Sweet Southern Bad Boy

by Michele Summers

  “Is the room okay?” Vance asked in his rich, laid-back voice. Katie could crawl inside that voice and be lulled to sleep, it was that comforting.

  “It’s beautiful.” She touched the mellow wood of the antique dresser. Her suitcases and bags sat on top of a cream-colored, plush leather ottoman at the foot of the bed.

  “The master suite is an addition to the original house. I had it built about four years ago. Bertie helped with the interiors.”

  Katie nodded. The room held a special elegant touch. “I still feel bad commandeering your room. I can sleep in the loft or in one of the kids’ rooms.” Her insides turned squishy as his eyes burned, holding hers. His look said he desired her. How long had it been since she’d felt desirable? Instead of empty inside, unappreciated, or worse…used?

  He moved closer until he stood inches from her UC Berkeley sweatshirt. A shiver prickled her skin. And it felt good, which made Katie feel bad.

  “You’re my guest, and the house is yours. Please, make yourself at home,” he said softly. Oh boy. He was good. His voice could melt cold steel. Next thing you knew, she’d be luxuriating in the copper tub she’d spied in the beautifully appointed master bath…with Vance, the bronzed god. Oh salty. No more. He was a womanizer who preferred his women experienced and exotic. No. Make that a schemer. Because somehow she’d agreed to stay in his house, take care of his brother’s kids, and he had yet to agree to the use of his property for the miniseries. Cunning devil.

  Katie stepped back on watery legs, away from his intoxicating heat. “What time will you be up tomorrow? I’d like to get those contracts signed as quickly as possible.”

  A smile teased his lips. “The triple D will be screaming at the top of their lungs by six or seven.” He reached for her hand and pulled her close again. “You sure you’re up for this, oh Kat of mine?” he murmured.

  She tried tugging on her hand, but he only squeezed harder. “I’m up for anything as long as you sign those contracts.” That’s it. Be firm.

  Something glinted behind his gaze and then he kissed the back of her hand. Her skin tingled from the brief pressure of his lips. “Good night, K-K-Katie. Sleep tight.”

  He moved to the door. “My phone will be on if you need anything. Or…you can walk out that French door and cross the yard, if you feel so inclined.” He waited. The wily manipulator.

  “I won’t. G’night. See you in the morning.”

  His smile turned wicked before he closed the door behind him. Katie blew out a huge breath. She was in trouble. Huge. Massive. Trouble. To calm her nerves, she let her gaze roam over the lovely room, taking in the pitched wood-beam ceiling, large windows covered in light gray bamboo blinds, built-in bookcases crammed with books, and the tall antique chest of drawers that probably housed his socks and T-shirts. Katie rushed to the door and flung it open.

  “Vance?” He turned, already halfway down the hall. “You forgot your pj’s, and, er, your toothbrush…”

  White teeth flashed in the darkness of the hallway. “Got everything I need up in the loft. And I don’t own any pj’s…I sleep in the buff.”

  Gulp. “Oh. Um, I guess we’re all good here. Night.” She gave a small wave, ducking back into the bedroom and closing the door. Katie pressed her forehead to the warm wood and whimpered. Gorgeous Pirate Man in the buff. How would she ever sleep? Picturing his tanned skin against snow-white sheets, wearing nothing but a sexy smile. Oh snap.

  Katie trudged to where her suitcases sat, opening the one that held her pajamas, because she did wear them to bed, unlike the Prince of Darkness. Her cell phone gave a familiar ring, indicating a call from her dad. She stiffened. Yeah, he’d be checking in, expecting a full report, because that’s what he did best. That and lecture. Her palms started to sweat; her heart pounded. All of her ingrained insecurities slammed into her at the sound of that ringtone. She’d endured endless lectures her entire life about everything from making A’s to making friends to making sacrifices. For a nanosecond, she considered not answering. But years of blind obedience would not allow her.

  She hit Answer and put the phone to her ear. “Hi, Dad.”

