Luck of the Draw (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 1)

by Cheri Allan

  “I, uh... why are you here?” she asked, hastily stepping away from the window.

  “I have the new shower head and knob I mentioned the other day. I was hoping to switch out the old one before heading to my first job if that’s okay. It’ll only take a few minutes. You won’t even know I’m here.”

  “Sure. Hang on a minute. I’ll let you in.”

  Shower knob? Images of Jim, wet and sexy, and standing in the lake flashed into her consciousness. Kate frantically searched for her robe and threw it over the faded oversized T-shirt she’d worn to bed, pulling the sash tight. She couldn’t remember, precisely, whether she’d remembered to lock the front door or not, but she’d be damned if Jim—heck any man—would occupy the only bathroom in the house if she’d yet to even brush teeth.

  A few minutes later, her hair hastily finger-combed, her teeth brushed and a lightning fast coat of lip gloss on her lips, Kate opened the door with as much aplomb as she could muster.

  “Good morning,” she said brightly as she ushered him in. “Sorry it took so long. I, ah, was just checking on Liam. He’s still asleep.”

  “He is?” Jim stepped in, some shiny shower thingy in one hand and a toolbox in the other. “Aren’t kids usually up at the crack of dawn?”

  “Last night was pretty exciting. Wore him out, I think.”

  “I hope he had fun.”

  “We did. I mean, he did. We both did.”

  Kate’s mouth went dry. Jim stood silently, casually gorgeous in a plain navy tee and tan pants. He smelled fresh and clean like Ivory soap. Kate tried to inhale without being obvious.

  Jim nodded, his eyes skimming over her quickly. “I’d better get to work if I’m gonna make it to my job at nine.”

  “Of course.” Kate chewed the inside of her cheek as she followed him down the hall. “I, ah, was going to start some coffee. Can I bring you a cup when it’s done?” Best to act casual. Friendly. Like sexy, flirty games of chicken raft and shirtless photo shoots were par for the course.

  “That’d be great. I take it black.” Jim was already setting down his toolbox and stepping behind the shower curtain, his apparent indifference not doing great things for Kate’s self-confidence.

  “Okay.”

  “And Kate?”

  She paused, a shiver of breathless anticipation coursing up her spine at being called back. “Yes?”

  “Better do it before I shut off the water.”

  She nodded, deflated. “Sure.”

  For heaven’s sake, what did she expect? Here she was in a tired old bathrobe, her hair a mess, no make-up... Did she really expect him to pin her with his eyes, press her against the bathroom wall, and have his hungry way with her?

  She pulled out mugs and started the coffee. Dear Lord, if she were this bad over one eligible man in her vicinity, what kind of disaster would the charity calendar prove to be? Did the ladies even know what a fragile state she was in? Was this even normal?

  No. Nothing was normal. Her life was one big raucous roller coaster, and it was heading for the big dark TUNNEL with a capital T.

  Bedsides, mooning after her good-looking neighbor probably wasn’t what Nancy had meant when she’d told Kate to ‘find her passion.’ Not that he was an unpleasant diversion. Thinking about him kept her mind off worrying about REAL LIFE.

  Damn. The capital letters were back. That couldn’t be a good sign.

  “Ow!” A loud clatter of something falling into the tub was quickly followed by a colorful curse and the distinct sound of water spraying.

  “Everything all right?” Kate hovered near the bathroom door, a masculine-sized mug of coffee in hand.

  More frantic fumbling, more mumbled curses, and more water spraying sounds emerged from behind the shower curtain.

  “Jim?” Afraid to interfere but also intensely curious about what was going on, Kate peered around the far end of the curtain. “Oh, my.”

  Jim stood like a dog caught in the rain, giant water splotches soaking his front, water dribbling from his hair and nose. And the new shower thingy was on the floor of the tub.

  “What happened?” Really, she was making every effort not to laugh. A supreme effort.

  Jim wiped his dripping brow with his forearm. “Forgot to turn off the water.”

