Harlequin - Jennifer Greene

by Hot to the Touch

  “I don’t need to be rolling in diamonds, slugger. This is what I charge—”

  “I don’t care what you charge. That’s what I’m paying you. And another thing—”

  “What?”

  He motioned to the far archway, where the hall led down to the business part of house. “I’ll build your waterfall.”

  “I don’t think you’re up for that kind of heavy work—”

  “If I can’t, I can’t. But I’ll try. When my dad died, he left my mom financially secure enough, but she was still determined that we’d all know how to do things, not be dependent on others. So I know some plumbing and carpentry. Depending on how my body holds out, I can do the work. And that’ll be part of my payment to you. Money. But the waterfall, too.”

  When he left, she found herself standing naked in the dark window, watching the lights of his vehicle pull out and then disappear into the night. All that extraordinary postsex euphoria and closeness seemed to vanish faster than a light switched off…and a sick feeling of fear replaced it.

  Mop moaned next to her ankles, until Phoebe picked up the disgraceful whiner and cuddled him under her chin. Still, she stared out the dark window, thinking fiercely that she felt good about making love with Fox. Shedid. Totally good. Really. It was just…

  Vague memories zipped through Phoebe’s mind, of her childhood. Her mother had been a hard-core earth mom and emotional hedonist. Her dad had adored those qualities in her and valued her in every way. It was so easy to grow up believing that sensuality was healthy and a wonderful part of being a woman. Her dad called her pure female, and meant it as the warmest of compliments.

  And every media source in the universe taught a girl that men wanted a sensual woman. A hot, willing, uninhibited woman who freely expressed her sexuality was the ideal, right? Every man’s dream, right?

  Wrong.

  At her feet, Duster suddenly yipped, clearly miffed that Mop was being held and she was being ignored, so Phoebe had to scoop her up and cuddle her, too…but that sick, wary feeling inside kept turning in her stomach. Men wanted a “hot” woman, all right. But only to sleep with, not to keep. Something in a man distrusted a woman who was too open with her sexuality. They feared she wouldn’t be faithful. Feared they couldn’t trust her. Something deep inside just didn’t respect a woman like that.

  Phoebe had learned it all the hard way from Alan. The part that really bit was his accusing her of being a hedonist and sensualist—because she couldn’t defend those charges. She very definitely was those things. He’d made her feel so dirty that she’d started to think of herself the same way…until she switched her career from PT to massage work with babies.

  She hadn’t thought of Alan in months…until Fox entered her life. She knew the men were completely unalike. But she still feared ever falling for someone again who didn’t, or couldn’t, completely respect her.

  Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  Abruptly she turned around and aimed for the back door so she could let the pups out one last time before bed. The cool draft of air on her bare skin made her shiver, helped her face more reality.

  She refused to regret making love with him. Helping Fox regain his life really mattered to her—no matter what she had to do, no matter what the emotional cost to herself. She just had to remember how this night had ended.

  He hadn’t wanted to stay all night with her after making love.

  And he’d pretty damn violently been insistent on paying her—hugely—for her services.

  She got it. If she could heal his wounded soul, she wanted to. She just couldn’t kid herself that he valued her as more than the hired help. For a few hours, there, she’d felt such an extraordinary connection to him.… She’d felt like a soft, fragile rose, petals opening inside her that had been sealed shut for so long…but she knew better. Really.

  To Fox she was a masseuse. As long as she guarded her heart from wanting to be more in his life, there was no problem.

  And she wasn’t about to forget that again.

  Seven

  In a single week, nature had blown off winter and poured in spring. Bright-yellow azaleas bloomed everywhere. The sun shone through sassy-green fresh leaves. Sleepy, sneaky breezes teased the senses.

  The earth and grass smelled pungent, as if every spore and root under the surface was having sex and about to burst into life.

  Except for him, Fox thought glumly.

  Just because he’d had heart-destroying sex with Phoebe once, of course, was no reason to assume they’d have it again. There were compelling reasons why they shouldn’t, besides. Only…

  Only, he wanted to have sex with her.

