“It was my turn for a surprise visit,” he returned absently, using all of his willpower to draw his gaze up from her body to look her in the eye.
Then, her green gaze only took his breath away more.
“In that case, congratulations.” She turned away from him to drag a small lap blanket off the window seat bench. “You’ve caught me completely unaware.”
Her words floated around his head without penetrating his brain since the back of the gown was even more jaw-dropping than the front. The navy silk dipped so low that he could see the two dimples bracketing the base of her spine, just above the sweet curve of the world’s most bite-able ass.
He swept a hand over his mouth and held it there for a second to silence the hungry sounds he made in his mind.
When she turned around to face him again she was draped in the plush white lap blanket, the corners held in one fist clutched just below her breasts. When she lifted one raven’s wing dark eyebrow, an impatient expression on her face, he realized he’d better start talking fast or she’d shove him right back out the front door.
“Actually, I’m here because I ran into your father at the Cowboy Kitchen.” Recalling the unhappy reason he’d driven to Crooked Elm in the first place, indignation returned. “I overheard him talking to Josiah Cranston in a way that suggested your dad would be paying Cranston off in exchange for his testimony in the case.”
“Right in the middle of the diner? Where anyone in town could hear?” Her brows knitted as she seemed to weigh the news. Then she waved him into the room with a quick gesture of her hand. “Come sit. Tell me everything.”
Lark dropped onto the edge of the mattress as he entered, the blue silk gown pooling around her legs as she crossed them. Even as he debated the wisdom of sitting beside her—on a bed, of all places—Gibson lowered himself to a spot near her.
“I heard them outside the restaurant, but they must have started the conversation indoors.” He realized now that it had been a mistaken to drive away before going inside himself. “I was so ticked off after talking to Mateo that I didn’t—”
“You spoke to him, too?” Her gaze held his, questioning.
Quickly, he recapped what happened, including her father’s offer to buy his testimony and Gibson’s failure to enter the Cowboy Kitchen afterward to see who might have overheard something valuable. “It never occurred to me at the time,” he explained, feeling like he’d let her and her sisters down by not thinking that through. “But maybe if I made note of the patrons inside the eatery, your attorney could have found someone else who heard your dad bribing Cranston.”
Lark was already shaking her head, one long lock of hair falling in front of her shoulder. “I doubt it. My father is an expert in knowing how much he can get away with. If he was that obvious about suggesting he could bribe you, he must not be worried about blowback from potential testimony that he’s unethical.”
Gibson eyed the fallen lock of her hair, imagining the texture against his skin while the room seemed to shrink around them. The scent of her lavender soap teased his nose along with her mint shampoo while he remembered what it had been like to kiss her on his veranda just two days ago.
He wanted more than a taste, needed more than that. But he wouldn’t rush the chance to have her in his bed and risk having her bolt. If he wanted any hope of letting this chemistry work its course, he needed to let Lark set the pace.
“He should be,” he forced himself to say, dragging his gaze away from Lark to glance around the room and looking at anything that wasn’t her enticing figure beside him. Unfortunately, the first thing his attention fixed on was a pile of her discarded clothes in the corner.
Crumpled jeans. Black blazer. A barely-there ivory-colored bra in a model he knew so well he could unfasten it in less than a blink. The temptation of being alone in a bedroom with her weighed heavy on him, infusing his every thought.
“I’ll tell my sisters and let them decide if it’s worth sharing with the attorney.” Her tone was careful. Circumspect.
It was so startlingly unlike her when it came to discussions of her dad that Gibson found his gaze swiveling to her again.
“Don’t you want to go after him? After the way he cut you and Fleur off from all financial support—”
“I wouldn’t take his money under any circumstances,” she retorted, her shoulders straightening to cover any hint of vulnerability he knew still lurked inside. “Although I definitely hate what he did to Fleur, and I resent him for hurting my mother, I’m not interested in retribution for my own sake. I won’t lose any more personal happiness because of some childhood hurt.”
Admiration for her pulled a smile from his lips, even as his protective instincts surged. He’d do everything in his power to ensure her father didn’t succeed in his quest to steal Crooked Elm from his daughters.
He also had the power of a media following. And if he could leverage that to help Lark, he intended to use it.
“That’s impressive considering—well, considering what I know of the guy,” he said finally, guessing she wouldn’t approve of his tactics if he told her about his plans. “Good for you, Lark.”
“It didn’t happen overnight, believe me.” Her gaze slid over to his as an answering smile curved her lush mouth. “Therapists know the best therapists.”
All at once, the lightness faded from the moment for him as he recalled asking Lark to see a marriage counselor with him before she left for good. She’d only shaken her head and kept walking away.
Perhaps he should have welcomed the reminder of why they weren’t right together for anything more than the chemistry. But the memory still nicked an old wound. And it underscored all the reasons he needed to find closure.
“Then I’ll leave it up to you.” He rose to his feet, doing his best to keep his eyes off the discarded pile of her clothes.
There was no point in thinking about what his ex-wife wasn’t wearing under that blanket.
“Thank you for coming over.” She stood with him, the movement stirring the scent of her hair again. “I appreciate you letting me know what Dad did.”