Texas Sizzle

by Lori Wilde

  “Hmm,” she said.

  Hmm? What did that mean?

  “You don’t have to be jealous.”

  “I’m not jealous,” he lied. “My friend is a caveman.”

  “Ah, so you’re trying to protect me?”

  “Chivalry, that’s what I’m all about.”

  “You’re an odd duck, Abel Black.”

  What was he supposed to say to that? “C’mon. Let me take a look at your hot water heater. I bet I can get it up and running in no time.”

  “You’re handy like that?”

  He held up both hands. “Guilty as charged.”

  “I’ve never known a guy who was very handy.”

  “Well, now you do.” Even though he’d grown up rich in the lap of luxury, his parents had insisted he learn as many practical skills as he could to make him a well-rounded person. In high school, he’d taken building trades, Spanish, automotive repair, and physics.

  She shrugged. “Okay.”

  “Okay,” he echoed.

  She stuck the shampoo and conditioner back into the pockets of her robe and turned to head down the stairs.

  He followed after her, his mind in a free fall. God, but she was something else. The woman was self-possessed enough to saunter over to the new neighbor’s place in her bathrobe and ask to use his shower. She had an easy way about her, like a carefree daisy swaying in the breeze and a mass of gorgeous blond hair and sassy blue eyes that stared into his as if he were a crossword puzzle that she couldn’t wait to solve.

  Was it weird that he found that as compelling as her tight little rump bouncing with each step that she took down the stairs?

  He followed her over to her apartment, thinking that he would follow that sweet ass straight into hell if that’s where she led him. How had he gotten to this point, desire short-circuiting his brain and his code of ethics? Troubling.

  Once inside her apartment, his law enforcement training took over. He scanned her with a cataloging glance.

  Minimalistic Scandinavian furniture, numerous candles, and an incense burner on the mantle of the gas fireplace, a bookcase loaded with books about exercise and nutrition (physical fitness, something they had in common), a beige jute rug over the flooring and two surfboards. One was a large, colorful old-style surfboard mounted on the wall that seemed to serve as a decorative shelf and the other, propped in the far corner, waxed and gleaming in the dusky sunlight that peeped through the partially open drapes.

  The room felt as if it was a temporary skin. Something she’d yet to shed. He didn’t know where the impression came from. Maybe it didn’t come from Poppy or the room at all, but from him. As if he were the one on the verge of something strange and new and waiting, just waiting, for the future to happen.

  He shook his head, shook off the feeling. “You surf?” he asked, a topic bland and safe.

  “Pretty much every other person in South Padre surfs. We are only two miles from the beach. It’s why I live here.”

  “Big-time hobby, huh?”

  “Passion is more like it.”

  Funny, that passion hadn’t made it to her dossier. “I thought yoga was your passion.”

  She studied him a long moment, her eyes pinning him to the spot. He shifted, uneasy, and that unexpected uneasiness rippled under his skin, hot and restless.

  “I’m a woman of many passions,” she said evenly, but the corner of her eye twitched.

  A tic?

  Was she hiding something? Or was she slyly winking at him? Flirting?

  He wasn’t adept at flirtation. It was a custom too light, too playful to suit him. Flirting opened the door to other things. Things he had no business thinking about.

  Abel pressed his palms together, closing that door on his thoughts. “Take me to your hot water heater.”

  “In there.” She waved him down the hallway, indicating a closed closet door.

  He stepped by her, accidentally grazing her shoulder as he went past. Audibly she sucked in her breath. Was she as aware of the sparking between them as he was? Damn, but her hair smelled like a flower shop and there was that very shapely body that even a shapeless terry cloth robe couldn’t disguise. Bewitching.

  His shaft stiffened.

  She’s your target. Stop thinking about her as a sexy woman.

  Yeah, that was like telling a spawning salmon not to swim upstream. It shocked him—this total lack of control. He couldn’t recall ever having been this horny, even as a teen.

  He forced his mind off her and on to the hot water heater. He opened the closet door and peered in at the gas appliance.

