Blush

by Cherry Adair

  “Give me a min—”

  Angling his head, Cruz kissed her. No points for finesse, but several points for distraction. The position was awkward; the angle of his head almost jettisoned him off the ladder with her. But it did the job. Her fear tasted sweetly of lemonade as her tongue met his—fear evident in the caution when usually she’d dive in headfirst.

  Her lips clung as he shifted his head. “When you kiss me my toes curl.” Her voice was husky.

  Her foolish trust rocked through his nerves and irritated the piss out of him. I’m here to kill you, woman. Be fucking afraid.

  “Let your toes curl on terra firma,” he told her, unmoved. “Left foot. Right hand. Get down in the next sixty seconds and I’ll let you tie me to the bed tonight.” The lie tripped easily off his tongue. He didn’t bother trying to figure out why the bull made him feel like shit.

  It would make for an excellent alibi. Except he’d already decided to keep his fucking hands and dick away from her. Again. If she’d just stop watching him with hot blue eyes when she thought he didn’t notice, and if he could just fucking stop thinking about the erotic things she did with her mouth, and the way her sleek body felt under his . . .

  If her expression over breakfast earlier hadn’t shown him she was remembering that first night in graphic detail, her rosy blush as she set her plate down on the center island had. It had taken everything in him to maintain his mild expression and not grab her, strip her, and screw her hard and fast.

  No. More. Fucking.

  Concentrate on the business at hand.

  Brazil.

  Her chuckle was strained, but she did move. “You’re on.”

  • • •

  With a tall glass of cold tea sweating on a coaster next to her, Mia highlighted portions of the booklet that had come with the Sensual Pole Dancing video, which was on Pause on her laptop as she read. She had “a secure pole, determination, and the desire to let go of her inhibitions.” All of the above, and then some, thanks to Cruz.

  While she highlighted, she enjoyed the low, constant roar of Marcel’s lawn mower out on the front lawn, and the hum of the vacuum cleaner upstairs as Daisy cleaned. The little boy stood near the water, throwing sticks—she presumed at the alligator. She stood for a moment to see if he was in any danger. His feet, in tiny worn, faded blue tennis shoes, were at least eight feet away from the water’s edge. The gator was nowhere in sight.

  Satisfied that he wasn’t in imminent danger of being eaten, Mia sat and resumed studying. Head on his paws, Oso lay panting under the table. Absently she rubbed his back with her bare foot; his sleek fur felt soft against her skin. He gave a loud groan.

  She grinned, remembering the silky mink being stroked against her skin; she knew how the dog felt. She reached down to fondle his ear, as she’d seen Cruz do. “You’re a very handsome boy, you know that?” He nuzzled her hand, and her heart melted a little bit. “Maybe Cruz will let me buy you when he leaves. Would you like to come home to San Francisco with me and live in a big house? The garden’s pretty. I think you’d like running on that big lawn. You could chase the peacocks.”

  She’d never had a pet. When she was growing up, her father had made abundantly clear that the multimillion-dollar purebred horses in the family’s racing stable weren’t pets, his hunting dogs weren’t allowed in the house, and her stepmother was highly allergic to cats, dogs, ferrets, parakeets—anything that squawked, purred, or barked.

  And now she was so busy with business-related social events that she’d never ever considered a pet an option. Somehow Mia couldn’t quite picture Oso fitting into that other life.

  She needed to make some changes when she got back home.

  She played the next bit of choreography and shook her head at the contorted position of the instructor, who was entwined, upside down, around the pole. Frankly, the contortions the woman’s legs were in looked painful and not in the least bit sexy. Years of yoga classes might aid in this new endeavor, but Mia was pretty sure her body didn’t bend that way; and, unlike the instructor in the video, she doubted her ability to smile while in any of those uncomfortable-looking positions. She hit Pause and found the corresponding text in the booklet.

  Although pole dancing was definitely on the list, she was distracted by the sounds of other people being industrious, and the glorious sun-shiny afternoon—which, by the look of the sky, wasn’t going to last much longer. And, of course, she was distracted by him. Cruz. Even though he wasn’t in the room, he was nearby.

