Man in Black

by Melissa Shirley

  She clicked on the first file then quickly closed it out. Oh. My. God. She sat up straighter and took a big drink of coffee before opening the file again. So, he was hot. No. Coffee was hot. Hell was hot. This man was more than that. He blazed sex flames. Scorching, incinerating sex flames.

  The first photo showed a full frontal view, and she curled her fingers into her palm to resist tracing the lines of a very well-defined six-pack, the thin trail of hair leading down his stomach, lower. . . No. Stop it. She clicked the mouse, and the next picture filled the screen.

  As the shutter closed the first twelve times, he’d been stiff—bad word—rigid—worse—uptight. Yes. Uptight. And she’d struggled to get him to loosen up. It showed in the pictures, but finally, she’d had him face the backdrop and look over his shoulder. He’d refused, adamantly tried to curse his way out of it, until she’d turned on some throbbing hip hop music and yelled, “Come on, baby. Show momma what you got.” He’d finally cracked a smile and after that, he’d gotten into the part. He’d flexed muscles, posed with the beach ball, did the Michael Jackson moonwalk. Twice, she’d almost dropped her equipment. Her mouth had dried up, her palms got wet, and the rest of her responded in kind. The temperature in her apartment continued to climb as she worked her way through the shots, each more scorching than the last.

  She zoomed in on the tattoo of words between his shoulder blades, discere et vivere. Beyond her fingertips and the modem, she had access to any number of websites that could decipher the phrase for her. Yet, she didn’t bother with Google. Instead, she sat staring at it, not caring what it meant more than what it meant to him.

  With a shake of her head and another crack of her knuckles, she shoved her thoughts to the back of her mind and concentrated on her job. Edit the photos. That’s it. Edit the photos. She selected a random picture from the thumbnails on her screen, ignoring the definition of her subject and his body, finished her editing and sent the email with seven minutes to spare.

  Jesse held the phone away from his ear as his father barked orders.

  “Yes, Dad. I got it. Lucia Gilden.”

  “You need to get to know her granddaughter.” Oh, Lord. Another granddaughter. “She’s about your age. You should be able to find something in common with her. Haul out that Megalos charm and woo this woman into selling you the property by getting in good with the granddaughter.” Jesse pictured his father at the massive, oak desk in his office. The office in the company Jesse had brought him into and his dad had taken over. “The oil rights under that land could make us a fortune, Jesse, and then I’ll finally be able to retire in style. This isn’t a game we’re playing. This is big money.”

  “I know.” Jesse had been planning his father’s retirement for the last two years. He’d even marked a calendar counting down the days. But whenever it came time, his father balked. Something about this deal, though, had Malcom’s tail wagging. He’d been spewing details at Jesse for weeks.

  Well, Jesse had news for the old man. Only one of them would benefit from this deal, and it wasn’t going to be Malcom. Not only would Jesse be able to force him out of the company, but he had a plan to do it without his father making one red cent. Jesse had the shareholders in his pocket. All he needed was the cash to back up his big promises. And that was why God created banks.

  It would serve his father right after the way he’d taken over Jesse’s company, put him back on a salary, degraded him into doing the shit work. It couldn’t have worked out better that his mother called a week after his father found out about the oil. She’d begged him for a mystery favor to be discussed upon his requested arrival. Now that he knew she wanted his money, he had both his parents right where he wanted them. After he made his mother provide Profit & Loss reports for the town and showed her and everyone else the flaws in her management, he would respectfully decline throwing his money into the mix. Then he would hot foot it over to Gilden’s thousand-year-old mansion and snap the property up for himself under the new corporate seal—the one that didn’t include his father.

  The only possible problem to his whole scenario was his mother’s shady unpredictability. Unless the request for his immediate presence was truly only to save the floundering town—he could have written a check without ever leaving Boston if he’d had the money—there had to be more. He’d been in Rangers End for an entire day, and she’d mentioned the money at the big meeting, but hadn’t given him a number or elaborated enough for him to believe his command performance as doting son was about saving the town. In spite of his mother’s surprise phone call, his father’s devious planning, and the fact he’d returned to Rangers End, he grinned. It had certainly been an interesting day.

