No Strings Attached (Barefoot William Be)

Eight


“You’re not welcome in my store,” Jen said as she poked Mac James in the chest. “I planned never to see you after the Sneaker Ball.” She drew back, ready to jab him again.

He grabbed her wrist before she could push him further. “Feeling’s mutual,” he said gruffly. “You weren’t a great date.”

“You should never have asked me out.”

“Hindsight is twenty-twenty.”

They stood near the front door. It was close to the dinner hour and the evening crowd began to stroll past the windows. Jen turned off the lights, discouraging customers. Their shadows now played along the far wall, wavering with tension.

“Shop’s closed,” she said. “I have a date.”

“Hopefully he’ll show. You’re such a prize.”

Two T-shirts caught her eye on the circular rack. She flipped them at him, one at a time. Have a Nice Day Somewhere Else was quickly followed by I Press Charges.

He pressed his palm to his forehead. “I’ve got a headache. Don’t shove those hangers so loudly.”

Jenna slammed a couple together out of spite.

He gritted his teeth. Shrugging off the hood on his jacket, he removed his sunglasses. He widened his stance, as if seeking balance. His hair was mussed and he hadn’t shaved. His eyes were red and darkly circled as if he’d drunk too much, then lain in bed unable to sleep. The cut on his lip was raw. She hadn’t realized she’d bitten him so hard. He looked awful.

A third shirt caught her eye. The slogan fit him perfectly. She held up Night of the Living Dead. “You look like a zombie,” she told him.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and admitted, “I feel like one. I blame it all on Zane.”

“The man forced a beer in your hand?”

“Damn straight.”

Silence stood between them until she said, “Sorry about your mouth.” She tried to sound sympathetic, but failed. “You shouldn’t have kissed me.”

“You wouldn’t shut up,” he growled. “It was a kiss or duct tape.”

“Tape would’ve been preferable.”

“Next time—”

“No ‘next time,’ Mac,” she said firmly.

“Here I was going to ask you on a date.”

She couldn’t help herself. She laughed in his face. The idea was absurd. He had to be joking. “We don’t like each other.”

“That’s true,” he agreed.

She cleared her throat, then said, “I owe you an apology. One I should’ve made before the Sneaker Ball. My friend Bree Bennett corrected my misconception of your time together.”

He rested one arm on a circular rack, turning his back on the afternoon sun. “It was only two dates. We never even exchanged last names. On our second night, we went to a movie and had sex. She climaxed, we cuddled. She told me she loved me. She made mention of a church wedding—”

“And you split.” Jen knew the story. “You hopped out of her apartment while pulling up your pants.”

“I couldn’t get out fast enough,” he admitted. “I lost my lucky boxers and one Converse in my escape.”

“That’s what happens when you run.”

“Can you blame me?” he asked.

“I see your side,” she allowed. “Bree’s since found someone and is very happy.”

“Good to hear.” Mac looked relieved. “What about you, Jen? Are you seeing anyone since me?”

“Since you?” Again she laughed. “We were never a couple, crazy man. The Sneaker Ball was just last weekend.”

“You have a date tonight,” he said easily. “Make your move.”

“My move?” she raised.

Mac pushed off the T-shirt rack. “A man needs to know you want him.”

“That goes for a woman, too.”

Their conversation lagged. Mac stared at her, his blue eyes dark and searching. Jenna couldn’t look away. She felt captured by his gaze. She was unexpectedly drawn to a man she’d sworn to avoid for the rest of her life. She found it so scary she shivered.

Recovering, she jingled her keys. “You need to leave so I can dress the mannequins.”

He glanced at the gray cloth dummies. “No need for modesty. They’re already naked.”

She could have forced him out the door, but a part of her held back. She didn’t want him as a permanent fixture in her life, but a few minutes more wouldn’t kill her.

She gave in. “I’ll put you to work if you stay.”