  “I see.” Kate could feel the corners of her mouth twisting up, could feel the bursts of laughter trying to sneak out of her lungs, her nose. “I, ah, brought your coffee,” she said, holding out the mug.

  He took it with as much dignity as possible under the circumstances. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” Letting the curtain fall back into place, she allowed a single hiccup of laughter to escape. “It could happen to anyone.”

  He sighed, a long-suffering good-natured sound that had her snorting indelicately and covering her mouth with her hand. “Thank you,” he said. “Could you hand me something to dry off with?”

  Kate hurried to the linen closet and grabbed a towel. She thrust it behind the curtain.

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She stood outside the tub as he set his coffee on the edge to dry himself.

  “You know,” he said, “you really don’t have to stand there.”

  “Oh. Right. Sorry.”

  “I don’t mind you standing there,” he added as he pushed aside the curtain and stepped from the tub, scrubbing his hair with the towel. “But you are somewhat to blame for this.”

  “I am?” she squeaked. Heavens, he was good-looking all wet and frumpled. His water-soaked T-shirt was plastered to his chest. Kate’s tongue became the Sahara.

  “Mmm hmm,” he nodded. Now he was finger-combing his hair, a crooked grin making his face boyishly appealing as he dropped the towel on his toolbox. “I was thinking about you, you see—”

  “You were?” Kate backed up against the sink, the small bathroom feeling suddenly much smaller. Dangerously small. As small as the pocket in her lungs still capable of holding air. “What were you thinking?”

  He paused, his eyes dancing. “I’m thinking I ought to keep that to myself.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t think we know each other well enough for me to tell you that.”

  Suddenly the flannel of her robe felt very hot on her skin. Kate sucked air through her nose and stared at his lips, that crooked smile teasing her, beckoning her. “I want to know,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

  He wasn’t touching her, was still nearly two feet away, but every nerve cell in her body registered his presence. Her skin tingled with the need to make contact. Her fingers itched to press themselves against his damp skin. He took a step forward and she almost moaned.

  He said nothing, simply stared at her, his eyes dark, his face taut. His smile had disappeared, replaced by a look so smoldering Kate nearly pooled at his feet.

  “I don’t want—” he began.

  “I know—” she agreed.

  And then his lips were on hers, hard, scorching, stealing the remaining air from her lungs.

  Dear Lord, she thought, if I suffocate because this kiss never ends, this is exactly how I want to go.

  He pulled back, blinking at her, shaking his head in confusion. “I don’t... want...” he began again.

  “I don’t care,” she said. Then she grabbed his face in her palms and yanked him back to her, fusing their lips once more.

  She did moan this time as his hands held her shoulders almost desperately, his fingers squeezing her flesh as he plundered her mouth, those beautiful, skillful lips lighting a fire in her that burned all the way to her toes.

  He might have said something more, but having finally tasted this man—this man she had already seen naked—she couldn’t get enough of him. She pressed him back, eager, hungry, pinning the door closed behind him as his hands—Lord, those hands!—splayed across her back, kneading the fabric, her flesh.

  He groaned, a deep masculine sound of surrender before spinning her around and pinning her
to the door in his place.

  There was no thinking. No rationale. No analysis of what was happening. For the first time in her life, Kate was acting on instinct alone.

  And it felt incredible!

  Her hands ran down his sides, over the rough fabric on his hips and pulled him hard to her. He grunted against her lips, a light sound of surprise and then issued a moan as his erection pulsed against her.

  Her robe was halfway down her back, his hands hot through her tee, when he pulled back, gulping air. “Kate?”

  “Please don’t talk,” she insisted, pulling his lips back to hers.

  She didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to think. Didn’t want to analyze what in the world she was doing with this man in this place at this time...

  Didn’t want to admit that it was wrong for more reasons than she could ever count.

  She inhaled deeply.

  She had to stop smelling him. Had to stop kissing him.

  With a heavy sigh—because, Lord, it was painful to do so—she pulled away, her breathing as labored as his. “I think… we… should stop,” she managed to say—pushing the words through her lips—lips that were still tantalizingly close to his.