  “Kathryn, I hadn’t heard from you today and was getting worried. Have you reached Wilmington yet?” he asked, referring to the North Carolina coast. “I was not impressed with those pictures you sent from South Carolina. Not what I’m looking for.” It was eleven o’clock her time, which made it eight p.m. Pacific time, and her dad was in full business mode even on a Saturday night. Never considering she might be exhausted, which she was. She bit back her sigh of frustration.

  “I know, Dad. I’m in North Carolina but not on the coast. I’ve found a great location. It’s perfect, and I think you’re really going to approve.”

  “What do you mean you’re not on the coast?” Her dad’s temper was building. “I sent you specifically to the North Carolina coast. It’s the terrain I’m looking for, and Wilmington has authentic old homes perfect for this series. Kathryn, was I not clear enough for you in this assignment?” His disappointment rang crystal clear, never mind the words.

  Katie pressed her palm over her spasmodically twitching left eyebrow. A common occurrence during discussions with her dad. Or mom. Or brothers.

  “Yes, Dad. You were perfectly clear, but this location is amazing and has all the requirements.”

  “That’s what you said about the last one, and I hated it.” His words stung. He hadn’t appreciated the rundown, abandoned two-story Georgian she’d found in Florence, South Carolina. Or the old Craftsman with the burned-out windows she’d discovered somewhere in Kansas.

  Katie had a copy of the script and studied the descriptions every day. The houses he’d rejected all had possibilities. But this time, the script and location were in sync, if only she could convince her dad.

  “I’m in a small town called Harmony, kinda near the coast. I’ll email you pictures tomorrow. The home fits the description, complete with barn in back that the script calls for. But the best part is, the property is huge. Room for all the equipment and trailers. We won’t have to get permits to use city streets for parking.” As long as we cut down a few oak trees was better left unsaid.

  Walter McKnight listened without interrupting, and Katie held her breath. “Have you spoken with the owner?” Uh, yeah, getting ready to sleep in his bed. She left that thought unsaid as well…no point in giving her dad a heart attack.

  “Yes. I’m in negotiations with him right now. I plan to go over all the details in the morning.”

  “Who is he?” Tapping on a keyboard could be heard through the phone, which meant her dad was preparing to Google Vance Kerner. No getting around this. Katie wished just once her father had faith in her ability and would allow her to do her job.

  “Vance Kerner. He’s a bestselling author.” And pirate, womanizer, and oh yeah, schemer.

  “Did you say Vance Kerner?” Surprise colored Walter’s voice.

  “Yes. He’s written like a dozen war thrillers. Sam and Doug have read them all,” she said, referring to her two older brothers.

  “Yes, yes. I’ve read his latest series. Honor Bound and Without Honor. Third one, Honor Is Dead is due out next year. He’s very good. And he owns this house you’re talking about?”

  “Yes.”

  More key tapping. “He has over fifty thousand likes on Facebook and twenty thousand followers on Twitter. High ranking on Amazon.” Katie could feel her dad nodding as he studied his computer screen. “He’s selling some books.” From his voice, his admiration couldn’t be ignored. “I want to speak to him. Give me his number, Kathryn,” Walter demanded in his strongest I’m-in-charge-voice.

  Box office bomb. Acid ate the inside of her stomach, and her twitching eyebrow added a new cadence. “I can handle this, Dad.” She hated it when he dismissed her and found her incapable or lacking…or incompetent. “When you gave me this assignment, you
promised I’d have the same chance as anyone else.”

  “Kathryn, last time I checked, I was head of this studio. Did you happen to forget that?”

  She heaved a sigh of weariness. “Of course not.”

  “This is too important. I can’t afford another…” Walter’s voice trailed off, and even though he didn’t voice the rest of his thought, Katie heard it anyway. He couldn’t afford another one of her screwups. Katie swallowed hard and blinked back stinging tears. Her dad cleared his throat. “You’ve got one more chance. Try not to blow it.”

  “Thanks, Dad. I promise,” she said in a subdued voice.

  “One week. I’m giving you one week to wrap this up, and I want pictures by tomorrow.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “How’s your camera holding up?” All location scouts carried a reliable digital camera, along with camera phones and iPads. But Katie loved photography and carried several cameras, always prepared to snap pictures of subjects she liked.

  “Great. No problems,” she said.

