Cee alphabetized her spices. Followed healthy eating guidelines. Bought books off the bestseller list. But she'd come to New Beginnings, alone, looking for a fresh start in life. “She's different,” he told the “mop woman” in the corner. His neighbor was complex like Isadora. “But,” he said, wagging his finger, “I'll figure you both out."
Nick opened another can of beer and took a slug. Had he really stopped her from saying her last name because it might not suit her? Or because he didn't want to know her too well? It was a good thing she hadn't asked for “step two” of his plan to turn her life around, because he didn't have one. Like the karma thing, his offer just popped out.
He washed two large potatoes, dried their rough skins, and sprayed them with cooking oil. C.J. was extremely attractive. Classy, she tried to appear cool, but he sensed fun below the surface. He sprinkled the spuds with coarse salt, wrapped them in foil, and speared them on a nail-like contraption to set on the grill. Fun and beauty were an irresistible combination, but he had to watch himself. He didn't have time for another woman; Isadora was enough to handle.
He opened Dell's junk closet to look for barbecue tongs. The mess fell out again.
Nick got a trash bag out from under the sink and tried to cram it all in. It wouldn't fit, so he pulled loose a piece at a time. A faded Daffy Duck tee shirt. Flannel boxers. A spiral notebook labeled “Abnormal Psych.” A woman's lacy black slip pinned to a padded satin hanger. And just when I'd begun to think Sabrina was boring. He held his latest find up against the mop. Sexy.
Chuckling, he dug a roll of masking tape out of a drawer and set to work. In the pink-paged manual, authors confessed to pinning magazine pictures of models and movie stars who resembled their heroes and heroines over their computers. A mannequin ought to work even better. The satin hanger became the mop lady's creamy shoulders, the slip suspended from the hanger, a risqué gown. “Isadora, baby,” Nick said when he finished. “You are here to help."
Nick sat down at his computer keyboard, poised his fingers, and questioned his newly created siren. “Why won't you make love?"
Isadora—eyes hidden by the mask and mouth by the filmy veil—remained silent.
If he was writing a mystery, he'd wring her neck. For the sake of romance, he pressed her. “You love John. He's handsome, and he's mad for you. Why?"
All Nick heard was an engine revving outside.
He should keep Sabrina's notes on Abnormal Psych and trash the mop lady, but he had to understand women soon, and she was his only hope. The engine revved louder, and he looked out the window to see C.J. pulling the RV closer to the road.
Maybe he wouldn't have to depend on a mop.
* * * *
FOR A WOMAN WHO didn't eat red meat, C.J. had done a number on a half rack of ribs. He'd called her a classy lady but she looked like a natural beauty when she relaxed. Nick grinned as she sucked barbecue sauce from her fingertips. “I could do that for you."
He took her other hand in his and raised it to his mouth. She snatched it away and pursed her lips. They were full and soft, particularly her bottom one. Very kissable. He lightly traced the tiny sprinkling of freckles, barely visible, that marched across her nose and then that wonderful lower lip. He'd bet it still tasted sweet and spicy.
She ducked her head and concentrated on wiping her hands on the napkin he'd provided. The paper stuck to her fingers. She picked at it.
"Want to rinse your hands in the lake?” Nick asked.
She glanced at her RV, six feet behind her. The lake was sixty feet, down over the hill. “It would make more sense to wash them inside."
"Sensible?” he teased. She rose, and he caught her wrist.
"It's a beautiful night for a walk.” He gazed up at the night sky, and she followed his gaze. A bazillion stars twinkled like fireflies in an onyx sea. A half moon hung over the lake below, lighting the barely rippling waters. “Serene and surreal."
"You sound like a poet.” Surprise lighted her eyes as she appraised him. “But you're so ... macho."
Nick wanted to argue that macho men could write poetically. But he hadn't had any luck writing romantically, and the two seemed to have something in common. “Want to race mucho macho man to the lake?” He assumed a runner's squat.
