“I’m not dating you.” She folded her arms and glared at him.
“Thank the Lord for that. Men only date you if they have a death wish.”
Jena wished his uniform came with a gun. She would have used it to shoot him.
“I’m not kissing you again, either. It’s not a relationship if I won’t kiss you.”
She squealed as the car suddenly lurched off the road. Matt turned to her, a sexy grin on his face.
“How about I kiss you, then? No pressure. Don’t feel the need to participate.”
Before she could get an objection out of her mouth, he’d leaned over, clasped the back of her neck and was pulling her towards him. Jena was embarrassed to say she didn’t put up any resistance. She’d liked the last kiss. She wasn’t above taking another one.
The little smile he gave her before his lips met hers made her think he might be able to read her mind on the matter. And then she wasn’t thinking at all. His lips were soft and firm. His touch was confident. He tasted like chocolate lemon Pop-Tarts—something he would probably take offence at if she told him. She made a note to tell him later.
As his tongue slipped past her lips, she let out a little sigh of delight. She was losing herself in him. And she loved it. Her fingers curled into the stiff material of his uniform. She pressed forward, seeking the heat of his body, the bone-melting awareness of his size and strength. The seatbelt tugged her back, making her groan in frustration.
All too soon, the kiss ended. Matt nipped her lower lip before caressing her cheek. Jena felt herself swaying into him.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered over her lips, “I’m okay with this not being a relationship.”
With a grin, he put the car in gear and swerved back into the road. Jena glared at him. She wasn’t sure what was going on—and she definitely wasn’t sure she wanted it to stop. She decided the best course of action was to ignore him and this thing that was happening between them.
Denial was good. She liked denial. As a life choice, it worked great.
Jena’s friend stayed in an old Victorian house in the hills outside of town. Only a small field separated her house from Jena’s. Abby owned the local mushroom farm, which sat in a section of the old abandoned mine—part of which ran under the field towards Jena’s house. Abby said the old Victorian house she lived in used to be the home of the mine manager, back in the day when the old mine was at its height. Being the home of the most important person in Invertary at that time, it had been built with status in mind.
The grey stone had been shipped in from Inverness; the long drive had been planted with poplars along each side to make it feel like you were driving through a regal tunnel to get to the house. The house itself was three stories high, with large bay windows and a grand entrance.
Fortunately, successive owners had taken the time to keep the house in a decent condition, and Abby had added her touches to it, to make it homely and welcoming. Abby was standing at the door when Matt’s car drove up. The dark circles under her eyes were getting worse, and Jena was worried about her.
“Aunty Jena’s here,” she called when Jena got out of the car.
There was a squeal from inside the house, and a few seconds later Katy barrelled out. She was dressed as a princess in a pink merengue gown and sparkling plastic tiara.
“Aunty Jena! Uncle Matty!” She flew down the steps, launching herself at Jena, who gave her a tight cuddle before she wriggled away to throw herself at Matt.
Jena shook her head with a grin. No matter how muggy the day, Katy was a breath of fresh air. You had to have something seriously wrong with you not to smil
e when that little girl was near.
“We need to get you one of those dresses, princess,” Matt said as he led her to the house with his hand on the small of Jena’s back. Even his slight touch made her feel gloriously boneless. Ignore it. Deny it. It isn’t happening.
Yeah, maybe this denial thing was a bit broken.
Abby noticed his move and raised an eyebrow. Jena felt heat flush her cheeks.
“I’ve made tea and scones.” Abby gave Jena a hug, and she found herself clinging more tightly to Abby than usual. “Tough day, petal?”
“Mom’s here.”
“Well cluck in a bucket, I should have made chocolate cake.”
“Cluck in a bucket?” Matt said.
“Should I use foul language around my daughter?” Abby stood straight, her head high and not a stitch out of place.
“Instead you use fowl language?” Matt said.