Harlequin Superromance August 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2: What Happens Between FriendsStaying at Joe'sHer Road Home

by Beth Andrews

  At first she was reticent, afraid to be seen as the local freak, but after some friendly grilling she realized the women weren’t judging, just curious. A few even sounded envious. Chattering away, she carried the last armload of baskets to the backyard, put them on the food table and grabbed a soda from the cadre of coolers lined up against the window. She dropped into a chaise and took a few solitary moments to survey the yard.

  A couple dozen people in summer clothes, drinks in hand, lounged in scattered groups. A herd of kids ran across the grass chasing a Frisbee, ignoring the adults’ admonitions to move to the side yard.

  It looked like an avian sanctuary she’d visited once, where colorful exotic birds flitted from branch to branch, their voices combining into a jangle of sound. She chuckled to herself, certain that the mayor’s wife, with her high-pitched voice and large, flower-splashed muumuu would not appreciate the analogy.

  Her pulse took a happy skip when her attention snagged on a pair of broad shoulders. Nick squatted in the yard, having a serious conversation with a little girl holding a huge beach ball. Sam took her time checking him out, his soft eyes, lips and olive skin, set against his strong chin and cheekbones. A lethal combination. He wore stonewashed jeans and an ivory muslin shirt, the sleeves rolled snug against serious biceps.

  Sam glanced back to his face and realized with a jolt that he stared at her.

  Her face burned, but like an animal caught in a spotlight, she couldn’t look away. Her heart thudded, heavy in her chest. But her stomach felt weightless. His eyes held her, compelling her to—what?

  Time drowsed in the warm sun. Nick smiled and stood. When the cool air brushed the backs of her hot knees, Sam realized she’d stood as well. Her skin ached for touch, with a strength that seemed to pull him across the lawn by the simple force of the wanting. He came in a slow, loose-hipped walk, scanning her from hair to pink-polished toes. He climbed the patio stairs, releasing his breath in a long, low whistle that she felt in the floor of her pelvis. The muscles of her thighs and belly tightened.

  Nick stepped up to her. Still holding her gaze, his arms took her in. His head dipped, hovering over the fragile juncture at the base of her throat. She swallowed. He inhaled. When his lips lightly brushed the intimate spot, she shivered, intensely aware of the points he touched—his hands, on the bare skin of her back, his legs, pressing heat through the thin material of her skirt.

  He growled, “Bella serata. Bella donna.”

  Apparently everyone within earshot had been eavesdropping, because they burst into applause.

  Snatched from the safe cocoon of Nick’s regard, Sam glanced around, face flaming. She buried her head in his shoulder. He threw his head back and laughed. Lifting her off her feet, he spun her in a circle.

  “Don’t be shy, Sam. These old people just don’t remember what it’s like to be young in the spring.” When he set her down, a man tending the grill handed him a soda. She beat a hasty and, she hoped, dignified retreat to the house.

  Just inside the sliding glass door, a matronly woman in tight Bermuda shorts sighed. “My husband hasn’t looked at me like that in years.”

  “I haven’t felt that hot since our air conditioner died in the heat wave last August,” giggled another, fanning herself with a cocktail napkin.

  Jesse bustled over and put her arm around Sam. “Oh, Carmen, it’s probably just a hot flash. You old biddies are jealous.”

  “Damn straight, we are!” A young blonde raised a margarita glass in a toast.

  A man in an “I kiss better than I cook” apron yelled that the meat was ready and everyone headed for the patio.

  Sam soon found herself with a plate of food, squeezed between Nick and Dan Porter on one side of a picnic table. Dan wore a loud Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts, with flip-flops on his broad feet. He’d brought a date, an English teacher he worked with at the high school. Edith wore glasses, a Hawaiian shift and large tropical fish earrings that swung just above her shoulders.

  Easy banter continued through dinner. The balm of everyday things in everyday lives flowed over Sam, soothing her unease. This wasn’t so bad.

  Not so bad? When had she ever mingled? Felt lulled by a feeling of belonging? Being seen by a crowd as part of a couple?