She gave him an amused glance, rose slowly, and stretched. Slim, she had small breasts that were perfect for her lithe form. Her hips rounded just enough to be womanly. If he were a sculptor, he would mold C.J. in clay.
She shook her head. “I'd rather walk, thanks."
Their steps matched on the soft earth path. She had a long, easy stride. Crickets chirped. Underbrush crackled beneath the feet of some small animal in the woods. The beat of a rising hawk's wings startled her, and she stopped. He took her hand. She began to move again, her hand small and warm in his. He caught her scent on the breeze.
At the lake's edge, they washed their fingers in the cool water. He wiped his on his cutoffs. She waved hers in the air. “Want to walk along the lake, or sit?” he asked.
"After a six-hour drive and my RV catastrophe, I'm tired.” She looked up at him to smile. “But I should walk, after all I ate."
"Mañana.” He led the way to a big rock where he often sat. Wide and flat, it was big enough for lying down, gazing up at the heavens.
She lived six hours away. He wouldn't ask where, or in what direction.
She sat next to him and wrapped her arms around her knees. “Why do I get the feeling you say that often?"
"Mañana?” Her bare legs looked golden in the moonlight. So did her hair. Thick and long, it overpowered her small face. He tucked it behind one ear, as he'd done earlier. “There's always tomorrow. If not, it won't matter."
"It might to someone else."
"I take it we're no longer talking about walking versus sitting?"
She shook her head. “We're talking things like paying bills. Visiting your parents. Taking care of your health."
"What's the worst that could happen if you put those things off?"
"You could be sued. A parent could die."
His dad was healthy as a workhorse. His mother ... who knew? “One day of poor health habits won't kill you. Don't borrow trouble. Relax."
"Nick's platitudes for the day?"
He slid an arm around her waist, and her sigh floated softly away on the evening breeze. Her skin was soft and warm, and she fit perfectly in the crook of his arm. “We'll take a long walk tomorrow to soothe your conscience."
"You must have better things to do. Or are you more concerned about your health than you let on?"
"If you see me eating a vegetable, I want it. If I take a walk, I feel like it."
"Free, to be me,” she murmured. “I envy your attitude."
He lay back on the rock, his arms folded beneath his head. He would have guessed she'd consider him irresponsible. Further proof he didn't understand women. “Why?"
"I've answered to other people for so long, I don't know how to live life for myself.” She lay down beside him and turned her face toward his. Her breath was warm against his cheek. Her eyes were shiny, her voice wistful. “I used to be fun."
He touched the tip of her nose. “I think you're fun now."
"You don't know me yet, but you make me feel different."
His throat tightened. He'd better watch what he said. “Camping fosters camaraderie. A day or two at a campground, and you can make a dozen new friends."
C.J. shrugged her shoulders against the stone. A lake breeze tossed a strand of hair across her eyes, and she brushed it back. She cast him a mischievous glance. “I thought it might be the karma."
A smile escaped him. She did have a fun streak. “Could be."
"Maybe you can teach me how to turn my life around."
"And you can teach me to understand women."
"You're joking, but I'm serious.” She propped her head on one elbow. Her eyes roamed over his body, his face. The admiration in her gaze made him squirm. “Where do we start?"
A kiss would be nice. Making love would be even better, he thought. But it was her life that needed changing, not his.
"I suppose you need to know all about me."
"No.” Nick put his fingers to her lips. She sounded as reluctant to divulge her history as he was to hear it, and he certainly didn't want to go into his background.
"Then how? I want you to teach me to be free-spirited."
Her mouth moved hot and moist against his fingers as she spoke. His pulse quickened, and he grew hard. He flattened his back against the rock and bent his knees. He never should have offered to turn her life around, even in jest.
He looked into her eyes—golden-brown, lighter at the edges, and flecked with green—they were so clear he felt he could see all the way to her soul. He'd told her karma was like souls touching, but he didn't want to know any woman that well. His stomach knotted. He should have kept his mouth shut. “You can't learn freedom like you do geography or math. You just let go. Forget who you are, or have been. Put your past behind you. Lay others’ opinions and expectations aside. Live each day as it comes."