  He nodded, his chest heaving. He stepped back. “Yes,” he agreed. His tongue moistened his lips. “Good idea.”

  Kate ran a shaky hand through her hair. “I don’t know—”

  “Me either.”

  They nodded, eyeing each other as if the other might try to finish what neither wanted to leave off.

  “Liam will probably be up soon.”

  He nodded again, let out a cleansing breath. “I, ah, should go turn off the water now.”

  “Right.”

  They stared at each other, the air thick with the smell of desire.

  “I’ll need to leave the room to do that,” he said.

  Kate scurried to the side so he could open the door. “Right. Of course.”

  Jim shimmied by her. They avoided eye contact.

  “I should start breakfast,” she said, righting her robe and heading for the kitchen.

  “Good idea,” he said, clearing his throat and heading for the basement.

  In the kitchen, Kate clutched the edge of the sink, her legs like noodles.

  What was she thinking?

  She was a sensible woman. A rational woman. A—dare she say it?—practical woman.

  Practical, sensible, rational women did not go making hot and heavy with virtual strangers just because they were sexy and wet in their bathrooms.

  Of course she knew that. She knew that! It wasn’t as if her subconscious needed to tell her. She was perfectly aware that giving in to her desperate housewife alter-ego would have ramifications. She was a sensible woman. Sensible women knew these things.

  Kate knew these things.

  JIM LEANED AGAINST THE BASEMENT wall and sucked in long, cleansing lungfuls of air. He wet his lips again, lips that still held the taste of the woman who even now was probably pouring cereal into a bowl like it was any old day of the week.

  Instead of the day Jim Pearson had lost his mind.

  Okay, so maybe that was exaggerating, but how to explain the scene that had just played out—in his grandparents’ bathroom no less? He’d never be able to step foot in that room again without thinking about it. Without thinking about her.

  Thinking. Yes. Good idea.

  He should think instead of follow the front of his pants everywhere like some pornographic divining rod. She was a widow… with a kid, for Christ’s sake!

  He had to stop swearing. He was going to hell. For swearing and lusting after a widow with a kid, he was going to hell.

  Jim began to pace, his leather work boots scuffing the old floor.

  If he could only think what triggered the, ah, incident, he might be able to prevent it from happening again.

  Why the hell would I want to do that?

  Good question. No, not a good question! Of course he wanted to prevent it! They hardly knew each other! She was in mourning, or on the rebound, or... well, whatever vulnerable state one is in after a loss like that.

  But vulnerable didn’t seem to describe Kate at all. Passionate. Gorgeous. Uninhibited. Sexy as no woman had a right to be looking all tumbled and warm first thing in the morning. That was Kate.

  An image of her, panting, flushed, pushing him against the door, her lips soft and urgent against his, flashed to mind.

  “I’m going to hell,” he muttered, ducking to avoid the joists overhead. “This can’t be healthy either. This kind of... reaction to a woman. Can’t be good.”

  As if in agreement, his erection surged against his fly.

  “Shut up,” he mumbled to his crotch. “You’re half my problem.”

  Jesus. He was talking to his dick. This was a bad porno movie. Except...

  He didn’t feel sleazy at all. He felt...

  Confused. That’s what that feeling was. The stale, damp basement air was just making it hard to think this through. Kate was obviously missing male company and he’d been too long—okay a few months—without female companionship. It was only natural they’d jump each other at the first opportunity. Right?

  Right. So, if he just kept his distance, she’d realize the same thing, that this was a one-time mistake, and all would be well.

  They’d simply avoid each other.

  Yes. Avoidance. Always a winning strategy.

  Kate would move to the next stage of her, ah, grief and he’d forget it ever happened.

  He’d simply wait for the tent in his pants to disappear and he could start his avoidance plan in earnest.