“Roy and Joy.” He named the mannies. “I want the girl.”

“Not surprising.”

“I’m good at taking clothes off a woman, but I’ve never dressed one.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“Joy won’t scream at me if I screw up.”

“No, but I will.”

His brow creased. “That’s something to look forward to. Your shriek could break bricks.”

She ignored him. “Go all out with the summer attire. I want head-to-toe: sunglasses, shirt, shorts, jewelry, flip-flops.”

“Flip-flops?” he objected. “Joy has no feet.”

“Place a pair at the base of the stand for effect.”

She then crossed to men’s board shorts and selected a pair in sage green. “I want colorful and hip,” she told him. “The outfits need to complement each other. Follow my lead.”

He hesitated and looked a little lost. It took him a moment to get started. He decided on turquoise short-shorts for Joy. Typical Mac.

“Joy’s bendy.” He curved the mannequin’s left leg over his hip.

The man was an idiot. “Are you dressing her or humping her?”

“I’m simply pointing out her flexibility.” He soon had Joy doing the splits.

“Is she more flexible than your blow-up dolls?” she asked.

“Real funny, Jen.” Mac slapped Roy on the back, leaving a handprint. “He’s definitely not as firm as your battery-operated boyfriends.”

“How would you—” she stopped short.

His grin was slow, sinful, and knowing. “Two sex toys.” He spoke as if he’d rifled through her panty drawer. “The Jack Rabbit and plastic phallic.”

She gaped. The man was a vibrator psychic. “You’re wrong,” she lied.

Mac leaned toward her mannequin, whispered something to Roy, then pretended to listen. “Roy Boy says I’m right.”

Jen flicked Mac on the forehead. “Not funny.”

“Buzz-buzz.”

She turned her back on him and started dressing Roy. The board shorts were too big for him. She sought a handful of paper clips to make the necessary tucks and adjustments.

Beside her, Mac straightened Joy’s legs. He then tugged on her short-shorts. No judge of sizes, he’d chosen large. The shorts slid from her hips and down her legs. He caught them before they hit the floor. “She’s too damn skinny.”

“I’ll deal with her shorts,” said Jen. “Go pick out their shirts.”

He scanned the shirts, slow to make a decision. Mac was always confident, oftentimes arrogant, yet at that moment, he seemed unsure of himself.

“The Beach Heat Collection for Roy,” she suggested. “Let’s go with the indigo shirt with the green palm trees.”

Six of the short-sleeved button-downs had palms. Mac selected sunset orange. The shirt was the wrong color. “Indigo blue,” she repeated.

His gaze narrowed and his lips pinched as he fingered through the shirts. He brought back black.

She shook her head. “Black’s too dark. I’d prefer a summer hue.”

He shifted, visibly uncomfortable. He went back to the rack and returned with three shirts. “Take your pick,” he held them up for her approval.

She selected the one in the middle. “Indigo.” She fanned the shirt beneath his nose. “The pale green leaves make for a great contrast.”

He exhaled. “I see that now.”

“You need a top for Joy,” she said as she got Roy into his shirt. “I’ll paper clip her shorts in place, while you find something summery to go with turquoise.”

His brow furrowed and sun lines fanned the corners of his eyes. He ran one hand through his hair and mussed it further. He looked pained.

He jammed his hands into his jacket pockets and walked slowly toward the women’s shirts. He stood and stared for an inordinate length of time.

Jen had dressed Roy and secured Joy’s short-shorts and now waited for Mac. “A belly shirt would work,” she called to him. He’d bought one for Kami a few days ago.

Still he deliberated, drawing out his decision. He finally chose one in white with the red slogan Rub Suntan Lotion on My Back.

“That works fine,” she said as Mac slipped the shirt over Joy’s head. His hand rested on Joy’s boob. “Stop fondling my mannequin,” she said.

“I was straightening a wrinkle.”

