A Touch of Passion (boxed set romance bundle)

by Uvi Poznansky

  He turned before he gave himself away. It was damn inconvenient, wanting Celia. He had a business to run, and his dad to take care of. And now Darcy to worry about, too. But he couldn’t stay away from her.

  Celia finished pushing the carpet sweeper, setting it inside the small closet. “I suppose this is as good as it will get.”

  “Not sure why you bothered if you’re just going to tear it up.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “It needs to be clean, so I can see what it looks like. Just in case.” She leaned back against the counter, frowning at the floor.

  “If you really want tile, Celia, we’ll find someone before the day is out.”

  “You seem very sure of yourself.”

  He shrugged. “We take care of our own.” He would put it in himself, if he had to. “What else needs finished?”

  “Well,” she hesitated, as if not sure she should unload on him.

  “Tell me.” He wiggled his fingers. “You’ve got a willing set of hands, at least until ten this morning. I can come back later this afternoon.”

  She squared her shoulders. “You may think I took on too much. But I write lists. I block out time so that everything gets accomplished.” Celia swallowed, hard. “I have to get this done. I already bought the ads and the promo materials. I don’t have the cash to change the dates.”

  “It seems like the easiest solution.” Dax doubted she’d go for easy.

  “Randall Wallace didn’t approve my signage, which delayed the kitchen inspection–a good thing, as it turned out, since Julie never got the painting and tile.” She rubbed the tip of her red-with-emotion nose. “Now he won’t return my calls.”

  “Randall Wallace? He’s a jerk. Nobody likes him.” Dax stepped toward her, offering a hug, but she held up her hands to keep him away.

  “You can’t touch me, or I’ll cry,” Celia said, her chin up. “I have a signed contract, but I don’t suppose it means squat if the kitchen is a disaster, or I don’t get the inspection in time.”

  “That’s bullshit, Celia. What does your realtor say? Can you break the lease?”

  Her eyes welled. “God, no. Why would I want to? Where would I go? I’ve got to make this work. This location, in six days.” Her chin trembled.

  He understood why she was worried. “He’s got good lawyers that let him get away with stupid loopholes. He’s done it to the last two businesses that opened. A consignment shop and the ice cream place. Raised the rent on the lease before he approved them.”

  “I can’t pay more.” Her jaw clenched and she wiped her eyes with the bottom of her tank top. “I’m sorry for dumping on you.”

  He eyed the pale skin showing above her jeans before she dropped the shirt. Soft, white skin his fingers itched to touch. “I asked. You can tell me anything. I’ll introduce you to the other two businesses, and maybe they can give you some hints.” He just wanted to help. Dax sprayed some of the vinegar solution on the front windows and got to work.

  “Don’t you have your own business to run?”

  “Sure, but my first appointment isn’t until ten.”

  “The gorgeous model?”

  “Veronica.” Gorgeous, yeah, but crazy as shit. Dax wiped the glass in circular motions, ensuring there wasn’t a single streak. “She pays two hundred bucks an hour. But she’s afraid of sharks, which makes it even more challenging than just getting that perfect underwater shot.”

  “Oh no! Why is she doing it then?”

  “Her boyfriend owns a jewelry store and wants underwater photos of his handcrafted jewels. She does it for him, I guess.”

  Celia turned toward him, a wad of scrunched packing papers in her hand. “The emerald isn’t real?”

  “Nope,” Dax said. “Umberto Raggio is a Master Craftsman. He makes cubic zirconia look good. That piece she was wearing, fake, is worth ten thousand.”

  Celia nodded. “I’ve heard of him.”

  “I wouldn’t want to go into the water with her if the stuff was real. What if it got lost on a wave or something?” Good-bye awesome client. “Her two photographers aren’t that great of swimmers, either.”

  “Well, she’s pretty brave, then, to face her fears for her boyfriend.”

  “She gets very well paid.”

  She sighed. “Beautiful women have such interesting lives.”

  Dax turned from where he’d been scrubbing at a tape mark. “You’re beautiful.”

