Just One Kiss (Fool's Gold #10)

“Because you were just shot.”


“I know. I was there.” He patted the sofa. “Come tell me about your day. How’s the store?”

“Busy. Fun. We’re getting into tourist season, which I’ve never paid much attention to before. While we’d get the occasional out-of-town appointment at the salon, we never catered to tourists. Pia was by today to drop off maps and festival schedules.” Patience settled next to him.

“I’m worried about her,” she continued.

“Pia?” He wasn’t sure he’d met the woman in question.

“Yes. She had a kind of mini-meltdown a few weeks ago and now seems really scattered. She brought in the maps and schedules, then came back an hour later to deliver them again. When she saw she’d already put them out, she just stood there, staring at the display. It was weird.”

“Does she have family?”

“Uh-huh. She’s married with three kids.”

“If you’re still concerned in a few days, you should talk to her husband.”

“Maybe I’ll go see one of her friends instead. Charity Golden is the city planner and she and Pia are tight.” She shook her head. “Sorry. You didn’t want to hear all that.”

“I don’t mind.”

“That’s really nice, even if I don’t believe you.” She smiled at him. “We’re hiring new people.”

“That’s good news.”

“It is. My mom’s handling the interviews. There are more people interested in starting their day at five-thirty in the morning than I would have thought. There’s been talk about starting a support group for those of us dealing with a new business. Isabel’s store isn’t new, but she doesn’t have much retail experience. And Noelle is opening her Christmas store in a couple of weeks. Have you met her?”

“No.”

“She’s really nice.”

Patience kept talking, but he wasn’t listening. Not to her words, anyway. He liked the sound of her voice, how she used her hands when she talked. Her eyes mirrored her emotions. From what he could tell, she was lousy at faking what she felt.

She would never make it in his business, never be one of those who could blend in, pretending for the sake of the mission. What was that old expression? She wore her heart on her sleeve.

She was tender and sweet and he wanted to get lost inside her, even if it was only for a couple of hours. Just being close to her made him more content.

“...open in August.” She paused expectantly.

“Will it be a festival weekend?” he asked, having listened enough to know they were still talking about Noelle’s store.

“I didn’t think to check that. I should mention that to her. What a great idea.” She rewarded him with a smile bright enough to power Fool’s Gold for a week.

A loud crash came from upstairs.

“You okay?” Patience yelled.

“I’m fine, Mom. But a drawer came out of my dresser.”

“Because she pulls them open with great enthusiasm,” Patience said with a laugh as she rose. “I need to check on her.”

“No problem.”

“Be thinking about what you want to do about dinner. If you’re feeling strong enough, we’ll eat down here. Otherwise, we’ll have a very delicious meal in her room.”

“The kitchen is fine,” he said, knowing if they went upstairs, it wouldn’t be for a meal. Because he’d reached the point where it was impossible for him to be around Patience and not want her. A dilemma he had yet to solve.

“Probably for the best,” she said as she headed for the stairs. “I think my mom started soup in the Crock-Pot. That could get very messy on a tray.”

* * *

IT TOOK NEARLY an hour for Patience to get Lillie dressed and her hair curled, then to see her daughter and her mother out the door. When they’d driven away, she hurried back to the living room.

“I’m sorry,” she said, coming to a stop in front of Justice. “You must be starving. The soup is all ready. I just have to heat some biscuits and serve the salad and we’ll be good to go.”

He stood slowly, his dark gaze never leaving her face. “Dinner can wait.”

“But it’s nearly six. Did you have a late lunch? Are you—”

He stepped around the coffee table and moved toward her. When he was close, he cupped her face in his hands and pressed his mouth to hers.

His lips claimed her with a sensual tenderness that left her equally weak and aroused. He put his hands on her waist and drew her against him.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she murmured, desperate to cling to him but mindful that he was still healing. “You were shot.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true. You lost blood and passed out.”

“I was tired.”

“You weren’t tired.” She put her fingers on his shoulders and stared into his eyes. “Are you sure we can do this?”