  Immediately. Regularly. Preferably on the hour. For several weeks nonstop.

  Right or wrong had nothing to do with it. His hormones only understood that issues of values were inconsequential. Having had her, he wanted more. He wanted. Her. No one else. Nothing else. And his hormones kept beating that same drum, day after day after day.

  “What in God’s name are you doing?” Bear asked dryly.

  Fox glanced up. It was a Bear day—which meant, according to Phoebe’s ridiculous recovery program—that he was supposed to be fishing. For the cause—and fishing was always Bear’s favorite cause—he’d dragged him across the border into South Carolina. Any other time, Fox wouldn’t have minded. Lake Jocassee was a serious piece of paradise—one of those God’s-country kinds of places.

  The reservoir of cold, clear water was backdropped by sunlit knolls and mountains, mostly undeveloped—and everyone loved it that way.

  Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  Bear had trailered the boat, bought the live bait as well as a box of proven lucky lures, stashed Fox in the bow and puttered off for an ideal fishing spot. Jocassee was known for trophy trout—also for bass, but it was the brown and rainbow trout Bear wanted for dinner. At this time of day and year fishing wasn’t ideal, but that didn’t deter Bear, who’d already hooked enough to bring Mom two dinners, easy.

  Now, though, Bear had unfortunately been distracted. “What are youdoing ?” he repeated.

  “What do you mean, what am I doing? I’m sitting here with you.”

  Bear sighed and then leaned over to grab one of the books from Fox’s lap. He started reading the titles aloud.“Women and the Law of Property in Early America. The Politics of Social and Sexual Control in the Old South.” Bear scowled at him. “You call this kind of reading relaxing?”

  “Well…yes, actually.”

  “And you think you’re convincing anybody you’ll never be a history teacher again?” His brother’s voice dripped humor.

  “This has nothing to do with teaching! This is pleasure reading!”

  “Yeah, right. The point, anyway, is that you’re supposed to kick back andfish . Phoebe told you—”

  “All Phoebe insisted on was that I get out of the house. So I’m in the incessant fresh air. What she wanted. That doesn’t mean I have to like fishing.”

  “It isn’t human to hate fishing.”

  “How long are you going to hold that against me? Give me a ball—foot, base, basket, soccer, whatever, and I’ll whip the pants off you in any of those sports. But sitting here torturing worms on hooks…” Fox shook his head.

  “I’ll tell Phoebe on you if you don’t at least pick up a pole.”

  “That,” Fox said darkly, “is an ugly, ugly threat. Did I tattle on you when you and Moose put the skunk in the school cafeteria? Did I tell Moose when you threw up on his favorite shirt in high school? Brothers never tell.”

  “That was completely different. This is for your own good. Reading a bunch of history is notrelaxing.

  Not the way Phoebe said we were supposed to make you. You’re supposed to havefun. ”

  “Readingis fun,” Fox said firmly, and opened a book again. He didn’t know which book, because he’d given up trying to concentrate a good hour b
efore. The sun poured on his head, his shoulders. The lake was so clear he could see several mesmerizing feet below. Normally the lake—or reading books he loved—really would have relaxed him. It was just that right now, the only thoughts in his head were about Phoebe.

  So maybe they’d only made love once. And possibly it had been ten days, twelve hours and seven minutes since that once, but the entire encounter was still diamond clear in Fox’s mind—and not just the naked parts either.

  One of the things that bugged him was how—twice now—she’d suddenly upped and claimed that she Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  didn’t have a sexual nature. Both times she’d been in the middle of kissing him senseless. It’d be funny if it wasn’t so…odd. Since she was obviously a natural sensualist to the core, Fox couldn’t fathom why she’d claim something so ridiculous—or want him to believe it.

  Of course, all women were impossible to understand at a certain level, so Fox wasn’t dwelling on just that one thing. Other details about that night still tantalized and frustrated him, as well. Color was one.

