“Where are we going?”
“I’m not picky.” She propped her elbow on the window ledge and speared her fingers through her hair. “Let’s just get gone, okay?”
“You not picky?” He stared at her, dumbfounded. “The woman who changes every line and drawing on my damn blueprints isn’t picky? The woman who put parrots in my kitchen isn’t picky?”
“Funny.” She looked around furtively. “Should I drive?”
“Then do I get to know what’s going on?”
“Sure. Whatever. Later.”
Muttering things under his breath that his mother would have slapped him for, if she were still alive, Lucas started the car, put it in reverse, and backed out. As he steered the car down Main Street, he spared another quick look at her. Her eyes looked a little . . . haunted. He snorted. When the hell had he gotten so sensitive? Why was he noticing Mike’s eyes at all? And why the hell had he ridden in to her rescue like some modern-day knight on a two-door red charger?
Screw that.
He didn’t need this.
Scraping one hand across his jaw, he asked tightly, “Where do you want me to drop you?”
“My truck’s back in town.”
“Naturally. I’ll take you back.”
“No.” She shifted in her seat, turning her back on the ocean on her right, to look at him. “I’ll just go where you were going.”
“Not a good idea.” He shot her a quick glance and tried not to notice that her long blond hair flew about her head like a distorted halo. Which, considering her temperament, was a joke and a half.
Hell, he didn’t want her along. He’d left his house early this morning in an apparently futile attempt to keep her from “dropping by.” So what does he do instead? Pick her the hell up in town?
Was there a conspiracy of some sort going on around here? Some twisted sense of fate that kept throwing this woman at him, like darts at a target?
“Why? Robbing a bank?”
“Nothing so interesting. I’m buying furniture. You’d be bored.”
“Bored?” she repeated and gave him a grin that zapped something deep inside him. Something he was going to ignore completely. “How could I possibly be bored, shopping with someone else’s money?”
He sighed, threw the gear shift into fourth, and stepped on the gas as they took the coast road. “What was I thinking?”
The furniture salesmen followed Mike around the store like kids scrambling to be the first one into a carnival. They jockeyed for her attention, and when she smiled at one of them, they acted as though someone had handed them a fistful of cash.
Lucas couldn’t blame them. Even he was impressed. She knew furniture. She knew fabrics. And damned if she didn’t have an opinion about everything in the place.
Not that he cared. He knew what he wanted.
“I’ll take this one,” he said, and was forced to grab the arm of the salesman closest to him because the man was so focused on Mike he was hardly breathing.
“What? Yes. Oh sure.” The guy looked from Lucas to Mike and back again. “This one?”
“Yeah.” Lucas looked at it again. Mission style, the big bed would go along with the Spanish-style house. Plus, it was huge. Simplicity itself, the head and footboard were made of wide, polished oak slats and at each corner stood sturdy oak posts. Perfect.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
He looked at Mike. She stared at the bed for a long minute and then looked up at him again and shook her head. “That’s all wrong.”
“How can a bed I want be the wrong bed for me?” He folded his arms across his chest and loomed over her. Not too difficult since the top of her head hit his chin. But the woman was nothing if not sure of herself.
She glared right back at him. “Just because the house is Spanish style doesn’t mean everything inside it has to be. Expand your horizon a little.”
The salesmen standing around her in a half-circle all nodded sagely as if she’d just stepped down from the Mount with two tablets in her arms.
“My bed. My house.”
“Your house,” she agreed. “Please, not that bed.”
“What the hell difference can it possibly make to you?”
“Oh please.” She waved one hand at her own face. “It would upset anyone with a sense of style. Could there be a more boring bed? It looks like a high-school wood-shop project.”
One of the salesmen sniffed.
Mike ignored him.
“Why are you here again?” Lucas muttered.
“To save you from yourself apparently.” Mike smiled, took his arm, then parted the sea of salesmen with the wave of one hand. Steering him across the showroom, she slipped behind a set of leather sofas and a plaid recliner that looked damn comfortable and came to a stop in front of the bed she preferred.
