by Nina Bruhns
Her eyes sprang open and she spotted her neighbor, Charlie Watson, waving to her. Backdropped by his huge contemporary home which towered over her miniature craftsman cottage, Charlie stood on the edge of his beloved water lily pond pulling out dead leaves and fussing with the buds and blooms, as he did every morning before leaving for work. For a bachelor, the man was a bit obsessive about his water lilies. Of course, she didn’t blame him. She was the same way about her beloved roses.
“Hi, Charlie.”
“Looks like it’s going to be another hot one,” he called over in a friendly voice.
She looked up at the sky, barely seeing it. She smiled and waved back. “Nice breeze, though.”
Charlie was a good neighbor—always keeping a protective eye out for her. His frequent parties were first class, if somewhat disorderly. And it was fun teasing him about his silly water lilies. He actually thought they were prettier than her roses. As if.
With another wave, she turned back to her car. And frowned. There was a folded piece of paper fluttering under the windshield wiper. She pulled it out, then gave a small gasp as she noticed the time on her wrist watch. She’d barely make it to school before the kids got there at eight-thirty. On top of everything else, she’d be forced to endure one of her boss Lucinda’s lectures on the virtues of punctuality. Just what she needed.
Cramming the paper hastily into her pocket, she slid into the car, adjusted the seat-back straight up, and reversed out of the driveway, praying the stupid road construction wouldn’t delay her.
And praying she wouldn’t see him.
Stop in the Name of Love: Chapter Two
Another fucking day in paradise.
Bridger leaned the seat of his jeans on the treads of a big yellow construction Caterpillar, stuck his grimy stop sign up in the air, and studied a blue SUV as it approached. The corner of his mouth twitched up as the attractive female driver looked everywhere but at him.
Ah, the lovely Miss Flannery. Finally.
He straightened a bit and deliberately flexed the muscles in his sign arm. Oh, yeah. She was peeking. She just didn’t want to admit it. Cute. Most of the women driving by made no secret they were ogling him. He grinned. He felt so objectified.
When Chief Trujillo had told him last week he’d been loaned out to the FBI to serve on the Charlie Watson joint task force, Bridge had protested long and loud. The feebs were so damn stuffy. Rule-followers. They wore suits to work. Then insult was added to injury when his assignment turned out to be this lame undercover stake-out gig in the sleepiest damn ‘burb in the entire San Gabriel Valley, spending eight hours a day playing traffic cop along a dusty road-construction detour in the quaint and trendy Sierra Madre Canyon. Just to keep an eye on bad guy Watson’s house...on the off chance he took his treasonous activities home with him. Which, so far, he hadn’t. Naturally.
Okay, okay. There were a hell of a lot worse ways of spending one’s day than basking in the warm California sunshine with your T-shirt hanging out your back pocket, watching the ladies gawk at your bare chest. And Bridge had done most all of them. Being in Pasadena Police Department’s Special Investigations Section—i.e. the vice squad—pretty much guaranteed there would be blood, drugs, prostitutes, gunplay, or all of the above, as part of your day. And Bridge loved every minute of it.
He was pretty sure the chief had put the feebs up to it. Bridge was on Trujillo’s shit list because although he had made the promotion list three years in a row now, he steadfastly refused to give up his wild and woolly job in SIS to be promoted to lieutenant and land behind a desk. Hells, no. Bridge liked his life exactly as it was. Exciting, never the same, no ties, and no responsibilities beyond himself and the job he loved. Well, and his dad, of course. But Dad was Dad, and quite capable of taking care of himself.
Still, he had to admit the gig had its upsides, FBI or no. Beat the hell out of sweltering in a sardine can on wheels sucking down hot coffee just to stay awake, which is what he normally did on stake-out duty.
Maybe the chief was on to something, after all.
The blue SUV crunched to a halt several yards in front of him and Ms. Flannery made a big show of fussing with something on the seat beside her.