  “Can you fix it?” Poppy peered over his shoulder.

  Her breath was warm against his skin. She wasn’t touching him, but almost. An odd splitting sensation hit him squarely in the middle of his chest as if his very center was cracking wide-open.

  “It’s just the pilot light,” he mumbled. “We’ll shut it down for a few minutes, let the gas disperse, and relight it. All will be well.” With that reassurance, he closed the fuel line, the closet door, and his unruly libido.

  #

  Poppy perched on a wrought iron bistro table underneath a Cinzano umbrella on a wooden deck overlooking the Gulf of Mexico and mentally riding a wave. She drew in a lungful of air, breathed in the dynamic smell of the ocean, and thought of Abel.

  He was like the fetching white caps off in the distance, surging and full. But whether the energy between them was going to fade into nothingness or become a navigable wave hinged on a number of factors. Waves could die out or swell depending on wind, tides, and bathymetry. The influences were myriad.

  Lazily, she fantasized about an A-frame wave. Big and voluminous that formed with distinct shoulders on either side of the crest. A-frames allowed two surfers to enjoy the same wave, one riding frontside, and the other backside. Just thinking about it made her hot. Reaching up, she fingered the puka beads at her throat.

  Daydreaming of Abel was dumb. She knew it. So why had she used her broken water heater as an excuse to traipse over to his apartment?

  She could have showered at her yoga studio, but once she’d seen a light on in his apartment, she’d been over there like a shot. Hadn’t she learned anything from Keith? Was she going to go through her life wearing her heart on her sleeve, jumping from man to man just like her mother had until she’d finally found Mike?

  Ultimately, what did she want? Was it a husband and kids? Was she simply letting her birthday get to her? Where was all this self-doubt coming from? She’d always been fairly self-assured, so why the disequilibrium? Why now?

  “Gosh, I’m so sorry I’m late.” Her best friend, Zoey, rushed up to the table. She leaned over to kiss Poppy’s cheek.

  Zoey wore a floppy white straw hat and designer sunglasses. She was a natural redhead who burned instead of tanned. She had on a gauzy white top, matching white slacks, and lots of jangly jewelry. She deposited her handbag in an empty chair and sank down across from Poppy. Beside her, Poppy felt frumpy in denim capri pants and a button-down print blouse.

  “So how was Spain?” Poppy asked.

  “Fabulous. I could have stayed another month.” Zoey waved her hand. The sunlight caught the extravagant diamond on her left ring finger.

  “Zoey!” Poppy leaned over and grabbed her friend’s hand. “What’s this?”

  A huge grin split Zoey’s face. “Jason popped the question in Madrid. We’re engaged!”

  Poppy hopped up out of her chair and ran around to embrace her friend in a big hug. “Ooh, I’m so excited for you. Guess what? Sienna just got engaged, as well.”

  “No kidding. This is so exciting.”

  “Let’s order mimosas to celebrate.”

  “None for me,” Zoey said. “I’ll just take some iced tea.”

  “Oh wow, oh gosh, that’s one honking ring.” Poppy took hold of Zoey’s hand and examined the diamond thoroughly.

  A snarl of fierce jealousy lashed through Poppy so strong that it took her aback. She wasn’
t the jealous type. Why did she suddenly have a heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach?

  A waitress came over and took their orders for raspberry iced tea and fish tacos.

  “Don’t think I forgot your birthday,” Zoey said once the waitress had gone. She pulled a gift-wrapped package from her bag.

  “You didn’t have to get me anything,” Poppy protested, but secretly she was touched that at least one person had remembered her birthday.

  “Of course, I did. You’re my best friend in the whole world.”

  Tears misted the corners of her eyes. She wasn’t an overly emotional person but for some reason she was feeling sentimental today.

  Poppy undid the package wrapped in a red ribbon and opened the box. Inside, she found a silver charm bracelet with symbols of Spain—a tiny silver bull, a matador’s hat, a flamenco dancer, the Spanish flag, and a cluster of olives. Poppy slipped the bracelet onto her wrist, admiring it in the sunlight.

