Feeling The Heat

by Rhonda Nelson

  Her foot on the first tread of the stairs, Georgia stopped. “Er…I guess not.”

  She didn’t have any idea what he expected to find, but if he wanted to check things out she really couldn’t think of a legitimate objection.

  “Architecture is a bit of a hobby of mine.” He looked around and smiled a bit uncertainly, as though a memory were hovering just out of reach. “This house reminds me of something I’ve seen before, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s bugging the hell out of me.”

  Georgia smiled and pointed to a print on her wall. “Take a look at that picture over there and see if it jogs your memory.” Though she should have gone on upstairs, she waited instead for his reaction.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” he breathed, staring at an original print of her home from a Sears Roebuck catalog. “I knew I had seen it before.” He turned and his equally astonished and impressed gaze tangled with hers. “A kit house?”

  “The Chelsea,” she replied. “With a few modern modifications, of course. The original only had one bathroom and virtually no closet space. I had to rearrange a few little things, but the overall layout is the same.”

  He passed a hand over his face and inspected the print once more. “What on earth led you to do something like this?”

  “It was my grandparents’ home. It burned shortly after I graduated from college.” She lifted her shoulders in a small shrug. “I wanted it back.”

  Linc’s mossy green gaze caught and held hers again, sucking the air out of the room. A small smile played around his lips, as though he wasn’t quite sure what to make of her. “This is bad. You’re not staying in the box.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “You’re not staying in the box I put you in.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’d pegged you for a tidy patio home with little to no grass for minimum lawn management, trendy chrome appliances and sleek modern no-fuss furniture. Instead you’ve got acres of yard, a claw-foot tub outside—where you bathe naked—and a period replica house that couldn’t be further from a patio home than an Airstream travel trailer.” He poked his tongue in his cheek and shook his head. “Like I said, you’re not staying in the box.”

  Ridiculously pleased at the backhanded compliment, Georgia returned his grin. “Then maybe you shouldn’t try to pigeonhole people.”

  6

  PIGEONHOLING HER certainly wasn’t working out for him, Linc thought, hours later as they ordered dinner at their last stop of the evening. They’d canvassed a good bit of ground today and hadn’t gotten so much as a kernel of useful information. Either Carter Watkins had left town, was lying incredibly low, or had moved his scam to another part of the city.

  Linc knew it was particularly distressing for Georgia, but like he’d told her only a few minutes ago, a lead could turn up where they least expected it. Sometimes he’d go out to look for a skip and hit pay dirt on the first try. Other times—he pulled a mental shrug—he’d be a gnat’s ass away from throwing in the towel, and a lucky break would come his way.

  Either way they would find him, he thought determinedly. Whether or not they found the ring along with him remained to be seen, but they’d simply have to deal with that when the time came. For her sake, he hoped luck would be in her favor. Unfortunately—stupidly—any other scenario that didn’t result in her happiness made his stomach cramp and his insides twist with dread.

  Not good, he knew. He’d allowed himself to get entirely too invested in her problem, but at this point wasn’t sure how to make it stop. Frankly, though he liked to think he’d been in control of this situation, Linc knew better.

  Hell, he’d lost control the minute she’d come knocking on his door. Possibly even sooner.

  Furthermore, the more he learned about Georgia Hart, the more he liked her. That was a novel experience in and of itself. Linc typically didn’t like women one way or another. He lusted, he enjoyed their physical company, he cut them loose. Game over. Liking one was so far removed from his area of expertise he didn’t know quite what to make of it.

  But he did know this—the sooner he found Carter and escorted her out of his immediate vicinity the better. Otherwise he feared he’d do something even more ignorant, like try to seduce her.

  Aside from being thoroughly provoking, he was also finding her increasingly harder to resist. He wanted to touch her, taste her, sample every delectable portion of her body, which was ridiculous when ultimately, she shouldn’t be his type. She was a friggin’ wedding planner for chrissakes. His worst nightmare. She believed in true love and happy endings, in holding hands and pillow talk, all of which made him break out in an invisible rash.

