by Various
“I could get another guy here from New York, but it would take a couple of days.”
He forced his thoughts away. “And that’s a problem?” Then he answered his own question. “Ah. More days mean more money. And you don’t want to wait around any longer or pay any more than you have to.”
She ran a hand through the waves of her hair. “That isn’t the only reason, but it would help move things along. Plus it’s always nice to use local talent when we can.”
Local talent? Boy, she was buttering him up but good. That was enough to snap his mind out of the king-sized bed he’d just put them both into. He ordered his brain to get the hell out of his pants and cataloged the list of jobs he had to do the following day. “I’m pretty busy this week. I’ve got two other jobs I work full-time. Plus I haven’t been behind a camera in a while.” He turned away before she could plaster on a bigger smile and knock him to his knees.
“Would you at least think about it? Please?”
He stuffed his hands into his pockets and fumbled with his keys. “Think you’d better call your fill-in guy. I’m not who you’re looking for.”
“So you’re playing hard to get.”
“I’m not playing anything.” His cheeks burned deeper. “And now I’m overstaying my welcome.” He backed toward the door. “Bye, Francine. Give a call if you need anything.”
“Oh, all right. I will. And thanks.” Francine twisted her fingers together, brow bent in worry. Sophie rested one elbow on the banister and watched him go. Not bothered. Not disappointed. A curious smile played on her face, as if behind the camera-ready expression the wheels still turned, and even as he walked away, she was thinking up a way to get him to agree to her request.
Lucas thundered down the front steps. Forget it. Get mixed up with a television crew? He had too many jobs to do, this week and next, and a whole handful of people counting on him to get them done on time. He kicked the gravel in Francine’s driveway and resisted the urge to look over his shoulder and see Sophie’s silhouette framed on the stairs inside. He shook his head. Sophie Smithwaite. Double-S. Bad letter. Bad karma.
He climbed into his truck and took the quick way back to his apartment. No other stops. No other thoughts. He toed the gas and hoped the only cop on patrol was down along the west side of town, scoping out the dunes and chasing half-naked teenagers back to their cars. Because the sooner Lucas got himself away from that house, that woman, those eyes that looked straight through him and did something to his gut that hadn’t been done in years–hell, the better.
Chapter 4
Sophie found her gentle giant right where Francine said she would: bent over breakfast in Del’s Diner, a narrow little place on the end of Lindsey Point’s Main Street. Okay, maybe the guy wasn’t completely gentle, but he’d seemed kind of charming in the awkward way he’d reddened and fumbled around the night before. Now he sat at a window table for two, though between the plates in front of him and arms the size of tree limbs resting beside them, there wasn’t any room for anyone else’s cup of coffee, let alone a full meal.
“You need a table, hon?” A middle-aged waitress with bright red hair waved a pot of coffee in Sophie’s direction. “Might be a few minutes. We got a full house this morning.”
“Ah, no. Thanks, though.” Sophie scanned the room: broad backs, some in flannel, some in t-shirts, one wearing overalls, all bent over plates of ham and eggs. Coffee on every table. A suit here and there. One mother feeding her child in a high chair. Most of them looked her way and let their gazes skim over her before returning to their tables. Polite, curious, but quiet. Private. Not unlike most small towns she’d filmed in before. “I’m looking for someone. And I found him.”
The waitress followed her gaze and when it lit on Lucas, beamed. “Not a bad choice.” She winked. “He’s a keeper.”
Sophie refrained from saying she wasn’t looking for Lucas in the keeper capacity, or really any capacity except one, and that was part-time work.
“Mmm,” she hummed in agreement.
She crossed the room and slipped into the chair opposite him. Feeling the waitress’s eyes on her back, she kept the chair a few inches away from the table as she crossed her wrists on it. Careful distance. Professional posture. Nothing more, nothing less, nothing for anyone to talk about, though she knew ten minutes after she left, the waitress and the cook and the dishwasher in the back, at least two of whom were likely related, would make up a story regardless of what had happened.
“Morning.” Big, camera-loving smile. “Remember me?”