“This is the one.”
Lucas was determined not to like it. Damn it, she’d stuck her nose into everything in his life in the last two months and the only thing he’d stood his ground on was his damn balcony in his own damn bedroom. Well, Mike Marconi was in for another disappointment. No way was he going to like the damn bed. No way was he caving in. He wanted the big, plain, sturdy bed and that’s just the one he was going to . . .
He looked at the one she’d chosen.
Bigger than the Mission style, the sleigh bed was solid mahogany and richly beautiful. “One of a kind,” the salesman closest to him muttered and Lucas believed him. The dark wood was burled on the head- and footboard and deeply carved into the grain was a twining spiral of ivy. The mattress was high and thick and damned if it didn’t look inviting.
“You like it.”
Yeah, he did. But he hated like hell to admit that to her. He glanced at Mike and the satisfaction on her face made him grit his teeth. “It’s all right.”
“Lie down, sir,” one of the salesmen prompted. “You’ll see. Your wife has selected one of our finest pieces. I’m sure you’ll be swayed. She seems to have excellent taste.”
“My—” He flashed her a look and Mike smiled and shrugged.
“They assumed—”
“Since you’re the one doing all the talking.”
“—that we’re married.” She finished with another shrug and he tried not to notice how the silk of her shirt pulled across her chest with every movement.
“Try it out,” the salesman urged again and Lucas, grumbling all the way, did just that. He walked to the side of the bed, sat down, then stretched out atop the quilted mattress. Hell, anything to get this expedition finished and his day back on track.
He nearly groaned. The mattress felt plush and soft and welcoming. Long enough for a tall man to stretch out comfortably, the bed was, damn it, perfect.
“You, too, ma’am,” the slightly built man with horn-rimmed glasses insisted. “Both of you should lie down as you always do, to get the feel for the furniture.”
“Oh,” Mike said and backed up a step. “I don’t think that’s—”
“Sure, honey,” Lucas said, and patted the mattress beside him in invitation. “Come on. Park it.”
She sneered at him. “Thanks for the invite, but I’ll pass . . .”
“Well,” Lucas said, enjoying the fact that he’d put her on edge. “Sorry, gentlemen, but if my wife doesn’t try out the bed, we won’t be able to get it today, after all.”
“Oh, please, madam, I assure you, you won’t be sorry.” The salesman talked fast, already seeing a hefty commission flying out the nearest window.
“Fine.” Mike muttered the single word, walked to the opposite side of the bed, and lay down, keeping plenty of distance between her and Lucas.
No way was he letting her get away with that. She’d driven him crazy all morning, now it was payback time.
“Now, don’t be shy, honey,” he crooned and reached out for her. Scooping one arm under her shoulders, he pulled her in close. “Just snuggle in close like you do every night. I’m sure these gentlemen won’t mind.”
&nb
sp; “You idiot,” she grumbled into his shoulder.
“There, see? I knew you’d like it,” the salesman crowed and looked around at his friends, happily counting the sale already.
“Well, I’m not sure yet,” Lucas said, and reared back so that he could look into pale blue eyes glinting with everything but amusement. “I think we need one last test.”
“If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, just start thinking something else, bucko,” Mike said, and tried to wriggle away.
“I’ll give you a moment,” the salesman said instantly and scuttled away to write up the sale before anyone could change their minds.
“Hey,” Lucas said quietly, for Mike alone to hear. “You want me to get this bed, then prove to me that it’s going to be comfortable in all situations.”
“Oh please.” She snorted. “The nerd prince is worried about that once-a-year special night with a lady friend?”
“Once a year?”
One blond eyebrow rose high on her forehead. “You haven’t exactly been swimming in babes for the last two months,” she pointed out.
“By choice.”
“Sure. That’s what they all say.”
