Free Straddling the Line by Sarah M. Anderson Page B

grabbing another box and taking off. His eyes met hers, and he shot her a look that invited all sorts of contact. His long legs cut through the grass as he headed her way.
    Just once, I want to be ready for him.
    That was all the thinking she could formulate before a horn sounded behind her. She jumped and spun to see a van pulling up behind her. The window rolled down and a guy who looked vaguely familiar leaned out. “Is this the school?”
    “Yes?” It came out as a question, because, honestly, Josey wasn’t sure of anything right now.
    “Where do you want the instruments?”
    “The what?”
    “The instruments.” A hand touched her in the small of the back, the fingers splaying out against the hem of her shirt before settling in. Speechless, she turned to see Ben standing next to her, a wicked grin on his face. He was touching her in full view of everyone. Including her mother. How could something that was so clearly a bad idea feel like it was the most natural thing in the world? “Stick, glad to see you didn’t get lost.”
    “Says you,” the man named Stick said with a raspy chuckle. “Where the hell am I?” His eyes turned back to Josey.
    “Stick, this is Josey White Plume. Josey, this is Leonard ‘Stick’ Thompson, the guitarist in the band.”
    “Screw you.” Stick flipped off Ben, but he was still smiling. “Call me Stick. Only my grandmother calls me the L name.”
    Josey tried to nod, but nothing seemed to be working. Not even her brain.
    “What did you get?”
    His hand still resting on her back, Ben leaned into the van. Josey had no choice but to lean with him. The whole thing was filled with black cases strapped down with bungee cords.
    “Everything but a trombone, man. The only one he had was bent. Where do you want it?”
    Ben had the freaking nerve to look down at her, as if she could put together more than two syllables in a sentence. All she could do was blink at him. His eyes flashed with something outrageously wicked. “Multipurpose room, right?”
    “Uh-huh.”
    Ben’s hand slid around to her side and he pulled her away from the van—and into his chest. “Just park by the steps in front and ask for Sandra. She’ll get some kids to unload for you, okay?” Stick nodded and rolled toward the entrance to the school.
    He was on a first-name basis with Mom?
    Ben didn’t let go of her. Instead, he leaned down to whisper, “I told you I’d be in contact.” As his lips grazed her ear, her body shuddered with a rush of heat. Oh, that was contact, all right.
    At least Josey had brushed her teeth today. And her hair was smooth and neat in a twist. She was wearing a business-appropriate dress with a jacket.
    And all of her supply problems had been solved in the space of three minutes. By a man who made her all fluttery and melty at the same time.
    However, she wasn’t even sure she was breathing, she was so paralyzed with terror at this exceptionally public display of—well, maybe not affection, but familiarity.
    No matter how good Ben’s body felt against hers, this kind of touching was off-limits. Or it should be, anyway. What if people saw and, worse, what if they started making assumptions? What if this simple touch—okay, this not -so-simple touch—undid everything she’d worked so hard for?
    Finally, her mouth opened. “Razor-thin? Margins?”
    Lord.
    Ben’s chest—strong and hard against her back—shook for the briefest of moments. He was laughing at her. “Yeah, well, the business operates on razor-thin margins. My personal margins are not nearly as sharp—or as skinny.”
    His own money. He’d paid for all of this out of his own pocket. Her mouth went dry. Of course she’d had a couple of people cut her a check before—usually out of a combination of pity and leave-me-alone contempt. This was different. She knew good and well that time was money to a man like Ben Bolton—and he’d spent both on her school. On her.
    His hand left her waist and trailed across