  But when he looked at her…

  Linc released a breath and covertly watched her from across the table. When he looked at her, something shifted in his chest and then a blast of need would broadside him, knocking every bit of reservation from his brain. His dick ached, his fingers tingled, his mouth watered.

  When they’d gone back to her house this morning, Linc had fully expected her to change into another outfit identical to the one she’d had on. Instead, just to prove him wrong, he suspected, she’d come downstairs in a clingy black sweater, black jeans and tall, black leather boots. They weren’t the shit-kickers he’d imagined, but the wedge heel gave her a little added height and a swing to her walk that had made the beast in him howl with approval. Linc released a pent-up breath.

  In fact, he didn’t know what he expected, but the full, heart-shaped, luscious bottom that filled out those jeans and that tiny waist sure as hell hadn’t been it. He felt his dick stir just thinking about it, then felt it harden further imagining it naked and wet, settled outside in that hedonistic bathtub.

  Linc was rarely, if ever, surprised, but learning that little tidbit…now that had been a shocker.

  While he might have been able to read Georgia’s predicament and mood the first time he’d met her, he clearly hadn’t pegged her right. Odd for him, but he supposed it could happen. If anyone would have told him that the type A wedding planner—who was so friggin’ anal she was currently eating her food a section at a time from her plate—would commune naked with nature in an outdoor bathtub, he would have told them to kiss his ass. The fact that she was brave enough—hell, cool and confident enough—to do it impressed him beyond measure. He could see her there, Linc thought, his gaze turning inward.

  Dark curly hair hanging over the end of the tub as she sank beneath the steaming water, a sigh leaking out of those beautiful lips, lids fluttered shut, her breasts plump and pale in the moonlight…

  Linc let go a shaky breath. Box, hell, he thought. She’d obliterated the box.

  Georgia ended another call from Karen, carefully walking her through another averted disaster. Honestly, her assistant needed constant assistance.

  “Sorry about that,” Georgia said. “She’s not used to being on her own.”

  Linc spooned up a bite of beef stew. “Is she capable of handling it without you?”

  “She is. She just doesn’t like to.” A self-deprecating smile curved her ripe lips. “As you might have noticed, I’m a bit particular.”

  “You?” he gasped, feigning surprise. “Surely you’re kidding. Surely working with you is a cakewalk.”

  “Hey,” she teased. “I noticed you’ve fielded quite a few phone calls today, as well.”

  It was true, Linc had to admit. Not so much on skips and stuff, but rather the whole True Blue Bail Bonds issue. Georgia had caught enough of his one-sided conversation to know that they were having problems. To give her credit, she’d merely quirked an inquiring brow, but hadn’t tried to pry. He honestly didn’t know what he was going to do about the situation. Advertising cost a fortune and since their business was taking a revenue hit, funds were at an all-time low. Talk about a catch-22. This was definitely one of those it-takes-money-to-make-money sort of predicaments.

  “Here’s the difference,” Linc finally told her. “Your help will work, she’s just
afraid of you because you’re so demanding.”

  “Particular,” Georgia corrected, smiling from behind her tea glass. “I’m particular.”

  “Whatever. Anyway, my point is…my help just doesn’t want to deal with it.” He laughed. “I’m the one with the college education, ergo, I must be the one to handle it.”

  She pursed her lips and cocked her head. “Makes sense to me.”

  “Hello?” Linc reminded her again, feigning outrage. “Have you forgotten about the favor? You’re supposed to take my side. Honestly, woman,” he chided, tempering the criticism with a smile. “Is the significance of loyalty completely lost on you?”

  She chuckled, the sound soft and feminine in their little darkened corner of the restaurant. At some point during the day her ponytail had started sagging and she hadn’t bothered to fix it. While no curls had officially come loose, the relaxed version of the hairdo was much better. A current of heat landed in his loins, once again forcing him to shift in his seat.

