A Touch of Passion (boxed set romance bundle)

by Uvi Poznansky

  Dax had witnessed her spunk as she’d attempted to fix her own flat. She’d stood up for herself with him and Khanti. But no amount of determination could hide the nicked polish of her designer exterior.

  He’d learned a while ago that perfection, an illusion, led to disappointment and heartache. From the unraveled psyche of Celia Langford, Dax supposed she was on the other side of figuring that out the hard way, too.

  He ended the stare-off by walking forward and reaching for the extended handle of her suitcase. “I’ll put this in the back.” As he got closer, she lifted her chin, maintaining eye contact. The woman was hanging on by a thread.

  “I have the address,” she said.

  “Don’t need it. I know those condos.” He collapsed the handle on her suitcase and put it in the open back of his jeep.

  She bit her lower lip, her brow furrowing. “I,”

  He sensed she was trying to apologize. Reaching for those stiff mid-western good manners she’d probably been raised with. “Just get in,” Dax said. “It won’t take a minute.”

  Celia gave the gas station a last glance over her shoulder. Khanti waved, watching everything from the window without bothering to hide her curiosity.

  Color bloomed on Celia’s pale cheeks. “I really wanted to make a good impression.”

  He heard the tremble in her voice, and something inside of him dating back to the Neanderthal days sparked to protect this woman from further hurt. “Khanti’s cool. I’ve known her and her husband since they moved here a few years ago. Makes way better coffee than the chains. Rhino’s down the street is supposed to be good, but the gas station is on my way to the beach, so I come here.”

  She eyed his surfboard, strapped to the back of his roll bar. “Do you surf every day?”

  “Whenever’s there’s waves.” He started the jeep. “My family has the oldest dive shop in town. It’s been around since the forties.”

  Celia smiled at this, her shoulders relaxing a few inches. “The ocean really is your home.”

  He pulled into the street, which was free of traffic so early in the morning. The beach was a few blocks east and while you couldn’t see the ocean, the slightest hint of oily fish from the pier lingered in the air. Dax glanced at her, then jerked his thumb toward her suitcase while nodding at the vase in her tight grip. “Yours now, too.”

  She leaned back against the seat and exhaled, closing her eyes. Blonde tendrils blew lightly across her cheeks from the open-air breeze, giving her a less formal look. “Yes. Mine too.”

  He wondered what she was running from, what she’d escaped. Why she nestled the cylindrical flesh-colored vase between her breasts like a lover.

  It wasn’t his business to take care of her, but he never should have laughed. That look in her eyes as she’d come back into the station to give him and Khanti hell hinted at something injured beneath her independent attitude.

  He had enough on his damned plate already. The time he took for himself in the morning balanced the chaos of the rest of the day. Yet he’d already rescheduled his morning appointment with a customer for later so that he could offer assistance to the well-dressed damsel in distress.

  Dax turned left into a gated condo built in the late eighties. “Here we are.” He stopped at the metal gate. “Do you know the code?”

  “I am not giving it to you,” she said, her voice rising. “It’s for security. I don’t really know you.”

  He dropped his chin, then leaned back so there was plenty of room for her to cross over his body and reach the control panel. “Be my guest.”

  She frowned, nibbling that poor lower lip. “I’ll just get out,” Celia said, her discomfort obvious.

  She really was a priss. “I promise to close my eyes. I won’t look. I swear. Your code will be safe with me.”

  “You could be an axe murderer,” Celia said, uncertain.

  “If I were, I doubt a flimsy gate would stop me. Lucky for you and me both, I don’t do well at the sight of blood.”

  She caught herself before she smiled, then tried to open the passenger door, which brushed against a row of sea grape planted close together, forming a hedge. “Me either.” Celia looked back at him. “This is ridiculous.”

  “I can’t move up without running into the gate. You can’t get out. You’re going to have to give me the code to punch in, or reach across my lap and do it yourself.” He should have been irritated at her lack of trust, but the idea of whether or not she’d attempt it intrigued him more. “Nobody will see you,” he said, realizing she had a phobia of looking foolish. He leaned all the way back and sucked in his stomach. His dive suit left little to the imagination.

