One Unforgettable Kiss
Author
A.C. Arthur
Reads
18.5K
Chapters
20
Chapter 1
Chapter 1
“We have another bid! Going once. Going twice. Going...three times, and it’s gone! Sir, you’re our lucky winner!”
Garrek heard the applause behind him and turned to see what was going on. The room wasn’t large—it included a dance floor in the center and a homemade bar setup in the corner, where he’d quickly found a seat. But Garrek was not comfortable at this moment, as he noticed the gaze of every person in the room was now on him.
“Come on up here and claim your prize!” a short man with his hair parted and gelled down to the side announced into the microphone he was holding.
The crowd clapped and cheered, stepping aside until a walkway had been formed, starting where Garrek sat at the bar and ending at the two steps that led to the stage.
“Come on. Don’t be shy. Your prize is waiting!” the man continued.
Garrek had no idea what he’d won, because he hadn’t entered any contest. All he’d done was follow the crowd that had been heading into this old building because they’d looked excited about coming in here. And when he’d seen the sign on the door that read Cash Bar, Garrek had felt a wave of relief. He’d needed a drink. He didn’t want one, because each time he swallowed his favorite rum, he remembered the night that he knew would haunt him for the rest of his life. But he needed it. That was a simple fact.
It had been a long week, one he was still wondering how he’d survived. His career was on the line, and after two Cuba libres, his mouth was still dry. He’d just held up his hand to signal the bartender when the man on the stage began to speak.
“He’s a handsome one, too,” a woman said. She had pushed through the crowd and stopped right in front of him. “Nice body and everything.”
The last was said as she lifted small hands and pressed them firmly, front and center, on his chest.
“Harper, you let me know if you need any help with this one.” The woman spoke over her shoulder, as her hands squeezed his pectorals.
Garrek was wearing a white T-shirt that fit him snugly, a fact that the woman who looked to be in her midsixties seemed to enjoy.
“I’m Connie, and I’d be happy to escort your fine self up to the stage.”
Before Garrek could decline her offer, Connie, with her cap of silver hair and no more than five-foot stature, was right beside him, lacing her arm through his and holding on tight. She wore a pale-green-and-white polka-dot dress, and a huge white flower was pinned close to her left shoulder. Her grin was wide as she looked up at Garrek, and when he continued to stare down at her, she winked.
Before Garrek could react, she was taking a step, and he found himself quickly slipping off the wobbly stool he’d been perched on to follow her lead. They moved down the path that reminded Garrek of the old Soul Train line, sans music. He hadn’t purchased anything but drinks since he’d arrived not even a half hour ago, so he doubted he’d won a raffle.
The people on the outskirts clapped as they walked by, and Connie nodded as if she were in her element being the center of attention. When they came to the two steps that led up onto the stage, Garrek had to hold Connie steady as her knees wobbled with each step up. A quick flash of memory had him thinking back to his late teenage years in Pensacola, the years when his mother’s condition was getting worse.
“Here we go,” the man said as he touched the younger woman standing next to him on the shoulder. “Now, you can thank us later, Harper. But this is what the lovely ladies of the Magnolia Guild wanted to give to you.”
She looked frightened.
That’s the first thought that came to Garrek’s mind as he gazed at the young woman standing next to the other man, who was doing all the talking.
Garrek was a navy pilot, but he’d been trained as a pilot first. His instinct to protect was strong and quick.
“That’s right, Beuford,” Connie said as she stepped away from Garrek to grab the microphone from the man’s hand.
Beuford frowned down at her, but Connie didn’t notice, because she’d already turned her attention to the other woman.
“Now, Harper, us ladies at the guild have known you since you were a little thing running around town with scraped knees and dirt smudges on your face. Haven’t we, ladies?” Connie asked and looked out to the crowd.
A group of six women wearing the same white corsage as Connie stood close to the stage, nodding their agreement.
“So don’t be shy. We had this auction just for you ’cause we knew we’d get you a good man that way. Good men always step up to the plate,” Connie continued.
The woman—the one Connie had called Harper—didn’t move. She was wearing a long black-and-white skirt and a sleeveless white blouse. Her hair was pulled back from her face, so Garrek couldn’t tell how long it was.
“You were the highest bidder, coming in at two thousand twenty-five dollars,” Beuford said, stepping around to clap a hand on Garrek’s shoulder.
“Woo-wee, over two thousand dollars for a date with our little Harper!” Connie yelled.
She grabbed Harper by the hand and pulled her closer to where Garrek stood, shocked speechless by what was happening. He’d been in Temptation for a little over an hour, and already he was the center of attention. Again.
To be fair, he was sharing the attention with the strangely quiet Harper, just as years ago he’d shared the spotlight with his five siblings. Wait, had they just said he was the highest bidder? Meaning he was paying for a date?
The thought was almost laughable, because the last thing in this world Garrek wanted right now was a date, and he certainly wouldn’t be paying for one if he did. Clapping resumed, and music started to play as Connie pushed Harper’s hand into Garrek’s. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel the little spike of heat at the contact. But he instantly brushed it aside. Garrek had grown really good at ignoring things he didn’t want to deal with.