He glanced up. “I’m still not doin’ it.”
She cocked her head. “Charmer, aren’t you?”
He shrugged and sawed through his bacon and eggs.
“Can I ask why you won’t even consider it? We can pay you well.”
“Not about the money.”
“What’s it about, then?”
He sighed, tugged at his baseball cap, and put down his fork.
“Lucas? Seriously. What’s the problem?” She leaned closer, giving up the professional distance for a more intimate, elbows on the table, eyes-firmly-on-his body language.
“Listen. It’s Sophie, right?”
He stopped, long enough for her to enjoy the way he said her name. His tongue played over the syllables, and his accent made it sound the tiniest bit different than any other way she’d heard it before. A funny, unfamiliar, sort of squiggly feeling started up in her toes. What the hell? Desire? For a guy who’d put her in her place not once but twice last night? But then he went on.
And the squiggly feeling went away, pronto.
“The problem is you coming into town, shooting pictures of the lighthouse, taking advantage of the dumb country folk you think live here, and turning around a week later to leave.”
She sat back as if she’d been stung. Dumb country folk? She opened her mouth and closed it hard, waiting a few moments before daring to open it again. “I don’t think that.”
“Sure you do.”
She curled her fingers into her palms. Lon had told her he could get Ramone to come up from the city within a day or two. Fine. That sounded like a much better solution. She should stand up and leave now, let Mr. Manners finish his breakfast and then go tip cows or pound nails or whatever else he did around here that was so damn important. Then she tamped down her impatience. She never gave up this easily. Hmm. Maybe she should have left the money aspect out of it. Mentioning money insulted some people, and could be Lucas was some people.
She tried again. “I know a little bit about small towns, you know.”
“Like what? How to choose hotels based on the thread count of their sheets? Or which ones have the best sushi takeout?”
She pouted. “You don’t have to be mean.”
His jaw twitched. “I apologize.” He waved a hand and sent the salt shaker flying. “But we get tourists coming through here all year long.”
“I’m not a tourist.”
He raised a brow. “Sure you aren’t. Different kind of clothing. Still a wolf.” His cheeks reddened. “No offense.”
At that, her face went hot. “What’s so wrong with tourists? They spend their money, right? They stay in the local hotels and eat at the restaurants. And they probably talk about the place after they leave and get other people to come here too.” She looked outside at the red-and-white-striped awnings, the statue of a horseback rider in the middle of the street, the flower boxes and planters outside most of the businesses. “It’s a beautiful town. I would think you’d be proud of it, want to show it off.”
Her gaze snagged on a small square of grass on the other side of the street. A white fence surrounded it on three sides, and a wreath of wildflowers lay inside it. Suddenly she thought of the cross she’d seen the night before. No reason for the connection, the square didn’t look like a memorial, and yet something tied them together. A vibe, she thought, the simplicity of the space and the grass and the flowers.
“We are proud of it,�
� Lucas answered. He followed her gaze across the street before picking up his fork. “We keep to ourselves. We don’t like airing our dirty laundry for the whole world.”
“It’s not technically dirty laundry,” she answered. “I mean, lots of people know the story. It’s kind of...I don’t know. Historic. Your welcome sign claims you have–” She made air quotation marks with her fingers. “–the most famous lighthouse on the east coast. That statement doesn’t keep people away, if you know what I mean.”
Lucas studied her. “Guess you’re right.” Something in his expression changed, flickered and darkened a bit, but the look was gone before she could read into or understand it.
Two women walked by on the sidewalk, and his gaze cut in their direction. It held there for a second or two before returning to his plate.
“Which one?” Sophie asked. He had to be connected to one of them, if not now then in the past. And she would put her money on the past, because a broken heart would explain the way his gaze fluttered and fled the second it caught on her smile or her neckline or last night’s bare legs.
“Huh?”
She wiggled her fingers toward the window. “Which one is your ex?”
He stared at her, and the expression returned. This time she could read it. A little anger. A little sadness. Regret and maybe resentment too.