  “For my footloose and fancy-free friend.” Zoey raised her glass of tea in salute. “Long may you roam. Someone has to keep the faith with the single life.”

  Poppy’s chest tightened and she felt... what? Regret? Wistful? What was wrong with her? Why was she feeling so melancholy? Usually, she was very upbeat. Did it have something to do with her new neighbor? Or could he be the cure for the malaise that unexpectedly ailed her? When had she become known as a nomad?

  “Poppy?” Zoey asked. “Are you okay?”

  “Sure. Fine.” Poppy forced a smile. “I just feel like... well... how does that song go? About rowdy friends all settling down?”

  “For one thing,” Zoey said. “Sienna was never rowdy.”

  Poppy smiled. “That’s true.”

  “For another, just because I’m getting married doesn’t mean we won’t be hanging out together.”

  Yes, it does. But she didn’t say that, of course. She didn’t want to rain on Zoey’s parade. This was her big news. Poppy forced a smile. “Sure, we will.”

  “We’ll make a weekly lunch date. Fish tacos at the Hula Hut.”

  “To fish tacos and friendship.” Poppy raised her glass and tried to ignore the sadness seeping through her bones.

  Nothing was ever going to be the same again and she knew it. No late-night partying on the town until two in the morning with her best friend. Their time together had already been curtailed when Zoey had started dating Jason. It was only a natural progression.

  “You know that I’m expecting you to be my maid of honor,” Zoey said.

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way. When are you getting married?”

  “September.”

  Poppy set down the taco that she had halfway to her mouth. “Zoey, that’s only three months away.”

  “I know.” Zoey’s cheeks reddened.

  “Why so fast? What’s the ru—” She broke off as she realized what the rush could be. “You’re pregnant?”

  Zoey looked hesitant, then nodded with a grin. “That’s why no mimosa for me.”

  “Zoe!” Poppy was out of her chair again and around the table to envelop her friend in another exuberant hug. “That’s wonderful!”

  Zoey looked relieved. “Oh, thank God. I was more worried about telling you than I was about telling Jason.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “Because I knew Jason was crazy for me and that he’d propose. I knew everything was going to be okay on that score. He’s a rock, my dude—kind and steady and hardworking. Not like the losers I dated before him.”

  Poppy had had her share of losers, too. She thought of Keith and then immediately switched gears and thought of Abel. What a world of difference.

  There was just something about Abel that called to her, something that sent a little thrill into her stomach. It wasn’t just his lean, muscular body and good-looking face that affected her. The determined set to his firm chin told her he wasn’t a quitter. Whatever he did—a job, a relationship, a project—he was in it for the long haul.

  And that was scary to a butterfly like her.

  But while his chin could turn flinty with determination, there was a kindness to his eyes not often seen in alpha men. A kindness that spoke of a deep inner calm, a serenity of the soul that she’d never been able to accomplish, not even in her practice of yoga. That serenity called to her. Abel was a man who knew himself. He was certain and sure, and she found that confidence very appealing.

  Don’t be nuts. You don’t even know Abel. You’ve talked to the man exactly twice. Two times doesn’t mean anything.

  And yet, he had made an impression on her. One she couldn’t shake. Talk about a rock. And in more ways than one. She grinned. He was firm, centered, and self-possessed. A man she could count on.

  You don’t know that. Stop fantasizing about him and focus on Zoey.

  “Why were you dreading telling me?”

  Zoey touched Poppy’s hand and their eyes met. “I’m worried about you.”

  That startled her and she eased her hand away. “Whatever on earth for?”

  “I don’t want the baby to come between us.” Zoey cradled her belly. “I thought you might be sad.”

  “Why would I be sad? This is a baby we’re talking about. This is the biggest thing ever.”

  “There will be no more late nights for us.”

  “That’s okay. Late nights are overrated. Look at the upside. No more walks of shame either.”

  “No more bad date stories.”

  “No more sitting home alone on a Friday night.” Zoey grinned. “Thank heavens that’s over. I feel like my real life has finally begun.”

