by Barbara Lohr
She ended the call. What a creep. Jamming the key into the ignition, she turned it. The click was like taking another dart. Resting her forehead on the steering wheel, she squeezed her eyes shut. If she started to cry, her chest would tighten up. She forced herself to take deep breaths. When the swelling in her throat subsided, she grabbed her phone again. Maybe Adam, her neighbor, would be home.
But it was Saturday and Adam usually partied on Saturday nights. The phone rang and rang until his voicemail picked up. She didn’t leave a message.
Cameron watched the taillights of the limousine pull away. Limo service was the only safe way home after a bachelor party. Another unwritten rule in their group. What a southern gentleman did for his friends.
But he’d never offer to host one of these parties again. Just not his thing. Unbuttoning his shirt, he welcomed the cool breeze. He didn't know whether to laugh or put his fist through a wall.
Stripper, my ass. Not that she didn’t look hot in the Catwoman costume. And the hair? Definitely a turn-on. But something felt off. Any minute he'd expected to have to give her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
Cameron fought the mental picture that brought a warm rush.
Turning back to the house, he yanked his shirt tails out of his slacks. Was she one of the local college girls? Something admirable about that. He’d put himself through school washing dishes, valeting cars, bartending, and just about everything in between.
Gutsy girl who drew the line at stripping. At least she had principles.
The beat up car parked at the corner caught his eye. Really? Irritation made his head throb. People were always leaving their junkers on the street. Looked like this one had a license plate.
“Daddy?”
He swiveled. Inside, Bella gripped the banister at the foot of the stairs, a small pale figure in her yellow Tinkerbell nightgown.
Smiling at his four-year-old daughter, he stepped back inside. “Why aren't you asleep, sugar?”
“Too much noise, Daddy.” She rubbed a small fist into her eyes.
“Yeah, I’m sorry about that.” When he scooped her up, Bella felt so frail. His heart turned over. “You should stay in the air conditioning. Too much pollen out here.”
Batteries of tests and the doctors still didn’t know what made his daughter wheeze and turn pale. Scared the hell out of him.
At the end of the hall, Connie appeared in the doorway of the kitchen.
“Connie, can you take her back to bed? I have a situation outside.”
“You bet. Come here, you little munchkin.” Connie opened her arms and he handed Bella off. The dark rings beneath his daughter's eyes wrapped around his heart and squeezed.
“Night, Daddy.” Bella leaned over for a kiss, her wiry dark hair smelling of baby shampoo.
“See you tomorrow, darlin’.” He watched them mount the stairs before stepping back outside and pulling the door closed behind him. The car was still there. His loafers scuffed the warm pavement as he walked down the middle of the road. When he got closer, a head of thick sherry-colored hair eased its way up. Mardi Gras beads dangled from the mirror.
Perfect. Just perfect.
“Why are you still here?” he asked when he reached the open window. “You can’t park on this street overnight.”
Her back was toward him. Was she slipping the damn mask back on? When she turned, those green eyes sparked. “My car wouldn't start.”
What a surprise. “Have you called a service station? AAA?”
“I've left messages for a friend. Somebody will call back.” Her hands white-knuckled the steering wheel. “Any minute now.”
Jamming one hand through his hair, Cameron stared down the dark, empty street. Thank God his neighbors were well asleep by this time. A clunker was a red light for everyone, and he didn’t want them calling the police about his stripper.
Well, the girl who wasn’t a stripper.
Maybe he should just let the police handle it. Wasn’t she loitering or doing something illegal?
Then he saw the inhaler on the seat.
Damn. But not a total surprise.
“Give me a minute.” He headed back to the house.
“Look, you don't have to do anything.”
Like hell he didn’t. He broke into a jog.
Two minutes later, he pulled his Porsche up next to her beat-up piece of crap. Leaning over, he pushed open the passenger side door. “Get in.”
Mumbling something under her breath, she got out of the car and slammed the door behind her. As she slid into the Porsche, she gave him the name of her street. Then she folded her hands into her lap like a school girl, a Coach bag plopped at her feet. Must be a knockoff.
He pulled away. For a while, all he could hear was the sweet, low rumble of the car. Time for some music and he punched buttons until Billy Holiday filled the small car with “The Very Thought of You.”
“Oh, I love this song.” When she leaned forward a little, her reddish brown hair fell over one shoulder. The curls looked soft, like Bella’s. She started to hum along.
“So, do you do this often?” he finally asked.
“Have a broken down car? Not if I can help it.”
“No, I mean do you work for Party Perfect often?”
What he could see of her face turned sad. “Just worked some children’s parties for him.”
“Worked? As in the past?”
The soft hollow at the base of her throat pulsed. “Right. I just quit.”