“Could you just shut up for ten seconds?”
“My sister Jo’s always asking me that.”
He stared down into her eyes. “And does it work?”
“Never.”
“Then let’s try this.”
He kissed her.
His mouth brushed across hers once, twice, and then fastened on in a hunger he hadn’t been expecting. Hadn’t counted on. His tongue dipped into her warmth, swirled with hers, danced and dipped and tasted and explored. Her breath shot into his throat, his lungs, and he felt her slide all too deep inside him.
Oh no.
This he hadn’t counted on at all.
Neither, apparently, had she.
Mike broke first, pulled back and stared at him.
“What?” he asked.
“Do that again.”
“Finally. An order I’m happy to take.”
5
It was like grabbing hold of a live electrical wire.
Her mouth was buzzing, her skin sizzling, and her blood was steaming.
Oh boy.
One part of her still realized that, hey, they were lying in the middle of a furniture store. But another, more insistent part of her was screeching, Who cares? Go for it! And that was just crazy enough to douse the blistering heat engulfing her.
Mike broke the kiss and rolled away from Lucas in one incredibly awkward move. But she wasn’t thinking graceful, she was thinking, move. When she hit the edge of the bed, she kept right on rolling until she landed on her feet, stumbled, then backed up another step or two, just for good measure.
Lifting one hand, she pointed at him and squeaked, “What the hell was that?”
He was lying there like a man who’d just been hit in the head with a monkey wrench—and hey, not a bad idea, when you come down to it. Slowly, he turned his head toward her and he looked as dumbfounded as she felt.
Small consolation.
She didn’t like surprises. Didn’t like to be caught off guard. She needed her defenses up and running—especially when some guy was making a move.
Damn it, guys didn’t surprise Mike.
She’d always been able to read the signs. Though to be fair, most guys weren’t that hard to read. She could tell when a move was coming and knew just how to deflect it or welcome it, depending on her outlook at the time.
But the nerd prince had just sneaked under her radar and landed a Stinger missile on her unprotected . . . assets.
“That . . . was a kiss,” he muttered, and rubbed both hands across his face briskly before shaking his head like a man stepping out from under a shower.
“That was no simple kiss. I’ve been kissed before,” Mike said, still pointing at him and now reduced to shaking her index finger at him in accusation. “And they were nothing like that. Hello? You’re carrying a secret weapon around with you or something.”
“Me?” He rolled off the bed on his side and glared at her from the safety of about seven feet of distance. The look in his eyes wasn’t exactly flattering. “You weren’t exactly resisting, you know. Actually, you’re the one who said ‘do it again.’ ”
She snorted. “And you always take orders from women.”
“Lately? Just one,” he grumbled, and glanced over his shoulder at the showroom behind him as if expecting her trained herd of salesmen to come flooding back into the bedroom setup. When he was sure that it was all clear, he blew out a deep breath, held up both hands and said, “Anyway. No big deal. We tried out the bed. We kissed. Now I buy the damn bed and we get the hell out of here.”
“Right. No big deal.” What had she been thinking, letting him know that he’d gotten to her? Never give a man the advantage, for crying out loud. She knew that. Hell, she insisted on it. She’d learned early on to stay in control of any situation. And she’d learned it the hard way. No way in hell was she going to forget those lessons now.
Mike nodded at him and dropped her accusatory finger back to her side. Good plan. Out of here. Away from the surprising geek and his electric lips. “Good. Okay. Let’s go.”
He stepped back and let her walk in front of him, and even as she passed him, Mike was wishing they could change positions. Right now, she felt as though she ought to be keeping a wary eye on him. Having him behind her just meant she couldn’t see his face. She couldn’t read what he was thinking in his eyes.
Then again, she thought as she wended through the arranged tableaus on the showroom floor, maybe that was a good thing. Because if he was thinking what she was thinking right at the moment, things were going to get a lot more complicated.
Fast.