Yeah, right. Jenna glanced at her watch. She had one hour to wrap this up, drive home, and change clothes for her date. She needed to move things along. “I need a floppy cloth hat for Joy and a baseball cap for Roy,” she directed.

She crossed the room and came back with a navy cap scripted with Three Shirts on the bill. It made for a great souvenir.

Mac struggled with the floppy hats. “The red-and-white striped one will pull Joy’s outfit together,” she told him.

He grabbed two and raised them high.

She shook her head. He’d ignored her request. Neither hat worked. Hands on her hips, she asked without thinking, “Are you hard of hearing or colorblind? Honestly, Mac—”

The look on his face would stay with her forever. Pain flickered in his eyes, as if exposing a dark secret. He was all raw nerves and vulnerability. She heard him swallow hard and saw his chin drop to his chest. His shoulders slumped.

What had she said to hurt him? She wished she could reverse time and take it all back. He wasn’t hard of hearing, but distinguishing colors was another matter. She thought back over his visits to her shop. He’d needed her assistance when matching clothes.

The man was colorblind.

“Mac, I had no idea.” Her mouth went dry and she found it hard to speak.

A beat of silence before he sucked air, straightened. His expression was hard, angry. His blue eyes were piercing. “Dress your dummies by yourself,” he said. “I’m gone.”

She had to stop him and apologize. She beat him to the door and stood between him and his escape. “Can we talk?”

“I want out.” He punched the door frame hard enough to split the wood and damage his hand.

She grabbed his wrist. “Don’t hurt yourself before the Huntington Beach Classic.”

He shook free of her hold. “I have no fight with the door.”

“What about with me?”

“You bust my balls.”

He rode her last nerve. “I’m truly sorry.”

“Sorry for me, or sorry for what you said?”

“No pity, Mac.”

Still, he appeared self-conscious. “Dune’s aware I mix up colors, but no one else outside my family knows.”

She now knew his secret and made him a promise. “I’d never say a word.”

He didn’t look convinced. “You might in anger.”

“I assure you, I won’t.”

He pressed against her, lightly yet significantly, making her aware of him. She was stuck between the thick wooden door and a very solid man. “Let’s even the playing field,” he suggested. “Tell me a secret. Something that’s juicy and embarrassing. Something I can hold over your head.”

Her life was boring and an open book. She had so little to hide. She worked and went home to her cats. Her boyfriends came and went. She’d never dated anyone seriously. She spent most evenings with a rented movie and a bag of peanut M&Ms. She’d put on five pounds in the last two months. “I’m overweight,” she finally said.

He stepped back and checked her out. “You’re ready for the chubby chasers,” he teased, referring to men who liked their women plump.

What an ass. She pinched his arm. Hard.

He pulled a face, then rubbed the spot. “Weight isn’t good enough,” he said. “Dig deeper, babe.”

“I put mustard on my french fries.”

“I like mayonnaise.”

“I seldom clean house.”

“I drop-kick my clothes.” He flattened his palms on each side of her head and touched his thumbs to her temples. “You’re talking habits, not secrets.”

She licked her lips. “I forget to pay my bills and beg for extensions.”

“Don’t we all.” He tipped up her chin with his finger and taunted her. “Bring a skeleton out of your closet.”

She wiggled a little and he pinned her, his chest and hip bones forcing her to keep still. She felt the cut of his six-pack and the muscles in his thighs. She closed her eyes and hissed through her teeth. “My vibrators have names.”

He grinned. “Is the Jack Rabbit called Mac?”

She inhaled as his words soaked in. Then the unthinkable happened. His humor made her horny. Her breasts grew heavy and her nipples poked the red nylon of her sports bra. The hot feel of him from her waist down was a turn-on.

She affected him, too. The bulge in his board shorts brushed her belly as he rested his forehead against hers. “I like a woman who calls out her vibrator’s name when she comes.” His voice was deep, low, and irritatingly sexy. “I’m still waiting for a secret so dark and scary that it would stop traffic if I yelled it to the world.”

