She glared. He raised his head and grinned. She shot him her most lethal glance. Lazy. Inconsiderate. Rude.
Turning away, she crouched beside the RV. Footsteps padded slowly toward her. She bent her head in pretended concentration.
Bare, strong feet stilled at her side. Tanned, dusty feet she could picture kicking a horse into motion on woodland trails. Following the light tracing of hair on muscled calves upward, her heart beat faster, imagining them gripped tightly against the horse's flanks. A crescent-shaped scar on one bronzed knee, a scab on the other, gripped her attention momentarily. The ragged edge of cut-off jeans halted the ascent of her gaze.
"Trouble?” Her neighbor's voice was laced with laughter.
Cheeks burning, she stuck her head under the RV. “Trouble” was standing next to her, making her imagination run rampant. “I'm trying to see if the ... you-know ... is still intact."
His laughter erupted, sexy as hell. “Believe me,” he gulped between guffaws, “the you-know is still there."
"I was talking about the tailpipe.” She jerked her head angrily, and her hair caught on a strip of chrome. She tried to yank it free. Since she'd had it streaked, the shoulder-length mass seemed even thicker, with a will of its own.
"Do you make a habit of getting hung up?"
The least he could do was stop poking fun. Cee pulled harder, and her eyes smarted. She cursed under her breath.
"You're making it worse.” He crouched beside her, his knee grazing her thigh. She smothered a gasp. “Let me.” His voice was gentle as he wove his fingers into her hair. He wore one of those black undershirt type things with armholes so big and open, they exposed his chest to the waist. Maybe farther. Her peripheral vision went into overdrive. A soft brown mat of curls narrowed as it worked its way downward. The top snap of his jeans lay open, exposing only a dark shadow. He smelled woodsy and male.
"You can stand up now."
Cee rose slowly with as much dignity as she could muster. He'd freed her hair and captured her imagination. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the hair curling over the edge of the black tank top. “Thank you,” she said primly.
Her emancipator roared with laughter.
She tossed her head. “What's so funny?"
He took his time finishing the laugh. Time that allowed her to drink in the sight of him. Brown hair bleached by the summer sun to the color of driftwood fell to the nape of his neck where it curled loosely. He'd slicked rambunctious waves on the top and sides straight back. The tip of his nose showed pink beneath a flaking sunburn. Unbelievably handsome in an unconventional way, he was irritating as hell. His eyes caught hers in an intimate glance. She took a step backward. “If you'll excuse me ... I'll call Triple A."
"I could move the railroad tie for you."
She tapped a fingernail to her teeth again. She had nothing to prove concerning strength. It was freedom she sought, and the damned tie was holding her up. Besides, it would take hours for help to get there.
"If you're uneasy about accepting help from strangers ... I'm Nick.” He took her hand.
"Celeste.” Accepting help from a sexy man she'd just met would be a daring move toward freedom of spirit. She waved him toward the tie. “If you don't mind."
"Celeste.” Nick repeated her name softly, like a caress.
"Celeste Joy H—"
"Joy. And you ended up in the Joy section. Next to me.” He disappeared inside his rust-besmirched trailer, and she stared after him. He immediately returned with two beers, handing one to her. “Maybe it's destiny, C.J."
No one had ever called her C.J. before, but she liked it, coming from him. She smiled. “I'll bet you made A in Drama Class."
The can was cold, and she held it to her forehead for a moment before popping the top. The day had grown steadily hotter, and perspiration formed a trickling path between her breasts.
Nick waved his hand toward the picnic table that separated their lots. “That's ours to share. Have a seat."
She perched on the table, her feet on a bench, and sipped her beer. The icy brew felt good sliding down her parched throat. As he climbed into the mud-spattered Explorer in front of his trailer and fired it up, she thought about sharing the table. Sitting close together ... or across from one another. Taking turns using the table was what he probably meant.
His four-wheel-drive had a winch, and climbing out again, he set to work, hooking it to the railroad tie. Nick worked easily, but with the hot sun bearing down, sweat dripped off his face onto his thighs as he crouched. His muscles, rippling in the sunlight, glistened wetly. His jean shorts clung damply to his tantalizing backside.
