Reckless Hearts

by Melody Grace

  Shirtless. Sweaty. Greasy.

  Be still my heart.

  I sit on the dusty porch steps with a thud. He’s not the only one getting hot now; even though I’m in the shade, I feel my body flush, watching his muscles ripple under the tanned skin of his torso.

  What the . . . ?

  How . . . ?

  I mean . . .

  Wow.

  I swallow, my throat dry. Talk about thirsty; I could watch this guy work all day, but too soon, he tests the engine, and listens to the smooth purr. “All done,” he calls over, closing the hood with a snap. I get to my feet, still way too distracted by the sight of his gorgeous sweaty body.

  “Thanks,” I answer, feeling awkward. “That’s the second time you’ve rescued me now. I promise, it won’t happen again.”

  Will chuckles. “Don’t worry, no-one would mistake you for a damsel in distress.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.” I grin.

  He smiles at me. “Please do.”

  He strolls over, dangling my keys from one finger. When I reach to take them, his hand closes around mine for a moment. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

  I struggle to keep my cool. “I already told you—”

  “I know, not your style,” Will finishes, echoing what I told him before about me and relationships. “But I’m not getting down on one knee here. Dinner, you and me,” he says again, with an irresistible smile. “Consider it me collecting on your offer, back when we first met.”

  “Will . . .” I murmur, torn. But who am I kidding? I lost this battle the moment he took his shirt off.

  No, before then, when I saw what he’s been crafting in that workshop of his, and realized there’s more to this guy than I ever imagined.

  “OK,” I say, snatching my hand back. “One date.”

  Will grins, triumphant. “That’s what they all say.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “Someone’s feeling confident.”

  “Sure.” Will shrugs, backing away. “But all my confidence is in you. Pick you up at eight,” he calls, disappearing around the back before I have a chance to warn him I mean it: one date, that’s all, no promises, no happy endings—of any kind.

  Who are you kidding?

  Seven.

  When my friend Eva was still in denial that her fiancé, Finn, was the love of her life, she dressed in the most boring, shapeless clothes possible for their dates together. Now, looking at my wardrobe trying to get ready for tonight, I finally get where she was coming from. Everything I have is way too short, too tight, and too flirty for a night out with Will. For once, getting a guy hot under the collar is the last thing I want. I change half a dozen times before finally settling on jeans and a plain red tank top. Still, when the doorbell rings at eight and I go to let him in, I realize that my outfit is the least of my problems:

  He looks good.

  Way too good.

  Will’s in a sky-blue button-down and jeans, his hair damp from the shower and that delicious jaw-line cleanly-shaven for the first time in a week. His eyes crinkle with a smile when he sees me, and my heart lets out an answering thump. Damn, the man’s a walking temptation—and I’m a girl with zero self-control.

  Except tonight, I remind myself firmly, holding the door wider. “Hey,” I greet him, “you’re right on time.”

  “Always,” Will smiles, then pulls one hand from behind his back, and presents me with a small bouquet of flowers: roses and hydrangeas tied up with brown string. “For you.”

  I pause, shocked. I don’t think a guy has ever bought me flowers before, but Will must mistake my surprise for something else, because he adds, “They’re not fancy or anything, I know, but the yard at my place is overflowing, so I figured . . .”

  Wait, he picked them himself?

  I feel a little light-headed as I take the flowers and beckon him in. “Thank you, they’re beautiful,” I say. “I’ll, umm, find a vase. I won’t be a second.”

  I quickly hurry down the hall to the kitchen, my cheeks feeling strangely hot. I grab a vase and fill it with cool water. The flowers really are beautiful, the roses wild and perfumed with a sweet, floral scent that wraps around my senses. I set them on the countertop, and pause a moment, trying to pull myself together.

  The guy ran a comb through his hair and picked a couple of flowers, there’s no need to get your panties in a twist.

