“But great bones.”
She glanced at him and caught him looking back.
Heat sparked between them. She covered it by opening her door and climbing out. He followed suit and got out on his side.
He stood with his hands on his hips and surveyed more of the grounds. “She’s got acres here.”
“And they all need work,” she said with glee.
He nodded. “For a long time. Got a big crew?”
She shook her head.
“Just you and your husband or boyfriend?”
She gave him the once-over, not that she needed to—she just liked the view. “Jake MacKay, are you asking if I’m available?”
He moved so that he stood directly in front of her. She came up to his shoulder, so there was nowhere else to look but up into his expressive face. “I wouldn’t want to have to break a man’s heart.”
She laughed. “Because you’re going to steal me away?” She chuckled again but thought better of touching his chest. She was none too sure that zip and zing was gone. “And what? You don’t care if you break a woman’s heart?”
“I wouldn’t do that.” His expression heated, and she had the distinct impression those jeans of his were tented again.
“Right,” she said, not looking south of his massive shoulders. Carpenter’s shoulders, used to heavy work; carpenter’s hands, dexterous and knowledgeable; and a carpenter’s head for angles and design. This guy was the whole package. “You don’t break hearts.”
“Never yours.” He grinned. “I’m glad you understand me.”
She tried not to roll her eyes but failed. She needed to get the conversation to safer ground. Sex with Jake MacKay was one fabulous idea, but having her heart involved was dangerous. She had no time for involved. Her business held her captive, and she loved it. Time for ground rules.
“I’m taking Creighton Landscape and Design in a new direction, and the season has taken off for me. The business sucks up all my time.” In other words, don’t expect more than a good lay.
Curious to see more of the gardens, she turned toward the far side of the house and followed a weed-choked brick path around the veranda, confident he’d follow.
Around the corner, she could see what was once a vegetable garden. “Here’s where they got their fresh produce.”
“I don’t see anything but raspberry canes.”
She pointed out the old vegetable beds, lined up and squared off with the same brick used for the walkway, crumbling into dust but still visible. Raspberry canes had overgrown the patch.
Trees encroached on the lawns.
His heat burned up her back as he loomed behind her. He was a big square man and made her feel small and very wanted. Temptation rose from her lowest belly in response. She glanced over her shoulder and saw him slide his gaze down her back.
He liked what he saw.
He wanted what he saw.
And she wanted him back. She tilted her backside infinitesimally toward him, then swept her gaze up to his to make sure the action registered.
It did.
“Are you staying at the house?” His tone said he hoped so.
“I haven’t been invited. I live in Bellingham, though. It’s a fair drive.”
“Who called you in?”
“A Ms. Grantham.”
“Faye?”
She straightened and turned fully toward him. “I don’t exactly recall the first name. I was half-asleep at the time.” More than half-asleep—she’d been pulled from a wildy erotic dream. A dream that started up again as soon as she answered the phone.
Odder than odd.
“What was her voice like?”
“Hot.” She wanted to bite off her tongue. “I didn’t mean, you know, that I found her hot.” She eased closer to his chest. She dropped her voice to an intimate, confidential level. “I’m not into women.”
“I am,” he said, as if she hadn’t seen his interest. “Tight, athletically built women turn me on.” He let his gaze trickle down from her eyes to her perked nipples to her trim waist and her too-short cutoffs.
She bloomed all over again.
“Women with burnished brown hair, wide smiles, and intelligence and wit.”
She felt her cheeks go hot at his description. The man was a turn-on, no doubt about it.
His gaze pulled at her. She wanted to fall into him.
“And I love a man in a tool belt,” she said, all warm and ready. “All that leather, the tools, the large belt buckles.”
His hearty surprised laugh boomed out across the grounds. “I didn’t know women noticed belt buckles. I always think the weight of the tools make my jeans droop and turn me into butt-crack man when I bend over. I hate that.”
She smiled. “You’d be surprised what women like. And, no, you shouldn’t worry about being butt-crack man.” She let her gaze slide down from his broad shoulders to his hard flat belly. “You don’t have the build for it.” Invisible bands of desire tugged between them. She leaned closer. He took a step toward her.
“Hello!” A call came from the corner of the veranda. A woman leaned over the railing, waving at them.
They turned as one to face her.
“What year is this?” Jake asked while he waved pleasantly back to her.
“According to what she’s wearing, nineteen fifty-something.”
“Does she look like—?”
“A blond bombshell? Yeah. Wow.” Lexa smiled and waved at the woman. They matched pace as they walked toward the veranda. Jake’s shoulders took up most of the brick pathway, but it was his scent that called to her. She hadn’t noticed before, but he smelled fresh and crisp. Clean and healthy. Virile.
Oh, yum.
His jaw was just showing some afternoon bristles. They were still short enough to scratch, but in a few hours, they’d be silkier, easier on her tender flesh.
Where the hell was her mind? And her control? She was about to make a first impression on Perdition’s owner, and all she could think about was getting down and dirty with Jake MacKay.
3
“Y ou must be Lexa Creighton and Jake MacKay.” Even the woman’s lipstick color was Marilyn Monroe red. A shoulder-length cloud of platinum-blond waves wafted like silken ribbons around her face.