  Exactly never. Conflicting emotions pulled at her: worry, trepidation and jittery nerves laid over a core of—rightness. She felt like an imposter, as if she’d stepped into someone else’s skin. These people related to the smooth exterior, not glimpsing the seething mess underneath.

  She glanced at Nick, relaxed and talking to Dan Porter between bites. But he knows. And he hadn’t run yet.

  He just wants your body, the little girl whispered.

  Maybe. That didn’t feel right, but the little girl had been right before. Damn that faulty compass of hers—she’d paid more than once for trusting the wrong person.

  Be careful. Sighing, Sam rose to help clean up.

  As the sun edged over the hill, everyone sat chatting, listening to a young man playing classical guitar. A slight breeze stirred the tree branches, keeping away the heat and the bugs. Sam reclined in a chaise lounge, half listening to Nick who sat at the foot, discussing the last city council meeting with one of Jesse’s neighbors.

  Full and content, she closed her eyes and inhaled the cloying scent of night blooming jasmine. Snippets of conversations wove through her wandering thoughts. She had no idea she’d drifted off until a voice in her ear wakened her.

  “Hey, Sam, wake up. It’s time to boogie!”

  She opened her eyes to Nick, just inches away. She smiled and stretched, surprised to see night had fallen. Small fairy lights winked in the tree branches bordering the dance floor. Sodium spotlights surrounded it, as well, highlighting the soft gold of the wood.

  “Oh, it’s magical!”

  He chuckled, then took her hand and pulled her out of the lounge chair. A small group of musicians began a western tune. She and Nick joined the other couples heading for the dance floor.

  “Whoa up, cowboy!” She planted her feet, pulling against his hand. “I don’t know how to dance to this. I’m a Midwest girl, remember? Rock and roll I can handle. I can even disco in my kitchen, but this stuff...”

  The couples danced in a loose circle, women twirling under the men’s arms in moves that appeared choreographed.

  Nick looked into her face and smiled. “No time like the present to learn. The only recommendation I have is that you lose those pretty shoes. I don’t think they’re made for dancing.” Still she held back, watching the dancers.

  “Don’t worry, Sam. I’m not going to let you look foolish.”

  He’d captured her thoughts so perfectly that it brought her head up with a start, expecting to see him laughing at her. Instead, his eyes held a patient waiting.

  The acceptance convinced her. Maybe butterflies could learn to country dance, too. Their polka was getting old.

  She sat on the chaise, untied her sandals and tucked them underneath. She took his hand, and a steadying breath. “Okay, big guy, lead on, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. At least I can’t hurt your feet stomping on them barefoot.”

  The glossy wood of the dance floor was cool under her feet when he led her to the center, couples revolving clockwise around them. No one seemed to notice the couple at their center.

  “This is simpler than it looks. It’s called a two-step, because you take two steps, then turn, two steps and turn. Watch their feet. Everyone does different things from the waist up, but the steps are the same.”

  He was right. “It’s pretty. All the colors going around like a kaleidoscope. Is that why they do it?”

  Her hands clasped loosely in his warm ones. He smiled at her. “Leave it to a woman to notice the ambiance. They circle so they don’t crash into each other. You cover ground, and if everyone were going i
n different directions, it would look like a pileup on the freeway. Now, let me show you.”

  She shivered when Nick’s hand slid over the sensitive skin of her lower back exposed by her short peasant blouse. He enfolded her other hand in his and laid it against his shoulder, then drew her close, their thighs brushing.

  She touched her forehead to his shoulder, inhaling his comforting metallic spicy scent. When she relaxed, they slid together like puzzle pieces. A perfect fit.

  He put his fingers under her chin, lifting her head. “Don’t look down. It’ll distract you and make it harder to follow. You’ll be able to feel my next move.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” He stood so close she could feel lots of things. And she was beginning to enjoy this way too much.

  “Here we go.” He backed up two steps, did a quarter turn, and advanced two steps.