  June 17

  Don’t you love surprises? I’m not talking about dog poo or stomach bugs. I’m talking about the good ones. Like one last chocolate when you thought the box was empty. A happy ending when all seems lost. Or, especially, discovering something—or someone—wonderful, when you least expect it...

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ____________________

  HE ARRIVED THE NEXT MORNING.

  Kate signed for the FedEx and carried the small square box into the cottage. It was heavier than she thought it would be.

  She set Randy on the mantel and stared at him.

  “When can we open it?” Liam demanded at her side.

  “It’s not for opening. This is a special box that stays just as it is.”

  Until I figure out what the hell to do with it.

  Nana, of course, was no help whatsoever.

  “I don’t see why you didn’t just bury him,” she said later that day as they stood staring at the FedEx box on the mantel. “That’s what you’re supposed to do with dead people.”

  Kate closed her eyes. “He was claustrophobic, Nana. He hated small spaces. I couldn’t do that to him.”

  They stared at the box.

  “Seems to me it’s not all that roomy in there either.”

  “I know that,” Kate said. Nana looked at her expectantly. “I just need some time to figure out what to do with them, that’s all.”

  “You could make him into soap.”

  “Nana!”

  “Oh, lighten up. I’m kidding. But don’t let this fester. You need to take care of this and move on. Randy is a part of the past for you. You can’t let him keep popping up like this. It’s not good for you.”

  Kate felt light-headed. If Nana only knew how wrong she was.

  “What am I supposed to do? He hasn’t spoken to his dad in years. And since his mom died... It’s up to me now.” She laid a hand on her forehead. It felt clammy. “I’ll think of a place to scatter them, okay? I just don’t know right now where that should be.” Kate looked around the tired old living room. She stared at the gold rocker with the colonial-print fabric. If it had any bright ideas, it wasn’t sharing.

  “Well,” said Nana, “I’d love to stand around and brainstorm some more, but I’ve got to run. My friend Lydia’s got some silly idea of holding a benefit sale at her consignment shop in a few weeks, and she’s s
wamped with donations. She has no idea what she’s gotten herself into.”

  “Sounds good. Going to town, I mean. I need to buy some paint. And if you could watch Liam for a bit, there’s something I have to do.”

  “What?”

  Kate blew out a cleansing breath and grabbed her purse. “Get a haircut.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ____________________

  IT WAS FRIDAY POKER NIGHT AGAIN, and as much fun as the quilt show had been, June Hastings was glad to be home. She stepped onto Lydia’s screened porch, set her gin and tonic on the table and selected a riotously floral seat cushion to perch on. What Lydia lacked in ability to grow actual flowers, she made up for in her choice of upholstery fabrics. But that didn’t matter. They had some grandchildren to discuss. June plopped her box of family photos onto the table in front of her and turned to Ruth Pearson. “How was the barbecue last week?”

  Ruth pursed her lips and reached for the veggie platter. “Good. I think. It was hard to tell.”

  Claire sniffed, dropping a glob of dip onto the front of her late husband’s bowling shirt. “Probably not meant to be, then.”

  Lydia pushed open the screen door. “What’s not meant to be?”

  “June and Ruth’s grandkids. They’re not setting off sparks.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Ruth said. “I think there’s definite interest, but they’re both skittish.”

  “Kate’s always been shy,” June concurred then her eyes narrowed. “Lydia, what is in your drink?”

  “A marshmallow. Claire ate all my cherries again. Besides I thought it might be fun to experiment with something new.” She began to deal the cards, her silver bangles sing-songing on her wrist. “Maybe they just need a nudge,” she suggested.

  Ruth sipped her cocktail and nodded. “I thought of that, but the problem is, and don’t take this the wrong way, June, there isn’t a lot of opportunity for romance with the little one around.”

  June picked up her cards and fanned them thoughtfully. “I know. She uses him like a shield. Just an excuse not to get back in the swing of things. She’s hardly stepped foot out of that cottage since she arrived last week. Puttering around. Weeding...” She pursed her lips and rearranged her cards. “It’s not healthy, if you ask me. Grown-ups need grown-up time.”