by Beth Ciotta
The more Adam thought about that doe-eyed spitfire, the harder he ran. He usually jogged in the morning, but he’d overslept. Then he’d had a business appointment. Even though he’d cinched yet another freelance gig at a regional resort, he couldn’t shake his shitty mood. Craving solitude, he’d blown off a fishing trip with Kane and Nash, returned home and changed into running gear.
By the time he hit the trails snaking through the woods behind his house, the temperature had climbed to seventy. Regardless Adam tacked on an additional two miles, craving an extra kick of endorphins. By the time his house came into view, he was drenched.
Chest tight, he blew out of the woods and sprinted across his back lawn. A lawn in need of mowing. He added that chore to his mental check list as he hit the back deck and pushed through the kitchen door. Shower, OJ, clean clothes, water. All needed pronto, but not in any particular order. He nabbed a bottle of chilled water from the fridge, swigging as he cut through his cramped living room. He had recently sold his place and moved into a small two-bedroom rental in order to save money. At one time he’d hoped to partner with Rocky, running a local bed-and-breakfast. That plan had fallen apart and Adam had set a dream goal that challenged his bank account. He’d been living on a shoestring and was in the process of yanking the straps even tighter. He’d been so motivated, so focused, he hadn’t felt the stress of it all until today.
That’s because your mind’s not on the prize. It’s on Peppy.
“Damn.”
He peeled off his sweaty tee, tossed it in the hamper, and swiped back the shower curtain. Just as he reached for the nozzle, someone knocked on the door. He wasn’t expecting anyone and most locals gave a shout before dropping over. It had to be Kane and Nash. Kane had given him a hard time on the phone about bailing on the fishing trip. He probably coaxed Nash into stopping by on their way out of town, a last-ditch effort to change Adam’s mind. Kane had always been one to push.
Overheated and short on politeness, Adam wrenched opened his door. “A damned pain in my…” Oh, no. Oh, shit.
A waif girl with big brown eyes and windblown hair blinked at him through the warped screen door. She gaped. “No way.”
That was pretty much his thought.
She glanced at a folded napkin in her hands. “Is this 187 Route 3?”
“Yeah.”
“Adam Brody?”
“Yeah.”
“No. Hell, no. Sorry. Bye.”
She turned on her heel and Adam nearly knocked the screen door from its hinges. “Wait. Don’t go. Don’t … Peppy!”
She froze in her tracks. Her back was to him, not good, but at least she wasn’t running away. Not yet anyway.
“You’ve come about the room?” He’d only placed the ad yesterday. Wasn’t supposed to run until Monday. He’d told his brother and his best buds, Luke and Nash, that he was on the lookout for a roommate. They knew he was saving for a business venture. Other than that he’d kept the specifics of his dream goal to himself. “Peppy.”
He stepped closer, noting the stubborn set of her shoulders, her slight height, and her cute butt. No shapeless dress today. A pair of 501 Levi’s, a fitted black tee, and black-and-white hightops. He’d seen the front of her T-shirt through the screen door. Johnny Cash, a guitar, and a banner that read: I WALK THE LINE.
Peppy Redding: rebel.
“Are you looking for a room?” Adam asked. “I have a room. Rent includes access to the kitchen, bathroom, and living room—which is every room but my room.”
Her fists clenched and he knew he’d said the wrong thing. Again. “Not that I wouldn’t want you in my bed … room.” Damn. “Just pointing out the house is small. Small, but comfortable.”
She’d yet to face him, but she’d yet to walk away.
Feeling even more flustered than the night before, Adam jammed a hand through his damp hair, remembering suddenly that he was shirtless and sweaty. Is that why she wouldn’t turn around? Because he was shirtless? Was she shy? A prude? Turned on? Not that he cared. Oh, hell. He cared. Mostly, he just didn’t want her thinking he was a jerk. Nash had mentioned she had money problems. Adam wasn’t strapped. Just focused. “Did I mention rent includes utilities? And…” He shrugged, scrambling. “Three months’ access to a personal sports trainer?”