“Well, say something, Harper,” Connie insisted and put the microphone in front of the woman.
Without thinking twice, Garrek took the microphone and spoke into it. “Harper and I want to thank you for coming out tonight. We’d also like to announce that the money raised here tonight will be donated to—” He paused.
Then he looked over to Harper. Garrek was six feet even. Harper was a tall woman, her shoulder only a couple inches shorter than his.
“The Veterans Fund,” she said after staring at him questioningly for a few seconds. “The two thousand and twenty-five dollars will go to Temptation’s Veterans Fund and provide support for those who fought hard to protect us and this country.”
Garrek’s first thought was, how had she known who he was?
Connie snatched the microphone at that point. “No. No. That’s not the plan for the money. It’s going to the Guild, because we planned this little event. We’re getting a sign to hang over the doorway to our headquarters. It’ll be real classy, and that way everyone will know where to find us.”
Connie nodded as she spoke, as if everyone was naturally going to agree with her. The six women whom Garrek suspected were also from the Guild mimicked Connie’s movements, and there were some murmurs from the crowd that said they were confused. Well, they could join the club, Garrek thought.
Then he spoke again, without the need for a microphone. He was loud enough that they could hear him across the room where the bar was. He knew this by the shocked look he received from the bartender after he announced, “My check will be written to the Veterans Fund. Any other proceeds from this event can be used for whatever purpose the Guild decides.”
Connie gasped and clamped her thin lips closed, her facial expression clearly annoyed. Garrek doubted she was thinking about touching his pecs again at this moment. Beuford looked from Garrek to Connie and back to Garrek again without saying a word. The once-clapping crowd had now fallen quiet, some of them with mouths open in surprise, others whispering to the person next to them. All of them staring at Garrek.
How the hell had this happened?
He’d come here to get away from people looking at him in question. Now, it seemed he’d walked right into yet another sticky situation with a woman. He wanted to curse, or possibly even run as far from this place as he’d just run from Washington. Instead, Garrek made his way off the stage, slowly pulling the woman named Harper along with him.
* * *
Harper was done!
The only reason she’d put on a skirt and come to the Sadie Hawkins dance was for business. What better way to promote Presley Construction—a company owned and operated by a woman—than to come to a dance where the women were supposedly liberated enough to ask the men out? Yet these same women apparently thought Harper needed help finding a man, when the truth was Harper wasn’t even sure she ever wanted a man permanently in her life. She certainly wasn’t on a personal crusade to find one who would take precedence over everything else in her life.
Coming here tonight had seemed like a good idea when she’d first thought of it. This dance was an annual event, like so many others in Temptation. Up until tonight, it had been one that Harper had proudly stated she’d never attended.
She shouldn’t have broken the streak.
If she’d known what the Magnolia Guild had secretly planned for tonight, she wouldn’t have come. In fact, she might have left town completely. How embarrassing. How totally and utterly humiliating, to stand on that stage and be auctioned off like cattle. But she’d been trapped. Running off the stage and out of the hall would have definitely made her the butt of the whole town’s jokes for the foreseeable future. Forget trying to get anyone to hire her to do construction work—they’d be too busy laughing at poor little Harper who’d had to be auctioned off to a man instead of being able to get a date on her own.
So she’d stood there, frozen to that spot, staring at one of the columns in the center of the room that had been wrapped in pink and blue streamers. Everyone was staring at her, she knew. They were talking about her again. Some things never changed, especially not in Temptation.
“Who will bid two hundred and fifty dollars to take Harper out on a date?” Beuford Danforth had asked after Connie had not very politely dragged Harper onto the stage.
Beuford was the unofficial host of just about every event in Temptation, since he’d been a radio personality for twenty-five years before retiring. When there wasn’t some type of town get-together, Beuford could be found on the wraparound front porch of his lime green–shingled house, putting together one of his Lego creations. He was seventy-two years old and still fascinated with the toys.
Harper’s cheeks had burned, not only at the question, but at the complete and utter silence that fell over the room like a tent. She’d clasped her hands in front of her and clenched her fingers until she worried she might actually pull off skin. Her heart beat wildly and her shoulders had begun to shake.
All reactions she’d had before and ones she’d sworn she would never have again.
She’d tuned out everything by that point—everything except the man touching her hand. At that moment a jolt brought her back to reality, and she’d looked up into warm brown eyes. He wasn’t from Temptation; that was her first coherent thought as he held her hand tightly in his. There was no man in Temptation who looked like this. Harper would remember if there was.
He was taller than her, with an athletic build—a very toned and alluring athletic build. His hands were large and engulfed her long fingers. His light complexion was a perfect backdrop to the dark hair of his goatee and thick eyebrows. He was wearing simple dark slacks and a white T-shirt, yet he still managed to look like a movie star—perfect enough to be on the big screen seducing women across the world.
Women like her.