  That last statement was a kick in the teeth. Poppy knew her friend didn’t mean it the way it sounded, but it left Poppy feeling as if she were in limbo, waiting to start her “real” life with a husband and a baby. The fact she felt that way bothered her.

  She’d never been one of those women who believed she needed a family to feel complete. She’d been independent since she’d left home at seventeen, moving to San Francisco and attending Berkeley for a year before dropping out to travel and try a variety of jobs. School just hadn’t been her thing.

  It wasn’t that she hadn’t gotten good grades because she had. But she’d possessed an entrepreneurial attitude and a love of physical activity. Starting her own business made more sense to her than hanging out at school for four years. Maybe she’d missed out on a lot. Maybe she was still missing out.

  Things were changing and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

  She smiled her way through the remainder of the meal, doing her best not to let envy creep in, but when her cell phone rang, she snatched it from her purse, grateful for an excuse to stop talking about weddings and babies.

  That is, until she read the caller ID.

  Unknown caller.

  She never answered unknown calls. They could leave a voicemail and if it was important, she’d return it. She muted her phone, stuck it back into her purse, and turned her attention to Zoey. “So, have you thought of any baby names yet?”

  Chapter Five

  Poppy couldn’t sleep. She lay in her bed, thinking about Sienna and Zoey getting married. About Zoey having a baby. It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy for them because truly she was.

  Rather, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was getting left behind. She’d come home from her lunch with Zoey to find a belated birthday card from her mother and somehow that had made her feel even lonelier.

  To keep from dwelling on such things, she thought about Abel instead. Which was a huge mistake. A picture of how he would look naked kept popping into her head.

  Frustrated, she finally tossed back the covers, stripped off her pajamas, and headed to the living room to do yoga. She lit candles, put on music, and stood in the middle of the floor to do some deep breathing.

  Then she stopped, walked to the window, and peeked through the curtains at the apartment across the courtyard. She imagined that Abel was over there, watching her in the darkness. It w
as an intriguing fantasy and she found herself nudging the curtain open just a little bit.

  She realized suddenly that she’d never seen him leave the complex. His pickup was in his parking spot when she left for work. It was there when she returned. Hmm. Perhaps he worked from home.

  Such a shame. A man who looked like that shouldn’t be cloistered from the world. He could have been a centerfold. Six one. Dark hair. Cut too short, but still sexy. She sighed dreamily.

  She pretended he was over there on his side of the courtyard, staring at her, arms crossed. His dark eyes hooded with lust. Instantly, her chest tightened, and she felt slightly out of breath.

  Her breasts achy, and her nipples hardening.

  She moved to the sofa, still fantasizing that he was watching her and peeled off her panties. She lounged on the cushions and spread her legs, her fingers trailing to where her body was rapidly growing hot and wet. The room smelled of candle wax and her overheated sex. She closed her eyes and an erotic daydream claimed her.

  Against the back of her eyelids, she saw Abel.

  “Poppy.” In her imagination his throaty voice called her in a sultry, velvet-smooth croon that sent shivers rafting through her.

  Her pulse quickened as she envisioned Abel in the room with her, taking off his clothes in a slow striptease. Her nipples grew even harder, straining upward for his imaginary mouth. She could almost feel Abel’s broad hands gently stroking her skin, skimming over her breasts, moving lower, circling her navel, teasing her pitilessly.

  Whimpering, Poppy lightly pinched one of her tender nipples, pantomiming what she wished Abel would do to her. She sank her teeth into her bottom lip and with her eyes still closed, slowly explored her body.

  Ah, yes. This was good. This was what she needed, a little sexual release to end her frustration.

  Greedily, she caressed the naked flesh between her thighs and all her pent-up energy slipped out on a sweet sigh of pleasure.

  Abel.

  How she wanted him to kiss her. Hold her. Stroke her. Sink his hard cock into her. She slid her fingertips over her achy skin, across her silky folds, skimming along the satiny wetness oozing from her swollen inner core.