  “Just because you’re doing me a favor doesn’t mean that I have to take your side.” Having finished with her mashed potatoes, she speared a piece of steamed broccoli and popped it in her mouth. “Furthermore, your favor wasn’t free, remember? I’m doing you one, as well.”

  And there was that, Linc thought, once again finding himself on the wrong end of right. He shrugged. “Semantics.”

  Georgia rolled her eyes, but didn’t argue. “What’s your degree in?”

  “Criminal justice.”

  “That’s apt, I suppose.”

  “It helps,” Linc admitted. “Honestly, it was more important to Dad and Cade, my brother, that I go to college than it ever was to me. I always knew I’d go into the family business.”

  She took another sip of tea. “Maybe they wanted you to have something to fall back on if something went wrong with the family business.”

  He chuckled darkly. “If that was the case, then I should have been an art major.”

  Georgia’s eyes lit with intrigue, swiftly followed by surprise borne of sudden insight. “The pottery,” she breathed. “Those are your pieces, aren’t they? That’s why you smiled when you saw my bowl.”

  “They are,” he admitted, pleased that she’d liked his work enough to purchase of piece of it. He’d been secretly startled and damned pleased to see one of his bowls on her kitchen table. Though she’d only been inside his house for a few minutes, he should have realized that she would have noticed them. Like him, she paid attention to everything.

  “It’s beautiful work, Linc,” she said, a hint of gratifying admiration in her gaze. She gave a little self-deprecating laugh. “Well, you know I like it. I’ve got more of it upstairs, a bluish-green floor vase in my bedroom.”

  Linc nodded. He remembered the piece she was talking about. He’d been especially proud of it. It had a very sensual feel to it—smooth and rounded with very erotic lines. Perfect art for the bedroom, he decided, his moody gaze finding hers.

  “I bought it at Lucinda’s downtown,” she said.

  “Lucinda’s always been very supportive of my work.”

  “Have you had a gallery showing yet?”

  “In May,” Linc said, feeling his chest inflate with pride. “I’m working on a collection now.”

  Georgia nodded, seemingly impressed. “My only foray into pottery was a clumpy paperweight I made at summer camp one year.” She paused, a question in her gaze. “So…how does a bounty hunter become interested in pottery?”

  Linc chuckled under his breath. “It’s a bit of a stretch, isn’t it?”

  “It’s different,” she admitted, cocking her head.

  “My mom,” Linc told her, chasing a bead of moisture down the side of his beer bottle with his finger. “She had a wheel out in our barn. She used to go out there in the evenings, throw pots to keep from cracking our heads, I imagine,” he said, chuckling. “After she died, I started playing around with it and discovered that I enjoyed it, as well. The feel of the clay beneath my hands, molding and shaping it into form. It was very therapeutic.” His gaze knotted with hers. “And the rest, as they say, is history.”

  Georgia nodded, then blinked drunkenly, her gaze drifting over his hands. She cleared her throat. “What about the guitar? It looked well-loved.”

  Linc shrugged. “I jam with a few guys down on Beale Street from time to time. Mostly I play for me.”

  She considered him thoughtfully, chewed the corner of her mouth and he had the uncomfortable sensation that she was peeking into his brain, accessing his most private thoughts. “You’re very tactile, aren’t you?”

  “I suppose,” Linc thought, though he’d never really thought about it before. He learned by touch—he could take things apart and put them back together much easier than he could understand an instruction manual. It was a trait that drove his family nuts. Cade, in particular. Linc had always been better at working on that yellow Corvette his brother adored than he had.

  “So tell me about True Blue Bonds,” she finally suggested. “Maybe I can help.”

  He grimaced, leaned back in his chair and passed a hand over his face. “I don’t know what you think you can do.”

  She merely shrugged. “I might surprise you. I’m pretty resourceful.”

  He supposed she’d have to be in her line of work. Fine, he thought. He’d give it a shot. At this point, what did he have to lose? He outlined the problem, then tossed his napkin onto the table and waited while she mulled things over.