  She couldn’t concentrate on freaking pole dancing knowing that he might walk through the door at any moment, shirt off, muscles moving beneath tanned, damp, glistening skin. If Cruz’s earlier promise of letting her tie him up was true, she couldn’t wait for the Latours to leave.

  She’d felt like an idiot earlier. She was genuinely petrified once she’d climbed to the top of that ladder. Who knew fear could be so incapacitating? Yet, the moment Cruz put his arms around her, she felt safe. Safer, at least. And, she now realized, it was the first time she could remember that she’d not only needed someone else’s help but had accepted it willingly.

  Tapping the orange highlighter on her chin, Mia glanced outside, checking on Charlie again as he played on the bank near the water. No sign of Cruz. The ladder was gone, and she didn’t hear him hammering on the roof. His truck and camper were parked in the side yard, next to her truck.

  The child’s dark head was bowed, and he’d stopped throwing sticks. Shoulders hunched, hands shoved in his pockets, he looked the picture of dejection. Mia wondered if she should go outside to talk to him. But she knew nothing about kids, and besides, both of his parents were within shouting distance.

  “Oso, do you want to play? Go outside to Charlie.” She gave the alert dog an encouraging push with the side of her foot. “Go on. Go play with Charlie. Good boy!”

  The dog streaked out of the kitchen, his nails clicking on the wood floor as he dashed outside. Had he understood her? She rose to see if dog and boy were together. They were. Oso danced around the little boy, tail wagging like crazy. Mia stood there for a full minute watching the two greet each other, one shyly, the other with manic exuberance.

  For a moment everything looked normal.

  Until she looked behind the happy pair to the dark and dangerous bayou, perilously close by. Nothing was ever as light and carefree as it appeared.

  • • •

  Dark clouds hung low in the sky and the odd light on the trees and water made the colors almost surreal, much like her favorite Turner painting, hanging in the entryway of her house in San Francisco.

  Hot and muggy outside, it wasn’t much better inside, since she didn’t have air-conditioning. “I should get an air conditioner,” she said, talking to herself as she sat on a high stool at the island just as Cruz walked into the kitchen.

  He’d ditched the shirt he’d tied around his head, and his hair hung to his broad shoulders. Wearing jeans and still bare-chested, he looked delectable. Tanned, fit, and sweaty. Mia wanted to jump his bones.

  “You planning on being here long enough to need one?” he asked, opening a cabinet, taking out a glass, and walking over to turn on the tap. Turning his back to the sink, he chugged the water, then refilled the glass. Fascinated by the way his throat moved, Mia had to try to remember what the conversation was about. He looked like one of the hunky half-naked male models in an ad for Seduction, Blush’s top-selling male cologne. Better.

  Models imitated men like Cruz. Good ones came close, but none that Mia had ever laid eyes on—and there had been many—ever managed to pull off the raw masculinity that Cruz exuded. Seduction? Yes, he could sell that. Easily. It was a great scent. But the reality was, this man could sell anything by the gallon if he ever appeared in an ad.

  “I need one now.” Tucking the booklet under her computer, she closed the screen and gave him a bland look. Which was no easy task. She wanted to race across the kitchen and jump into his arms like a motherless monkey,
take him down to the peeling linoleum floor, and screw his brains out right there in the middle of the kitchen. She gave him an appreciative up-and-down look, lingering strategically now and then.

  The prospect of making him vulnerable and at her mercy had fueled all sorts of creative and erotic thoughts for the last hour.

  “There’s lemonade and tea in the fridge, and Daisy made you a ham sandwich for lunch. Which I ate, because I told you lunch was ready three hours ago, and I was hungry an hour ago. You snooze, you lose, Barcelona.”

  “I’ll grab something before I go back outside.” He opened the fridge and took out the jug of tea, then filled his glass with ice and poured. Finding the sugar, he dumped a stream straight into his drink.

  Mia shook her head. “I see diabetes and massive weight gain in your future.” There wasn’t a spare ounce of fat on him anywhere. Just tanned, sleek skin pulled taut over impressive bands of muscle. The man was in his prime and didn’t need to flex those biceps to look like sex on a stick.

  He chugged half the tea before saying, “Roof’s fixed. But I’d get that NOLA company to come and replace it sooner than later. Those patches are only going to hold a season.”