“Sorry. You didn't really do anything wrong. I mean, your kicks were good.”
He caught her eye. They both burst out laughing, probably thinking of that bowl of pretzels.
“I am so sorry about your trophies.” Her luscious chuckle hit him right in the gut.
“Not the first time they’d been knocked off that shelf.” Damn, he needed to laugh. His latest restoration deal had fallen through that afternoon. He hated the thought of the wrecking ball taking that house down. For him every old structure in Savannah carried a precious piece of history. The stripper who didn’t strip was just a bad end to a bad week. “Trophies only matter the day you win them. Besides, the football only broke off one of them. It’s been glued before.”
“Well, I won’t be dancing on bars anytime soon.” The sadness in her voice tugged at him.
She must have unzipped her costume to get some air. When she leaned forward and peered out the front windshield, he tried not to stare at the dusky valley between her breasts.
“Stop. Right there.”
He jerked his eyes away. “Look, I didn’t mean anything.” What was wrong with him, ogling her like that?
But she wasn’t looking at him. She was stabbing one blue-tipped finger at an older home with a serious lean. The building was like so many in this district of Savannah. Rundown. Probably cut into four different apartments. He pulled to the curb. She cracked open the car door. “Thanks so much for the ride. I hope I didn’t ruin your party, Mr. Bennett,” she added softly.
“You did fine.”
“Yeah. Right.”
What was he saying? She was terrible. But damn, that pinched look around her nose, the trembling of her soft lips—she was killing him.
She reached for her handbag and make-up spilled out. They both grabbed for it and their heads bumped. Her hair brushed his cheek, unleashing a crazy warmth that took him by surprise. Totally inappropriate for so many reasons.
“Sorry. I am so clumsy tonight. Thank you.”
When he handed her a lipstick and a comb, their fingers touched and sparked. Damn. She sucked in a quick breath. He sat back. She stepped out until all he could see were those long legs.
“Well, thanks.” One hand on the top of the car, she leaned forward.
“No problem.” He trained his eyes on the empty bucket seat. It was hard.
“Good night, then.” She pushed off and began to walk away.
Something purple on the floor caught his eyes. “Wait. You forgot your inhaler.” Scoop
ing it up, he handed the device through the open window.
“Thank you.” She curled it tightly into her fist, backing onto the curb. “Aren't you going to take off?”
“Just waiting to see you in.” This wasn’t the safest neighborhood.
“Right. That’s nice.” As she turned, her boots crunched on the gravel. She looked absurd and hot as she took the stairs with that tail swinging behind her, whip tucked under one arm. Took her a little time to work her key. The front door stuck but finally gave way to a hip. After she banged it shut behind her and the porch light was turned off, he eased away from the curb. The feeling that dogged him all the way home was ridiculous. Now, why did he care if the girl needed help? He had enough on his plate. This was stupid.
But he knew what it felt like not to have no place to turn.
Read more of Finding Southern Comfort.
Acknowledgements
Many thanks to Romance Writers of America and the Central Ohio Fiction Writers. My core of fellow writers have been invaluable. Also a huge thank you to the other writers on the loops that share their wisdom, addressing writing and publishing issues on a day-to-day basis. On a more personal level, Sandy Loyd and Marcia James, can’t thank you enough for your sage advice and sense of humor. I look forward to enjoying this journey together. Thanks to Kim Killion for covers that rock and to Nicole Zoltack for her input and editing skills.
For my daughters, Kelly and Shannon, reading has always been a shared joy for us, from Judy Blume to Janet Evanovich. I am thrilled to have you as my “advisors.” My grandchildren, Bo and Gianna, bring me such joy and can’t help but pop up in my work. To my husband Ted, words aren’t adequate to thank you for your love and support. You’re my rock who quickly steps into the role of IT guy when emergencies arise. Hope we have many more wonderful years together that include trips to Leopold’s for ice cream.
About the Author
Barbara Lohr writes contemporary romance, adult as well as New Adult, often with a humorous twist. Her early career included teaching writing and literature before her career broadened to advertising and marketing. In her Windy City Romance series, feisty women take on hunky heroes and life’s issues. Barbara lives in the Midwest and the South with her husband and their cat, who insists he was Heathcliff in another life. In addition to travel, she loves old bookstores and new adventures, along with lots of dark chocolate. For more information on the author and her work, please see:
www.BarbaraLohrAuthor.com
www.facebook.com/Barbaralohrauthor
www.twitter.com/BarbaraJLohr
Other Windy City Romance novels include:
Finding Southern Comfort
Her Favorite Mistake
Her Favorite Honeymoon
Her Favorite Hot Doc
Novellas
Summer Riptide
Summer of the Fireflies
The Salty Carmel Christmas