  She studied the area, searching for another way out of her predicament. At last, with a sigh of acceptance, she tucked the vase near the door by her feet, unlatched her seat belt, and, carefully avoiding touching him in any way, or looking down at his lap, she leaned across him.

  He smelled her floral perfume, something summery. Classic. Her hair slipped over her shoulder to tickle his nose. The coffee she’d spilled on her shirt, and the slight rubbery hint of Fix-A-Flat.

  “Excuse me,” she whispered, finding a spot to balance her knee on the middle console between them. There were no windows and she was able to punch in the code on her first try. The swell of her breasts brushed the tops of his thighs, and he quickly shifted in the seat to halt his surprising arousal. Not good. Think of taxes. Accounting. Lobster season.

  Oblivious to his unwelcome attraction, she whispered, “Thank God I remembered it.” Celia sank back with relief, her right elbow accidentally pressing against the jeep’s steering wheel. Noise blasted like a sea horn.

  She leaped backward into her seat, her face on fire as she looked at him in total mortification. “This is not my day.”

  Dax checked the time on the radio as he drove under the raised gate. “And it’s only six in the morning.”

  “My neighbors are going to hate me.”

  “I highly doubt that.” Dax tried to calm her down. She was like one of those over-bred pricey puppies at the mall. “Most of them are in their seventies and can’t hear. The other twenty percent are probably not in town until October.”

  A security guard poked his head out of the main floor office. “Is there a problem?”

  “Nope.” Dax waved at the sixtyish year old man he’d known since grade school. “New tenant just arrived from Ohio. Celia Langford. This is George Trevas.”

  “Why did you introduce me?” she asked, putting her hands to her cheeks. “I look terrible. I need to brush my teeth!”

  “I have an open jeep. He sees you. No hiding, Ms. Langford.”

  She smoothed her hair, glared at Dax, then waved to the guard. “Morning. Sorry about the noise.”

  The guard gave a brisk nod as Dax drove slowly toward him. “Unit 462? Corner room. Parking spot 12.” George glanced between them, then spoke to Dax. “You two know each other?”

  “Just met,” Dax said.

  “No,” Celia clarified.

  “It’s a story for another day, George. The lady is anxious to get settled in.”

  The security guard scratched at his bare chin. “I look forward to hearing it. If I can do anything for you, Ms. Langford, just dial 7 from your home phone. It connects to the office.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Dax will take good care of you. He knows our little town like the back of his hand.”

  They drove past and Celia muttered, “And everybody in it.”

  “True.” Dax didn’t pretend he hadn’t heard her mumble. “The locals all look out for one another. Part of the charm, living in a small place.”

  “I lived in my neighborhood for five years without meeting the neighbors,” she said.

  “If that’s what you hope to get here, you may have chosen the wrong spot.”

  “Oh no. I am where I need to be.” She shrugged as he maneuvered the jeep into the snug space. “Good thing the Prius is tiny.” Celia looked around th
e underground parking garage. “My old SUV wouldn’t have fit down here.”

  He imagined her in something big. Formidable. A designer tank to keep her from the world.

  “You don’t have to come up,” she said, getting out of the jeep. She held her vase tight to the side of her body.

  “I think I should. Just to make sure you’re okay.”

  She hesitated. “I want to tell you that I will be just fine. But the way this morning has started out, I am going to be gracious and accept your help.”

  “Gracious?” He lifted her suitcase from the back.

  “By saying thank you, instead of acting like an ungrateful bitch.” She arched her groomed brow. “Accept. Be in the flow.” She laughed at herself. “Kind of like you. Which way is the elevator?”

  “To your right.” She didn’t fight him as he rolled her suitcase toward the single elevator that led to all five floors.

  “How do you know this building?”

  “I had a friend that lived here, when I was a kid.” Gordy Grant, who stayed with his grandparents during the summer.

