He wasn’t here. He wasn’t here.
Why was she here? She should be at the airport in Houston, begging him to stay. Asking him to talk to her so they could work this out. That she wasn’t mad anymore. That she didn’t want to lose him over one stupid lie that had turned out to be the best thing that had ever happened to her.
But she stood up on the stage, numb, and announced the costume contest winner. The man, dressed in a soup pot with the legs cut out and a mishmash of stuffed animals sticking out from under the lid—she wasn’t even paying attention to what he was supposed to be—took the trophy from a cheery Brenna. They were done. Beth Ann almost stumbled in her haste to get off the stage, rushing down the steps of the platform. Panic flared through her—she needed to get to him. Talk to him before he left. Explain how she felt—
Miranda stopped her at the bottom, seeing the look on her face. “You okay? What’s wrong?”
“I need to stop Colt,” she said, her breath catching in her throat. “I should be in Houston begging him to stay. I can’t let him go. I need to go to the ranch, see if Grant’s left with him yet—”
Her words died in her throat as she saw a black swish of cape that quickly disappeared as someone stepped in front of her. She pushed ahead, and…
There he was. Batman. Colt. A giddy, nervous laugh bubbled in her throat—a laugh of relief, of hope. He hadn’t gone yet.
He’d put on the costume she’d left for him. Oh. Her heart thudded at the sight of him. Of the broad shoulders in the costume, the plastic bodysuit, the long sweeping cape. The cowl Batman mask that nearly covered his entire face, but not his scowl. And she couldn’t stop smiling.
Beth Ann approached him slowly, noticing that the fake muscles of the costume were not nearly as impressive as the tight sweep of his abdomen. His hands clenched in the black gloves as she walked toward him. A good sign? Or bad? She couldn’t tell, but she hoped it was good.
“Hi, Batman,” she said breathlessly.
“I always knew you’d make a great Wonder Woman,” he greeted in a cautious voice, eyeing her costume.
“Can we talk?” she asked. “Somewhere private?”
He held his hand out to her. She raised her hand in response and then realized he was holding something out to her.
An apple.
She took it from him, staring at it in wonder, her chest aching with the sweetness of the gesture.
He nodded at it. “I hear you give that to a girl if you’re interested in her.”
Beth Ann looked at the apple, then back at him. “That’s right.”
This time, when he offered her his hand, she took it, and he led her through the boisterous, noisy crowd, back to the far side of the town square. To her shop. Looked at the door, then back to her.
Trembling, she pulled the key out of her red bodice, remembering the time they’d made love in her salon. Her fingers fumbled as she pushed the door open, then gestured for him to enter.
He did. She followed him in, then shut the door, turned back to him.
His hands went to her cheeks and then he was kissing her, his mouth pressing against hers, tongue flicking against the back of her mouth. The apple fell from her hand and onto the floor.
At her sharp intake of breath, he pulled away again. “You can slap me for that if you want to.”
She shook her head, noticing how his body was still pressed up against hers. Her ni**les had grown hard under her bodice. She wished he wasn’t wearing the big cowl mask—oh heavens, the costume had seemed like such a clever idea at the time. Now she just wanted to see his face. “I’m not going to slap you.”
“I wouldn’t blame you if you did.” His thumb brushed over her cheek, caressing her. “I’ve missed you,” he said huskily, then abruptly pulled away. “I’m sorry. You don’t want this shit. Here I am forcing what I want on you—”
“No, it’s okay,” she said quickly. Her hands went to the rubber front of his costume, traced the bat symbol there. “But I think we should talk.”
He stiffened. “Talk, then.”
She took in a ragged breath. “That was a total dick move, lying to me about being stranded.”
Silence. She peeked up at him.
“I’m not going to apologize,” he said in a low, husky voice. “If it got me you, even for a short period of time, I’m not going to be sorry about it.”
Warmth flushed through her body, her pulse starting a slow, languid beat between her thighs. “I…I don’t like that you lied to me, but I’m glad about the outcome,” she said, lightly tracing that bat symbol because she was terrified of looking at his face, watching that expressive mouth firm into disapproval or irritation that she was changing her mind. “That day, when I got angry, I…I didn’t realize that you hadn’t known that you were Allan’s brother. When I saw Allan that day—”
“I told that ass**le to leave you alone,” Colt murmured. As she watched, his mouth thinned into an unhappy line.
“I know,” she said quickly, her fingers tracing the symbol even more rapidly. She looked down at it, unable to meet his gaze. “But the coupon thing had me furious, and then—”
His hand caught hers, stopped her fingers from their dance on his chest. “Coupon?”
She glanced up at him. She quickly explained the situation with the salon across the street—the coupons, the fact that Allan was trying to run her out of business so she’d have no choice but to go back to him. And she’d found it all out the same day, just before discovering that Colt had lied to her.
His jaw clenched with fury. He turned toward the door. “I’m going to f**king kill him—”
“It’s okay,” she said, grabbing his arm and tugging him back toward her. Her hand went to his cheek and she forced him to look at her. “It’s been taken care of. My father put the fear of God in him.”
“Good,” Colt seethed. “I’m still going to break his jaw the next time I see him.”
“That’s beside the point,” she said in a rush. “I found out everything that day. Here I’d been betrayed by Allan all over again in the worst possible way, and then I found out that you had lied to me, too.” She grimaced. “I overreacted.”
His mouth parted a little. “You never overreacted—”