by Vanessa Hart
"Thanks again, Gray." Leslie gave him a rueful smile. "Sorry I screamed."
"No problem."
He backed out the door then down the step. If he stood there ogling Leslie Turner one more minute, he'd be the one in hot water.
Maybe he needed to be the one in the cold shower.
* * * *
Leslie stuffed clean clothes, soap, shampoo and a bath towel into Kat's canvas tote, then headed for the bathhouse. This was familiar territory. Although she had never gone camping on her own, she had enjoyed summer camp as a kid, with tent cabins, communal showers, and roasted hot dogs. She smiled at a girlhood memory of swimming after dark. Floating on her back in the lake, she had drifted as one with the universe, savoring the hushed sounds of nature, gazing at thousands of stars.
Hoping to recapture that long-ago feeling of serenity, she had agreed to Kat's suggestion of the camping trip. Maybe the two of them were inept at handling an RV, but they would learn. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, resolving to make the most of her vacation. She could float in the lake again and commune with nature, and keep disturbing memories of Josh and his defection at bay.
Her rubber flip-flops failed to cushion the sharp gravel. By the time she limped to the Comfort Station, she was more than ready for a shower. One look at the spiders dropping from luminescent webs halted her. Crickets serenaded a lone frog that hopped along the cement floor. Mustiness blended with an unpleasant outhouse odor. Doubtful that anyone had used the women's showers in a month, Leslie took short, careful steps toward the first stall.
Locating the faucet, she turned on the water then jumped out of the way. It took a minute to find a reasonably clean hook on which to hang her towel and tote. By the time she'd undressed, the steaming spray had cleared the stall of cobwebs and debris. Darting into the shower, she didn't even bother pulling the mildewed curtain. No telling what organisms lurked within its folds.
After a speedy shower, Leslie dressed in clean clothes, wrapped her hair in her towel, turban-style, then hurried outside. She inhaled a deep breath to clear her nostrils. The sodden flip-flops squished beneath her feet, still no comfort against the sharp-edged rocks.
"Could you use a ride?" Gray Webster rolled his all-terrain bicycle in front of the bathhouse.
"That's okay. It's not that far."
"Hop on the back." He lifted her tote from her fingers, then slipped it over his handle bars. "I noticed you were limping when you walked up here."
Struck with the crazy notion he had deliberately ridden past to offer her a ride, she accepted. Straddling the luggage carrier over the rear tire, she gripped the edge of his bicycle seat.
"It's okay to hang on to my waist."
Uh un. No way.
But when he pushed off, she had no choice. If she didn't want to tumble into the gravel, she had to wrap her arms around his body and hold on. The ride lasted less than a minute, but long enough for her to touch his tight muscles, inhale the scent of fresh laundry and bug repellent, feel the warmth of lean male flesh beneath the cotton shirt.
"Thanks for the lift," she murmured, jumping from the bicycle.
He slid the tote from the handlebars. "Don't forget this."
"Thanks." She spun toward him, snatched the tote, then scurried past Kat.
Kat followed her inside the motorhome, abandoning the paperback in the lounge chair. Meeting her gaze, Kat lifted one eyebrow. "What's the rush?"
"No rush." She forced a shrug. "I just need to comb out my hair before it tangles."
"Well, that explains it."
"Explains what?"
"Why you're blushing."
Betrayed by her disobedient skin, Leslie clamped her mouth shut. Better to say nothing than to admit she'd been hugging Gray Webster's back--and enjoying every second.
* * * *
The cellular telephone chirped, startling Gray from his reading. He had one chapter left in the latest P.G. Turner mystery. He considered ignoring it, then remembered he had forgotten to call Myra. He swooped up the phone, punched the Call button, then answered.
"Gray? Are you settled in at the campground, sugar?"
"Sure am. I was going to call you but..."
"Don't tell me. You're at the most exciting part of one of your books." A deep sigh. "Guess I'd better get used to that."
He chuckled. "I'll save my reading for when you work the evening shift."