  But it’s not my panties I’m worried about. It’s the quicksilver beat of my heart, and the flutters of nervous anticipation in my stomach that spell danger tonight. I sneak a look down the hallway. Will is waiting casually in my living room, checking out my bookshelves, and all the framed photos I have perched on the mantel. He glances up and smiles. I duck back, my heart racing now.

  This is a date.

  A date date. Not a late-night hook-up, or casual get-together, or meeting a guy in a bar and then winding up at his place after four drinks and a shadowed make-out session. Will showed up on time, and is wearing a shirt, and will probably walk me back to my door when he drops me off later. It should be no big deal; I’ve been clear with him that I’m not interested in anything real, so why am I freaking out?

  You’ve got this.

  I grab a jacket and my purse, then meet him back by the door. “I don’t know if you planned anything,” I say, “but I thought we could go to this seafood place I know. It’s a great spot, right on the water.”

  “Sounds perfect.” Will holds the door for me.

  “Great!” I exclaim, then immediately feel like an idiot. Anyone would think I’ve never been on a date before. I have, tons.

  But not with a man like this.

  That’s the problem, I realize, following Will to his truck. Why he’s got me off-balance, when I’m so used to calling all the shots. He’s a grown man, not some guy sending non-committal texts at two a.m., or taking time out of his busy schedule of beer and video games. Those guys I can run rings around, but Will is something different. He’s so sure and confident in everything he does, and that certainty is intoxicating, sexy as hell. And that’s even before he opens the passenger door of his ancient truck to chivalrously help me inside.

  He circles around and climbs in too. I give him directions, and we hit the road, driving out through town and onto the coastal road. I keep my gaze fixed on the scenery outside the windows, trying to ignore just how good he looks in the driver’s seat, one arm resting out the open window, the sinking sun tinting his tanned skin gold against the ocean light.

  “Are you OK?” Will asks after a few moments of silence.

  “Sure!” I blurt. “Yup. Why?”

  “Just . . . you don’t seem like yourself.”

  I swallow. I’m not—but Will shouldn’t know that yet. He barely knows me at all. “I just don’t want you getting the wrong idea about tonight,” I answer instead.

  “You’ve said that.” Will sounds amused. “A few times.”

  “And you don’t seem to be listening,” I shoot back.

  The truck comes to a stop. I look over, surprised, but we’re at a set of red lights. Will turns to me, catching my eye with a direct, open stare.

  “I think you’re amazing.”

  What?

  “You’re beautiful, smart, sweet, and sexy as hell,” Will continues, sounding so matter-of-fact, I can’t believe it. “I want to get to know you better, that’s all. No pressure, no expectations. You said yes to dinner, so here I am. Is that a problem?”

  “Um, no . . .” I stammer, my head still spinning from his simple honesty. “But, sweet? Have you met me?”

  He chuckles. “We’ll agree to disagree. And if it makes you feel any better,” he adds casually, “I promise not to make out with you tonight. OK?”

  Not OK. Telling me something is off-limits is like waving a red flag. Right away, I’m seized with the sudden impulse to clamber over the gearstick and kiss him until I forget my own name, but I manage to murmur a garbled, “Uhuh.”

  The lights turn green. Will puts
the truck in drive, and settles back in his seat again, totally at ease, but I don’t know what the hell to think now.

  Who is this man, where did he come from?

  And how do I stop myself falling hook, line, and sinker for his charms?

  Will follows my directions up the coast about twenty minutes, until we pull into the gravel lot outside Pete’s Seafood. “Here we are,” I announce brightly. Will looks surprised.

  “This place?” he asks dubiously.

  “They have the best fried clams around,” I promise, hopping down from the truck. OK, so it’s basically a glorified beach food stand with a few wooden benches attached to the local mini-golf course, but what was I supposed to do: take him to a romantic restaurant, or, worse still, a dark sexy dive bar, full of hidden corners for getting into trouble? Nope, much safer to be out in broad daylight with the crisp ocean breeze and a group of rowdy kids racing around, blasting each other with water guns.