Bridger pushed himself off the big Cat, tucked his sign under his arm and sauntered up to her car. According to her file, she wasn’t much younger than he was, but she came across that way. There were freckles sprinkled on her nose, and yesterday there’d been a little smudge of green paint on her cheek when she came home.
Very cute.
Not that he had any interest in cute. Definitely not his speed.
Even so, a strand of long, reddish-gold hair had fallen out of the ugly bun on the top of her head, and he had to make a conscious effort not to reach over and tuck it back in.
He gave her the once-over, twice. Or maybe tug out a little more.
Draping an arm across the bottom of her open window, he looked in at her and smiled. “Mornin’ ma’am.”
“Oh!” A pair of sunglasses flew from her hand onto the vehicle’s floor.
He pushed his hard-hat up with a forefinger and peered down at the glasses, his gaze lingering for a moment on her fine, shapely legs. Instinctively, his gaze was drawn to the ring finger of her left hand resting nervously on the steering wheel—even though her background check had already told him what he’d find. Nada.
Okay, so maybe she had piqued his interest. Just a little.
He gave her a slow, easy grin. “Sorry to delay you, ma’am. Just have to radio ahead and make sure none of the trucks are heading this way.”
She smiled back uncertainly. “Um. Sure.”
Damn, she was sweet.
Straightening, he folded his arms across the edge of her car roof, deliberately letting her get up-close and personal with his chest. In his imagination, he could see her cheeks flood with rosy color. As they had morning and afternoon for the past three days, every time he spoke with her. Ever since he’d seen her the first time and realized she was Charlie Watson’s neighbor, he’d made sure he stopped her car at the front of the line. So he could begin flirting with her, casually starting up an acquaintance that could serve him well in the stake-out.
He chuckled. He hadn’t thought women actually blushed anymore. Judging by her increasingly flustered reaction to him, his campaign to attract her attention was working.
Stifling a grin, he spoke into his walkie-talkie. “Deke, we got anything coming our way?”
The radio squawked back, “You’re clear, Bridge.”
“Thanks, bro.” He bent back into her window. Yep, her cheeks were red as sweet, ripe strawberries so real he could even smell them. This assignment was definitely growing on him. “Okay, ma’am. You’re all set.”
Stepping back, he spun his sign from STOP to SLOW, and as a parting shot, he gave her a wink.
Her eyes widened and her foot hit the accelerator, sending the SUV forward with a lurch. After the hard-bitten, burnt-out females he normally encountered as a cop, and the fast, glitzy women he usually dated, this woman was like a breath of fresh air.
Yes, ma’am. Fresh, sweet, strawberry-scented air.
Stop in the Name of Love: Chapter Three
Somehow, Mary Alice managed to make it through her day at the Sierra Bonita Parent Co-op Nursery School. It was a quarter to four, and her sixteen three-year-olds had all been picked up. One thing about being a nursery school teacher, the curriculum wasn't all that demanding. If the parents working in her Tweeners class thought she was unusually absentminded today, they hadn't said anything.
Thank God.
How could she possibly explain that she was distracted because her sleep had been plagued the whole night by dreams of a sweaty, half-naked, midnight-haired construction worker doing unspeakable things to her on the hood of her own car? Not to mention fretting over the way he’d flirted with her this morning. As if he’d known about her dreams.
Of course, that was ridiculous. How could he? Aside from which
, he could flirt all he wanted and it wouldn’t do him any good. A man was the very last thing she needed in her life.
“Mary Alice Cathryn! What are you doing?”
She glanced at the container of perfectly good red paint she was pouring down the sink, then up into the face of the Big Kids—four-year-olds—class teacher and best friend, Nancy, and groaned.
“Don't you dare tell the dragon lady.”
Nancy smirked. “Won't have to. Lucinda measures them at night.”
Mary Alice snickered and looked around quickly. “Shh!”
Nancy regarded her, amusement in her eyes. “And what has Miss Frugality so rattled today she's dumping out school supplies?”
Setting her mouth in a line, Mary Alice shook her head. No way was she going to tell Nancy the truth. “Flustered? Uh, no, just thinking. I, um, got a letter from the Pasadena Heritage Rose Society yesterday. They've set my interview for Thursday.”