"That won't be easy."
"I know.” He stroked her cheek and hated himself for doing it. He was moving into dangerous territory.
"You don't want to know anything about me?"
"No.” He answered too quickly and searched for a way to explain. “You can't become new if you define yourself in the beginning. All I need to know is what's here.” He laid his fingertips gently on her heart.
C.J. darted out her tongue to wet her lips. His touch on her warm, soft breast was light, but a current of electricity sizzled his veins, heating his blood. He longed to caress her there while he took her tongue and lips in his.
"You're here to change your life, too, aren't you?” she asked.
"Mm,” he murmured, hedging. No. He wasn't. But what kind of man would she take him for, if he said he'd come here to live while he won a bet? He'd hinted he was looking for change, but the only change he sought was in his writing—from mystery to romance ... which began with a kiss.
He captured her lips. She responded warmly. Her mouth grew soft. He nibbled her deliciously full lower lip. Her mouth grew softer. He explored with his tongue. She answered with hers. He longed to plunge harder, but she was vulnerable and so was he. If he didn't define himself either, their relationship would be totally free.
* * * *
CEE LAY IN bed the next morning remembering Nick's kiss. He'd been a gentleman, backing off without letting their embrace become too heated. But she was sure he wanted more. Desired more. It had been a long time since she'd felt desirable.
She sang in the shower, even though the utilitarian enclosure was too small, too stark, and the stream of water tepid and weak. Her bathroom at home had blue fixtures, pale lights, and a tub with body-satisfying jets.
As she dressed, a gentle tinkling broke into her thoughts and brought a smile. Nick's spoons. The morning breeze came through the open window to caress her face. Sunlight spilled onto the carpet, making the tiny beige and brown squares almost pretty. She peeked out the window. Nick's door stood open, and the pungent smell of coffee filled the air, beckoning her.
Without taking time for the breakfast of cereal with fruit and skim milk she ate every day, she strapped a fanny pack around her waist and walked across the sparkling green lawn.
"Mornin', C.J.” Nick greeted her, ready to step outside. His hair was damp from the shower, and he smelled like soap. Close to the door, a computer sat on a tiny kitchen table, bright screen saver blinking. She squinted to see inside, and he stepped to the middle of the doorway. “I'd ask you in, but my place is really small.” He waved her aside so he could get out. “Cramped with two people."
Where did he eat when his computer and printer took up the entire table? What did he use them for? The smell of bacon mixed with coffee made her stomach rumble, and Nick looked from her to the trailer uncertainly. “Wait right here.” He pointed to the bottom step of his small porch.
She sat down and listened to the wind chimes while he rattled around inside. His plan for starting life over anonymously exhilarated her. Today, she was a blank slate. A woman who could be whomever she wanted. A woman who wore purple bikinis and dabbed cologne on her pulse points. She couldn't wait for her freedom lessons to begin.
Nick banged the door behind him and handed her a chocolate-covered donut. Fat grams swam before her eyes. He pushed it into her hand. “Sorry, but I ate the bacon, eggs, and rest of these. This is all I have left."
"I hope heart disease doesn't run in your family,” she said, and he laughed. She inhaled a breath of chocolate, and her mouth watered. “I'm not really hungry."
"Sure, you are,” he said, rubbing her tummy.
She backed off, her cheeks heating up, but she took a nibble. It was as good as it smelled. She took another bite.
"Atta girl.” Nick squeezed her shoulder and, motioning her to come along, started down the hill. “You're going to become a free woman."
Free to be me.
Masses of wildflowers in brilliant blue and deep gold dotted the steep slope. The grass was vibrant green. The air smelled fresh. Cee smiled up at the handsome man at her side, glad she'd come to New Beginnings. “Are you sure you don't want to know if I'm married to the mob, have kids, or killed someone?"
Nick chuckled and took her hand. “Your marital background and job history aren't important. Today is everything, and enjoyment is the prescription for today."