  If Will is put out, he doesn’t show it. “Alright then,” he says, flashing me an easygoing smile. “As long as we get to take a spin on the course after. I’ve got a mean golf handicap—especially when there’s a windmill in the way.”

  “Deal.” I relax, despite myself. I wasn’t lying, Pete’s does have amazing seafood, and as we grab a table overlooking the water, my mouth waters at the piles of fresh-fried fish and shrimp boil other people are carrying back to their tables.

  “What’s good here?” Will asks, hungrily eyeing the spread at the next table.

  “Everything,” I reply, and he laughs.

  “Sign me up.”

  The teenage waitress stops by, looking flustered. “You need menus, or . . . ?” she asks hopefully.

  “We’re ready. Two full plates with fries and slaw,” I tell her, looking to Will for confirmation. He nods.

  “And a couple of beers, too.”

  She barely nods before, racing off again. “I used to work here,” I tell Will, wincing at the memory. “Summer shifts, back when I was in high school.”

  “Oh yeah?” Will grins. “I’m trying to picture you in that uniform.”

  I look over at the waitress’s navy shorts and plain white T-shirt. “I wish. Back in my day, we had these little striped hats. They were the worst, could never get the smell of grease out. But they still weren’t as bad as the uniform at the donut stand in town. Or the boat tours. That guy wanted us all dressed up in pirate gear.”

  Will laughs. “You got around, huh?”

  I nod. “I pretty much held every part-time job in a twenty-mile radius.”

  “And now you’re building a real estate empire,” he says, as the waitress brings our food in record time.

  “Pretty much.” I grin, grabbing a fry and dunking it in the paper cup of ketchup. “But I love what I do.”

  “Why?” Will asks.

  “Well, the commissions are pretty great,” I joke, “but . . . it’s not just about the bricks and mortar. When you find someone a new home, you’re giving them a piece of the dream they have about their life,” I explain. “You know, the yard their kids are going to play in, the porch they’ll sit on in retirement. Even if all they want is a studio apartment somewhere they can afford where the landlord isn’t a total asshole, and the water won’t run cold, I can help make that happen. It’s a good feeling, being a part of that.” I shrug, suddenly feeling awkward. “Anyway, what about you? Have you been building your furniture long?”

  “Nope.” Will digs into his food, “But I needed a change. I always said ‘someday,’ and then I woke up and realized, if not now, when?”

  “It’s the first day of the rest of your life,” I quip, and he chuckles.

  “Something like that.”

  “So is Oak Harbor everything you imagined?” I ask.

  He holds my gaze, green tonight as the ocean waves. “Everything. And more.”

  I look away and focus on inhaling my food. It turns out all those butterflies dancing in my stomach work up quite an appetite, and I demolish my plate in no time at all.

  “Ready to kick some mini-golf ass?” I ask, gesturing for the check. The sun is setting over the distant bay, painting the sky with pastel shades of pink and orange. It’s too romantic to be sitting here, watching the water together; the rowdy course is a much safer bet.

  “Them be fighting words,” Will teases.

  The girl brings over our bill, and I take it automatically. “I’ve got this.”

  “No ma’am.” Will says firmly, reaching for his wallet.

  “It’s fine,” I insist. The less like a traditional date this is, the better. “I said I was taking you to dinner as a thank you for helping break into my car. You can get dessert,” I add, nodding to the ice cream cabinet.

  Will looks at me, amusement suddenly crinkling the corner of his green eyes. “You think I’m broke.”

  “I didn’t say that. It’s fine,” I add quickly. “It’s none of my business.” My mother taught me never to talk about money. At least, not when you’re pretty sure you earn three times what your date does.

  But Will is still smirking at me with that illegally handsome face of his. He leans back and tosses a fry into his mouth in a lazy arc. “You think I’m a no-good deadbeat who’s going to stick you with the check when we’re through.”

  “You live in a shack in the woods with no running water,” I point out, trying to be delicate. “The night I met you, you didn’t have a quarter for the phone, and you drive around here in a beat-up old truck that hasn’t seen the inside of an auto shop in twenty years.”