She whirled on her rubber soles, expression intense. “Why would I need a personal trainer? Because … what? I’m fat? I’m soft? I’m weak?” She advanced on him, dark eyes narrowed. “Why would I—”
“For the fun of it. The thrill of it.” Jesus. When had he turned so inept with women? “Listen. I’m sorry. I was an ass last night.”
She shifted her weight, cocked a brow. “Yeah, well. Ivy tends to turn men’s brains to mush.”
Except it had been Peppy who’d rattled his thoughts. “Come inside. I’ll throw on a shirt and give you the nickel tour.”
She glanced at her beat-up wheels then back to Adam, who felt just about as dinged as that Chevy. “Sure. Okay. But only because I’m desperate.”
FOURTEEN
Sam knocked and Harper yelled, “Come in!”
For the—What if he was a burglar? A murderer? Although a criminal wouldn’t knock. Still. For someone who was jumpy about surprise attacks, Harper’s easy invitation seemed odd.
Sam tried the knob. Locked. Okay. So she wasn’t inviting the random visitor into her home. She was inviting the man she was expecting. The man who knew the location of her hidden spare key. It implied a sense of trust that would have warmed Sam except he assumed it was more about her being engrossed in a phone call or text. Too busy to extend the courtesy of opening the door.
Duffel in tow, Sam snagged the hidden key and entered without a word. He didn’t immediately see Harper but he did hear the TV.
He rounded the corner expecting CNN. Instead, animated contestants were whipping up exotic confections—cupcakes to be exact. So, she’d honored Sam’s suggestion, bypassing troubling newscasts in favor of upbeat programming. Or maybe she’d switched channels when Sam had pulled into the drive. Given her stubborn and obsessive ways, he found it hard to believe she’d abandoned her morbid fascination with random violence purely based on his advice.
“Be there in a sec!” she called from another room. He imagined her chatting away, pleading with her past employer or a former client. Given her laptop was set up on the coffee table, he assumed she was in work mode. Curious, he glanced at the screen. Part of him expected to find a Web site listing crime statistics. Another part anticipated a Hollywood gossip site. In fact, she’d been shopping online for cleaning products.
“Why didn’t you tell me Ben has skin allergies?”
Sam straightened and turned. Harper blew into the room, flushed and harried, carrying a basket stuffed with bed linens and towels. She hadn’t been texting or talking on the phone. She’d been doing laundry. The sight of her dressed down and in full domestic mode stirred a part of him he’d thought long dead. He’d never expected Harper to fill Paula’s shoes in that way. Yet here she stood, hair twisted in a messy knot, wearing faded jeans rolled to mid-calf and a pair of beat-up sneakers.
Sam relieved her of the overflowing basket, chest tight when he caught a whiff of gingerbread and soap instead of her normal seductive perfume.
“I always use scented dryer sheets,” she said, motioning Sam to set the basket on the sofa while she muted the television. “Daisy told me about a time when the kids spent the night with her and Ben broke out in an itchy rash. You attributed it to her laundry detergent. I remember you mentioning Mina’s peanut allergy when I sent you home with a batch of cupcakes, but you never said a word about Ben’s sensitive skin. I know you’re not moving in right away, but if the kids visit, if Ben dries off with one of my towels or, I don’t know, builds a tent or fort using my sheets, I’d rather him not break out in a rash.”
Sam’s lip twitched even as his heart jerked. “Ben’s not a tent-and-fort-building kind of boy.”
“That’s not the poi
nt. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It wasn’t an issue before. Plus you’ve always kept our conversations short and shallow or relegated to refurbishing this house.”
“That was then and this is now. Now I’ll be responsible for keeping Ben and Mina fit, healthy, and happy. I barely know them, and because you never … Because I never asked, I hardly know anything about them. Except whatever Daisy told me which, come to think of it, wasn’t very much considering how long we talked. It’s just that we had so much to cover.”