  He held her loose but close—so close that her feet did know which way to move. He turned again and took two steps. After the first full circle, she anticipated his moves. The song’s swinging one-two cadence beat inside her chest and her body responded.

  “See, I told you this wasn’t hard.” Nick moved with the same fluid grace he had that night in his kitchen.

  She was done thinking. Sam closed her eyes and felt: The cool air on the nape of her neck, his hips, lightly brushing her skirt, the tiny movements of his warm fingers on the bare skin of her back.

  Nick pushed her out, raised his arm and spun her in a circle. She was ready the second time he spun her, faster.

  She laughed as her skirt flared and the scenery went around in a blur.

  “Tinker Bell.”

  She cocked her head at him, not wanting to break the spell with words.

  “That’s who you look like under the lights. I feel like I’m holding a woodland fairy in my arms.”

  Her next step wobbled.

  “Sam, do you know how stunningly beautiful you are?”

  It wasn’t his words; it must have been the lights. With the shadow that fell over Nick’s face, the world shifted. His warm smile became a leer. Glistening blubbery lips revealed flat, yellowing teeth. Her butterflies lost their rhythm and crashed into each other. She stepped back, shrugging out of that suddenly straitjacket embrace.

  “What?” He stepped from the shadow and became Nick once more.

  Of course. He’d always been Nick. Was she losing her mind?

  “What is it, Samantha? Are you all right?”

  The concern pierced her. For some stupid reason, tears pricked her eyes. She fought the urge to take his shirt in her fists and sob into it—to give in, to let go. To be vulnerable. Before she could, she turned and escaped the dance floor, stumbling a bit at the edge.

  She ran, the grass cool on the soles of her feet.

  You should have known this wouldn’t work.

  She had known. But there was something about this man. She couldn’t hold the wall of indifference that she’d built between herself and every other male. The wall that kept things light. Safe.

  She’d known the storm was coming. Hell, he’d even seen it.

  Dammit, she knew better than to want. It always got snatched away. Always.

  Skirting the lights, she ran up the hill on the dark side of the house. Halfway up, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

  She stopped, breathing hard.

  His voice came from the dark behind her. “Why are you running? I only told you how pretty—”

  She whipped around. He stood outlined against the light, her sandals dangling from his hand.

  Better shoved away than snatched away.

  “So I’m obligated, right? I need to be polite while men stare. Because I’m pretty.” She spit the words at him. “Everyone assumes it’s a blessing. It’s not. I feel like some kind of genetically defective chameleon. All I want is to blend into the background, but it’s green, and I’m hot pink.” She put her palms on either side of her face, as if she could rip it off. “This is a magnet that draws men. I didn’t ask for it—I don’t want it!”

  She couldn’t see him, but knew she’d revealed too much. Again. What was it about this man that made the truth come out of her mouth when she meant to lie?

  In his eyes she’d seen the reflection a beautiful woman. And it scared the bejesus out of her.

  Time to finish this. “This is not going to work. Go away, Nick.” Without touching his fingers, she snatched the laces of her sandals and walked away.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  YELLOW LIGHT SPILLED from the screen door and kitchen windows, but shadows ruled the corner of the porch where Nick sat in the swing. Somewhere between the dance floor and the porch, his feelings solidified from nebulous to stone. He wanted Sam. Not just the gorgeous outside—but the sweet, vulnerable, damaged woman beneath the skin. He had no intention of getting chased off like a stray hound. If she wanted to get rid of him, it was going to take more than what she’d shown him so far.

  He saw just when Sam realized she didn’t have car keys; she stopped halfway to the Jeep and patted her skirt, as if feeling for her jean pockets. She trotted up the sidewalk and into Jesse’s house.

  He scrubbed his palms on his jeans, forcing his body still, waiting. His foot bounced on the boards of the porch, waiting. Two minutes later she slammed out the screen door, and moving fast, started down the porch steps.

  “Does that usually work?”

  She froze like a kid caught sneaking cookies, then turned, squinting into the shadows. “Does what work?” Her words sounded more resigned than angry.

