Summer Wedding Bells: Marriage Wanted / Lone Star Lovin'. Debbie Macomber

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      “Savannah.” Her name was a groan. His breathing, heavy and hard, came in bursts as he struggled to regain control. Savannah was struggling, too. She finally opened her eyes. Her fingers were in his hair; she sighed and relaxed her hold.

      Nash raised his head and took her face between his hands, his eyes delving into hers. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

      An apology. She should’ve expected it, should’ve been prepared for it. But she wasn’t.

      He seemed to be waiting for her to respond so she gave him a weak smile, and lowered her gaze, not wanting him to guess how strong her reaction had been.

      He leaned his forehead against hers and chuckled softly. “You’re a surprise a minute.”

      “What do you mean?”

      He dropped a glancing kiss on the side of her face. “I wouldn’t have believed you’d be so passionate. The way you kissed me…”

      “In other words, you didn’t expect someone like me to experience sensual pleasure?” she demanded righteously. “It might shock you to know I’m still a woman.”

      “What?” Nash said. “What are you talking about?”

      “You heard me,” she said, frantically searching for her purse and the bag of leftovers her mother had insisted she take home with her.

      “Stop,” he said. “Don’t use insults to ruin something that was beautiful and spontaneous.”

      “I wasn’t the one—”

      She wasn’t allowed to finish. Taking her by the arms, he hauled her toward him until his mouth was on hers. Her resistance disappeared in the powerful persuasion of his kisses.

      He exhaled sharply when he finished. “Your leg has nothing to do with this. Nothing. Do you understand?”

      “Why were you so surprised, then?” she asked, struggling to keep her indignation alive. It was almost impossible when she was in his arms.

      His answer took a long time. “I don’t know.”

      “That’s what I thought.” She broke away and held her purse against her like a shield. “We’ve agreed to disagree on the issue of love and marriage, isn’t that correct?”

      “Yes,” he said without emotion.

      “Then I don’t see any reason for us to continue our debate. It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Davenport. Goodbye.” Having said that, she jerked open the car door and nearly toppled backward. She caught herself in the nick of time before she could tumble headfirst into the alley.

      “Savannah, for heaven’s sake, will you—”

      “Please, just leave me alone,” she said, furious with herself for making such a dramatic exit and with him for reasons as yet unclear.

      Because he made her feel, she guessed sometime later, when she was home and safe. He made her feel as if she was whole and without flaws. As if she was an attractive, desirable woman. Savannah blamed Nash for pretending she could be something she wasn’t and the anger simmered in her blood long after she’d readied for bed.

      Neatly folding her quilt at the foot of her bed, Savannah stood, seething, taking deep breaths to keep the tears at bay.

      In the morning, after she’d downed her first cup of coffee, Savannah felt better. She was determined to put the incident and the man out of her mind. There was no reason for them to see each other again, no reason for them to continue with this farce. Not that Nash would want to see her, especially after the idiotic way she’d behaved, scrambling out of his car as if escaping a murderer.

      As was so often the case of late, Savannah was wrong. Nash was waiting on the sidewalk in front of her shop, carrying a white bag, when she arrived for work.

      “Another peace offering?” she asked, when she unlocked the front door and opened it for him.

      “Something like that.” He handed her a latte, then walked across the showroom and sat on the corner of her desk, dangling one leg, as though he had every right to make himself comfortable in her place of business.

      Savannah hadn’t recovered from seeing him again so soon; she wasn’t prepared for another confrontation. “What can I do for you?” she asked stiffly, setting the latte aside. She sat down and leaned back in the swivel chair, hoping she looked relaxed, knowing she didn’t.

      “I’ve come to answer your question,” he said, leg swinging as he pried loose the lid on his cup. He was so blasé about everything, as if the intensity of their kisses was a common thing for him. As if she was one in a long line of conquests. “You wanted to know what was different last night and I’m here to tell you.”

      This was the last thing Savannah expected. She glanced pointedly at her watch. “Is this going to take long? I’ve got an appointment in ten minutes.”

      “I’ll be out of here before your client arrives.”

      “Good.” She crossed her arms, trying to hold on to her patience. Their kisses embarrassed her now. She was determined to push the whole incident out of her mind and forget him. It’d been crazy to make a wager with him. Fun, true, but sheer folly nonetheless. The best she could do was forget she’d ever met the man. Nash, however, seemed unwilling to let that happen.

      “Well?” she pressed when he didn’t immediately speak.

      “A woman doesn’t generally go to my head the way you did,” he said. “When I make love to a woman I’m the one in control.”

      “We weren’t making love,” she said heatedly, heat flushing her cheeks with instant color. Her fingers bit into the soft flesh of her arms as she fought to keep the embarrassment to herself.

      “What do you call it, then?”

      “Kissing.”

      “Yes, but it would’ve developed into something a whole lot more complicated if we hadn’t been in my car. The last time I made love in the backseat of a car, I was—”

      “This may come as a surprise to you, but I have no interest in hearing about your sexual exploits,” she interjected.

      “Fine,” he snapped.

      “Besides, we were nowhere near making love.”

      Nash’s responding snort sent ripples of outrage through Savannah. “You overestimate your appeal, Mr. Davenport.”

      He laughed outright this time. “Somehow or other, I thought you’d say as much. I was hoping you’d be a bit more honest, but then, I’ve found truth an unusual trait in most women.”

      The bell above her door chimed just then, and her appointment strolled into the shop. Savannah was so grateful to have this uncomfortable conversation interrupted, she almost hugged her client.

      “I’d love to continue this debate,” she lied, “but as you can see, I have a customer.”

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