She blew out a breath then took another, averting her gaze while handing Sam two corners of a light green sheet. “Do you mind helping me fold these? I ran them through a hot-water rinse. It’ll have to do until my new cleaning supplies arrive. I ordered perfume-free detergent and fabric softening dryer sheets.”
“Those products are available in Sugar Creek,” Sam said as they folded the sheet in half.
“I ordered in bulk.”
She didn’t want to drive into town, to risk shopping in a store, thereby leaving herself open to a random attack. Even though they’d addressed her agoraphobia, even though she’d made progress, the fear lingered. Sam got that and he didn’t press. Not now. There was too much going on here.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Harper railed on. “I’m thrilled they’re willing to move into the farmhouse. This is where I want to be. But now I’m worried that it’s too isolated or too drafty or too depressing. You know how the legend goes.”
Sam listened as she prattled on with a string of what ifs. The woman was fixated on the happiness and safety of his children. Something shifted inside him with every voiced concern. Meanwhile they folded the sheet smaller and smaller until they were toe-to-toe with only a squared linen between them.
At last, she met his gaze. “I just … I’ve never been responsible for children, Sam. It’s scary considering all that could go wrong.”
“I know.” He dealt with those fears every day. “But you won’t be alone in this and, lucky you, I have years of experience.”
She smirked. “You think I’m overreacting.”
“In this case,” Sam said as he molded his body to hers, “it’s a turn-on.”
She gazed into his eyes and his pulse and libido spiked.
He pressed closer, testing his resolve, her restraint.
She arched a brow. “You’re wrinkling my sheets.”
“Not in the way I’d like.”
“You said sex is off limits until after we’re married.”
“Making love. Not kissing.”
“What if I don’t want to be kissed?”
“Then step back.”
She stayed where she was. Wrapped in his arms.
Hell, yeah. Sam took advantage. Hands tangled in her knotted hair, he angled in, brushing his lips over hers—a soft, sizzling tease before the main event. He felt as if he’d been waiting for this kiss his entire life. He savored, absorbing Harper’s essence as their mouths fused in a sensual dance that kicked … his … ass.
There was far more to this woman than he’d ever imagined. The mystery, the possibilities, intrigued him on an intellectual level. Her complexity touched his heart and seduced his brain. If he could bottle the high he was on right now, he’d make a million.
Keeping his hands off her curves was a challenge but he was determined to push the envelope. To build anticipation, establish intimacy. Sam was on a mission, but he was by no means a saint. While deepening the kiss, in his mind, he slowly stripped Harper’s tee and jeans from her trembling body. In his mind, she took control and pinned him against the wall. Something she’d done on more than one occasion, a role he’d always reversed. They both got off on taking control and as far as Sam was concerned this was by far the sexiest encounter in their racy history. Because, right now, he’d never been in more danger of losing control.
Mind over instinct.
Will over desire.
Harper pressed her palm to his chest, just enough pressure to signal a time-out. They stared into each other’s eyes a long moment before she cleared her throat and cleared the sensual fog.
“I haven’t had sex since the last time we were together,” she said. “I’m not sure why I blurted that but I thought you should know. I’m hot to trot.”
“Same here. On both counts.”
“Remind me why we’re abstaining?”
He’d never given her specifics in the first place.
“A reason would be nice, Rambo. A reason would be fair.”
“If I tell you—”
“You’ll have to kill me?”
“It might scare you off.”
“To where? Canada?” She eased back just enough to hug that now rumpled sheet to her chest. “We made a deal, Sam. You need a mother for your children. I need a green card. I’m not going anywhere.”
She sounded defiant, determined. Yet through the veil of snark, Sam caught a whiff of fear. Canada spooked her. Why? Instead of pulling her back into his arms, he shoved his fingertips in the back pockets of his jeans, and stayed on topic. One challenge at a time. “The physical attraction, the sex … it’s intense.”
“That’s a bad thing?”
“Only if it snuffs a deeper connection.”