  “So if profits are down, then your advertising budget is down with it, right?”

  Directly to the heart of the matter. “Bingo.”

  “It’s simple. You need to align yourself with someone else who is currently advertising. Someone not in the bail-bonds business, otherwise…”

  “Otherwise it defeats the purpose,” he finished. It was an excellent idea, but there was only one fly in the ointment. A droll smile rolled around his lips. “And who is it exactly that’s going to want to split advertising fees with me?”

  “Who do you help?”

  “The local justice system.”

  “Then you should start there.”

  Linc chuckled. “The department of corrections isn’t exactly running a big campaign right now.”

  “No, but your city council members are.”

  “You want me to hook up with a politician?” he asked skeptically. Wouldn’t that do more harm than good? Didn’t people hate politicians? Linc could honestly say that he voted and kept abreast of current politics, but more out of respect for the founding fathers and men and women who’d given their lives for his freedom and his right to vote than out of real interest.

  “Who’s running on a ‘clean up the streets’ platform?”

  Linc mulled it over. There were several who were touting increased pay for civil servants, a larger police force and safer streets, but if he had to choose one as a front-runner on the issues, it would be Cecil Meeks. Furthermore, he was the incumbent. He shared his opinion with her. “That’s who I’d say, anyway.”

  Georgia nodded succinctly. “Then that’s who you need to talk to. From a marketing standpoint, he’d be a fool to refuse. Your company has an excellent reputation. You and your brother are both handsome.” She pulled a shrug. “It’s a win-win situation.”

  “You think I’m handsome?” he asked, secretly pleased and hit with the pressing urge to needle her.

  Georgia blushed. “To the right type of woman, I am sure that you are irresistible.”

  Intrigued, Linc poked his tongue in his cheek and his amused gaze tangled with hers. “The right type of woman, eh? What, precisely, would that type be?” he drawled. Why was he asking this? he wondered. He had no desire whatsoever to be psychoanalyzed by a woman who had a disturbing penchant for being right.

  “Pampers.”

  “As in diapers?” he asked, not following.

  Georgia’s milk chocolate gaze glittered with mirth. “The disposable kind.”

  Lin
c grimaced, shoved a hand through his hair. “Ouch.”

  “Oh, I doubt you’re the one getting hurt,” she said, chuckling knowingly.

  Uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was going, Linc steered the dialogue back to the issue at hand. “So you really think I should try to talk Cecil Meeks into sharing some advertising with us?”

  Georgia’s gaze turned speculative and she finally nodded. “I think you could get him to do it for free,” she said matter-of-factly. “A ringing endorsement from a couple of good-looking hometown heroes would go a long way toward sharpening his image.”

  Though he didn’t relish the idea of aligning himself with a politician, he had to admit her idea was ingenious. Furthermore, he instinctively knew his father would like it. Cade, he imagined, would not, but since Linc had been the unlucky bastard who’d been saddled with the job of turning things around, he’d have no choice but to go along with it or come up with an alternative.

  “Thanks, Georgia,” he finally said. “I think you might be on to something.”

  She smiled, somewhat embarrassed. “You’re welcome.” She let go of a small breath. “So…what’s on schedule for tomorrow?”

  “More of the same, I’m afraid.” He felt a grin tug at his lips. “Not nearly as exciting as Dog, eh?”

  She heaved a dramatic sigh and propped her chin in the palm of her hand. “Well, I was hoping I’d at least get to use my stun gun.”

  A bark of laughter erupted from his throat. “You’re kidding, right?”

  She shot him a smile he found curiously endearing. “Have you forgotten that I bathe naked outside?”

  Linc swallowed as that image materialized all too readily once again in his mind’s eye. He felt his palms itch and a blanket of heat drape his loins. “So I’ve learned.” He shot her an uncertain glance. “So you really have a stun gun?”

  “I really do. My brother thought I needed the protection when I moved into my new house. I didn’t like the idea of having a real gun, so I got the stun gun instead.”