She stretched her legs toward the sun. They were one of her better features, and Marianne had urged her to play them up. Cee tugged a strand of hair into the sunlight where she could see its golden tone. She'd wanted her hair highlighted for years. Harry hated blondes.
She'd bet Nick didn't.
Climbing in his Explorer once again, he edged it forward. The tires gripped the ground as he pulled the railroad tie out the side, from beneath her RV. He looked out the window and cocked a brow. She gave him thumbs up.
Moments later, he stood in front of her, pulling up the hem of his shirt to wipe his face. Beads of sweat caught in the hairs of his chest glistened like raindrops in a spider web. He lowered the garment to find her watching. “Good enough?"
A blush rose along her neck to her cheeks.
Grinning insolently, he gestured toward the railroad tie he'd extracted from beneath the trailer.
"Terrific.” Her voice sounded husky, and she cleared her throat.
He sat next to her on the picnic table and tilted his beer can to his mouth. She watched in fascination as the muscles in his neck worked. Darting out his tongue, he licked his lips. He was lithe and muscular, sinuous and sensual. “Is this your first time at New Beginnings?” he asked.
She nodded and smiled.
"What?"
"The name. And its significance."
"Ah,” Nick said, nodding. “You too, huh?"
They sat quietly, not looking at one another, but she felt a curious communion of spirits. A bee buzzed around the can he'd set down beside him. Somewhere in the woods behind them, a dry twig cracked. “Have you been here long?"
He nodded. “You picked a good time to come. April was cool, and the first half of May was rainy. My trailer leaks. I did a drought dance to bring on this dry spell."
He'd been there all spring? She pictured him in a breechcloth dancing around a campfire. “Can't you fix the leaks?"
Leaning back on his elbows, he shrugged. “The trailer's borrowed, and my cousin's planning to retire it when I'm through."
Cee drank the last swallow of her beer. Warm now, it tasted musty. She frowned.
"What do you usually drink?"
She turned sharply. He was very perceptive.
"White wine, I'll bet."
"Zinfandel. Liebfraumilch. Am I so transparent?"
Nick shrugged lazily. “You're a classy woman. Italian leather sandals. Gold ankle bracelet.” His gaze lingered on her ankles, and she squirmed. He lifted her heavy hair and tucked it behind her ear. “Diamond studs in your ears. Just as I expected.” He shrugged. “I'll bet you'd have taken me for a beer drinker right off."
"Cutoffs. Undershirt. Bare feet. I might have.” She gave him a long, slow smile and was pleased to see his composure crack a little. Excitement fluttered through her as she realized she was flirting.
Turning toward the woods, he let his eyes drift closed. His lashes were darker than his hair. Long, thick, with a gentle upward sweep, they lay against the high plane of his cheek. He was beautiful.
Nick crushed his beer can and tossed it over his shoulder at a trashcan. It hit, and she wondered if he'd played basketball in college. Or dropped out of school to hang out at bars, playing pool and smashing beer cans on his head.
Turning to prop his head on one elbow, he looked up into her eyes. She swallowed hard but
didn't turn away. He loosened the hair he'd tucked behind her ear and let it fall through his fingers to her shoulder. “How long are we going to be neighbors, C.J.?"
"I rented the RV for a week. How long do you plan to stay?"
"As long as it takes.” He toyed with her hair.
"What?” She touched her throat nervously.
"A new beginning.” He took her hand from her neck to hold in his. He rubbed her fingers, pale against his deeply tanned ones. His fingers created a warmth as he stroked. She watched the gentle movement, mesmerized. “No one can make a fresh start in a week,” he said huskily.
"I'm going to try."
"If you need me, I'm here for you."
He slid off the table and offered her a hand. Need him? She wanted him. She'd never felt so attracted to a man, but he was an outrageous flirt, and dangerous. She clambered down quickly, unassisted. “I can manage on my own."
He grinned as he tucked her hair behind her ear again. “Maybe I'll be the one to holler ‘help’ next time."
"I didn't holler. You offered."
"Either way, you owe me."