  “Where are you staying? Is there a hotel in this town?” Katie didn’t think Hazel’s Boarding House would be categorized as a hotel. No way was she revealing the babysitting deal she had struck with Captain Skunk or that she’d be staying in his house for the next four weeks. Once she had everything signed, sealed, and delivered, she’d break the upsetting news. For now, keeping her job required lying.

  “There’s a Comfort Inn just outside of town. I’ll be staying there.”

  Walter grunted, signifying he was already busy working on something else and she’d been dismissed. “Good, good. Your mother wants to speak with you. Crystal!” Katie jumped at his bellow. “Your daughter’s on the phone,” she heard him say to her mother.

  Her mom picked up the extension. “Katie?”

  “Hi, Mom. How are you?”

  “Well, I’ve been better…” It took all Katie’s willpower not to set the phone down and go about her business. Her mom had a talent for taking a simple question like how are you and instead of answering fine, like any normal human, turning it into a litany of what procedure she’d scheduled next, from gel nails to hair extensions to having her ears pinned back or bladder tucked.

  “…and the doctor said he’d never seen such perfectly formed toes. He wants to use them in his brochure. Should I wear hot pink or coral nail polish? What do you think?”

  “Are you talking about your pedicure?”

  “Yes, for the doctor’s brochure. Maybe I’ll wear one of those off colors that’s all the rage, like lime green. How are your toes, Katie? I haven’t looked at them lately. Are you getting pedicures regularly?” Katie curled her toes inside her leather flats and tried to remember what color she’d had them painted last, grateful they were discussing toes and not rhinoplasty, breast augmentations, or collagen injections. “Um…it’s pretty late out here, and I need to get going. Tell Sam and Doug I said hi.”

  “Oh, yes. Right. You’re three hours ahead of us. Good night, honey.”

  “Night, Mom.”

  Katie rubbed her aching forehead. Every conversation with her parents, mostly her dad, resulted in a game of second-guessing and self-doubt. To distract herself from the latest disappointing conversation, Katie unpacked and hung her clothes in the master closet next to Vance’s numerous outerwear jackets and very few dress shirts. His woodsy scent, intensified inside the closet, calmed her. Closing her eyes, she breathed in, touching the soft, worn denim of the sleeve of one of his jackets; she imagined him wearing it. Dropping her hand, she gave herself another silent warning: no dreaming about the South’s famous ladies’ man. Then she went to bed and did just that…dreamed about Vance.

  * * *

  “Don’t want a nose job,” Katie mumbled. “No. Stop.” She brushed the doctor’s furry hand away from her nose. Huh? Furry hand? Why were her legs immobile? A huge weight rested on the lower half of her body. Katie groaned and blinked groggily. Her eyes popped open. Two inches from her face, a twitching black kitty pawed her nose. Blinking sleep from her eyes, she focused on Danny kneeling by her head, squeezing the kitten’s middle.

  “Pop wants to kiss you, Kay-tee.”

  Katie pushed slowly up on her elbows. The early morning sun peeked through the slits of the bamboo blinds she’d closed the night before. “Good morning,” she croaked. She looked down her torso at Dover sprawled on the blanket, covering her numb legs.

  “Katie, why are you sleeping in Uncle Vance’s bed? You married to him now?”

  Oh no. Another groan slipped from her lips as her head fell back on her pillow. Oh no. There’d been no marriage, but Pirate Man was the reason for her lack of sleep and her pounding headache. “What time is it? How long have you been up?” she asked in a rusty voice.

  “Uncle Vance’s clock says six one five,” Dover said, reading the digital clock sitting on the nightstand.

  Six fifteen. Well, she couldn’t say Vance hadn’t warned her. “Where’s Donald?” she asked, clearing her dry throat.

  “Outside with Pixie.” Oh Lord. Katie struggled to sit up in earnest. She needed to get outside and make sure Donald hadn’t wandered off. No sooner had the thought formed than the star of her dreams came strolling through the bedroom door, looking better than a human had a right to at this ungodly hour of the morning. Hair damp from his morning shower, dark stubble from lack of shaving, worn jeans, and black Harley-Davidson T-shirt stretched across his muscled chest.

