When his face got close enough so she registered his intent, she raised her gaze to his, but it was too late. Before she could react, his lips met hers, his hand still on her back to hold her close, and she closed her eyes.
Practice. That’s all it was. And if her body started tingling and her fingers itched to run through his hair, and her body wanted to melt against his…well, that just boded well for a month of pretending they were into each other, didn’t it?
The jolt of heat that ran like an electrical shock through her body could be an unwelcome complication, but she’d worry about that later. Like maybe when she wasn’t too busy thinking about pushing him back onto that soft, girly bed he’d complained about and proving women liked it a little harder, too.
It took every ounce of self-control she could muster not to whimper in protest when his lips left hers. She wanted to take his head in her hands and drag his mouth in for another kiss. Maybe slip her hands under the back of his T-shirt so she could glide them over the warm flesh of his back and feel his muscles twitch under her fingertips.
“Not bad for a practice kiss,” he said in a casual voice that pissed her off. No way could he have felt nothing while her senses sizzled like a drop of water on a hot, oiled skillet.
“And the Oscar goes to,” she muttered when he winked and walked out of the room.
She was about to swear and take a kick at the coffee table leg when she spotted him in the full-length mirror on the closet door standing ajar. He’d stopped just outside in the hall and she watched his reverse image as he pulled at the fly of his jeans, no doubt adjusting for the evidence he wasn’t as unaffected as he wanted her to think he was. Then he rolled his shoulders and kept walking.
Despite the fact both of them being affected would be an even greater complication, Emma was smiling when she met up with him again in the front hall.
“We can take my truck,” he told her in a terse voice that made her have to smother a bigger and much more smug smile.
“No, we can’t. I have the extended cab and it might rain. We can’t throw Gram’s luggage in the bed to get wet.”
“I’m driving.”
She paused halfway out the front door. “Excuse me?”
“You drive like a girl.” He held out his hand, presumably for her keys.
“You’re an ass.”
“We can stand here and argue about it. I’m sure your grandmother will understand.”
“A sexist ass, no less.”
He grinned and snatched her keys out of her hand before she could react. “Next time, you might want to actually meet the man you’re going to marry before you tell your family about him. Get in the truck. Honey.”
Chapter Five
Catherine Shaw, who preferred to be called Cat, stepped off the plane in Manchester and quickly retrieved her luggage. It was good to be back, if only temporarily. There was a time she might have thought it was good to be home, but she considered herself a Floridian now.
It had cost her a little extra to fly into New Hampshire, rather than to Logan Airport, but Emma was picking her up and she didn’t want her granddaughter bothered with Boston, even if her fiancé was driving.
They’d arranged to meet by the small food court and she spotted Emma immediately, standing next to a tall, good-looking man who was scanning the airport, watching people. A year and a half of civilian life hadn’t taken much of the edge off the soldier.
Emma hadn’t seen her yet and she took a few minutes to give her granddaughter a good looking over.
She was thinner, which wasn’t surprising since the girl couldn’t cook worth a darn. Her work was so physical she was burning through her steady diet of take-out and microwave meals. She’d have to put some meat on the girl’s bones while she was there.
Emma looked so much like her mother at first glance, but it was mostly the hair. In the lines of her nose and mouth and the dark brown of her eyes, Cat could see glimpses of the son and husband she’d lost. As always, she felt the pang of grief like a constant and unwelcome companion, but it was overshadowed by her gratitude for the blessing that was her granddaughter.
Then Sean’s eyes met hers and he obviously recognized her—no doubt from the photos she sometimes remembered to email from Florida. He touched Emma’s arm and Cat didn’t miss the way she jumped, her cheeks flushing pink.
Then Emma was running across the lobby and Cat opened her arms for a fierce hug. “Gram!”
She squeezed Emma, rocking a little, until she caught sight of her future grandson-in-law through the corner of her eye. He looked anxious, shifting his weight from foot to foot while he watched their reunion.
Cat let go of Emma and turned to him, extending her hand. “You must be Sean.”
He had a decent grip. She didn’t trust men with weak handshakes. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Shaw.”
Lovely manners, too. “Please, call me Cat. Being called Mrs. Shaw makes me feel old.”
He grinned, a naughty grin that probably weakened her granddaughter’s knees. “Anybody can see you’re anything but that…Cat.”