  “Driving men away. Does it usually work?”

  “I don’t know. I never let one close enough before.” She blew out a breath. “But apparently it doesn’t.”

  He chuckled and patted the wooden seat next to him. “Come, sit down. Talk to me for a few minutes. I promise I won’t keep you long.”

  She hesitated a lengthy moment, then with a resigned sigh, took the step up to the porch, crossed the shadows and leaned against the porch rail, facing him.

  Convincing arguments crowded his mind. Good arguments. Useless arguments. He pushed them aside and closed his eyes, imagining himself lying in the dark, talking to her on the phone. “Though my imagination bludgeons me with it, I can’t know what you went through, Sam. Not really. I do understand that you’re afraid of men—”

  “I’m not afraid of men.”

  He hadn’t known a wail could be a whisper.

  She looked at her feet. “Only you.”

  Bubbles of hope hit his brain like the fizz of fine champagne. There’s a chance.

  She continued, “I have a lot of thinking to do. The other night. You saw. I’m standing on the edge of something...big. I’m wobbly, and I don’t have the luxury of a safety net.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I can’t take a chance on a relationship, Nick. You can’t make me.” Her words trailed off in a little-girl voice.

  He smiled, grateful she couldn’t see it. “Hon, I’m not trying to make you do anything. But sometime, when you’re doing all that thinking, you may want to look at what is.”

  She spun away to stare out at the shrouded yard. The murmur of the crowd was only a pleasant backdrop to the music of the neighborhood. A screen door slapped down the street. Crickets rubbed out their mating songs in the grass. The subtext of traffic drifted from far away.

  He stood and crossed the porch to stand a step farther from her than he wanted to be. Using their physical attraction to nudge her decision wouldn’t be fair. “Sam, I know about loss, and pain. I also know that life is a cold place all alone.”

  Right here. He should tell her about his past, right here.

  But he’d already taken a chance when he told her he was an alcoholic. Load on top of that the fact that his mom was murdered by—uh-uh. Not going there. Not right
now. She’d be in the wind in a heartbeat. Assign him to hell for being a coward, but he could live with that easier than losing her.

  He needed to touch her. To smooth the lock of hair that had fallen out of the fancy twist held together with bobby pins and magic.

  “Look, you’re back on the road when the house is finished. I know that. We’re both fragile people, Sam. But maybe we have a chance to step into a place for little awhile, out of the wind.” He leaned over the rail to catch her gaze. “We’re friends, and from what you’ve told me, I may know more about you than anyone still alive.” He forced the edges of his mouth up, as if her answer weren’t a fork in his future. “Relationships have been founded on less. What do you think?”

  She faced him, her eyes flashing liquid in the light from the windows.

  He dangled in the seconds that ticked by.

  “I think a windbreak would be nice for a little while.” She tipped her head to the side. “What the hell. I survived a tangle with a car. Maybe I can survive a tangle with you.” He didn’t hear a smile in her words.

  When the tension drained, relief poured in. It was a chance. A chance to show her that all men don’t hurt. That a relationship could sustain her—sustain them both. He stood, savoring the fullness of the moment when Samantha let him in. He felt like Indiana Jones, after he negotiated the booby traps in the temple. Before the spiders.

  Don’t get carried away, dude. She said “a little while.”

  He’d take that. He’d take whatever she offered willingly. He wanted to kiss her senseless and mess up that prissy hairdo. This glamorous creature was amazing, but he missed the biker chick. My biker chick.

  For a little while.

  He stepped into the empty space and took her in his arms.

  * * *

  SAM NESTLED SAFE against Nick’s chest, well aware that safety was, like a heat shimmer at the horizon, a mirage. But for right now, she’d take it and pretend. The storm that began a few months ago—hell, who was she kidding—years ago, had eaten away at her tough facade, finding cracks she hadn’t known were there, eroding her resolve. She was weary. Soul weary. She doubted she could run now, even if she’d wanted to. And for the first time in her life, she didn’t really want to. Was it wrong to grab at the solace Nick offered? Just for a while?