  “Hmm.” Noncommittal. Mia had no idea where she’d be in two weeks. Todd could call her at any second and tell her it was a false alarm, or that they’d caught a deranged ex-lover, and it was safe to come home. She wasn’t sure what she’d do with the house. Sell it? Keep it as her secret hideaway? Bronze it because this was where she’d met Cruz and had the best sex of her life?

  Watching her with dark, intense eyes, he leaned against the sink and silently finished his drink.

  A little chill breathed down her neck as he assessed her. He didn’t give the impression that he was bowled over by her sex appeal. More like he was analyzing a weighty problem and didn’t like his options. Mia was intuitive, a handy skill when managing so many people at Blush. There was a vibe about him this afternoon that hadn’t been there last night, although, now that she thought about it, he’d been a bit weird when she almost killed herself on his ladder earlier.

  “Everything okay?” Of course, she didn’t have a hell of a lot to base that feeling on. She didn’t know the guy at all, really. Wanted, had the hots for, but didn’t know what went on behind that bad-boy attitude and those rock-hard, rippling abs. Maybe it was her imagination.

  Daisy walked into the kitchen lugging the vacuum cleaner, which looked bigger and heavier than she was. “I’ve finished upstairs, Miss Mia.” She gave a little relieved huff as she set it down, then wheeled it out of the way of the doorway. “What would you like me to do next?”

  The large house was practically empty; Mia was waiting until the painting and wallpapering were done to have the furniture delivered. There was nothing much to speak of to dust, and she didn’t care if there was a layer of dirt on the floors in the rooms she never used. She had not even thought about having someone in to clean. But Daisy looked as though she needed the work.

  “Thanks, Daisy, great job upstairs. There’s nothing else I can think of for you to do today. Would you like some lemonade before you go?”

  “The windows,” the woman offered a little desperately, shaking her head at the offer. “I can clean them windows.”

  Mia didn’t care about the windows, and she really, really wanted the couple to leave so she and Cruz—

  “Just the ones on this floor,” Cruz told her, a smile curving his mouth. Mia felt a jab of unreasonable and therefore annoying jealousy. Cruz pushed away from the counter to grab a handful of the peanut butter cookies Mia had baked that morning. “I don’t want ladies climbing ladders.” He gave Mia a pointed look that shot through her all the way to her girl parts, and despite the fact that there was no smile for her, she still had a flash of how his hard body had felt as he pounded into her.

  The fact that she was horny, that she wanted to be laid. Again. By him. Was aggravating. He wasn’t here to service her sexually. Unfortunately. And if the son of a bitch wasn’t willing, then who was she to force herself on him?

  As soon as he went outside to work, she’d call the Bon Temps agency and have them send someone over tonight. Then she’d lock the front door. If Cruz needed to pee, he could go in the damn bushes. Perhaps the alligator would bite off his penis.

  Apparently being horny and spurned made her childish as hell. Mia didn’t give a damn. She was the boss, and it was time she reminded him she didn’t do rejection. Well or otherwise. He’d had his shot, now it was time to assert her authority.

  “Thank you, Mr. Cruz.” Daisy gave him a quick, shy smile. “I’ll get my cleaning supplies and get right on i—” Her face drained of color, and she grabbed Mia’s forearms with both hands when they heard a loud cry from outside. “Charlie—”

  “He’s fine. Just playing with Oso.” At a blank glance from Daisy, Mia clarified, “Cruz’s dog.”

  Daisy snatched her hands off Mia’s arm as if burned. “Sorry.”

  “That’s okay, for a moment there I was startled, too. Come and look.” Putting a gentle hand on the small of the other woman’s back, Mia slid off the stool and edged her to the window. “Look how sweet they are together.”

  “He’s playing,” the child’s mother said in wonder as she watched Charlie laugh and throw a stick for the dog. Barking, Oso raced across the grass to catch it on the fly.

  Mia smiled at the cute picture they made. The boy in his too-large secondhand clothes and, Mia suspected, too-small shoes, and the sweet-tempered mutt so happy to have a boy to play with.

  “Boys and dogs seem to be a winning combination.”

  “Yes,” Daisy said quietly. “It’s nice to see him laugh. It’s been . . . I’ll get my cleaning things out of our car,” she finished abruptly, and speed-walked out of the room.