Nick's laughter followed as she scrambled into the RV and out of sight of his ocean blue eyes.
* * * *
IF NICK CALLED for help, Cee didn't dare think what he might want. He breathed sex. Raw, exciting, pulse-pounding sex.
She unpacked frantically, trying to keep pace with her racing thoughts and desires. First, her clothes, although they didn't seem like her clothes. She'd bought sportswear in vivid colors and lacy underwear, all purple. Where was the go-get-'em-girl nightie Marianne gave her as a birthday gift? With the mobile's rear end nestled in the trees, it was hard to see. But her knees were too weak from the memory of Nick's taunting smile and taut body to pull the RV forward. In her condition, she might careen through his lot, knocking him out of his hammock over the edge of the hill. Hurled from the driver's seat against his hard body, she'd go over with him. As they plunged into the lake together, she'd wind her arms around him. He'd tangle his legs with hers. Enmeshed in one another's touch, they'd forget everything else and drown.
She snapped on a light. The motor home was on battery power. She needed to see to utility hookups but didn't know where or how. She couldn't ask Nick. Wouldn't.
She dumped the last shopping bag onto the bed, and the tiny nightie spilled out, all feathers and lace. Holding it in front of her, she looked into the bureau mirror. Her cheeks flushed at the sight of a wanton woman. Or was it wanting?
Cee pressed her shirt to her body, blotting the perspiration that had begun to form between her breasts. She couldn't remember ever being so turned on by a man, and it wasn't a good thing now. Not with a guy like Nick. She wanted to change her life, but was she ready to throw it into chaos?
Shoving the obscene gown in a drawer, under the familiar flannel robe Marianne had forbidden her to bring, Cee opened the windows to the breeze. Standing to one side, she peeked out the window over the kitchen table. Nick's hammock hung loosely. His undershirt lay on their picnic table. Was he marking the table his for the evening meal? A distant aroma of meat barbecuing drifted through the open window, making her stomach growl. She washed the spilled fruit and ate some grapes while putting her books back on the shelf. That done, she began arranging spices she'd brought in a rack over the stove. “Basil. Cumin. Garlic."
"Do you always do things alphabetically?"
Cee whirled and saw Nick's face pressed against the screen door.
"You were naming your spices aloud, and I overheard,” he said, grinning. “It's anal-retentive, you know."
She stalked to the door, hands on hips. “It's practical."
"And predictable."
Practical and predictable, and she'd come to break out of such a mold. Sighing, Cee leaned against the cabinet next to the door. He was as exasperating as he was appealing. “Why are you here?"
He stuck out a liquid measuring cup. “To borrow wine, if you have some to spare."
"Changing your drink of choice?"
"It's hard to see you through the screen. May I come in?"
Opening the door, she waved him inside. He wore a soft blue chambray shirt, unbuttoned. She kept her gaze on his chin. “Why do you need to see me?"
"I don't like talking to people I can't see. I hate answering machines and those automated voice things."
She hated them, too, and couldn't resist smiling. “Push one if you want to complain. Push two if you need help. Push three if you want to complain about waiting so long for help."
Nick's laughter rumbled through the living area as he plopped down in the RV's only armchair.
She folded her arms. “Make yourself at home, why don't you?"
"Nice place. Big compared to mine.” He propped his feet up on the needlepoint footstool. Her creation, she'd brought it along as a touch of home. She eyed his dusty feet pointedly, and he took them down. “I want the wine for a marinade."
She surveyed him with interest. “You cook?"
"I'm a bachelor. No choice."
She rose to open a bottle of cooking wine and filled his cup. With looks like his, Nick must have spent his life fighting off women. “You've never been married?"
"Nope.” Wine sounded like something you'd use in a gourmet dish. He looked like an outdoorsman. She could see him cutting tree branches for a campfire. Skinning rabbits—she shuddered at the thought—for dinner. Roasting them over an open fire. She couldn't imagine him at a kitchen range.
He didn't move, or elaborate. Tired of carrying on a one-sided conversation, she began rearranging her spices. Thyme. Rosemary. Oregano.
"You're doing it again."
"What?” She'd been careful not to name them aloud.
