“I’m sorry, Denise, but Saturdays are really difficult for me,” she said. “It’s our busiest day at the store. I usually have fittings and showings. I only have Madeline helping me, so I can’t really leave her alone on a Saturday.”

“Hmm, I hadn’t thought of that. All right. I’ll come up with something else. Your store is closed on Monday, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Isabel said weakly.

“Good. I’ll be in touch.”

Trapped, she thought grimly. She was completely trapped.

She dragged herself back to the front porch and collapsed on the steps. Ford frowned at her, then dropped the rake and walked over. Even the sight of him, all masculine and sexy, didn’t make her feel better.

“What?” he asked when he was in front of her.

“Your mother wants me to have tea with her and your sisters. But the lodge only does tea on Saturday afternoons and I can’t leave the store then.”

“Problem solved.”

“Not exactly. She confirmed I have Mondays off and is going to come up with something else. Something I won’t be able to get out of.”

He tugged her to her feet and wrapped his arms around her. “I’m sorry,” he said, staring into her eyes. “How can I make this up to you?”

He smelled good. Clean with a hint of leaves. The air was crisp, but he was warm, and as she settled into his embrace, she wondered what it would be like to never let go. Dangerous thoughts, she reminded herself. Also pointless. But the question remained.

“You don’t have to,” she told him. “I just want to pout.”

“You’re an adorable pouter. Cutest ever.”

That made her smile.

Then his mouth was on hers, and he was nudging her back toward the front door.

“What are you doing?” she asked, not doing very much to avoid his hot, arousing kisses.

“Making it up to you.”

“You’re not all that,” she told him.

He grinned. “Yes, I am.”

Yes, he was, she thought, giving herself over to the feel of his mouth against hers and his tongue slipping past her lips. She hung on as he kicked the front door closed, then moved his hands under her sweater.

Her body already anticipated the pleasure that would follow. The slow, steady road to arousal, of how he would touch and lick and tease every inch of her. She trembled slightly as she thought about the laughing argument they would have about who got to be on top and the way their rapid breathing synchronized as they got closer and closer. How he held off until he was sure she’d fallen over the edge of the world and then how he followed her.

Once they were in the living room, she pulled off her sweater. He took it from her and dropped it onto a chair. While she pulled off her shoes and socks, he did the same. She unfastened his jeans and he ripped off his sweatshirt. Her jeans and thong followed, because for them, the fun didn’t start until they were both na**d.

“Me,” she breathed, moving behind him.

“Me” meaning she got to be in charge. She got to say when and how.

He growled his complaint but didn’t protest.

As she stopped directly behind him, she noticed all the perfection that was his body. Not that there weren’t cuts and bruises. You couldn’t do what he did in a day and not have physical evidence. There were also scars—a couple she thought might be bullet wounds. Not that he would tell her. Ford simply didn’t talk about what he’d done in the military.

But he knew how to work out so every inch of him was honed muscle. Now she placed her hands in the center of his back and slid out and down, over his narrow hips, before grabbing his butt and squeezing.

She got close and pressed the front of her body against the back of his. She cupped her br**sts in her hands and lightly dragged her tight ni**les against his back. He sucked in his breath.

After she dropped back to his hips, she eased her hand around to his front. She leaned her cheek against his back and closed her eyes, then explored as much as she could reach. His chest, his rib cage. She danced her fingers against his ni**les before sliding down his belly to his erection.

Her eyes still closed, her face still pressed against his back, she began to move the way he’d taught her. The way she’d watched him please himself one evening after they’d shared a bath. He’d stretched out on the bed, with her sitting next to him, not touching him, just watching as he took himself over the edge.

She’d been too shy to return the favor, despite how turned on she’d been, so he’d gone down on her, bringing her to orgasm in about thirty seconds. But a few days later, she’d managed to put on her own show, at halftime with a football game on TV. Ford had told her it had been by far the best play of the game.

Now she moved up and down, steadily increasing the speed, focusing on the tension she felt building in his body and the increase in his breathing.

Heat moved through her, making her want to squirm closer and rub against him. Blood hummed as her excitement grew. She was swelling—she could feel it. Getting ready for him. The thought of him pushing inside her, filling her, made her own breath catch.

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away, then spun toward her. Before she knew what he had planned, he was lifting her onto the sofa table and spreading her legs.

He filled her with one long, powerful thrust. She groaned as she arched back, taking all of him into her. When they were pressed together, groin to groin, she wrapped her legs around his h*ps and held him close.

“Now you’ll never get away,” she said with a smile.

He cupped her br**sts in his hands and rubbed his thumbs against her nipples. “Why would I want to?”

He kissed her then, deeply, his tongue moving against hers. She ran her fingers along his shoulder and the back of his neck. Suddenly he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. There was almost a fierceness to his embrace. Not from aggression, she thought, hugging him back, but from some need he would never name.

He was still hard, still inside her, but the moment had shifted. They weren’t having sex. This was about connecting, and it shook her far more than any orgasm.

She clung to him, feeling the warmth of his body, listening to the sound of his steady heartbeat. She wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that. Not speaking. Completely still. Then he began to move again.

He withdrew and filled her over and over. He shifted his hands so he was cupping her face.

“Look at me,” he breathed.

She opened her eyes and stared into his. Emotions chased across his face, but they changed too fast for her to read them. She still hung on to him, feeling her body begin the journey to pleasure.

“Isabel.”

Her breath caught as he pushed in deeper still and then she lost control, shuddering in her release. He kept his cadence steady as she shattered, then still gazing into her eyes, came himself. Deep pleasure shared and a moment when she was sure she could at last see all of him.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

ISABEL, CONSUELO AND FELICIA settled at a table at Brew-haha. Patience was in the back with an early delivery and the store was quiet.