  “How is”—long pause—“everything there?”

  “You mean Mom?” His father had never quite adjusted to being without his mother, even though Malcom had been the one to walk out on her. “She’s the same as the day you left, right down to her hairdo and sensible shoes.” Never a high heel or a stiletto, even when his parents had been dating. She favored short, sensible flats. Jesse sighed, not wanting to get into a long discussion of his mother’s faults. He had his own list that he doubted his father would care to hear. “I have to go. I had a long day.”

  “I’ll expect a progress report by the end of the week.” Without saying goodbye or waiting for Jesse to do so, Malcom Megalos clicked off, leaving Jesse to stare at his cell. He tossed the phone onto the table and leaned back, looking at the ceiling.

  Growing up the rich kid in Rangers End had been hard, and his Greek parents, who fought with the passion reserved for the gods of their ancient ancestors, had made it worse. It hadn’t mattered where a fight started. They screamed. They shouted. His mother cried. The town pretended not to notice then talked in hushed whispers behind his back. Poor Jesse. No wonder he’s such a menace. Look at his parents. What infuriated him most was by the time they returned home, his parents were kissing and cooing like a couple of newlyweds. No one ever saw that part. Love, for Jesse, encompassed a mansion of mixed messages. That, along with the failed relationship with Renee, resulted in his simple, drama free approach to the single life. One night here. One night there. Three dates max. And he had no intention of changing. Ever.

  With a humph, he pushed the thoughts of evil ex-fiancées and parental battles to the far corner of his mind and reclined on the bed in the guest room. His room had been taken over by a quilting rack and enough fabric to blanket the town. The only thing he’d thought he missed about Rangers End had been his room in the house. Or maybe it was the peace he felt in that room among his things. He twirled his keys around his finger and wondered how long his mother had waited before she’d turned his bedroom into her craft room, before she’d erased any evidence of his existence from her life.

  He needed a distraction. A little blond kidnapper kind of distraction.

  Now she had a way with him. Never before had he so much as considered prancing around almost naked for a camera. And no woman had ever made him so hard without even touching him. The photoshoot had been an exercise in control. Twice he’d had to call a halt to compose himself before the evidence of what looking at her did to him peeked out over that ridiculous costume.

  Looking at her. Not touching her. Not kissing her. Looking at her.

  He’d had no choice but to laugh it up, to make light of it, or risk exposing more than his fleeting attraction. He knew one thing for certain, this woman wasn’t his usual kind of trouble. She was worse. While he wanted a distraction, he had a feeling she would make him forget everything he’d come there to do, but damned if he wasn’t almost willing to risk it. One more time, he considered the best way to get her out of his head. He had two choices. . .either work her out the old-fashioned way with her body writhing under his or—and this one he didn’t care for at all—ignore her completely and stay away from anywhere he might run into her. Of course, in Rangers End, the only place he could hide from her was in this room.

  The little devil on his sho
ulder, the one he thought he’d disposed of on the day he rode out of this town the first time, rubbed his hands together in glee. If you can’t beat ’em, get ’em naked.

  4

  After an early lunch with Lana on Monday, Ryhan threw herself into all the little tasks the planning commission had delegated to her. By hook or by crook, this town was not going to falter. She didn’t care if she never got to sleep again. This was the only real home she’d ever known, and she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she didn’t do everything in her power to raise the money to save Rangers End from financial ruin.

  Cupcakes for the bake sale sat on every flat surface in her apartment. She’d poked the ends of her fingers into bloody pincushions finishing the second quilt she’d sewn for the craft fair. Pricing stickers had been attached to every single packet and plastic wrapped firework in the crates at the fire station. She’d purchased the buckets and sponges for the car wash and delivered them to the grocery store parking lot, and she’d negotiated a deal with the butcher on slabs of ribs for the barbeque. With only phone calls left on her to-do list, she set out to do her part to make sure the bachelor auction would be a jam-packed moneymaker.

  She sold calendars with an enthusiasm that had her bouncing into stores, harassing customers, suggesting them as gifts, and bartering with diner guests over whether to tip or buy a calendar. She ignored the pointed looks from wives as their husbands—obvious recipients of Rick’s mass text and flier campaign—leered at her over their key lime pies and Kelly’s Big Burgers.