Her right eye ticked. “You mean an emotional connection.” She shifted her gaze to her cherry-red Chucks. “When you made this offer you said you didn’t love me.”
“I didn’t.”
“But you do now?”
“There’s potential.”
She inched back another step but met his gaze. “I don’t want you to love me, Sam.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t love you back.”
“Why?”
She hugged the sheet tighter. “I might fail you somehow.”
“I’m willing to take the chance.”
“I’m not. And don’t ask why.”
“Okay.” He’d said enough. Pressed enough. Her anxiety was palpable.
“Are you going to retract the offer?”
“No.” Sam sensed her immense relief and his curiosity regarding her issues with Canada spiked. There was more to Harper’s inner war than that spa shooting and it was rooted in her past.
“I’d never know a moment’s peace. He…”
He.
That one slip had burrowed deep in Sam’s brain. Once again, he imagined an abusive ex. Or maybe a psychotic client. Someone she’d failed. Or … someone who’d cast blame. How was he going to get the details when she so clearly didn’t want to talk about it?
There was an easy solution. Rocky’s husband, Jayce, was a crack private detective with his own successful and lucrative cyberbusiness. Luke had hired Jayce to track down Rae when she’d disappeared. And he was pretty sure Dev had retained Jayce’s services for a few personal agendas. But hiring someone to essentially spy on Harper was a slippery slope.
Sam fell back on his secret weapon. Patience. “Let’s back up.”
“To where?” Harper asked, sounding trapped between anxious and angry.
“To the part about the kids.” He saw her tension ease as he focused on the future. “How’d you like to know more about Ben and Mina?”
FIFTEEN
Harper hadn’t realized how curious she was about where and how Sam lived until he invited her to his house. Since the kids were staying with their grandparents, he’d suggested a tour of their living quarters as a low-stress introduction to their everyday lives. Harper saw the wisdom in that. She’d get a snapshot of Ben’s and Mina’s likes and dislikes, their hobbies and habits—good and bad. She’d have a better idea of what to expect once they moved into the farmhouse. She’d also get a bigger picture of Sam.
“I wish you would have let me change my clothes,” Harper said as they tooled down Swamp Road.
“You look great.”
“I look frumpy.”
Sam cut her a glance that reignited the heat he’d conjured with that ten-alarm kiss. “Impossible.”
T
he compliment only amped her already jumbled state. This man had smoked her senses with a kiss that seemed to last an eternity and yet ended far too soon.
Harper squeezed her thighs together, determined to ignore a deluge of lusty urges. Even though she was dressed in her frumpiest clothes, she’d never felt sexier. It had everything to do with Sam. “Thank you,” she said, as she flipped down the mirrored sun visor then rooted in her purse for a tube of lipstick. “But I prefer to have a more polished appearance when I’m in public. I have an image and reputation to protect.”
“Maybe in L.A.,” Sam said. “You’re in Sugar Creek now.”
“I’m still a publicist. A professional.”
“With a private life. You don’t have to be on all the time, Harper. Especially with me.”
Harper tensed as she applied her favorite cherry-red lipstick. “You think I put on pretenses?”
“I think you put up walls.”
Daisy had made that same observation. Harper wondered how and why she’d suddenly become transparent. Granted, she’d been thrown off by the spa shooting and then with the shock of being fired. Her life was in upheaval, so naturally she was off balance. What surprised her was that she wasn’t scrambling more to keep Daisy and Sam at arm’s length. She’d even asked Daisy to be her friend. Harper wasn’t ready for this, any of this, and yet she wanted it with all her heart. She wanted to belong to someone, somewhere. Sugar Creek had been calling long before the tragedy with Andrew and long before she’d bought the Rothwell Farm. Life had kept her moving in other directions. Fate, it would seem, had other ideas.
“Speaking of walls,” Harper said, deftly changing the subject. “Why are you and the kids so willing to pick up and move? Is your house falling down around your ears?”
“The house is fine.”
Of course it was fine. Sam was a top-notch carpenter. “Are you going to sell it?”