “Anything shaking, earth trembling?”

She sighed and her eyes drifted shut. “Only in a really good way.”

He chuckled at that, even as his body went rock hard. “Well then, the scientific part is over.”

He laughed outright at the way her lips formed a little pout, instantly.

“Aw sugar, if you only knew what that does to me, you’d use it on me every chance you got.”

Her eyes flew open, surprise in them, and he marveled at how he never knew which part of her would react to any one thing.

“Let’s try out the personal part, then,” she said, shocking him by leaning in and taking charge of the situation and him, kissing him like she’d been waiting for the green light. It was no teasing of lips, no tentative brush of her mouth on his. She laid claim.

He had to dig his fingers into his thighs to keep from reaching for her, to keep the contact to their mouths only. It about killed him.

She made that little moaning sound that already drove him crazy, and he might have been a little insistent at urging her to open up for him and let him inside, but that sigh, and the way her shoulders softened, and her body moved toward his, absolved him of any guilt. And then her tongue was sliding in, dueling with his, and his body ramped straight past rock hard to begging for release. Her gasps turned to groans of want and he knew that nothing short of nailing his hands to his thighs was going to keep them there much longer.

He eased out of the kiss and lifted his head slowly, leaning back and away. When he spoke, even he heard the strain in his voice. His fingers were curled into fists on his knees. “I think that ends the personal discovery portion of today’s little experiment.”

Honey let out a sigh of disappointment and closed her eyes, but nodded as she eased back more fully into her seat.

Dylan took another minute or two to get his body somewhat under his control, then with far more reluctance than he’d have thought possible even ten minutes earlier, he shifted the gear into drive. He took another moment to look over at her, surprised to find her watching him. “Fair warning.”

“Warning of what?”

“If we ever try another experiment like that, we’re going to find out what happens when I put my hands on you. No way I can do that again and keep them to myself.”

To his continued surprised, rather than go wide-eyed . . . she smiled . . . very much like a cat who’d just spied a particularly plump canary.

“Okay, that scares me a little, sugar.”

“What does?”

“That smile. It’s kind of . . . predatory. You sure you didn’t leave a string of broken hearts back in Oregon?”

“Very sure.” The dry note in her voice had crept right back in, which settled him a lot more than the smile had.

He held her gaze for another extended moment as an idea popped into his head. A half hour earlier, he’d have thought himself crazy for even considering it. Not that it wasn’t still crazy . . . he simply didn’t care.

“Buckle up.” Before he could change his mind, he leaped another tall building. “I want you to see something.”

“Oh, really,” she responded suggestively, even as she wiggled her eyebrows over those ridiculously unsexy glasses that made him hard all over again.

He found himself chuckling. “I’m finding it harder and harder to believe you’re tellin’ me the truth about those broken hearts.”

“Oh, that part is true enough.”

Just don’t break mine, sugar, he thought, then shifted uncomfortably because it had even entered his mind.

“Where are we going?”

Dylan tightened his grip on the wheel, keeping his eyes on the road. Superman or utter fool, he supposed he was going to find out. “To look at your new shop space.”