  “A girlfriend?” She asked the question without looking at him.

  “No girlfriend. I was ten.”

  “And now?”

  “Still no girlfriend.”

  She glanced at him, curious.

  He shrugged. “I just turned thirty.”

  They both got inside the elevator. Celia pushed the number four. “Married?”

  “Never took the plunge. You?”

  “I’m a,” she choked up. “My husband is dead.”

  Dax clenched his jaw. He guessed her to be about his age, or younger. Too young to be a widow. “Sorry. Maybe we can save twenty questions until after breakfast.” He leaned back against the rail. “I know the best place.”

  “I am not having breakfast with you.”

  “Why not? Unless you’ve got a stocked in fridge in there, I bet you’re hungry and there’s nothing to eat inside that condo.”

  “I had them clean it. I didn’t think about food.” The elevator doors opened and she stepped from the car to the hallway, as fragile as the vase she carried. “Why are you really being so kind? I forgive you for laughing at me, in case you feel like you owe me. You don’t.”

  It had started out that way, but in the past three blocks he’d changed his mind. He liked her perfume. He wanted to know why she prized that ugly vase. His fingers itched to touch her soft skin. “I’m harmless, trust me.”

  She fumbled in her purse for the key, though her condo was at the far end of the hall. “Why do I doubt that?”

  Windows overlooked the ocean from the corridor, and an armless sofa stacked with pillows invited a person to sit and watch the waves.

  She stopped at the sofa and dropped her purse, her key ring looped over her finger. “I forgot how beautiful this is.” Staring out at the blue water, Celia blinked in quick succession. She looked at him, spearing him with her cool aqua gaze. “I really made it. My new life.”

  “So why are we waiting in the hall?” Dax asked. Hope glimmered in her eyes, making him curious about her old life.

  “What if…” Shaking her head, she marched toward the unit on the left. Dax happened to know that each floor had two units, providing the owners with ocean views. They didn’t have a bad condo in the place.

  “What if, what?” Dax stayed back as she jimmied the key in the lock, her vase in her left hand.

  “I bought this place sight unseen. Online. I mean, the pictures showed all the rooms.” Celia opened the door, took a deep breath, and walked inside. “I read once that low expectations are the key to happiness.”

  Dax followed at her heels. Who bought a condo without inspecting it first? Despite being thirty years old, the place was in decent condition. The interior had the lingering scent of fresh paint and the walls were white, with white trim. The flesh-colored vase actually made a splash in the living room, where she put it on the coffee table. White wicker with a glass top.

  They went to the kitchen, where she pulled open the fridge. “I didn’t think about anything other than just getting here,” she admitted, pushing her hair from her eyes.

  The kitchen hadn’t been remodeled in the last three decades, so it had the fixtures popular from then. Goose wallpaper. Wedgewood blue cabinets, pale peach accents.

  “It came furnished?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you need help selling it, to make room for your stuff, I know some guys.”

  She shook her head, tucking a straight strand of hair behind her pale ear. “No need. I didn’t want anything from my past. I sold it all with the house. It’s not who I am anymore.”

  “So you are keeping someone else’s past…” He couldn’t imagine Celia anywhere unpleasant, so he didn’t understand her aversion. But it wasn’t his place to judge. “Show me the rest.”

  She pulled herself away from the spot in the tile she’d been staring at and looked up. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. I’m just tired, is all. Two bedrooms are down this hall, one on each end with a private bath. A toilet and sink are here to your right.”

  “This is huge,” Dax said, comparing it to his own bachelor studio above the dive shop.

  “Is it?” Celia shrugged. “I used to, okay, never mind. I have got to stop with ‘used to.’”

  Dax peeked into the master bedroom, noting the white wicker headboard and matching nightstands. “We just met. I don’t know your stories.”

  She didn’t say anything smart-assed, though he could see her bite her lip. She paused beside him in the hallway, their shoulders brushing as she passed by with a whiff of floral perfume. He wanted to kiss her. Massage that abused lower lip of hers with his tongue.