  With a frown, Mia watched her leave the kitchen, then glanced over at Cruz, who’d polished off the entire plate of cookies as he watched the little drama unfold. “Was that a little strange, or was that a little strange?” Maybe she was reading things into the other woman’s reactions that weren’t really there.

  Maybe she was just full of assumptions about everyone around her, and being out here in the middle of hell-and-gone from anywhere civilized had tampered with her judgment of people.

  Cruz rinsed the plate at the sink, then dried it with a dish towel. His domesticated actions were strangely erotic to Mia. It was the deft movement of those large, tanned hands skimming a towel over— Oh my God. She had it bad. What would it be like to have him wash her? Dry her? Mentally she added those to the list.

  Dragging her attention to his face instead of his hands, his buff abs, his hairy chest, she mimicked his stance, crossing her ankles and leaning her hip against the counter. Only about eight feet separated them, and she could smell his skin. Soap and clean sweat. She wanted to lick him all over.

  “I suspect she’s abused,” he told her, eyes narrowed and serious, jaw flexing. He looked both grim and pissed off.

  “Dear God. At first I thought the marks on her upper arms were smudges of dirt, but they were fingerprints, weren’t they?”

  Cruz continued to look out the window at Charlie and Oso. He didn’t reply, but his big hands clenched. She’d hate to ever see him truly pissed off enough to use them. And she’d never want to be on the receiving end of that unleashed anger.

  Her heart skipped a couple of beats. He was strong. Bigger and more powerful physically than she was—and if he ever raised a hand to her, he’d find himself wearing a cast-iron skillet around his neck.

  The muscles in his bare back flexed as he watched the pair outside. He had a magnificent back, satiny skin stretched over broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist. Not a mark on him. One would think he’d have a slew of tattoos, or at least scars. But there wasn’t anything to mar his smooth, taut skin. And, despite his bad mood, Mia was still tempted to lick a path from the small of his back up the ridge of his spine, then sweep aside his hair and bite his nape.

/>   Instead, she returned to the counter and planted her butt in her stool. He could come to her. Or hell could freeze over. Whichever happened first.

  “From the way the kid acts, I suspect the mother isn’t the only one.” He twisted the towel in his hand. He turned back to watch her from unreadable dark eyes that ate the light and gave no clues to what the hell he might be thinking, or how his mood had turned from hot to cold.

  He was unreadable, but Mia, on some instinctive level, felt that some of his anger was directed at her.

  “You’re still in a pissy mood.”

  “Not much to smile about when you figure out that a woman and her child are being abused by some drunk asshole.”

  “I agree”—she drew a deep breath—“but it seems like you’re pissed at me.”

  Dark eyes bored into hers. “Only if you’re abusing women and children.”

  “Well, then, that’s a relief. Because the answer is no. Never have, never would.” Mia followed the direction of his gaze, to Charlie and Oso, and reminded herself that as intimate as they had been, and no matter where their mouths and bodies had touched and tasted each other, they were still strangers. She really didn’t know anything about him and he certainly didn’t know anything about her.

  “But still . . .” Cruz turned back to her, his tone grim as he gave her a strangely pointed look. “Charlie has it better than kids in, say, China, for example, doesn’t he?”

  China again? Mia shook her head. “That’s an incredibly cold and insensitive thing to say. One has nothing to do with the other.”

  “Sure it does. Kids are kids. All deserve to be treated well. Whether they’re on U.S. or Chinese soil, right?”

  Instead of lick him, she now wanted to slap him. She had no idea what his problem was, only that it was annoying her. “Did you have an Asian girlfriend who dumped you or something?”

  His face seemed to darken more, if that was possible, and Mia sucked in a breath. Whatever was pissing off Cruz or going on in his head, she was glad she wasn’t the source. No good would come of it.

  Her fists clenched, and she was suddenly afraid. She didn’t know him. Didn’t know a damn thing about him. He was an unemployed handyman, for God’s sake, and she’d let him into her house. She quieted her rapid-fire heartbeat, stood as tall as she could, and asked, very quietly, her eyes intent on him so that she could read him as he answered, “Have you ever hit a woman?”