“I had forgotten that your great aunt lived in Bourbon Springs.”
“She’s the closest family I have and I keep an eye on her.”
“And you do a very good job of it.” Rachel momentarily took her eyes off the road and smiled at him.
Brady looked at her, eagerness and relief in his expression. “Rachel, thanks for—”
But at the moment he chose again to thank Rachel for her kindness, they both heard a loud pop, then a thumping. The car veered along the narrow road as Rachel struggled to maintain control. Keeping her wits about her, she managed to pull over onto a wide, grassy verge.
“Damn,” she grumbled as she pulled her keys from the ignition and burst forth from the car.
Brady followed suit, and they were soon both staring at the front passenger tire, which had gone completely flat.
“Blow out,” Brady said. “Got a jack and a spare?”
Rachel nodded and used her key fob to open the trunk, and Brady went to the rear of the vehicle. Looking down at her arms, she detected a slight tinge of pink, and retrieved a bottle of sunblock from underneath the driver’s seat. As she smoothed the lotion on her arms, face, and chest, Rachel realized Brady was having trouble getting the spare out, so she walked to the rear of the car to help.
While she’d been putting on the lotion, Brady had been taking something off.
His shirt.
When she laid eyes upon his shirtless body, his muscles flexing as he wrestled with extracting the spare tire, Rachel stopped dead in her tracks.
The man was ripped.
Not big, hulking muscles, but well-defined, strong sinews that glistened in the blistering afternoon sun. Although she’d kissed him several times and they had embraced, Rachel still hadn’t detected the full extent of the chiseled physique Brady had been hiding under those dress shirts.
The bottle of sunblock slipped from her hands, hit the ground, popped open, and splashed a large amount of lotion across Brady’s left leg.
“What the—” Brady released the spare tire, which he had just removed from a well in the trunk, and it hit the floor of the trunk with a thud.
“Sorry,” Rachel said, and bent to pick up the bottle. “It–it was a little greasy and I lost my grip.”
Embarrassed and aroused, Rachel retreated to the driver’s seat. She sat there for several minutes, feeling guilty for abandoning him but not knowing what do to. Finally, he spoke after moving the front of the car with the tire and jack.
“Rach, can you get out of the car? I need to put it on the jack,” Brady said. “In fact, can you give me a hand up here?”
“Yeah, sure,” Rachel said distractedly. She grabbed her sunglasses from the passenger seat and went to assist Brady.
Once she returned to his side, it was impossible for her not to look again.
Her original impression of his physique was confirmed. Brady was perfectly sculpted, but not in an ostentatious way, and she was mesmerized by the sexy tightness of his muscles and the tan spread across his skin. When he stood upon finishing the job, he was sweaty and shirtless and looked absolutely scrumptious.
She swallowed, took a deep breath, and looked away from his body, which was the place to which her gaze kept drifting.
“Let’s get back to the house,” she declared, and again abandoned him for the confines of the car.
Upon arriving at her home, Rachel invited him inside for iced tea but he declined.
“I want to get to the hardware store and get what I need to get your mailbox back up before it gets dark,” he said as they pulled into her garage.
“Really, you don’t have to—”
“I’m doing it,” he said, settling the issue.
“Well, at least come inside and get something to drink first. You’ve been out in the hot sun—we both have—for a long time.”
Brady had put his t-shirt back on after he’d changed the tire, much to her relief. Even though she had enjoyed the sight of his exposed chest, her resolve to keep her distance from him—she still didn’t know whether she could trust him to keep the jerk part of him at bay—had been melting away in the day’s heat.
Yet it wasn’t merely her growing physical attraction to him that stoked her interest; it was the revelation of his caring and compassionate side. She’d had no idea how he watched out for his elderly aunt and now he was insisting on fixing her destroyed mailbox.
It was getting harder to find a reason to hate him.
Chapter 11
“Brady, don’t be so stubborn,” Rachel said as she opened the door from her garage and into her house, still chiding him for resisting the idea of having iced tea with her.
He slammed the car door shut and seemed to have an internal struggle about what to do.
“Well, OK,” he agreed with reluctance. “Iced tea sounds good.”
Brady followed her into the house, and she invited him to take a seat at the kitchen table. Retrieving an iced tea pitcher from the fridge, Rachel poured two glasses, and joined him at the table where he sat looking out the French doors to the patio and pool areas.
“Nice place,” he said as he picked up the drink. “I forgot you lived so far out in the country.”
“No neighbors for at least a mile on each side,” she said, taking a sip. Rachel glanced at the pool and started looking forward to her evening.
“Aren’t you worried being out here on your own?”
“I’m a big girl,” she said defensively.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to offend,” Brady said. “I worry a lot about my aunt living alone, and I guess I transferred that worry to your circumstances, although I know it’s not the same.”
Rachel was secretly touched that he showed a little concern for her, and that he could talk about her in the same breath as his aunt.
She offered Brady a peanut butter-and-saltines snack, but he declined and downed his drink then left for the hardware store. After lingering over her iced tea for a few minutes following Brady’s departure, Rachel put on more sunblock and headed back outside to do additional yard work. As she exited the house, she realized that she was happy, giddy, and optimistic—but had no idea why. The mailbox was destroyed, she was hot and tired, and still had a lot of yard work to complete.