No, never her, she’d reminded herself just in time to reply to the question he’d asked.
“The Veterans Fund,” she’d said after taking what she hoped was a mind-clearing deep breath and releasing it. “The two thousand and twenty-five dollars will go to Temptation’s Veterans Fund and provide support for those who fought hard to protect us and this country.”
Her grandfather and her father and all the other brave men like them.
Connie hadn’t liked that one bit, a fact Harper knew she’d hear about in town for the next week. When Constance Gensen was upset, everyone in Temptation heard about it. This time, as was the case too often in the past, Harper would be involuntarily entrenched in Connie’s discontent.
“Do you need a ride home?”
His voice was deep and had the effect of a good shot of whiskey—grabbing her immediate attention and making her shiver all over.
“Ah, no,” Harper replied and then cleared her throat. “I drove my car.”
“Because you didn’t have a date.”
“I didn’t need one,” she replied quickly and with certainty.
“Yeah, I know how that feels,” he said and then looked away.
“You’re not from around here,” Harper stated. “Are you visiting someone?”
He didn’t reply, but he did look at her again. Then, as if just remembering, he looked down at her hand. The one he was still holding. Harper’s cheeks warmed again and she attempted to pull away, but he held tight.
The Freedom Hall—now called the Gloria Ramsey Place—was part of the old shoe warehouse that had gone out of business ten years ago. The building had been purchased by Kittinger Hale, a retired schoolteacher who had hit the lottery and found his birth mother in the same week. Gloria Ramsey had been on the run from her abusive husband when she’d stopped in Temptation to give birth to the son she would leave at All Saints Hospital the next morning. Buying the building and slapping Gloria’s name across the front window was—Harper figured—Kittinger’s tribute to Gloria. To the citizens of Temptation, it hadn’t meant nearly as much. The building would always be called the Freedom Hall, after Freedom-brand shoes, which had been manufactured there for fifty years before the company went out of business.
The building was on the corner of Maple and Grove Streets. There was a black streetlamp still sporting the multicolored spring fling banner just a few feet away from them. The light was excruciatingly bright, bringing even more attention to the fact that they were holding hands.
“I shouldn’t be here,” he said. Harper stopped looking around to see if anyone was outside at the moment, and stared at him.
“Neither should I,” she replied.
He was rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand at this moment. Attempting to pull away again was certainly an option, except that Harper didn’t want to break the contact. The warmth from his hand was comforting, his strong grip protective and the heated spikes moving quickly throughout her body foreign, but not unpleasant.
“I should go,” he said.
“Me too,” she replied.
Yet neither of them moved.
There was space between them, even though their hands were connected. His body wasn’t touching hers, and while she felt as if she were being physically drawn to him, Harper hadn’t moved an inch.
So why did it suddenly seem warmer?
“Thanks for agreeing to donate to the veterans,” she said because she didn’t know what else to say.
“It’s no problem,” he replied.
Then, finally, after more silent moments, Harper figured this situation was absolutely ridiculous. She yanked her hand away from his—not realizing he’d lightened his grip so that her extra effort made her look even more preposterous.
“I’ll also apologize for what just happened back there. I don’t know what they were thinking, but getting a tourist roped into their shenanigans probably wasn’t the plan.”
“I’m not a tourist,” he told her in a very exacting way. He didn’t sound like he was offended, but that he wanted her to know this for certain. It was odd, but then, wasn’t this entire situation?
“Fine. Well, I apologize. Good night.”
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
“It’s not—” Her words trailed off as he once again took her hand.
“Which way?” he asked.
“Down here on the corner,” she replied.
Now she was walking down the street with a guy she didn’t know. This was strange. And it was dangerous. And she should know better.
“Well, good night, again,” Harper said when they reached the car. She kept her back to the driver’s door and her eyes on him.
He was standing with his legs slightly spread, hands tucked into the front pockets of his slacks. Again, Harper noted how attractive he was and how that thought exacerbated the unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“Good night, Harper,” he said.
Once again neither of them moved.
It was confusing, because just fifteen minutes ago Harper had wanted nothing more than to run out of the hall and to her car. She lived on her grandfather’s farm, on the outskirts of town about twenty minutes from the hall. Tonight was Sunday, which meant that Pops and her dad were sitting in front of the television watching whatever sport they could find. Uncle Giff and Aunt Laura would be at their house a little closer to town, probably sitting in front of their television, too. There wasn’t much else to do in Temptation on a Sunday night, except maybe stand around with a strange—yet undoubtedly sexy—guy.
He came straight toward her, stopping only a breath away. A breath that Harper immediately sucked in when he closed his eyes and shook his head. Before Harper could make another move, he was gone. He moved even faster than he had before, because by the time Harper found her breath and let it out slowly, a hand going to her thumping heart, he had disappeared around a corner.
What the hell had just happened?
Harper had no clue. What she did know was that she wasn’t going to forget her first and only Sadie Hawkins dance, or the undeniable arousal that her highest bidder had awakened.
