Free Driven to Distraction (Silhouette Desire S.) by Sheri Whitefeather, Dixie Browning

knew better than to “team up” with a man she’d known for less than two days.
    She stepped away, hoping she could think more clearly if he wasn’t touching her. It helped…but not very much. Her lips still tingled and she wanted to feel it again—that incredibly soft pressure. She’d been kissed before, plenty of times—well, enough times so that she knew most kisses were pretty much alike. Open mouth, probing tongue, thrusting pelvis—the whole works.
    Ben’s kiss was totally different. The wild optimist hiding deep inside her pragmatic exterior wanted to believe he was reaching out to the woman she really was instead of simply reacting to a marginally attractive, marginally available member of the opposite sex.
    He was no longer gazing into her eyes. Using the toe of his boot to dislodge a small rock from the red clay matrix, he said, “You might have noticed, I’m sort of out of my league here.”
    With his looks, he could hold his own in any league. He couldn’t possibly be talking about…
    â€œOh…you mean art-wise?”
    â€œArt dumb would be more like it.” When he smiled, he had a crease in one cheek that almost qualified as a dimple. “You might even say I’m here under false pretenses.”
    The lawn immediately surrounding the house was unkempt—a little chickweed, a little grass and a lot of exposed rock. They reached the edge of the cleared area and Maggie waited for him to continue. Okay, this wasn’t about sex. That kiss had been merely a—a bonding gesture. Like a handshake, only more personal.
    It occurred to her belatedly that she might not be the only one here with an agenda that didn’t include qualifying for membership in the Watercolor Society. Something was going on—something that probably didn’t involve diving into the nearest bed.
    Well…shoot!
    She let him talk, trying not to notice the way he stood, with his feet braced apart in those well-worn boots and thumbs hooked into his hip pockets. Sort of an ‘I-shall-not-be-moved’ stance, with overtones of ‘But-I-can-be-tempted’.
    Yeah, right. Obviously she didn’t have what it took to tempt him.
    â€œSee, I have this grandmother,” he said.
    Her jaw fell, and she snapped it shut. How did he get from a kiss that was like nothing she had ever experienced before to telling her about his relatives? Was he inviting her home to meet his family?
    â€œMiss Emma—she likes for me to call her that—she’s in her late seventies and lives alone. Not that she needs a caretaker or anything like that. I mean,she still does all her own housework, gardening—you name it. Gets involved in local politics, goes to these arts and crafts affairs. She just finished taking a computer class with some friends.”
    Back to earth with a dull thud. “So that’s why you’re here, right? You’re checking this workshop out for your grandmother? Aren’t there any workshops in Texas?”
    â€œShe lives in North Carolina.”
    â€œOh. Well, that’s stretching family obligations, isn’t it? Bringing a grandson all the way from Texas just to be sure a course is suitable? What was she afraid of, nude male models?”
    He looked away, and she was tempted to grab that rock-bound jaw of his and force him to look at her. I’m here—your granny isn’t! Look at me, darn you!
    â€œSee, she’s taken all these classes in fancy sewing, lace-making, stuff like that. She goes to a lot of exhibits, too. Something to do with her time, I guess.” He raked his fingers through his hair, dislodging a lock that fell across his brow. Maggie had already noticed that he did that when he was shaping his next statement. “Anyway she told me about this guy she met at an art show last fall and how she came to buy a bunch of his pictures.”
    â€œPaintings,” Maggie corrected absently.