Well, that much was true, at least.
“Mac, that's terrific! I know how much it means to you, getting into the Society.” Roses were a big deal in Pasadena, and it was a real honor to be a member.
“Well, it's the only way my roses will be officially recognized and registered. I feel I owe that much to old Mrs. Trent. She nurtured them for seventy years before selling that cottage to me last year.”
Her best friend smiled sagaciously. “And I’m sure nearly completing one more item on your five-year Master Plan makes you very happy.”
Mary Alice put the lid on the paint with a snap. It was an old discussion, and she didn't feel like once again debating the merits of setting sensible life goals versus randomly falling in love with any guy who comes along. Especially after a disturbing night of erotic dreams that just might sway her way of thinking.
“Yes. It does feel good to cross another accomplishment off my list,” she affirmed.
“You really are determined to keep your ridiculous timetable on track, aren't you?”
She set her jaw, and placed the paint on a shelf. She knew Nancy wasn’t being critical. They just had much different philosophies on life and love. After Mary Alice’s fiancé Jack's death three years ago, and her father’s murder a month later, she had made a choice to create a fulfilling life for herself without the presence of a man in it.
In the end, loving the men in her life had only brought her heartache. The more she’d loved them, the more pain they’d caused by leaving her behind to grieve.
Nancy didn't agree with her decision to forego love. But then, Nancy was a diehard optimist and an incurable romantic.
Painful experience and profound loss had taught Mary Alice better.
“A promise is a promise,” she said, firmly pushing the melancholy that threatened down to the far corners of her heart. “To myself, as well as Mrs. Trent. I love those heritage roses. And I love having order in my life and accomplishing the goals I've set for myself. What's so bad about that?”
Nancy gave her a sad smile. “Nothing, sweetie. Unless it takes over, and makes you push aside everything else. Such as falling in love, or even just having a little fun once in a while.”
“I have lots of fun,” Mary Alice protested. “With my students, in my garden, with Mom.” She lifted her chin when Nancy rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help a wry smile. “All right, maybe not with Mom. But what about Charlie’s parties? I always go to those.”
Nancy made a face. “Yeah. I suppose you could meet someone there. Though, if his friends are anything like him... God. Those stupid water lilies.”
Mary Alice gave up trying to convince her friend, and noticed for the first time she was wearing a fancy dress. She poked a finger at it. “Speaking of parties, what are you up to today?”
“Picking up Ben for a night on the town. He's going in tomorrow to have that series of tests at the hospital. You know what a baby he is, so I promised him steak and lobster and a dirty movie tonight.” She waggled her eyebrows.
Mary Alice giggled. “You two are unbelievable. I thought you were supposed to lose interest in that sort of thing after six years of marriage.”
“Are you kidding?” Nancy rose and headed for the door. “We're just getting warmed up. You should find yourself a man and try it.” Grinning, she disappeared with a finger wave.
Try what? Being married for six years...or that sort of thing? With a groan, Mary Alice jammed her hands in her pockets.
Feeling something tucked in one, she suddenly remembered the paper from under the windshield wiper that she’d stuck in her pocket that morning. She pulled it out and opened it to find a note handwritten in a quick scrawl.
Ma'am, Since the crew will be working on the street directly in front of your driveway starting tomorrow, please see me this afternoon about where you can park your car overnight so you're not blocked in. Russell Bridger
Great. Just what she needed.
Suddenly, she looked more closely at the name. Surely, it couldn't be him?
What was the name she'd heard over the walkie-talkie? Brad? Brett? Hmm. Not Russell, anyway. Thank God. It had been bad enough making eye contact with him that morning...she didn't think she could stand face to face with the man trying to carry on a normal conversation. Not with her mind flooded with visions of his bronze, callused hands on her body, his warm tongue delving into her mouth, his hard—
Ho-boy.
Grabbing her canvas tote bag, she rushed out the classroom door, barely managing to lock it, and hurried to her car. Her heart galloped and her cheeks burned as she fumbled with the ignition. Lord above, somehow she had to find a way to exorcise those damn dreams from her mind.