"Arranging them in alphabetical order."
"Backwards.” Cee laughed. “Habits are hard to break."
"I can change you.” He winked and widened his grin. “Give me half a chance, and I can turn your life around."
He could spin it out of control; she had no doubt. She sat down opposite him again. He was a piece of work. “I'm just curious, but how?"
"For starters, I barbecue ribs that melt in your mouth."
So, he was planning to cook outside. That fit. “How will that turn my life around?"
"You don't eat red meat."
She raised a brow. “You're good."
"And you're in an overly-conscientious rut."
They'd just met, and he'd figured her out completely. But everyone knew healthy eating was important. Narrowing her eyes, she studied him. Rippling muscles. Lean in all the right places, he looked healthy. “Don't you watch what you eat?"
"Halfway to my mouth."
He was full of mischief and fun. She used to be that way before her father decided to make a lady of her, and Harry tried to make her into a doormat. “How did you become such a free spirit, Nick?"
"Years of practice.” He stood slowly, keeping his eye on his cup of wine. “As soon as I marinate the meat, I could pull the RV forward and take care of your hookups."
"You're a jack of all trades.” She leaned against the end of the kitchen cabinet as he opened the screen door.
"Handy to have around, in other words."
Cee was all too aware of the way his eyes slid slowly from her gold-streaked hair to her Ripe Cherry-painted toenails. “I don't need anyone—"
"You can agree without feeling beholden.” He ducked his head humbly.
Beholden? What sort of books did he read? More importantly, what sort of payback would he expect?
"A tossed salad would be fine."
He was amazing. “Do you always read minds?"
"Nope. You're the exception.” He brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, and she shivered.
"I'm not sure I want to be."
"Afraid for me to know what you're thinking?"
His lake blue eyes sparkled. Reminded of her earlier daydream, she recalled the sensation of drowning. All that was missing was the entanglement
of their bodies. She stepped back.
"Do you believe in karma?” he asked, taking her hand.
"Karma?" She pulled away to blot perspiration from her upper lip. “Is that like ESP?"
He rubbed his thumb across her lip and she read his mind: Made you sweat. “It's more like souls touching."
Minds were as close as Cee wanted. If she didn't get away from his tantalizing presence soon, she might be tempted to throw her body against his. “I'll pull the RV forward myself."
"I'll tend to the hookups as a neighborly gesture.” He opened the screen door and turned around. “Six o'clock dinner at our picnic table?"
"Fine.” Her voice broke, though she didn't know whether it was from fear or excitement. Smiling brightly, she lifted her chin. “I'll bring the salad, and wine to drink unless you prefer beer."
"You drank beer this afternoon. I'll drink wine tonight and...” He brushed her lips with his thumb again. “Who knows? We might both turn our lives around."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Two
NICK WANTED TO know Celeste Joy ... whoever ... better. He'd deliberately cut her off before she could say her last name. “Celeste” reminded him of celestial and “Joy” of exuberance, an appealing portrait of a woman. The pink romance book said characters’ names should fit their personalities. “Isadora” spoke of mystery, although he'd wanted her to mystify the book's hero, not him. She didn't have a last name yet, because he couldn't get a handle on her dominant trait. His new neighbor's was obviously “control,” but he hoped to change that. She wouldn't have any fun camping unless she let go.
He stepped onto the small porch of his trailer. Careful not to spill his wine, he looked over his shoulder and caught her watching out the window. He waved, she dropped out of view, and he laughed. Her control was slipping, and the attraction between them was hot enough to light a match. But karma? That thought had popped into his mind and out of his mouth, surprising him.
Maybe he shouldn't have mentioned it.
His trailer seemed even smaller inside after hers, and stuffier. He could turn on the tiny air conditioner but the catch on the trailer door was rusted, so he never shut it. The screen kept out flies and admitted summer sounds and breezes. Wondering if anyone ever marinated ribs in wine, he poured his cup in a shallow pan. He dumped in a can of beer, his usual marinade of choice. Added catsup, vinegar, brown sugar ... and some spices he stored in haphazard order.
Finding Mr. Romantic Page 2