"Diedre asked me to work half of her evening shift tonight so she could go to some recital her kid was in. I refused, of course. I mean, with only two weeks to go, I have too much to do. And to top it all off, Shirley's doctor won't let her come to the wedding. She's confined to bed."
"Shirley can't miss the wedding, honey. It'll break her heart to be left out." Shirley had been his mother's roommate during her last weeks at the convalescent home. "Why don't we move the wedding to the chapel there? I'll bet her doctor would allow her a wheel chair trip down the hall."
"What?" she shrieked. "Oh, Gray, that is a sweet thought. Don't get me wrong. But how am I supposed to notify everyone with only two weeks to go? Plus I've already paid deposits."
"Uh, Myra? Didn't we agree on a small, simple wedding?"
"It is a small wedding. But simple? Believe me, it's as hard to plan a wedding and reception for a dozen people as it is for two hundred. And Mother and Daddy are willing to pay for certain extras, but I have to make all the arrangements."
He hesitated to ask the exact nature of these "certain extras." Fortunately, Myra forged ahead.
"It's just as well you took the week off, Gray, since I'm so-o-o swamped. But I hate that we can't be together for your birthday."
"We'll celebrate Friday night when I get home. Okay?"
"You bet, sugar!"
"I'll call you tomorrow."
"Love you. Bye."
"Me, too."
He switched off the cell phone. Why had he hesitated to use the L word? And why, when he tried to conjure up Myra's perky eyes and sexy smile, did he superimpose a dark-haired, dimpled face? These pre-wedding jitters plagued him more than he'd expected. Even the heroine in the mystery he read reminded him of Leslie. She cursed the same way, repeating one favorite and distinctive phrase, the one Leslie had blurted out twice today--hell fire shit.
Even if he wasn't in love with Myra and ready to marry her, he doubted he'd get to first base with Leslie. She had bolted from the bicycle tonight as if he'd had measles. He picked up the paperback to resume reading--anything to distract himself from the persistent memory of Leslie's arms wrapped around him, of her breath warming the skin at his neck, of her clean scent.
A light rapping at his door interrupted his reading before he could find his place. He leaned toward the window to see who had come calling. Leslie paced beside his camper, wringing her hands, frowning. A burst of pleasure jolted through him.
He pushed open the door. "Leslie?"
"Oh, hi. Um, I'm sorry to disturb you." She fidgeted with her hair, still damp from her shower.
"You aren't bothering me." Liar. She's had you bothered all afternoon. Where had that outrageous thought come from?
"You said if we had any trouble...?"
"What's wrong?" He stepped outside.
"I'm not really sure you can help us. But we're about to eat dinner and there's this horrible odor inside the motorhome. Not exactly appetizing, if you know what I mean."
"Let's have a look." He followed her to site thirteen. "You're hooked up to the sewer, right?"
"Yes. Rob explained about the seal and how important it is to secure the hose to the connection. Could we have done it wrong?"
"Let's have a look inside first."
"All right."
Even before she opened the door, the sewage odor attacked his sinuses. Worse than some portable toilets he'd used, he battled his gag reflex. "Whew! That's sewer odor all right. Do you have your black water drain valve opened?"
Leslie frowned again. "Black water. That's the sewage, right? And gray
water is the shower and sink?"
"Correct. It's usually okay to leave the gray water tank open to drain, but keep the black water closed."
She slumped against the door. "I didn't know which was which, so I opened both."
"Let me grab a flash light and I'll be right back."
After he'd returned from his campsite, he led Leslie around to the driver's side of the motorhome. She stooped beside him at the sewer connections while he pointed out the correct handles for emptying each tank. He tried to ignore the clean scent of baby powder, the erotic fragrance of dampened hair.
Erotic? Ooh, boy. He was losing it.
"Thank you again for coming to our rescue."
"I'm glad to help. I'd hate to think about you two trying to sleep with that smell all night. To be on the safe side, you may want to leave both tanks closed until they need to be emptied."
She nodded, then closed the second valve. He walked with her to the door, resisting the urge to place his hand at the small of her back. Good grief. Normally he didn't have difficulty keeping his hands off women. He tightened his grip on the flashlight.