Jo hunched over her kitchen table, and glared at the open astronomy textbook in front of her. “For God’s sake,” she muttered as she threw her pencil at the wall opposite. “How hard can this be? Stars? Planets? And why the hell do I have to know how far away they are? Isn’t it enough to know that they’re in the sky?”
She pushed her chair back and jumped up, stalking across the blue-flecked cream-colored linoleum. The kitchen of her rented condo was as small as every other room in the place, but it had never bothered her before.
It was temporary. One of these days, she’d find the perfect house to buy and redo. Until then, the condo was as good a place as anywhere else and substantially better than an apartment. At least here she had a yard, small as it was, and the sense of privacy that having someone live above and below her wouldn’t afford.
Although today she was feeling just a little bit . . . trapped.
Hitting the open doorway, she left the kitchen, stomped into her tiny living room and flopped onto the sofa. Propping her feet up on the coffee table in front of her, she shoved a stack of mail order catalogues and magazines to the floor in a heap. Snatching the remote from the cushion beside her, she turned on the TV and pretended interest in a home makeover show.
Ordinarily, Jo loved these programs. This was right up her alley. Breathing new life into old homes. But today her mind was too fixed on her failures to enjoy the thought of new projects.
She’d made a solemn promise to herself years ago—to complete the education she’d run from and to prove to herself that she was stronger than she’d once been.
And it fried her ass to have to admit defeat.
The hum of voices from the television faded into the background as her mind kicked into high gear. And it wasn’t just flunking that was bugging her. She never should have told Cash about this. What in the hell had she been thinking? Her head dropped to the back of the sofa and she stared up at the sunlight streaking across the ceiling.
Dust motes drifted in the breeze slipping beneath the open window. The McKenna kids next door were out tossing a football and the accompanying shouts and laughter sounded like a song heralding the end of summer.
Cash.
; A man she didn’t trust and didn’t like.
And as soon as the Marconis started work on his place, she’d have to see him every damn day, knowing that he knew she was flunking a stupid college course that eighteen-year-old kids passed in a walk.
“Perfect,” she muttered and lifted her head to flip through the channels. “Just perfect.”
A knock on the door interrupted her black thoughts and she gratefully leaped up off the couch. She slipped on the stupid magazines, caught her balance again, and glared at the mess on the floor as if it had deliberately set out to trip her up.
Grumbling viciously, she stalked across the room. The beige generic no-style carpet muffled her footsteps, and when she yanked the door open, the guy standing on the porch jumped a foot.
“Crap, lady. Scared me to death.” His brown uniform was rumpled and way too big on him. He was short and skinny with bright red hair, big blue eyes, and an Adam’s apple that was bobbing up and down like a cork tossed into the rapids.
Jo chuckled and tossed her dark brown hair over her shoulder. “Sorry. Bad day.”
“Yeah, well, mine’s not getting any better.” He checked the clipboard he carried. “You Jo Marconi?”
“Yeah?”
“Never met a girl named Joe.”
“Wow,” she said, sighing, “never heard that one before.”
“Right. Got a delivery.” He bent down, picked up a thin brown box, and held out the clipboard. “Sign there. At the bottom.”
She stared at the box in his hand. “What is it?”
“Do I look psychic?”
“No,” she said wryly, cocking a hip and leaning against the doorjamb. “You look like a guy who’s not trying for a tip.”
He laughed. “Hey, the guy who ordered this already included a tip for me. Big.”
Intrigued, Jo signed her name, then took the package. She shut the door on the kid and leaned back against it. Holding the package carefully in both hands, she studied it warily and told herself she ought to just throw it out.
Cash Hunter.
“What the hell is he sending me?” she asked the empty room. “And why?”
She lifted the box and listened for a second or two just to make sure it wasn’t ticking. Then she laughed. Of course it wasn’t a bomb. “Cash doesn’t blow women up. He breaks ’em down.”
A Crazy Kind of Love Page 6