“That would be us,” Jake confirmed.
She turned her wide blue gaze to Lexa. “Your great-grandparents met and fell in love at Perdition House.” Her smile turned private as if at a personal memory. “I’m Faye Grantham.”
Her voice warmed in welcome, but it was not the voice Lexa remembered from the late-night call.
Jake was first to clasp her hand in a firm handshake. Lexa watched closely but saw no zap or electrical jolt at their contact. It was a normal, gentle clasping of hands. Perfunctory, even. No more eye contact than you’d give any stranger. Feminine pleasure spiked through her. Jake’s interest was focused on her, in spite of the blond’s rare beauty.
Lexa offered up her own hand, smiled, and released, pleased with what she’d seen so far.
“Please, come in,” Faye offered with a wave up to the veranda. “I have coffee and warm muffins in the kitchen.”
Jake’s fingertips cupped Lexa’s elbow as she grasped the railing of the veranda stairs. Another burn sizzled straight to her heart from where he touched. He dropped her elbow a second after contact, but the sparklers continued. He flexed his fingers.
“Did you feel that one too?” she whispered. Apparently his zing was reserved for her. Even more pleased, she climbed the four steps to the top.
At his worried nod, she smiled. “Now it’s your turn to see what you’ve got to work with here, so stop frowning. It’s going well so far,” she said in a whisper just for him.
They followed Faye through the front door.
Lexa took a breath and stepped inside.
Perdition House. “The house of family legend.” She released her breath and took it all in. “It’s so grand!”
A double-wide staircase r
ose to a square landing, then turned to the second story. The next floor up had an open hallway that looked over the entrance. Several rooms opened off the hall, like an old hotel.
She could just make out a second set of stairs that led to the third floor. “Are there rooms up there too?” she asked.
“My private suite. It used to be Belle’s, the original madame of Perdition.”
“Madame? So the family stories are true?” Annie Creighton, Lexa’s great-grandma, had been a prostitute.
Faye turned and smiled gently. “I’m aware of the stories, but your great-grandmother didn’t work here as one of the girls.”
“No? The family just assumed the whole story about her parading around as a boy was a cover-up.”
Faye laughed. “As sweet as Annie was, she wasn’t as polished as Belle wanted her girls to be. Besides, it suited everyone’s purpose to have Andy, the name Annie used as a man, work on the building. She had to pretend to be a man to learn what she needed for building and design. She was beautiful when she cleaned up.” Faye eyed Lexa critically. “Yes, quite a beauty. Much like you, she was athletic and toned, with fine elegant features.”
The inspection continued for a moment. “Yes, you look like her around the cheekbones and eyes. You have prettier hair, though. Annie kept hers too short.”
“You must have a ton of pictures of her. You talk as if you know her.”
“Do I?” With that, the mistress of Perdition turned and walked into the dining room, dismissing the subject of Annie/Andy.
But Lexa, fascinated as always by the great-grandmother she’d always felt a kinship with, refused to let the matter drop. “I’d love to see whatever photos you have,” she said. “There’s something about Annie and Matthew’s story that fascinates me.”
Faye seemed more interested in showing off the dining room. But she went to a sideboard and opened a lower drawer. She brought out a small black photo album. “Here, study them at your leisure. I’m sure Annie would be pleased to know you’re so keen to learn more about her.”
“Thank you.” Lexa took the album and opened it to the first photo. It was a studio portrait, very formal, of Annie and Matthew. Typical of the times, she was sitting, with Matthew standing at her shoulder. There was a tilt to her head that spoke of energy held in check, as if she was impatient to move and get on with her day. Lexa smiled, aware of countless times she’d felt the same way. Her days were normally so full, she couldn’t afford to sit for even as long as this photo had taken.
Another connection to an ancestor whose genes she carried. Was workaholicism passed down through generations? “I can see where we look related. Even in this straight, long-waisted dress, she has curves like mine.”
Faye glanced at the photo. “I believe you inherited more than just the physical from Annie and Matthew. You have their drive, ambition, and work ethic too.”
“I was just thinking the same thing.” The smile they shared warmed. Faye could be a friend, not just a client. “I’d like to look at the rest of these later, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course. I believe this is the only formal photo. The rest are of picnics, dances, and family occasions here at Perdition.”
Jake listened to the female chatter with half an ear. His arm still buzzed and sparked from touching Lexa. It had happened twice now, and it scared the hell out of him.
Once he could dismiss. But twice? His belly sank.
All he could think of was what his mother had told him when he was a kid. His gut puckered in memory.
He’d asked his mother if he could marry his kindergarten teacher when he grew up. She’d said no and explained the curse of the MacKay men.
Although, now that he thought of it, his mother had called it a blessing. At five, the idea of love at first touch seemed completely logical. Just the way his Transformers toys were logical. If a robot could change into a truck with a gun turret, then why couldn’t the touch of a pretty girl turn him into a husband?
It wasn’t until he was in his teens that he thought of it as a curse. As he tried to get into the pants of every girl in high school, he was terrified that one of them would catch him with an electrical charge that, once applied, would never let go.