  She blushed. “Trust me, I was not fishing for a compliment. That’s not what I mean, anyway. I meant exotic looking women. I’ve been compared to Martha Stewart.”

  “You are way sexier than Martha.”

  “Dax!” Her face turned as red as the scarlet blush in a sunset.

  “What?” He grinned, liking that he got that reaction from her. Could be she was attracted to him, too.

  “I, oh, I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” She walked back to the counter and the cash register, not looking at him.

  “You brought it up.” He laughed, taking pride in her self-conscious blush. She was beautiful and didn’t even have a clue.

  “On accident.” She gathered the trash and put it in a large plastic garbage can. She bent over, and he followed the movement from the corner of his eyes. Damn, she was sexy, with curves that were more natural than what Veronica sported.

  He cleared his throat. “I’ve got some free time this afternoon, if you want to learn to dive.” He couldn’t wait to share his underwater world with her.

  Celia straightened and scowled at him, that vee forming between her brows he was getting to recognize meant trouble. “And when exactly do you think I might have free time?” She held her hands out to her sides and gestured to the barren room.

  “Maybe not today, then. But it’s relaxing.” He stepped back and looked at the windows. “You were right, that vinegar really works.” Dax gave a pleased nod. “Not a single streak.”

  The sun shone through the windows, highlighting the glittery unicorns on the walls.

  She came next to him and looked out at the street, which remained mostly empty except for a few walkers. Her shoulder brushed his and his body wanted more than that slight contact.

  “There’s a lot left to do.” Her quiet voice held a hint of panic.

  “It will get done.” He put his arm around her waist and pulled her into his side as they stared outside toward the closed businesses across the road. She stiffened at first, then relaxed. “What better way to kick back at the end of the day than a swim in the ocean?”

  He could see her in her role as perfect Mrs. Langdon. Dax preferred her this way. With the smudge of dirt on her cheek.

  “It seems decadent.”

  “You live here now. This is paradise. Haven’t you heard?”

  “So you keep saying.” Celia slipped out of his side hug, but he noticed the flush on her chest. Yeah, she reacted to him, too. “We’ll see how much gets done,” she said.

  “You’ve already cleaned in here. The windows look great. What else is there to do?”

  “I have to go buy the paint, and brushes.” She pulled a list from her back pocket. “Tear up the carpet. Get drawer liners.”

  Dax checked the time on his phone. “It’s only eight. I can help you with all of that, and you’ll still have time for a guilt-free breakfast.” She demanded more of herself than anybody else, Dax saw that loud and clear.

  “Guilt-free?” Celia laughed at herself. “I don’t know what that tastes like.”

  “What color are you painting the walls?”

  “Beige. Dusky purple.”

  “Do you have art?” Anything but the unicorns would be an improvement.

  “Yes, I picked out most of the furnishings online. They should be arriving in two days. I’ve got round tables and wrought-iron chairs. Think decadent Italian.”

  “I’ve never been to Italy.”

  “You haven’t?” She sounded surprised.

  “I suppose you’ve been all over the world?” Jet-setting from one five sta
r hotel to the other.

  “Close, at times.” She shrugged as if apologizing. “My parents.”

  “Rich doctors.” He’d assumed she’d traveled with her husband. Vacations. Conventions.

  “Volunteered for months at a time. I went with them, if it didn’t interfere with my schooling.”

  “What did you do?” He couldn’t imagine taking a kid into a third world country. Music, email, texting-that stuff would be scarce. Not to mention the dangers.

  “I assisted. I wanted to be a part of what they were doing, so I made myself indispensable.”

  “No sitting around, playing games on your handheld?”

  “Please. I would have been sent back to the states. It was work, but rewarding in its way. You see things most people don’t ever get the chance to see. How people of all classes live. Deserts, oceans.”

  “You probably won every ‘how I spent my summer’ essay in class,” Dax said.

  Celia hid her smile by turning away from him. “I always aced first aid and CPR in health.” Her voice softened with sadness.