  Will laughs out loud.

  “Like I said, it’s none of my business.” I smile back, relieved. At least he doesn’t have an attitude about it like some guys I’ve dated, the ones who take it as a personal insult on their manhood if you even offer to go Dutch. “We can still have fun. I take care of myself.”

  “I’m sure you can, darling. But I plan on taking care of the both of us.” He gives me a smoldering look, so I can’t miss the double meaning in his words. Heat slips into my bloodstream, and I can’t help but imagine just what else that mouth can do.

  “And just so you know, that shack in the woods is on a hundred prime acres, and I own it free and clear.” Will adds casually, getting to his feet. “That truck belonged to my granddaddy, he’s the one who taught me to service it myself every month. As for not having a quarter for the phone, well, it just happened I didn’t have any change for a hundred that night.”

  Before I can react, Will reaches casually for his wallet, pulls out a thick roll of cash, and peels off a fifty dollar bill. “Keep the change, darlin’.” He winks at the waitress, and she flushes bright red, scurrying off with her epic tip. Will offers a hand to me. “Shall we?”

  I stare up at him blankly, still thrown.

  “You never asked what I did in the city,” he continues, clearly loving every minute of my surprise. “I was in finance. Wall Street. I was pulling in stupid money, until I decided to jack it all in and move to the country to turn wood and count the crickets. So don’t you worry, sweetheart, I won’t be skipping out on a check anytime soon.”

  I finally get it together and rise, following him out. Will places one hand low on my back, and leans in until his lips brush against my ear. “And since you’re so concerned, the water at my shack will be running by the weekend. Full upgrade, gas tank, the works.”

  I laugh and playfully push him away, but only to hide my shiver at the whisper of his lips against my skin.

  Call me crazy, but I’ve never found plumbing so sexy in my life.

  We play two round of mini-golf, and the whole time, I try to keep that fluttering feeling at bay. But it’s no use. Will has me laughing at dumb jokes and celebrating our high scores, the connection between us so easy and relaxed that it’s not until we’re in the truck heading back to Oak Harbor that I realize the laughter has drifted away with the sinking sun, and now there’s something else shimmering in the dark summer night’s air between us, something ch
arged and electric.

  I glance over at him and feel a shiver. Maybe it would be different if I hadn’t kissed him before; if I didn’t know exactly how skilled and certain that gorgeous mouth could be against my lips. The feel of his body; the heat already snaking through my veins. But I do—and now all I want is to feel it again. The images rush through my mind, sensual and tempting, until it’s all I can think about. God, it would be so easy to invite him inside back at mine, for coffee or a nightcap, some other blatant pretext to get him inside—and out of his clothes. It doesn’t have to mean anything, just explore the connection that’s so clear between us . . .

  The truck comes to a stop, breaking through my fevered thoughts. “Here we are,” Will says, and then—like I knew he would—he goes around to get my door and walks me to my front step.

  “Tonight was fun,” I admit. Will’s face is cast in shadows by my porch awning, the angles of his face so clean and strong. It sends an unfamiliar longing through me, and I have to glance away. “Thank you for dinner.”

  “Any time.”

  I fumble with my keys and open the door. It’s now or never. If it was any other guy, I wouldn’t think twice before going after what I want, so I turn back. “Do you want to come in?” I ask, straight out, my heart pounding.

  Will pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice is thick. “I . . . don’t know if that would be a good idea.”

  I catch a glimpse of something in his eyes, something that makes my whole body shiver in anticipation.

  He wants me.

  And desire? That’s something I know how to deal with. It’s not messy, or full of doubts. It can be easy. Simple.

  Fun.

  I take a step back, into my dark hallway, and give him an inviting smile. “It sounds like a good idea to me.” I reach out and place my hands on his chest, running my fingertips over the smooth, soft fabric of his shirt. Will gives me a rueful smile—but he takes a couple of steps closer, too.

  “Didn’t I say something about not making out with you?” His voice is low and sexy, and the look he shoots me is tense with desire.