An electrical charge like the one he shared with Lexa. He wondered if he should call the old man, just to be sure.
He couldn’t call Jared. His brother would laugh his ass off. He’d never believed in the curse and had married a woman he thought would suit him. No zip, no zing, nothing but like minds, he’d said.
That had been a disaster.
Maybe Jared should have waited for the burn and snap of love at first touch. If he had, perhaps he wouldn’t have divorced three years into a marriage. Perhaps Jared wouldn’t be drifting through the Caribbean on the SandJack. Perhaps his brother would’ve shared the responsibility of keeping their old man sane after their mother’s accident.
Maybe having this burn and snap was the blessing his mother always claimed. Ignoring it hadn’t done a damn thing for Jared.
And Jake always learned from his brother’s mistakes.
He looked keenly at Lexa one more time. His heart swelled at the sweet expression of awe he saw in her eyes. Perdition House was impressive, and she couldn’t hide her reaction. He wondered if she’d show the same kind of open honest response when he touched her in passion.
He got hard just thinking about it.
He shook the buzz out of his palm, then rubbed his arm to his elbow to displace the lasting spark.
Shit, he was in trouble. Impossible trouble. An image of his father flashed through his mind, but before he could grab on to it long enough to anchor himself, remind himself of his responsibilities, a whiff of Lexa’s scent destroyed his concentration.
He ran his fingers through his hair, across his chin, trying to recall what he’d just been worrying about. But the thought was gone, swept away by her scent.
A movement caught his eye. Both women stared at him, obviously waiting for some kind of response.
Faye—blond, wide-eyed, and dressed in a quirky ode to the fifties movie queens—looked hot but amused by his confusion. The woman oozed sex through every pore, and she’d be impossible to resist, if not for Lexa and the power of the curse.
A damned inconvenient curse. But then, he’d never heard of a convenient one.
Lexa, beside Faye, was short, dark, and inspiring. Inspiring him to fantasies of lifting her to his lap and bouncing her on his cock. Her wet depths could suck the life and heart right out of him.
And from somewhere deep in his chest, he understood that was exactly what he wanted from her.
Oh, shit.
He was doomed.
A certain humor in Faye’s expression told Jake she understood he was busy inside his own head. She took pity on him and covered his lapse of attention. “We can discuss the condition of the wainscoting later, after you’ve seen the rest of the house.” She turned and led the way through a heavy swinging door.
He’d missed a whole discussion about the dining room walls while he’d been swallowed up by worry about his damn curse.
Lexa gave him a curious glance, then followed Faye through the door into the kitchen. He caught a whiff of the muffins and coffee Faye had mentioned earlier. His stomach growled.
The filler airlines called food was long gone.
Faye poured coffee and popped muffins out of a pan while Lexa stared out the kitchen door at the side yard, giving him time to think.
Just because he understood and accepted his curse didn’t mean Lexa would. He couldn’t explain it to her either. That kind of thing tended to make smart women run like hell in the opposite direction, and Lexa looked plenty smart.
What woman would believe in the curse of love at first touch? And accept that it had happened to her?
Aside from the problem of making her believe in the curse’s existence, he understood all too well the demands of a new business. He would never ask Lexa to walk away from everything she’d wo
rked for. She’d lit up like a light standard when she’d been looking at the old vegetable patch. She was obviously itching to get her hands dirty and bring her talents to the property.
Besides, the little he knew of gardens told him that transplanting her knowledge to Florida would be impossible. Every bit of practical knowledge she had would be useless there. His gut twisted. No, he couldn’t ask her to sacrifice years of work.
He forced his ragged thoughts away and tried to focus on the real world again. The muffins oozed berries and smelled rich and homey. The coffee was strong and delicious. The first sip tasted like heaven. “Thanks, I needed the caffeine, and the muffins hit the spot.” He took a second, because he knew one wouldn’t hold him.
Faye looked pleased. “I love a man with appetites.”
Lexa looked amused. “I like a man who shoots sparks.” They locked glances while he chewed the rest of his muffin.
To avoid steaming up the room with their sizzling looks, he walked around the kitchen.
A quick estimate of size set it at forty by twenty or so feet. An industrial-kitchen-length island sported hanging copper pots overhead. They were huge and obviously well used, although dusty. He noted a cobweb or three stringing between a frying pan and a large colander.
The cabinets were aged pine, with white enamel knobs on the doors. The knobs all had spider-vein cracks, giving away their age. Decades of use had taken their toll on the kitchen, but the wood was in great shape.
“This house has great bones,” he repeated.
Lexa smiled and nodded, remembering his previous comment.
Faye gave him an enigmatic glance. “I like it,” she said. “The house is old and large and probably drafty in the winter, but she’s mine. The old girl deserves to shine again, don’t you think?”
“Yes, she does,” he said, dazzled by the enthusiasm he read in Lexa’s expression. She was wildly turned on by the prospect of working on the house’s gardens, while he was turned on by working on her. He shook his head to clear it.
Faye smiled at Lexa. “I hope you don’t mind sharing a bathroom? The house was finished in 1911, so at the time, one bathroom for two bedrooms was the epitome of luxury.”
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