  “Morning, California Sunshine.”

  Katie scrambled to sit up as Dover rolled off her legs. Heat crept up her cheeks. “Why are you up so early? Thought you’d still be sleeping.” Vance eased down on the side of the bed, causing the mattress to dip. Katie caught his gaze hovering around her chest. She tugged on the sheet to cover her breasts, fully aware the thin T-shirt she’d worn to bed had seen better days.

  “Hey, Katie.” Donald ambled into the room, followed by Pixie. Climbing up on the bed, he sat next to his sister. “Uncle Vance, are you and Katie getting married?”

  Katie had the pleasure of watching Vance’s dark complexion redden to match the cherries on Dana Sue’s nightgown. “Uh, no—”

  “They got married last night,” Dover announced as if he had performed the ceremony.

  Katie enjoyed watching Harmony’s Holy Hotness try to dig his way out of this hole.

  Thunder crossed Vance’s face. “No marriage. Nobody’s getting married.”

  “Why?” Dana Sue asked, unperturbed by her uncle’s harsh answer.

  “Because I’m not the marrying type.”

  Katie’s brow arched. No, he was the fooling-around type.

  “Katie’s going to be staying with us and taking care of you so I can finish my book. Remember I told you I write books for a living?”

  “Goodnight Moon. You write Goodnight Moon,” Danny said. “You read Goodnight Moon.” She started to scramble from the bed as if to fetch her favorite book.

  “Whoa. Hold on there.” Vance scooped her up before she tumbled to the floor. “It’s time for breakfast. Let’s give Katie some privacy, and then she can join us in the kitchen.”

  “I want Cap’n Crunch!” Donald jumped from the bed and ran for the kitchen.

  “Me too!” Dover followed his brother.

  “Down. Down.” Dana Sue squirmed in Vance’s arms, and he placed her gently on the floor so she could chase after the boys.

  The bedroom returned to morning quiet without the extra occupants. Vance stood next to the bed, a seductive smile playing around his lips. “Meet you in the kitchen. I’ll be the one corralling the three wild mustangs, in case you’re wondering.”

  “Give me two minutes, and I’ll help,” she said.

  “Take your time. Usually takes fifteen minutes before the kitchen is totally trashed.”

  “I’ll be there in one.”

  Vanc
e laughed, closing the bedroom door behind him.

  * * *

  Katie hadn’t taken more than five minutes to dress, and the kitchen already had that just-been-bombed look about it. She stood on the threshold and planted her fists on her hips. Vance sat with Danny in his lap, spilled cereal at his elbow, burnt toast on the floor, and grape jelly handprints on the front of the refrigerator. Donald and Dover crawled on their hands and knees, trying to force-feed Pixie a BetterBites muffin.

  “Look at this kitchen. It was spotless when I went to bed last night,” she said, shaking her head. This called for coffee. Katie poured a cup from the carafe and added milk from the carton sitting on the countertop, wondering for the millionth time what she’d gotten herself into.

  Vance set Danny on her feet. “Everyone outside for a while before you have to wash up and put on your church clothes.”

  “Aw, man. Do we have to?” asked Donald.

  “You heard your mama last night when we Skyped. She made me promise.”

  Katie eased down in her chair, glad to know she’d have a reprieve, if only for a couple of hours, to get her notes and thoughts together before she met with Vance.

  “Hurry…outside. Let’s go.” Vance held the door open to the backyard while Katie looked around the destroyed kitchen. Hold up, Johnny Depp. Not so fast.

  “Just a moment,” she said as the kids faced her. “This kitchen needs cleaning first.”

  “But Uncle Vance said—”

  “And Uncle Vance is going to help.” Her look dared him to disagree. Katie snapped her fingers. Ten minutes later, the kitchen appeared straight, and the kids played outside.

  Vance even started the washing machine with yesterday’s load of dirty clothes. He stepped back in the kitchen, brushing off his hands.

  “What time would you like me to have them ready for Sunday school?” she asked. The big green clock shaped like an apple above the door read seven fifteen. “And how long will you be gone?” Hopefully long enough for her to grab a shower and wash her hair. She wanted to be fresh and alert for the sales pitch of her life.