  She scored big at the beauty salon and failed miserably at the hardware store before she dove into a wealth of lusty women at the grocery store. Her afternoon flew by until finally, she pulled up at Mrs. Gilden’s for her Monday cleaning appointment. She tucked a calendar under her arm and sprang up the steps.

  Mrs. Gilden, at the ripe age of ninety-four, still did her own laundry and cooked her own meals. Though she had enough money to hire all her chores out, the only job Lucia let anyone do was the rugs—only because she no longer had the upper body strength to deliver enough of a beating to her rugs to satisfy her of their cleanliness.

  Ryhan opened the massive, oak, castle door and let herself in, calling out as she wiped her feet on the mat. “Lucia! I’m here.”

  The clickety-clack of heels on the finest oak floors money could buy brought a smile to Ryhan’s face before the older woman rounded the corner. Lucia Gilden and June Cleaver were the only women in the world, as far as she knew, who insisted on keeping house in heels and pearls. “Oh, such perfect timing, my girl. We have a visitor today. Come join us in the library for tea.” She tugged Ryhan’s arm with the strength of someone half—no, a third her age. “He’s very nice to look at.” She winked a wrinkled lid and pulled Ryhan into the room.

  In front of the mile-high bookshelves, Jesse Megalos sat on a sofa, a delicate china teacup cradled in his massive hand. When he stood, the priceless cup clattered against a matching saucer. “You.”

  She chuckled. “If we keep meeting like this, we’re going to end up the lead story in the Bitsy’s Bits”—the local newspaper gossip column and blog.

  “You two know each other? How delightful. Come and sit.” Lucia patted the spot next to her on a petite sofa facing Jesse. “I’ve known this boy since he was just a toddler in diapers.”

  Ryhan looked over at Jesse and smiled.

  “I’m a bit big for those now.” The suggestion in his voice drew her eyes to his lap.

  “And I have the pictures to prove it.” Ryhan’s tone dipped as a movie reel of those photos danced in her head.

  “He just popped in this morning like an old welcome friend.” Thankfully, Lucia interrupted her train of thought. An antique settee in front of the most respected woman in the town was no place to ravage a complete stranger. She’d be shamed, spurned if word got out. But damned if the idea didn’t appeal to her on a grand level.

  No. No, it didn’t.

  She sat back and used Lucia’s words to push the thoughts of naked Jesse from her mind. Somehow, Ryhan doubted Jesse had been that good a friend. As she’d roamed the town that morning, promoting the calendars, she’d heard the gossip about shrubbery destroyed and daughters deflowered by the prodigal bad boy. “What a nice surprise.”

  “I came to apologize for all the havoc I caused Mrs. Gilden’s garden.”

  Lucia laughed and covered her heart with her hand. “Oh, my poor azaleas. He ran a truck right over the top of them, and by the time he was done with my vegetable garden, I could have brought out a pot and enjoyed a nice soup for supper.”

  “Such a naughty boy.” Mischief bubbled inside of Ryhan. She mentally rubbed her hands together, swallowed back a wicked giggle, and met Jesse’s raised-eyebrow gaze. “Well I have it on very good authority that he hasn’t changed one bit. You should see the photos he posed for to promote the bachelor auction.” She flipped to the picture of a mostly naked Jesse holding a beach ball, his head thrown back in laughter. “He insisted on stripping all the way to this teeny tiny pair of underwear. I told him he was going to cause a scandal, but he wants to bring in the highest bid for the auction. Said he’d do just about anything for charity,” Ryhan said before flipping the calendar closed as the temp in the room reached equatorial heat.

  Lucia gulped loudly and reopened the booklet to Jesse’s page. Though she’d never heard Lucia complain about her eyesight, she wondered if cataracts had finally hit the old woman as she brought it closer and closer to her face. “Oh, my. Bless his little. . .heart.” One eyebrow lifted as she tilted her head to inspect the photo from various angles. “I always suspected his mischief was more for fun than meanness.” She walked to the fireplace and plucked a frame off the carved mahogany mantle, and replaced it with the calendar. Jesse’s face colored as Lucia ran a wrinkled finger down the photo, tracing his outline. Ryhan bit back a smile when Lucia turned to face them. “I told his momma not to restrict him so, to let him develop his own personality. But that woman”—Jesse’s mother had beaten Lucia in the mayoral race the last two elections—“is strong-willed. Didn’t appreciate the help of a busybody like me.”