  Dax didn’t want her weighted down with any more grief. If he had his way, she’d be smiling all the time. “Let’s go get paint, and I’ll buy you a breakfast burrito.”

  “A what?”

  “Breakfast burrito. Now that I know you’re up for more adventure than I originally thought, I think you’ll like it.” He’d figured her for china plates and five course meals, but those small villages, she was lucky to get lizard on a stick.

  She covered her stomach with one hand, but then lifted her shoulder. “I’m in. I like spicy, and I need to know what other places are around here.”

  “We can take my jeep.”

  “Let me lock up. Thanks for your help, Dax. I’ll buy the burritos.”

  He grinned, realizing that he felt better than he had in a while. Being with Celia made him happy. Not that he’d been unhappy, but this was...more.

  ❋

  Celia closed the door behind her, grateful to have the cleaning out of the way. Dax’s unexpected assistance made her giggly. Hopeful. His advice about Randall Wallace was sound, and she looked forward to talking to the other business owners. She was nowhere near out of the woods, but it was awesome having someone offer a helping hand.

  Patience, Celia, she told herself as she followed Dax out of the store. He turned right, toward the water, and they walked down to where his jeep was parked at the dive shop.

  They got in, and Celia lifted her face to the ocean breeze. “Have you always lived above the shop?”

  “Since I came home from college.” He clamped his jaw tight, as if thinking. “Sometimes I stay over at my dad’s place, though.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “Across the bridge, on the Intracoastal.”

  “Is that far?”

  He grinned and pointed to the drawbridge. “No. Once you’ve been here a while, it will be hard to leave the island.”

  “My subdivision was bigger than this.”

  “Just wait and see.” He pointed west. “Dad’s is about five minutes from here.”

  Celia brushed the hair from her eyes, realizing her pony tail had come loose. There was something just plain fun about riding around in an open jeep.

  “Is he retired?”

  “Sort of.”

  He didn’t like to talk about his dad much, she noticed, and decided against pestering him with questions. He’d apologized for prying, so she’d be careful too.

  “Paint first, or breakfast?” Dax asked.

  “My cup of tea and toast wore off an hour ago,” Celia said. “I vote for food.”

  “A woman after my own heart.” He wore beat-up sunglasses and kept one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on his thigh. His hands were as tanned as his feet, with sun-lightened hairs on the knuckles. His touches this morning, like hers, seemed necessary, unavoidable, each light caress sparking an ember between them. As if they were getting to know each other on a tactile level, too.

  She glanced at him, knowing he was teasing, but still, the words made her wonder what it would be like to know Dax better. She’d never actually dated much before marrying Preston. Did people still do that, or did they just hook up, like Rachel and her Shaman?

  They pulled into a strip of garages, where mechanics in oil-stained coveralls waited around a small shed. Steam came from the open front, and there were a few picnic tables on the gravel. No grass or trees. As Dax had warned her, nothing fancy.

  “Trust me?” he asked.

  “You only get one shot,” she said, sliding out of the vehicle. “Don’t screw it up.”

  The smell of peppers, seasoned meat and onion wafted toward her, and she didn’t even mind the chaser of motor oil. They walked to the front, and Celia pulled cash from her pocket. It was on the honor system, it seemed. A bucket of money was on the counter, next to a hand scribbled sign that read ‘Burritos. Five bucks.’

  “I have a twenty,” Celia said. “How many burritos do you want?”

  “Just one will fill you up.” He nodded his head toward the bucket. “Drop in your twenty, take out ten.”

  “Really?” She looked around, wondering if this was a practical joke.

  “Scout’s honor. Manny swears he never has a problem with folks stealing.”

  “Unbelievable.” Celia put the twenty in, and took two fives. Then she dropped another five. “For a tip.”

  “You haven’t tasted the food yet,” Dax said.

  “I have a feeling it’s going to be the best burrito I’ve ever had.” She watched the man flip puffy corn tortillas, then scoop meat, sauce and cheese. “Do we get a choice of meat?”