"Do you have holding tank deodorizer to add to the tank?"
"Yes. Rob explained about using that."
Kat pressed her face against the screen in the adjacent window. "Still stinks in here."
"It will for a while. Turn on your exhaust fan. That should help."
Kat screwed her face into a frown. "Exhaust fan? Is that the thingamabob in the ceiling?"
He needed to escape the clueless camping sisters. No, not sisters. Just one tempting, beguiling sister. Instead of fleeing to his motorhome, he said, "I'll show you," and climbed aboard.
Leslie crowded behind him. In spite of the sewage odor, all he could focus on was her clean, feminine scent.
"Is this the exhaust fan?" she asked.
"Yes. First you crank open the cover, then set the thermostat. Then push this toggle switch to 'on.'" He demonstrated each step.
"Thank you, again." Her wide smile brought back the adorable dimple beside her mouth.
"Don't forget to add the tank deodorizer."
"I'll do it." Kat jumped from the dinette bench.
An awkward silence followed. To avoid meeting Leslie's doe-eyed gaze, he took in the features of the mini-motorhome. Not much larger than a van, it had small kitchen appliances crammed around the sink cabinet, opposite the corner bathroom. A narrow aisle separated the dinette from the sofa. A bunk bed filled the space above the cab.
Kat emerged from the bathroom. "That may be the first thing I've handled right on this rig."
He smiled. "Camping takes practice."
As he turned to leave, Leslie touched his sleeve. "Say, have you eaten supper?"
"No. I'll probably nuke a dog."
"We have a hamburger casserole in the oven. There's plenty for three."
"It's the least we can do after all you've done for us," Kat added.
"Okay. If it's all the same, let's take the casserole over to my place where there's not so much..."
"Fragrance?" The dimple deepened.
So Leslie had a sense of humor, too. Killer package. He needed to have his head examined for inviting her into his camper.
"Good idea." Kat wrinkled her nose. "Let me grab our paper plates and Solo cups and we'll be right over."
As he backed away, he caught sight of the periodicals strewn across the dinette table. Gruesome headlines glared back at him from true detective and crime magazines. There was even a militia tabloid. Since he noted the romance novel still in Kat's grip, he doubted the magazines were hers. What kind of reading was Leslie into?
Worse, what was he getting into? As Kat gathered utensils and Leslie grabbed the casserole dish with two oven mitts, the two women practically beamed with pleasure. Realization sank in. They were invading his camper, to stay who knew how long. At his invitation. So much for finding out what happens next in the mystery he'd been reading.
"Follow the flashlight. It's dark out here." He led them the short distance to his motorhome.
"Boy, howdy!" Kat agreed. "It's never allowed to be this dark in the city."
After ushering Kat and Leslie inside, he quickly cleared the dinette table. Within minutes the two sisters sat across from him sharing the casserole and drinking sodas.
"This is better than a hotdog, ladies. Thanks for inviting me."
Leslie chewed, then swallowed. "Thank you for the Cokes."
"Leslie's a wonderful cook." Kat's words of praise earned a glower from her sister. "Well, it's true."
Sensing Leslie's embarrassment, Gray changed the subject. "Are you the one reading the true crime and detective rags?"
She nodded. "They give me ideas."
Whoa! He wasn't going to touch that one. Regardless of her charm and beauty, Leslie was one weird woman. Lucky for him he was engaged to a normal, caring woman like...
Perspiration broke out over his forehead and upper lip. He searched his mind. Of course he remembered her name. It was... Myra. Right.
"Are you okay, Gray?" Leslie asked. Both women frowned at him.
"Fine."
"You sure?" Kat added. "I have some antacids if you need them."
"No, I'm fine. Really."
Antacids couldn't help him with his pre-wedding nerves. For what else could be wrong with him? He certainly wasn't having second thoughts about marrying the perfect woman, the one his mother had so warmly endorsed. He wasn't attracted to Leslie, with her strange reading interests and adorable dimple.