  “Let me guess. Giant house. This is not as luxurious as your guest house in the back, by the pool.”

  She flushed. “Am I that transparent?”

  “I happen to be an excellent judge of character.” He’d dated a woman who had wanted to be what Celia just was. A lady. She’d broken his heart, and he’d best remember that instead of stare at Celia’s mouth.

  Walking inside the room, she turned around and shrugged. “This could be a hotel. Nothing personal. For now, it works. I told myself when I bought the place that I would decorate a room at a time. Right now getting my business off the ground is more important.”

  “You know what’s best for you,” Dax conceded. She gave determined a new look. “When do you open your restaurant?”

  “Not a restaurant-a café.” She fanned her flushed face. “An organic menu with local items I’ll prepare.”

  He figured the tight timeline was the cause of her tension. “Did you own your own café before?”

  “Nope.” She said the word with snap.

  Hmm. Her color rose up her neck to the tips of her ears. “Work in a res-, café?”

  “No.”

  Things were starting to become clearer. “Did you go to culinary school?”

  She left the bedroom without a backward glance. “Another no. I am self-taught, but my food is damn good. You’ll see.”

  Celia had a good reason to be uptight. Never having run a professional kitchen? Buying a condo without seeing it? He kept his rising tension for her at bay. “It’ll be nice to try something new. We’ve got Anglin’s on the pier, which has been around even longer than our dive shop. Deliciosa’s, which is Greek. Rhino’s coffee shop. The Irish place, and Diner by the Sea, if you want potato pancakes. The Grille has the best breakfast potatoes in the world-hands down.”

  Celia pressed her hand to her stomach and gave him a shy smile. “You’re making me hungry.”

  “Let’s go. My treat.”

  She hesitated, looking at the barren condo.

  “You have to eat,” he said.

  “All right, but I’ll buy. After all you have done for me, it’s the least I can do.” She turned around in the living room. A big television with tubes, an antique, probably, was tucked in the corner, surrounded with built-in shelves
. The curtains blocked the view, though a strip of blue was visible in the center. “Home sweet home.”

  “On Sundays there’s a farmer’s market. You could get some flowers for your vase.”

  She pressed her hand to her mouth, her cool blue eyes wide. “God, no.” Shaking her head, she said, “I don’t plan on ever using that thing.”

  “Then why did you drag it with you?” Dax asked, confused. She’d made it seem like something very valuable.

  Celia’s pretty mouth thinned. “It is a reminder.”

  “Of your past?”

  “Yes.”

  “That you don’t want to remember, but you brought with you?”

  “It doesn’t have to make sense to you, Dax. It just means that I can’t fail.” Celia went to the kitchen and grabbed her purse, a green leather bag that matched her t-shirt. “Is this restaurant within walking distance?”

  “Yeah. But let’s drive my jeep back to the dive shop.” He pointed to his wet suit. “I need two seconds to change out of this.” Roomy cargo shorts, just in case he accidentally brushed against Celia again. He was surprised by his attraction to her. Since he’d learned his lesson after college he dated women who liked the same things he did. Diving. Surfing. Beer. He doubted Celia drank anything than came in a draft.

  “Are you sure? I can find my own breakfast, really. You’ve given up your morning already.”

  “Trust me, Celia. Best potatoes. As a chef, you will appreciate the caramelized onions, the chopped chive butter.” He was reluctant to leave her alone in her new condo. He had a feeling she’d break down and cry instead of find something to eat. And how was she supposed to grocery shop without a car? Who knew how long Nino would take at the gas station?

  “If you’re going to change, I’d love to freshen up, too. I promise to be quick.”

  “Go ahead!” Quick and women didn’t usually go together, so Dax took a seat on the couch. “I’ll wait here.”

  She dragged her rolling suitcase down the hall to the bedroom on the left at the rear of the condo. He watched her ass in the plaid, knee length shorts, then switched his gaze to the ugly vase. It had a phallic quality.