"If I can't tell you anything, tell me about you."
He shook his head and lifted her hand to kiss her fingertips.
Her heart fluttered. Did he have something to hide?
"No dark secrets."
He'd done it again, read her mind. She'd have to be careful. He'd learn things she didn't want him to, like what knowing your husband didn't want you did to a woman.
"I want you to define me the same way I do you, by getting to know me.” His eyes sparkled. “It'll be fun."
How long since she'd had fun? Her heart and footsteps lightened as they walked along the lakeside, swinging hands, watching the shallow water near the shore ripple across rocks. A beautiful day, all blue and gold, and she had a gorgeous hunk by her side. His sleeveless tee shirt, cut off mid-rib, exposed a hard, bronzed stomach. His cutoffs were unbelted and hung perilously on slim hips. His nature-bleached hair looked almost white in the brilliant sunlight. If Marianne could see her with Nick, she'd be proud.
Susan would be appalled. Cee's twenty-ninth birthday present was a video of Susan's post-graduation slumber party. She was telling her girlfriends that her sister-in-law, Celeste Harte, was her ideal. Furthermore, Suz wanted a marriage just like hers and Harry's. If only she knew...
I covered up for him too well.
Desperate to change Susan's mind, she'd decided to turn her life around and enjoy life to the fullest. She'd been that kind of person once and could be—would be—again. She'd give Susan a new mentor, an image that would be healthier. That same day, Cee made the wonderful birthday wish for herself: I wish I'd meet a man who would turn my life into a sizzling romance novel.
Nick squeezed her hand, and she looked up at her freedom teacher. He might be the one.
"I lay awake last night, thinking about you.” He paused to wet his lips with his tongue, and she followed the subtle motion with her gaze. She'd thought about him too, well into the night. “And how to start your freedom training. You're my first student,” he said, and her heart did a little butterfly dance. She was special. This wasn't a game he played with every woman who came along.
He put both hands on her shoulders. “When you were a kid, did you ever wish you were somewhere else or that you could be someone else?"
"Pretend, you mean. Of course."
"Me, too.” He started strolling again, head back against the lake breeze. “I'd get sick of being me. My life was so ... ordinary,” he said, casting her a sidewise glance. “I'd go to bed, thinkin
g that maybe tomorrow, everything would be different. It wasn't. So I started playing this game of ... pretend that I called Today I Am. Each day I'd be someone or something different."
She could see him as a bare-chested fireman pulling on high boots, biceps rippling as he tugged. Or a catalog model in jockey shorts. An exotic dancer. Excitement pooled low, forcing her to jerk her mind back to saner thoughts. He'd excited her imagination from the moment they met.
He raked his fingers through his hair. “It sounds hokey now that I put it into words. I never told anyone before."
He'd chosen her to share his most intimate thoughts. “I don't find it hokey at all, Nick.” She touched his muscled arm and found it warm from the sun. “In a book I had, you taped your picture in the back and your face showed through on each page, making you different people. A chef in a fancy restaurant. An astronaut in a space shuttle. A ballerina in Russia. Imagination is wonderful."
"And very freeing.” He tipped her chin with his forefinger. “So, what would you like to be today, C.J.? Where would you like to go, if you could have your heart's wish?"
It had been a long time since she'd played games, and she closed her eyes to concentrate. The water lapped gently at the smooth stones near her feet. The breeze ruffled the long grass so it tickled her legs. Hot sun warmed her cheeks. Nick's strong, bronzed hand grasped her hand firmly, his masculine scent filled her heart and head, and she remembered a wish she'd made just last week. A silent wish made over the candles on her birthday cake—that her life would become a sizzling romance novel.
She'd been bored, boring, and cheated on during her marriage to Harry, and she wanted something more. Something better. Next year, she'd be thirty and had nothing to show for the years she'd lived. But was Nick for real? He was so handsome and imaginative, but so different. Was she being too gullible?
"What did you like to pretend?” he asked, squeezing her hand again.
Finding Mr. Romantic Page 3