What was good about this scenario?
She stood in the driveway and looked at the remains of the mailbox by the curb.
Then it hit her: she was happy that Brady was coming back to her house that afternoon.
He’d never considered the smell of sunblock arousing until that day.
Brady had smelled it on Rachel even before she’d dropped the damn bottle and splattered his legs with the stuff. He’d gotten his first whiff when she’d opened the front door, immediately noticing that distinct smell.
Then he’d noticed very distinct form of Judge Richards.
In that tank top and in those cutoffs.
Damn.
It had been unholy torture to be around her, although he felt he’d done a decent job not stealing looks at the skin Rachel had been showing. The woman was downright luscious, like a ripe fruit, ready to be eaten. He’d been hard most of the day, but not so aroused that he’d been unable to hide it.
And despite the craziness of what had happened, he was happy. He wasn’t pleased that his aunt had destroyed the mailbox, but getting to see Rachel had been a nice unintended consequence of the misadventure. Thank God Marie wasn’t hurt and he was so grateful to Rachel for tending to her.
He was cheered that Rachel was letting him fix her mailbox and amazed that she’d volunteered to drive back and forth so he could take Marie home and retrieve his car. Their relationship wasn’t back to where it had been, but he had a spark of hope. Rachel was at least being friendly to him and almost seemed comfortable in his presence.
Now he had to go back to her place, install the damn mailbox, and resist ogling her.
It was going to be a long afternoon.
By the time Brady returned, Rachel had aband
oned trimming the bushes in the backyard in favor of getting planting and potting done around the front of her house. She kept an eye on him as he parked at the bottom of the driveway and unloaded supplies and tools (had he gone home to get that shovel?) and began his work. Brady stripped off his t-shirt as soon as he had unloaded everything, just as Rachel finished potting the last of the pink petunias.
After sneaking a good look, Rachel averted her eyes from Brady’s body and focused on the flower beds in front of her home. She decided the areas needed weeding and the grass along the path to the front door needed trimming. Casting a quick glance at her hardworking visitor, she went into the garage to get the necessary tools. Once she was in the dark coolness of the garage, Rachel stood back from the entrance and again took in the sight of Brady at the end of her driveway: shirtless, sweaty, straining, and sexy. His muscles tensed as he plunged the blade of the shovel into the rock-hard earth and pulled it out over and over again. It was like he was her own personal yard boy.
Rachel closed her eyes and inhaled. Brady was down there fixing something for her, being nice to her, looking totally hot—and she was still seriously conflicted about how she felt about the man. After a moment, she looked away and, gathering the items needed, returned to the heat of the day to weed and trim.
And to watch Brady from the corner of her eye as she got down on her hands and knees and dug in the dirt and tidied her garden.
After several long minutes of hot and dirty work, Rachel stood, brushed the debris from her legs, and looked at Brady as she pulled off her gardening gloves. He was staring at her. Not knowing how to react, she waved, and he waved back.
“Want something to drink?” she called.
“That’d be great,” he told her.
Rachel nodded and slipped into the house. A few minutes later, she was walking down the driveway with a large insulated water jug with a pouring spout, a sports water bottle, and a bottle of sunblock stuck in the waistband of her cutoffs just above her left hip.
Brady swallowed hard as she approached and she felt bad for not bringing him something to drink sooner. But then she remembered how little she was wearing and wondered whether his stare wasn’t from thirst but from another need. Rachel handed him the water bottle and put the jug on the grass. Brady eagerly took the bottle and drank from it in long gulps while she pulled the sunblock from her waistband and tossed it on the ground.
“Thought you might need it,” Rachel said, turning to leave.
“Rub some on my back?” Brady asked playfully.
“In your dreams,” she said with a smirk and strode away, telling him over her shoulder that she was done for the day and was going inside.
Once in her house, Rachel had an abundance of nervous energy. She knew she should be tired, but she was antsy.
Time to do some cleaning.
She was already filthy, so housework was a logical thing to do in such a disheveled state and with excess energy to burn. Rachel cleaned bathrooms and dusted; she always saved vacuuming until the end. She was finishing up cleaning the kitchen sink when she heard light tapping at the garage door. Figuring it was Brady, she bade him to come in.
“No need to knock,” she said as she removed her yellow latex cleaning gloves and threw them next to the sink.
“Would’ve felt awkward not to,” he said. Brady had put his shirt back on for the trip inside her house. He looked at his watch. “It’s getting to be time to eat dinner, and, frankly, I’m starving,” he declared.
“Well, I don’t have much to eat around here, but I don’t want to go out looking like this,” Rachel said, and glanced at her sweaty and scant attire.
Brady held up two hands. “No worries. I ordered a pizza.”
Rachel’s eyebrows shot up. “You did?”
“Yep. Didn’t want to inconvenience you. And I ordered your favorite, if I remember correctly.”
“You remember my favorite pizza?” Rachel asked with a hand on her hip, completely disbelieving him.
“After all those times we ordered together trying to get that Ferguson opinion done? You bet I remember.”