  She had all those colorful rooms in her house—blue, green, yellow and all—yet he still hadn’t seen her bedroom or what color she’d painted it. And then there was the critical issue of panties.

  She’d been wearing yoga pants that night. It was typical of her to wear comfortable, easy-moving clothes, but underneath those figure-concealing pants he recalled—in total and exquisite detail—her panties. They’d been thongs. Satiny. They’d been white except for the heart-shaped spanking-red bitsy front patch—which, actually, a guy nearly needed magnifying glasses to see at all.

  Still, Fox happened to have been that close up. Hehad seen. And they seemed like a fairly astounding choice of panties for a woman who tended to wear oversize sweaters and pants. Same issue with the house. She’d painted all those sensual, soft colors—yet she freaked if you mentioned that she had a sensual side.

  Something was wrong, Fox thought. Well, hell. A lot was wrong, as far as his coming on to a woman when he couldn’t offer her a damn thing. But besides that…something was wrong with Phoebe. Wrong for Phoebe. She was a life lover, a giver, a hedonist, a dare anything kind of woman who stood up. She understood his heart and his feelings better than he had.

  She’d helped him so much with her generous, giving ways that it bugged him all the more that there was this problem. Thissomething in her that was off. It was as if she were afraid, or wary. But of what?

  “And the other thing that bothered me was her saying she didn’t care if there was a future,” he said irritably.

  “Huh?”

  “For Pete’s sake, what kind of attitude is that? I mean, it’s one thing if people can’t work out a relationship—not that I like ther word. It’s a stupid word. But when it comes down to it, you meet someone, you work at it, and then it either works out or it doesn’t, right?”

  “I think you’re getting dehydrated. There’s more ice water in the thermos,” Bear said patiently.

  “I’m just saying, when things go wrong, it doesn’t have to be aboutblame. Usually both people try.

  Nobody goes into a deal thinking they’re going to deliberately hurt the other person. I mean, unless they’re complete dolts.”

  “Okay. Beats me who you’re talking to, but I’m for the conversation. If we’re going to talk about women, though, I think we should talk about Phoebe.”

  Fox suddenly jerked his head around and focused on his brother. “What? I wasn’t talking about Phoebe.”

  “I didn’t say you were,” his handsome older brother said cheerfully, but then didn’t speak further because there was a tug on his line. The whole world stopped for a trout. Who could figure. This one was a rainbow, maybe nine inches, fought like a boxer—and won. “Hell,” Bear said, when the fish freed Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  itself from the line and took off.

  Finally. “What were you going to say about Phoebe?” Fox demanded.

  “Well…a couple weeks ago when her name first came up, I was just teasing about asking her out. But April and I quit even playing at making something happen between us. Not like we had a big thing going, anyway. The point, though, is that I really am thinking about asking Phoebe out now.”

  “No.”

  “No why?”

  “No because.”

  Bland-faced, Bear tried laying out a few of his dating credentials. “I make good money. Great money, in fact. Got good family genes, can offer a woman security, and I figure I’m pretty close to wanting to settle down. It’s been years since I had fun waking up with a hangover and a new woman. Just no interest in catting around anymore. I’d like a couple of rug rats. A woman I could talk to, be with every night—”

  “And that’s fine, just fine. You’re getting really old,” Fox assured him. “You need to settle down. But not with Phoebe.”

  “Ah. I get it now.”

  “You getwhat now?”

  “Moose knows it, too,” Bear said smugly. “That you’ve got a thing for her. We just weren’t sure how serious it was.”

  “I don’t—can’t—have a thing for anyone. You think I’d ask a woman out when I don’t even have a job? Don’t have a clue what I’ll be doing even next month?”

  “Okay, so right this exact minute you’re not on track yet,” Bear agreed. “But you only had two of those hellion headaches last week.”

  And one, Fox thought, that he’d actually dented with that ridiculous exercise of hers—not that he could admit that in public. Even to a brother.