“No puppy?” Isabel asked.

“Webster’s sleeping in my office,” Felicia told her. “He gets enough attention during the day. Plus, I don’t think Patience would appreciate having an animal in her establishment. Ignoring the various health codes, some people find dogs off-putting.” She smiled. “I’ll admit I was concerned when Gideon wanted to get Carter a dog, but I find him to be an excellent companion. He’s friendly and helps establish a rapport with people I don’t know.”

“We’re talking about the dog and not Gideon, right?” Isabel asked.

Felicia smiled. “Yes, the dog.”

“You’re not as weird as you think,” Consuelo told Felicia. “Being in Fool’s Gold has changed you. You’re much more open and relaxed.”

“The town has helped,” Felicia said. “And having a family.”

“And the sex,” Isabel teased.

Felicia nodded solemnly. “The combination of physical pleasure and emotional bonding is very satisfying.”

Felicia was strange, Isabel thought, but in a good way. The woman was some kind of genius and had an interesting past that included working for the military on secret missions. That was how she’d come to Fool’s Gold in the first place—through Ford and his company. But she fit in perfectly.

Isabel supposed that was because the town was especially welcoming to those who weren’t exactly like everyone else.

Felicia looked at Consuelo and picked up her latte. “After years of you taking care of me, I finally get to ask what’s going on with you. Something is different.”

Isabel expected the pint-sized commando to threaten Felicia with bodily harm, but instead Consuelo dropped her head to her hands.

“My life’s a mess.”

“Empirically or emotionally?” Felicia asked.

“Emotionally.” Consuelo turned to Isabel. “You can’t say a word. Seriously.”

“I swear.” Isabel put down her latte and made an X over her heart.

Consuelo sighed. “It’s Kent. I’m still seeing him.”

“I thought you liked him,” Isabel said. “He’s a really great guy.”

“I know. That’s the problem. He’s so normal. Nice and smart. Reese is a great kid, and Kent is a great dad. It’s like stumbling into some perfect sitcom. I don’t belong.”

Isabel didn’t understand. “Have you looked in the mirror? You’re every guy’s fantasy. Plus, you have the tough thing going on, which is fun, but you’re secretly caring.”

Consuelo glared at her. “What did you say?”

Felicia shook her head. “We’re not supposed to notice she cares. It makes her feel vulnerable.”

Isabel wondered if she should back slowly out of the room. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.” Consuelo touched her arm. “My bad. Automatic response. Which is why I’m totally wrong for Kent. Have you met his family?”

“Yes,” Isabel said glumly, thinking about the tea she was going to have to share with his mother and sisters. “Many times.”

“I haven’t and I’m going to have to. They’re going to ask about my family. What am I supposed to say? That my father took off when my youngest brother was born and no one’s seen him since? Mom’s dead, as is one of my brothers. The other’s in jail. There’s a happy conversation.”

Isabel hadn’t known the details of Consuelo’s past. “That’s a lot to overcome,” she said quietly.

“I didn’t overcome it. I left. I took off and never looked back. I thought—” She shook her head. “Hell, what does it matter? It can’t work. He and I are too different.”

“You’re looking for trouble,” Felicia said, then smiled, as if pleased to have found the right cliché. “Your past has made you who you are today. Yes, you and Kent come from different places, but you have a lot in common. You’re both good with children. He’s a teacher and you teach your classes. Your students are very fond of you. You both have a strong sense of right and wrong.”

“Blah, blah, blah,” Consuelo muttered.

“Is it because you were a soldier?” Isabel asked, suddenly wondering if Consuelo was simply verbalizing what Ford wouldn’t talk about. “Because of what you’ve seen or done? Is the inability to connect more about a fear of opening a door? That if the two worlds collide, something bad will happen?”

Consuelo stared at her with an expression Isabel couldn’t read.

“Don’t hurt me,” she said quickly.

“I won’t,” Consuelo told her. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t. I’ve been thinking about it because of Ford. There are times when I have no idea what he’s thinking. I can only guess and wonder if he’ll ever talk about what happened.”

“Not with you,” Consuelo said flatly. “He won’t want you to see it through him.”

Which made Isabel wonder what Consuelo kept hidden. “So, who do you talk to?”

“Some people don’t talk to anyone. They let it fester inside. Or eventually it works itself out.” She hesitated. “I see a counselor.”

“I’m glad,” Felicia said quietly, touching her friend’s arm.

“I don’t know if it helps,” Consuelo admitted. “Sometimes I feel as if I’m fine and other times... There’s a reason they call it the ‘ragged edge.’” She looked at Isabel. “No one can go through what Ford did and remain unaffected. War leaves scars. Some are on the inside and some are on the outside, but we all have them. Ford’s basically a good guy, but he’s still dealing.”

“Like how?” Isabel asked.

“Moments when he isn’t sure where he is. Or why he made it when others didn’t.”

She hadn’t seen any signs of that, Isabel thought. Every now and then he got quiet, but that was it. Like the last time they’d made love. When he’d held on to her. If she had to guess, she would say she’d been the only steady object in a rapidly spinning world.

“Are the scars the reason you worry about being with Kent?” Felicia asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe. I’m just not like him.”

“You keep saying that,” Isabel pointed out. “But he’s obviously interested in you and you in him.”

“Because he doesn’t know me.”

“Of course,” Felicia said. “The root of all fears. Not being accepted by those we care about. Being rejected and isolated. It’s a primal fear. As a species, we are meant to be part of a group. A community. We mistrust loners because we don’t understand them. With the exception of our romanticizing the loner in movies and novels, of course.”