Along with the all-too-sexy man who dominated them.
Stop in the Name of Love: Chapter Four
Bridge glanced at his watch. Five minutes to quitting time, and still no Mary Alice Flannery. For three days in a row she had driven up at eight-thirty a.m. sharp leaving for work, and at four p.m. on the dot coming home. But now it was nearly four-thirty. He slapped his stop sign on his thigh and let out an impatient curse. Why today, of all days?
Had he pushed his flirtation too far? Scared her off?
He leaned his butt against a muddy backhoe and slung the sole of his boot onto the running board. Damn.
It had been a lucky break for him—an attractive, single woman living next door to Charlie Watson. At least Bridge had hoped it would be a lucky break. He’d figured he could ask her out on a date or two, use his well-honed charm to schmooze as much information out of her as he could about her rich neighbor. Ask if she'd been to any of Watson’s famous parties.
Inquire if she wanted to go to one of Bridge’s own.
He felt a pleasant tightening below his zipper. Yeah, a wild party just for two.
He blew out a breath. Down, boy. Her file listed her occupation as nursery school teacher. One look at the woman’s hair and clothes said she was the sweet and proper type. He had to remember that when his libido got sidetracked by her cute freckles and long, curvy legs. She wasn't his type. Not by a long shot. He didn’t do sweet, and he certainly didn’t do proper.
He’d made a promise to his late mother on her deathbed, and he’d lived by that promise all his adult life. He’d sworn that as long as he worked as a police officer, he wouldn’t marry some fragile and sensitive woman and send her to an early grave worrying about whether or not he’d come home alive every night. As his mom had, about his dad.
He had no problem keeping that promise. Being a cop in this town was a dangerous profession. Officers died every year. He’d seen growing up what the endless worry had done to his mom’s nerves. No way did he want to be the cause of that.
Besides, avoiding meaningful relationships suited his footloose lifestyle.
He’d break his rule against sweet and innocent, and ask Ms. Nursery School Teacher out a couple of times—but only for the sake of the case.
The construction foreman blew the whistle, and Bridge gave one last irritated look down the road, then headed for
his truck. He tossed his hard-hat on the bench behind the driver's seat. Hadn’t she gotten his note?
Hell. He'd just have to come back and talk to her later.
Stop in the Name of Love: Chapter Five
With a self-satisfied sigh, Mary Alice pulled off her clothes and headed for the shower. Take that, Mr. Sex-on-a-Stick. By coming home an hour later than usual, she'd managed to avoid seeing him for another fifteen hours. Maybe she’d get really lucky and it would be his day off tomorrow.
Hopefully, the respite would allow her to squelch the low thrum of desire that pulsed through her at the mere thought of seeing him...and to tame the crazy impulse to lean out her car window and run her tongue up his tempting bare chest.
Because despite her unruly hormones doing summersaults over the man’s buff body, she was not interested in him. For crying out loud, he held up a stop sign for a living! The sex might be incredible, but what would they talk about afterward? Clearly, the man was a California sun bum with no real ambition in life. Somehow, she couldn’t imagine discussing James Joyce with him...or even Carl Sagan.
She groaned at the foolishness of her body, and turned on the faucets full blast. The first man she'd been attracted to in three years, and this was the one it picked. She stepped under the warm water and picked up the soap.
Though, it could have been worse. Construction worker was an honest profession. And it wasn't a cop. Cop was a deal-breaker. Her father, her favorite uncle, and her fiancé had all been cops—before they were killed. Which was why cops were at the very top of her master list of Men to Avoid. Three dead loved ones were more than enough to last a lifetime.
When she was done with her shower, she pulled a brush through her damp hair and went to her closet. She hesitated, then chose an old, rose-colored satin slip from the thirties that she'd picked up at an antique shop. It could pass for a summer sundress today, and felt deliciously cool and comfortable over her bare skin with its simple lines and slippery fabric. The perfect antidote to not having air conditioning.