“Did a little digging into my past?” he said. “What, did you stay up last night and badger Francine about me? College major, past job, who I used to sleep with? You find out my birthday and Social Security number too?”
Sophie’s jaw dropped.
“My personal life is none of your damn business.”
“Whoa.” She set her mug on the table hard enough to slosh coffee over the edge. “I sure as hell didn’t do one second of research on you. Or talk to Francine about anything except if she knew anyone in town who might fill in for Gil. To be honest, I don’t give a rat’s ass who you are, or who you’re sleeping with or not. It was written all over your face the second you looked outside.” She took a napkin from the metal dispenser and mopped up her mess. “If I’m wrong, I apologize.” She’d just been making conversation with the over-sized idiot. And she was about done with that.
“I–ah...geez.” Looking sheepish for the first time since she’d sat down, he ran a hand over his face and fiddled with his baseball cap, pulling it as far down over his eyes as he could.
She stood, walked away a few steps, and turned around. “Can we try this again?”
He looked up. A smile crossed his face. Small, and gone in a flash, but it was there. She put out her hand. “Hi. I’m Sophie Smithwaite. I’m in town for a few days filming a travel show on your lighthouse, and I’m desperate for a cameraman. I’ve been told you’re the guy to ask.” She sat down and picked up her mug. “Did I mention the word desperate? As in a capital D? I can promise you a paycheck and an unlimited supply of free coffee and entertainment from the other guys on the crew if you say yes.”
“Aw, man.” The color crept into his cheeks, darker than before, but this time a touch of pleasure in his large, dark eyes accompanied it. “You know, I got a lot to do this time-a year. I work as a handyman for a bunch of people in town, plus my mom needs me around for doctor appointments and stuff. I don’t have a lotta extra time.”
“I’ll do my best to work around your schedule.”
He forked the last bit of breakfast into his mouth. “How much time are we talking?”
“Two days. Three max, if the weather cooperates.” She glanced outside. “Today’s supposed to be beautiful. We’re going to spend the afternoon at the point, figuring out the best places for shooting. My research guy is talking to some locals, and I’m going to go over our notes tonight.” She fished out her business card. “Here. My cell number is on there, best way to reach me.”
He reached for it, and she hesitated. The squiggly feeling had returned. Through her toes. Up her legs to her knees and beyond. Dangerously close to places that hadn’t felt squiggles of any kind in a good long while. She fiddled with the plastic sugar packet holder. “You know, we’re all having dinner tonight around eight. I’m not sure where yet, but why don’t you come?”
His fingers dwarfed the card as he picked it up and tucked it into his front shirt pocket. “I’m not sayin’ yes.”
“But you’ll think about it?”
He pushed away his plate and leaned back in his chair. Folded his arms and spent a long thirty seconds studying her.
“What? Why are you staring at me?” Heat crawled up her cheeks.
One corner of his mouth twitched, but for a few seconds she thought he wasn’t going to say anything at all. Then he surprised her and spoke. “You shouldn’t wear your hair like that.”
“What?” Both hands went up to the smooth, perfectly turned bob she’d spent an hour blowing out. “Do you know how long it took me to straighten it? The salt in the air here makes it as curly as– as–”
“As this?” He lifted up his baseball cap to reveal the mass of unruly, dark brown curls she remembered from the night before.
He needed a haircut, she thought. Desperately.
He jammed the cap back down. “It looks too forced. Like a helmet, sort of.”
“A helmet? My hair looks like a helmet?” Any feelings of warmth or possibility or straight-forward, old-fashioned desire fled completely.
“I mean, don’t take that the wrong way or anything.”
She blinked a few times. Had she actually heard–had he actually said– “Oh, I don’t think there’s any right way to take that.” She stood and tucked her purse under her arm. Maybe this whole idea had been a mistake. She sure didn’t need a fill-in cameraman giving her fashion tips. “I have a stylist, thank you very much. And my hair looks fine. Open a magazine once in a while, and you’ll see. I don’t need style advice. I just need you to hold the camera and keep your mouth shut.”
And she’d probably blown her last chance at getting him to do that.