Rachel had forgotten that episode in the first year of her clerkship. Justice Nolan had been assigned to write the opinion in a major capital murder appeal. The opinion was long—nearly seventy pages—and Justice Nolan wanted to get it done by a certain date. There had been about two weeks of frenetic writing and researching while Brady and Rachel toiled at the task. They ended up working late nights and repeatedly ordered pizza.
“So tell me what it is,” she drawled, still not believing him.
“You like extra cheese, bacon, and onions.”
Her mouth dropped open at his ability to remember this mundane detail of her junk food preferences.
“I can’t believe you remember,” she said.
“You do still like it, right?”
“Yeah, I do,” she said softly.
“Good. It should be here in a few minutes.”
“But how’d you get them to deliver out here?” she asked.
“Mentioned a hefty tip. Also let it slip that two very appreciative judges happened to be out here, and if they’d like to be considered for feeding our juries after they’re sequestered and getting that nice bit of business, they might want to consider accommodating us this one time.”
“Clever, Judge Craft,” she said, the words leaving her mouth before realizing she was using that appellation he craved.
She saw him press his lips together at her use of his title, apparently trying to swallow his smile. “As for now, may I use your bathroom?” he asked.
She nodded and pointed down the hall, watching him as he walked out of sight. Despite the heat, she shivered. The whole situation was starting to feel like the date they’d never had. She wondered whether that was what he was trying to do. Order pizza and talk it out at her kitchen table?
Curious about the state of the mailbox, Rachel popped out of the kitchen to the garage and walked to the edge. Peering out to the front of the yard, she saw that Brady wasn’t finished. So the pizza thing wasn’t just an excuse to be in the house and eat with her. He wasn’t lingering but taking a real break.
Brady returned to the kitchen in a few minutes as she put out fruit salad and iced tea glasses on the table.
“After a long, hot day,” she said, “I think I could just eat fruit salad and be satisfied. But pizza does sound good.”
“Fruit salad is great, thanks,” he said. “You mind if I go ahead and eat before the pizza arrives?”
“Well, that was my plan,” she said. Rachel speared a chunk of pineapple and popped it into her mouth. A little trickle of juice escaped from the left corner of her mouth and slowly drizzled down her chin. Rachel felt the drop shimmying from her mouth and licked it off with the tip of her tongue.
“Something wrong?” she asked after she’d noticed Brady staring at her. He hadn’t been staring at her chest, which was nothing short of remarkable considering what she was wearing.
“No, no,” he said, snapping out of his reverie. “Just kinda tired, I guess.”
She grunted in understanding and continued to eat. But she noticed that he didn’t throw a look her way as she questioned him about the mailbox.
The pizza arrived as Rachel was clearing away the bowls, so Brady went to the door. He soon returned and placed the pizza box on the kitchen table as Rachel took an appreciative sniff.
She sighed happily while placing plates on the table, and they both took seats. “I can’t remember the last time I had this kind of pizza.”
“Really? But I thought it was your favorite.”
They grabbed pieces, pulling the slices away from the circular pie, and creating long strands of warm cheese that finally gave way with gentle tugs.
“It is, but I rarely get it. When I go out with friends, no one wants to get this kind of pizza. And it’s not like I’m going to order one just for myself.”
They ate in silence for a few minutes, and Rachel
was surprised to find that she didn’t feel awkward in Brady’s presence. After what had recently passed between them, she was pleased that she could just be in his company and be at ease.
“I’m hoping I’ll finish the job tonight,” Brady said. “There’s still plenty of daylight. But if not, I can come back tomorrow. I don’t have any plans.”
“I’ll be here,” Rachel said, and rose to get the pitcher of iced tea from the fridge. She refilled her glass, then his, and replaced the pitcher. “My only plans, other than laundry, are to stay here and hang out around my pool.”
“So how long have you lived out here did you say?” he asked, looking away from her.
“Five years,” Rachel said. “And I know the next question: how could I afford this on a public defender’s salary?”
“Well—”
“I got a small inheritance a few years back when one of my grandfathers died. It was enough to pay off my student loans and put a decent down payment on this place.”
“Now that you’re a judge, you could probably afford a bigger place,” he said. “Somewhere in town.”
“Not on your life,” she said. “I love it here. It may be small, but there’s just me.” She paused, and at once sensed she’d unintentionally given him an opening to another subject.
“Rachel, I’m sorry about the other day,” he began. His words broke the spell of easy companionship, and she stiffened and looked away from him. “I don’t know why I—”
Rachel brought her eyes back to him and held up a hand to interrupt. “Let’s not talk about it, OK?”
She could tell that Brady wanted to say more, but he nodded, and she gave him a small smile. She hadn’t forgiven him, but she wasn’t angry with him, either. At least they were in a better place than they had been before Marie had totaled her mailbox, she thought.
Brady stood. “I need to get back outside.”
“Wait,” she said, and touched his arm. “Do you need any more water?” The touch made him shiver, and Rachel noticed. She withdrew her hand.
“That would be great,” Brady said. “It’s just out in the garage. I’ll get it.”
Secret Blend (Bourbon Springs Book 1) Page 10