Natural Resources extended to providing personal bodyguard services to
blondes with death wishes, Mr. Ranger, sir," I said.
"Just one particular blonde with a death wish," he said, and I could swear his voice grew huskier.
Just when I was prepared to rip into the guy like my gramma does macaroons fresh from the oven, he goes and says something
totally unexpected.
"What blonde would that be?" I heard myself say, wishing I'd at least had time to wash my face and swish some Scope around
in my mouth. "Cute cowgirl type? About five feet seven? Curly locks? On the lippy side?" I asked, detecting the pathetically
hopeful edge to my tone.
Townsend moved closer and looked down at my mouth.
"Definitely on the lippy side," he said, not taking his eyes off those lippy lips.
I stared up at him.
He bent down and pressed his lips to mine and, morning breath or not, I didn't resist. I found myself leaning into his arms,
leading with my chin as J so often do. He deepened the kiss and I opened willingly for him. His tongue was hotter than those
cinnamon toothpicks I used to smuggle into class and suck on. I gasped as his hand slid to the front of my nightshirt and
underneath, his palm flat against my abdomen. I sucked in my gut. (Oh, get real. Tell me you don't suck it in for all you're
worth when a gorgeous guy is caressing your tummy.)
I slid my arms around his waist and pulled him closer, careful not to break a kiss that generated so much heat I waited for
the smoke detectors to go off. I moaned into Townsend's mouth when his hand moved upward to cover a very needy breast.
"You're wearing too many clothes," Townsend said, breaking the kiss and resting his forehead against mine.
"I was just thinking I wasn't wearing enough," I told him.
He groaned and removed his hand from under my T-shirt. "We've got a big problem here, Tressa," he said, giving me one more
quick kiss before he stepped back.
"We do?" I said.
Townsend let out a long, shaky breath. "We do," he said.
"And what is this big problem?" I asked, hoping to God he wasn't talking about erectile dysfunction.
Townsend put a hand on each of my shoulders and took another look at my lips before his gaze switched to meet my anxious gaze.
"I think I may be falling in love with you, Tressa Jayne Turner," Townsend said. "The problem? I'm not sure I want to. I'm
not sure at all."
I met his gaze directly, hoping the effect of his words wasn't readily apparent in my expression. I'm a lousy poker player.
I wear my emotions on my face like a painted-up circus clown.
I felt my lip tremble like it had last night, but this time I wasn't sure if it was due to fear or hurt. I heard the front
door open and shut as my grandma returned to the house.
"Did Rick get a hold of you?" she called out.
We broke contact just as Gram entered the kitchen.
I looked at Townsend. "Ten-four, Gram," I called out. "He got hold of me," I said, watching as Townsend backed away.
And then some.
After Townsend left, I shuffled off to my bedroom, feeling pitiful and forlorn and wishing I could just crawl back in bed,
cover my head, and let the world turn without me one day. Since I had a class at eight and that night I had to throw a heck
of a hen party for Kari, I recognized I didn't have that luxury.
I trudged to the bathroom and took a quick shower, dressed in jeans, a white Carson College T-shirt and gray hoodie, and went
to touch base with Gram. She was in the living room sipping a cup of coffee and nibbling a blueberry bagel with cream cheese.
I hoped to heck she hadn't noticed I'd switched the real thing with the one-third-less-fat variety. I like to do my part for
my gammy's heart health.
The TV was on and a skinny lady in a pink leotard was sitting in a straight-backed chair doing butt clenches. It looked seriously
messed up.
"I'm going to be shoving off, Gram," I said. "What are your plans for today?" I asked, sitting on the arm of the couch. Sometimes
blondes with death wishes, Mr. Ranger, sir," I said.
"Just one particular blonde with a death wish," he said, and I could swear his voice grew huskier.
Just when I was prepared to rip into the guy like my gramma does macaroons fresh from the oven, he goes and says something
totally unexpected.
"What blonde would that be?" I heard myself say, wishing I'd at least had time to wash my face and swish some Scope around
in my mouth. "Cute cowgirl type? About five feet seven? Curly locks? On the lippy side?" I asked, detecting the pathetically
hopeful edge to my tone.
Townsend moved closer and looked down at my mouth.
"Definitely on the lippy side," he said, not taking his eyes off those lippy lips.
I stared up at him.
He bent down and pressed his lips to mine and, morning breath or not, I didn't resist. I found myself leaning into his arms,
leading with my chin as J so often do. He deepened the kiss and I opened willingly for him. His tongue was hotter than those
cinnamon toothpicks I used to smuggle into class and suck on. I gasped as his hand slid to the front of my nightshirt and
underneath, his palm flat against my abdomen. I sucked in my gut. (Oh, get real. Tell me you don't suck it in for all you're
worth when a gorgeous guy is caressing your tummy.)
I slid my arms around his waist and pulled him closer, careful not to break a kiss that generated so much heat I waited for
the smoke detectors to go off. I moaned into Townsend's mouth when his hand moved upward to cover a very needy breast.
"You're wearing too many clothes," Townsend said, breaking the kiss and resting his forehead against mine.
"I was just thinking I wasn't wearing enough," I told him.
He groaned and removed his hand from under my T-shirt. "We've got a big problem here, Tressa," he said, giving me one more
quick kiss before he stepped back.
"We do?" I said.
Townsend let out a long, shaky breath. "We do," he said.
"And what is this big problem?" I asked, hoping to God he wasn't talking about erectile dysfunction.
Townsend put a hand on each of my shoulders and took another look at my lips before his gaze switched to meet my anxious gaze.
"I think I may be falling in love with you, Tressa Jayne Turner," Townsend said. "The problem? I'm not sure I want to. I'm
not sure at all."
I met his gaze directly, hoping the effect of his words wasn't readily apparent in my expression. I'm a lousy poker player.
I wear my emotions on my face like a painted-up circus clown.
I felt my lip tremble like it had last night, but this time I wasn't sure if it was due to fear or hurt. I heard the front
door open and shut as my grandma returned to the house.
"Did Rick get a hold of you?" she called out.
We broke contact just as Gram entered the kitchen.
I looked at Townsend. "Ten-four, Gram," I called out. "He got hold of me," I said, watching as Townsend backed away.
And then some.
After Townsend left, I shuffled off to my bedroom, feeling pitiful and forlorn and wishing I could just crawl back in bed,
cover my head, and let the world turn without me one day. Since I had a class at eight and that night I had to throw a heck
of a hen party for Kari, I recognized I didn't have that luxury.
I trudged to the bathroom and took a quick shower, dressed in jeans, a white Carson College T-shirt and gray hoodie, and went
to touch base with Gram. She was in the living room sipping a cup of coffee and nibbling a blueberry bagel with cream cheese.
I hoped to heck she hadn't noticed I'd switched the real thing with the one-third-less-fat variety. I like to do my part for
my gammy's heart health.
The TV was on and a skinny lady in a pink leotard was sitting in a straight-backed chair doing butt clenches. It looked seriously
messed up.
"I'm going to be shoving off, Gram," I said. "What are your plans for today?" I asked, sitting on the arm of the couch. Sometimes
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