  “What I was trying to say,” Bear went on, “is that you finally seem to be headed uphill, Fox. You’re not completely well yet, but you’re definitely on an uphill road. So…”

  “So?”

  “So, I’ll tell you what. I may or may not ask Phoebe out. But I’ll wait until you’ve finished the whole month’s program that she created, okay? Until you’re better. And that really is the key.”

  “Whatkey?” Sometimes following Bear’s conversations was like interpreting politics. You had to weed through the words to get to the meaning. Assuming there was one.

  “The key,” Bear said patiently, “is that you need to get better. It’s the best offense and defense you have. That woman’s got you tied up in knots. When you get better, you’ll be strong enough to untie the Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  knots, to figure what you really want out of the situation.”

  Fox opened his mouth, closed it. He wanted to argue furiously that neither Phoebe nor any other woman had him tied up in knots or ever would, but there wouldn’t be much point in that. She did. Period.

  But that didn’t mean Bear had everything right. Fox loved his brother, but Bear was almost always wrong, and this was no exception. He couldn’t possibly wait until he was stronger to fix the situation with Phoebe. Truth was, he doubted he could stand waiting even another minute.

  A guy couldn’t just make love with a woman—not when the emotional connection had rocked his world inside and out. And then just go back to do those pansy “safe place” pain exercises as if he and Phoebe were nothing more than accidental business acquaintances.

  He couldn’t let her get away with it. Healing him and loving him and giving 300 percent to him at every turn—and then taking zippo in return. The more Fox dwelled on it, the more he realized that he simply had to find out what was bugging her. Either that or risk losing what little mind he had left, because for damn sure, he couldn’t think of anythingbut her until they got this settled.

  And after they got this all settled, then they’d make love again.

  The more Fox thought about it, the more he figured he had a good plan coming together.

  He was still feeling confident the next day, when he parked in her driveway and stepped out, carrying an impressive array of tools. The tools weren’t totally a disguise. She did,
after all, have a waterfall that needed constructing. But as he lifted a fist to rap on her front door, he heard the unexpected sound of crying from somewhere in the house. A baby’s crying. And not a little mournful wail, but a full-scale, nonstop scream, as if someone were torturing an infant.

  No one could be torturing an infant at Phoebe’s place—not if she were alive—so naturally he panicked.

  Either there’d been an accident or some other crisis must have happened. So he pushed open the door, yelled out that he was here, and charged toward the sound of the crying.

  He found Phoebe almost immediately, standing in the kitchen, stuffing some kind of long-stemmed, sweet-smelling, sissy purple flowers in a vase. She was barefoot—no surprise. Wearing a long jeans skirt, and a loose tee in bright red. Something bubbled in a pot on the stove—something with garlic and rosemary and some other unidentifiable saucy smell. It was the kind of mysterious sauce smell that could bring a man to his knees. Easily. Phoebe’s back was to him. She was humming softly, moving to an R&B

  tune played low on the radio as she fixed her flowers and occasionally stirred the pot. The whole scene looked wonderful…except for the shrieking infant in the front pack strapped to her tummy.

  She spun around when she sensed him in the doorway. “Well, hey you.” Her smile was bright and sexy…but not particularly personal. “Did I goof up the schedule? It’s just Wednesday, isn’t it? You’re not due until tomorrow, are you?”

  The cheerful question slugged him straight in the gut. It was her reference to “the schedule.” How easily, this whole last week, she’d treated him as a client instead of a lover. He scraped a hand through his hair.

  “No, but I—”

  “It’s okay,” she said in a normal voice, as if anyone could hear over the infant’s caterwauling. “Come on in. You’re welcome to visit. It’s just that I have Manuel…and the odds of Manuel being quiet are about a thousand to one.”

  Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  She didn’t look shaken by the baby’s screams. As busy as she looked, her left hand stayed in touch with the little one, rubbing and loving and consoling. Because of the baby’s name, Fox assumed it was a boy; otherwise it would have been impossible to tell. The head was bald, the face all squinched up and red from the screaming.