He stroked her lips with his tongue, nudging in, and she opened for him, allowing him inside so he could taste her. She was as sweet as she smelled—fruity and tangy.
The world seemed to shrink down to her and them and the kiss.
“Joel.” She whispered his name against his lips before pulling back. “We can’t.”
He disagreed. They could. Theyshould.
The specks of gold in her honey eyes danced as she looked up at him. “I should go.”
He wanted to say no. Or hell, if she did go, he wanted to follow.
But she didn’t want that. Not right now. He forced himself back. And as he watched her drive away, he made a vow. That hewouldget her back.
She was his, and he was going to make damn sure she knew it.
19
“Honey, wake up. I have an idea.”
“Mom?” Polly squeezed her eyes closed. She’d been asleep. Dead asleep. A do-not-want-to-be-woken kind of asleep.
“Who else would it be?”
She groaned and dug her head deeper into the pillow. “I’m sleeping.”
“It’s seven a.m. It’s time to wake up.”
“Says who?”
“Your mother.” Mom shoved her. “Come on. Don’t you want to hear my idea?”
“Unless it involves more sleep followed by coffee—really hot, really strong coffee—no.”
“It involves something better…a party.”
Okay, she was not getting any more sleep this morning. Damn her mother.
She rolled to her back and gave her mom what she hoped was a withering glare, but probably just looked like an overtired side-eye. “It’s only been three days since you found out your husband could be a serial killer, and you want to talk about a party?”
“Yes.”
“No.” She shoved her sheets back and climbed out of bed.
The second she’d gotten home the night of the town meeting, Polly had told her mother about Jonah. And it had been every bit as bad as she’d thought it would be—tears, angry yelling, throwing of a wedding ring across the room. And her mother had not come out of her depressed coma since…well…until now.
The more Polly thought about it, the more uncomfortable she became with the idea of her mother being around Jonah. Yes, Joel didn’t think Jonah was guilty, but until it was disproved, the idea of her mother being anywhere near the guy made her want to break out into hives.
In the bathroom, she threw water on her face. Nope. She didn’t feel any more alive.
“This isn’t a normal party,” her mother pressed from right behind her. “It’s adivorceparty.”
She frowned at her mother in the mirror. “A what?”
“There’ll be signs that say ‘end of an error’—‘or’ not ‘ra.’ I’ll have ‘divorced as hell’ balloons and wear a sash that says ‘recently divorced.’”
Was Polly still dreaming? Or were divorce parties actually things that people did? God, her mother wasn’t even divorced yet.
She left the bathroom and headed to the kitchen. She didn’t just need a double shot. She needed a triple. The more caffeine the better, because these last few days with her mother had beenlong.