  “Just beef,” the man answered in a Mexican accent. “How many, Dax?”

  “Two. Manny, this is the lady’s first time here.”

  Manny turned and grinned, handing over two burritos wrapped in tin foil. He had a gold front tooth and a scar over his eyebrow, but his hands were clean and the food smelled heavenly. “You’ll be back,” he told her.

  She inhaled, her nose for food already agreeing. “Thank you.”

  “This way,” Dax said, leading her to a bare-wood and lopsided picnic table. “I grabbed extra napkins.”

  Celia sat, glad she’d worn jeans or she’d have a backside full of splinters.

  She unwrapped the burrito part way, biting into the home-made corn tortilla, the gravy of meat and spices hitting her tongue with a wallop of flavor. “Mm. Garlic, oregano.” Celia closed her eyes. “Green chili powder.” She took another small bite, identifying each of the tastes. “Cumin.”

  “You’re good,” Dax said, half his burrito gone. “But a slow chewer.”

  “This is research. I’m missing something…” She nibbled on the beef, keeping the sauce on the tip of her tongue before moving it to the back. “Coriander.” She slapped the table and bit into the burrito. “Dax, this is amazing.”

  “Want another one?”

  She laughed. “I won’t be able to finish this one. If you wait patiently, I promise not to get my cooties over the bottom half and you can have it.”

  “I am not worried about your cooties. What is this? Fifth grade?”

  “I went to private school.” Celia shrugged. “Everyone knows we’re socially delayed.”

  Why was Dax so easy to be with? She’d never had this much fun with Preston. He’d been too aware of where they were, who could see them, and his next rung up the social ladder.

  Had she been unhappy? Or just frozen? “This is great,” she said. “The dirt. The oil. The food. I could be in little Mexico.”

  “Most of the immigrants here are Cuban. You’ll find a lot of pulled pork, Cuban sandwiches. Yucca, fried plantains.”

  “What’s on a Cuban sandwich?”

  “It’s basically a ham and cheese sandwich on pressed Cuban bread. Pickles, mustard.”

  She nodded, wanting to try everything and expand her pallet. “Maybe we could get that for lunch.”

 
“I have to work.” He checked his phone. “It’s quarter to nine. Eat up, Celia.”

  Finishing a last delicious bite, she handed the rest of the burrito over. Dax probably had the metabolism where he could eat forty of them and not gain a pound. She felt her thighs bulging at that last bite of gooey cheese. Yum.

  It was so easy hanging out with him that she wanted him with her all day. Strange. She looked around. “What’s the name of this place?”

  “Manny’s. But it’s word of mouth only. That’s why there’s no cash register.”

  “Oooh.” She felt like an idiot. Under the table, no doubt. Tax free. Rule free. She wouldn’t run her own business this way, but a man, or woman, had to make a living. It beat the hell out of selling drugs.

  They got into the jeep. “Are you all right with this? Under the radar?” Dax asked as they left the parking area.

  “Best burrito I ever had,” she said, tilting her face to the morning sun.

  Dax laughed. “You are one cool Chiquita, Celia.”

  She looked at him, shielding her eyes with her hand. “You think so?” Her husband hadn’t. But he was dead, the bastard. It was time to move away from what he thought. His betrayal.

  If I let it matter, it will ruin every happy moment in my life. Forget about it.

  Celia knew this was easier said than done, but damn it, she was making progress in discovering what she liked. What she wanted.

  Cool, Chiquita.

  Chapter Seven

  Dax watched Celia pick out paint like a professional home interior designer. She knew the color code, which brand would cover glittery unicorns the best, and which one had the superior drying time. They were out of the paint store by nine thirty.

  “What did you say you did before this?”

  “I was just a wife.” She shrugged, the hot pink tank top coming down off her shoulder. She absently yanked it back up. “Mrs. Preston Langdon.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Trust me, Dax, it was a full time job. There were times I needed an assistant.”

  “You’re joking, right?”