Inviting her and her sister to dinner had been unwise. He had to keep his head on straight, as his mom used to say. Remember his priorities. Starting tomorrow he would keep his distance from the ladies in site thirteen. He was supposed to be relaxing and enjoying his vacation, not stressed out by inappropriate and confusing thoughts.
Fishing. That's what he came for and that's what he'd do for the next six days.
"Forgive me for offering Gray antacids right after bragging on your cooking?" Kat asked her sister.
Leslie laughed, exposing the killer dimple. "Sure."
Leslie's eyes danced in pleasure when she met his gaze. Gray should have looked away, not held the eye contact. He should have frowned, not returned her bright smile. He should have taken the cold shower.
It was going to be a long week.
* * * *
Myra went down on her knees and fumbled with Gray's zipper. "I have a surprise for you, sugar."
Gray closed his eyes as cool air brushed his aroused penis. Oh, yes. Oh, yes, baby. This is a great surprise.
Her delicate fingers stroked his hardened flesh, then slid to cup his balls. She gave them a slow massage while covering his penis with her mouth. Oh yes! Warm and wet, her tongue and lips caressed him, bringing him closer and closer to release. She'd never, ever gone down on him before, not like this.
He reached for her, longing to thread his fingers through her fine blond hair. Would she let him come in her mouth? Wait! What the hell? Had Myra dyed her hair? His hands stroked the short auburn tendrils. She gazed up at him with her brown doe eyes but never stopped sucking. No, not Myra. Those luscious lips ... belonged to Leslie! Leslie's mouth sucked and licked, driving him mad with pleasure. Such pleasure! God help him, he was going to come...
Gray trembled as he awakened, his body drenched in a cold sweat. His rigid penis throbbed. Although most dreams evaporated immediately upon awakening, memory of this dream lingered. He elected not to analyze why his Myra had morphed into the sexy camper next door. He needed that cold shower, now more than ever.
Ooh, boy.
Chapter Three
Leslie bent over the notebook on the small table, scribbling a plot outline. She had eliminated six very murderous scenarios as too predictable and overused. In the past her stories had invented themselves, leaping from headlines to form fantastic "what if" plots. Maybe headlines would help her now. She picked up one of her true crime magazines to scan.
Kat's gr
aceful body stretched the length of the sofa opposite the dinette. Absorbed in her reading, she hadn't spoken since breakfast, which for Kat meant dry toast and coffee. Finally, she glanced up from her book.
"You aren't supposed to be working. This is a vacation. Remember?"
"I'll relax when I know what my story is."
Kat sat up, then peered through the window. "Fog's lifted. Looks like it's going to be a nice day."
"Great. I'll move to the picnic table. I don't intend to spend my camping trip in the great indoors." She stuck her pen over her ear, then gathered up the magazines and a spiral notebook.
"Aren't you going to explore the lake?"
"I want to. Are you up to a hike?"
Kat snorted. "As if. I think I'll stretch out in Rob's lounge chair and relax."
"If you relax anymore, you'll be asleep."
"Not a bad idea." Kat held up a halting hand. "Don't give me the exercise lecture, either. You were always the tomboy. I accept that. So accept me as the couch potato."
Leslie shrugged. "No lecture. Just remember it's your day to cook."
Leslie stepped outside, then secured the exterior door to the side of the motorhome, closing only the screen door. After drying the plastic tablecloth with paper towels, she spread out her magazines--true crime and detective rags, as Gray had called them--then scanned the headlines. One caught her eye as particularly sad. An unbalanced man had murdered his former girlfriend on her wedding day as she was leaving for the church.
Mulling over the story, she thought a good gothic romance could involve a failed attempt on the bride-to-be's life, complicated by growing suspicions about her fiancé. The old boyfriend could be the killer, or a red herring. Maybe the fiancé was the real killer. The heroine could fall madly and impulsively in love with the investigating officer, then cancel her engagement hours before the wedding.
She ripped out the page of notes, then crumpled it. Canceled weddings struck too close to home. She skimmed other headlines, waiting for inspiration to strike. Her book contract required her to write another Sunny Madison mystery, so she vetoed the idea of marrying Sunny off. She hoped to write her way into another multi-book series contract.