His eyes narrowed. “No problem, sweetheart.”
She walked away without another word.
Chapter 5
What a jerk. Sophie picked her way across rocks as she approached the lighthouse. Lucas’s words still echoed in her ears; his judgment about her hair still rankled her. What the hell did he know? So much for the straightener, though, or the hour wasted using it. Already it had started to curl up in waves, thanks to the July humidity and the ocean air. She hated doing shows in places like this, where it took two cans of hairspray and a pound of heavy makeup for her to look camera-ready.
“Sophie!” Lon waved, out of breath at the base of the lighthouse. Her producer, a good fifty pounds overweight, with a full head of graying hair, stuck his hand in the back pocket of fraying jeans as he waited. Out came a pack of Camels. He lit one, puffing in impatience as she took her time. She’d changed from this morning’s sheath dress and sandals to cut-off shorts, a t-shirt, and sneakers. Not her most glamorous look, but she wasn’t here to impress anyone.
Liar, a traitorous voice inside her head whispered. True, she wouldn’t mind impressing Lucas. You like him. And you want him to like you. I do not, she argued back. I don’t even know him. Besides, he was shaped like a tree. An enormous one. One of those giant things out in California, a redwood. Hell, she’d have to climb him to get anywhere his mouth.
Yum. The squiggles returned, ten-fold.
Sophie told herself to stop thinking about climbing him. Or doing anything else involving arms and legs and holding on tightly. She pressed the heel of one hand into her forehead. What was wrong with her? A few breaths of ocean air and two brief conversations, make that three if she counted the one on the road coming into town, and she was acting like a schoolgirl with a serious crush.
“You talk to him?” Lon breathed hard. “Is your guy gonna be here tomorrow, help us out?”
“Lucas Oakes isn’t ‘my guy.’ And yes, I asked him but he hasn’t agreed yet.”
Lon raised a brow. “You l
osin’ your touch? Used to be all you had to do was wink, and the locals would fall over themselves to volunteer.”
“Screw you.”
He patted her shoulder with a rough hand. “Ah, sweetheart, I’m teasin’. Hope he agrees. I asked around, and a couple-a people at the hotel said the same thing Francine did. He knows his way around a camera. Hope they’re right.” Pause. Cough. Suck on the cancer stick. “So what’s the deal? He’s gonna call you? Text?”
“I don’t know. One or the other, and I don’t care which, as long as he gets his ass here tomorrow morning.”
“Sophie.”
But she ignored his warning tone. Honestly, she didn’t really want to talk to Lucas Oakes. Something about his voice, deep and gruff even when he wasn’t being stubborn, threw her for a loop. Made her feel off-balance and kept that feeling moving up her torso, until it erupted on her skin like gooseflesh and she found herself thinking thoughts not anywhere close to PG-rated. He was one of those strong, silent types, she could tell by looking. And she guessed somewhere underneath all that height and muscle was a sensitive type, too, if his longing look at the redhead on the sidewalk was any indication.
Actually, he had a pretty great smile when he let it show. Eyes that crinkled down at her, broad shoulders and strong, calloused hands she knew would move over her body slow and tentative at first and then faster and smoother by degrees until–
Sophie stopped herself right there. No mooning over the local boy, no matter how long it had been since she’d been laid. Or, hell, even kissed by someone who knew what he was doing. She sighed and fell into the fantasy yet again. Lucas looked like the kind of guy who knew how to wrap those muscular arms around a woman and tilt her head back and line butterfly-soft kisses along her neck until she fell into him with a gasp of oh-yes-please-I-want-some-more.
“Sophie? Hello?” Lon waved a hand in front of her face.
“Huh? Oh, yeah. I’m here.” But her neck tingled, as if she’d brought the image to life, as if Lucas’s lips had been there and left a mark seared deep into her skin. With a shake of her head, Sophie focused all her attention on her producer. The heel of her hand went back to her forehead, hoping a little direct pressure could will away the vision of Lucas. He hadn’t even agreed to help them yet. She pulled out her cell phone and checked the messages. Nothing.