  Busybody was a kind understatement. Lucia knew everyone’s business and often ‘helped’ by offering opinions on everything from diapering to discipline. Ryhan would have bet money the older woman even gossiped in her sleep.

  “But I tell you,” Lucia continued, reaching into a side table for a pair of glasses then slipping them on, “you don’t live as long as I have—ninety-four next week—without picking up a thing or two.” She turned on a lamp, then shut it back off and repeated the process twice more as she angled the shade to shine the light at the calendar. Apparently satisfied with her new decorating concept, she moved to sit by Jesse and dropped a hand onto his knee. “I don’t think we’ll need to do rugs today, Ryhan. I haven’t had any other guests this week, and I believe I would like to catch up with young Mr. Megalos. You can see yourself to the door?”

  If Lucia’s words hadn’t dismissed her, the old woman’s wink would have. “Of course.” Ryhan stood as Lucia’s hand inched up Jesse’s thigh.

  He widened his eyes at Ryhan and mouthed, “help me.” Her mind blanked, and she couldn’t come up with a single plausible reason for Jesse to leave with her.

  “I should walk her out,” Jesse said as Lucia’s fingers danced closer to his danger zone.

  “Oh, that’s just silly. Ryhan has been finding her way in and out of here since she turned sixteen.” The old woman leaned her head on Jesse’s shoulder, and Ryhan cleared her throat and turned to go.

  “Bye now.” After she made her escape, she stood against the iron handrail for a few moments, giggling, before making her way down the steps. When she’d arrived, she’d thought Lucia would be doing her usual matchmaking bit, but as soon as Ryhan whipped out that calendar, the game changed. She leaned back against the hood of her car, her eyes pointed at the door, waiting to see how long it took him to escape.

  Jesse rus
hed onto the porch a moment later, his eyes wide and his lips set into a tight line. He stumbled down the steps adjusting his shirt as though he’d only just put it on.

  “What the hell?”

  “Hey, azaleas aren’t cheap, and you ruined hers. I’m guessing she wants to take your debt out in trade.”

  “Thanks for the help, by the way.” He buttoned the top three buttons of his shirt. “I can’t believe you showed her that picture then just left me there.” He stood close, invading enough of her personal space that she could smell his cologne and feel the heat rolling off his body. “That woman wanted me to ‘service’ her.” He nodded his head, his eyes still saucers. “Seriously. She used the words ‘service me.’ Twice.” He made air quotes as Ryhan popped open the door to her Pinto.

  She climbed in the car and reattached the bungee cord that held her door shut. The window slid down inside the door and Jesse jumped back. “She’s been around the block a time or two. I bet she even has a few tricks she could teach a hot stud like you.” Ryhan shrugged. “Who knows? You might have fun.”

  “Wow. You’re one of those funny girls.” He leaned in and touched the duck-taped steering wheel. “Is this thing even safe to drive?”

  “Well, Mr. Automobile Snob, I’ll have you know my relationship with this car is the best one I’ve ever had.” She stroked the dashboard with careful, loving fingers while Jesse’s eyes followed every move. His deep gulp puffed up her pride.

  “Somehow, I believe that. But I have to say, I find your choice in men and motor vehicles equally questionable.” He shook his head and flicked the cord stretching from door handle to door handle. “Look at this thing. It’s a death trap.”

  “For your information, that doubles as a seat belt.” She grinned. “I’m a safety girl.”

  “Oh, yeah. I can tell.”

  Ryhan aimed a glare at him. She didn’t share the fact that the car was probably thirty years older than the ten she’d owned it. Instead, she revved the sputtering engine. It coughed once and died. He stood back and cocked one eyebrow. She twisted the key again. The sputter turned into a choking rumble punctuated by a loud bang before it began to quietly purr. “See you around, pretty boy.”