“I’m attracted to you.”

He blinked, looked skeptical. “Don’t placate me.”

She crossed her heart. “It’s the truth.”

He eased back a little. “Are you planning to act on your attraction?”

He’d given her enough space to duck under his arm. She escaped his sexual heat. She’d been honest. He just hadn’t believed her. “I shared a secret with you,” she said. “A confidence to be kept, but not acted on.”

“You’re crushing my nuts.”

“I wasn’t joking.”

“Prove it.”

“Can’t. I have a date.”

“You’ll be thinking of me the whole time.”

“Don’t bet on it.”

She was back to being snippy, Mac James noted as he leaned a hip against the front counter. Lady could lie with the best of them. She was no more attracted to him than he was to her. Then why was he sporting inches? He was so hard he hurt. Shifting his stance didn’t help. He wanted her.

He watched as she finished dressing the mannequins. She added the hats, then chose their flip-flops: rhinestone ones for Joy and leather for Roy.

“Nicole Archer from The Jewelry Box lent me a necklace and bracelets for Joy,” she said. She moved to the front counter, where she unlocked a drawer. She removed two layered gold chains with sunburst charms along the links. The bracelets came next. She held them up for him to see. “Assorted metals inlaid with blue onyx and crystals.”

He nodded, appreciating the fact she’d shared the colors. “The bracelets look expensive. Shouldn’t you keep them under glass?”

“I have security on staff this week,” she told him, tongue-in-cheek. “Sophie’s volunteering and she hired a young boy named Randy to help out, too. The kid can be trouble.”

“How much trouble?”

“He stole a pair of sunglasses during lunch and Sophie went after him. Dune then took off after Sophie. He wasn’t going to let her face the situation alone.”

Mac took it all in. His always calm, always collected partner had been concerned for Sophie. She’d protected Dune against Zane at the Sneaker Ball. Dune now stood beside her when dealing with a punk kid. He found this all very interesting.

“Randy’s holding his own now,” Jen went on to say. “Sophie brings out the best in him. He’ll guard the jewelry.”

“A thief to catch a thief?”

She nodded. “Exactly.”

“Sophie,” he said thoughtfully. “I like her.”

“So does Dune.”

Mac narrowed his gaze on her. “How do you know this?”

“It’s pretty obvious. My cousin brought us lunch and spent half a day helping out. He’s never,” she stressed, “done more than a walk-through.”

Mac grinned. “He may become a permanent fixture.”

“Why are you smiling?” she asked.

“I know something Dune has yet to realize,” he said. “I like being one step ahead of the big guy. He’s usually two steps ahead of me.”

Jen placed the jewelry on Joy, then stood back to admire both the mannequins. “They look beach friendly,” she said.

She then glanced at her watch. “I need to get going.”

Mac moved toward the door. “Don’t let me keep you.”

“Bye, Mac.”

A part of him wasn’t ready to call it a day. But she was meeting up with someone and he had no excuse to stay. Grandfather Frank wanting wheat bagels wouldn’t work a second time. The scheme was lame.

He was about to leave when her cell phone rang. She pulled it from the pocket of her shorts, looked at the number, and moved out of earshot. Her “Hello, Kyle,” drifted back to him, faint yet discernible.

Mac assumed the caller was her date. Such a call so close to going out wasn’t good. The guy was either running late or about to cancel. Mac guessed that she was about to fly solo.

He rubbed the back of his neck. This was none of his business. Why should he care? He didn’t really. Yet Jenna crossed his mind when he least expected it. There was something about her that both ticked him off, yet tempted him.

Eavesdropping wasn’t new to him. He was barefoot and she’d never hear him coming. He headed to the storeroom, leaned against the wall, and listened.

“I wish you’d told me about your girlfriend,” he heard Jen say. A pause while Kyle spoke, then it was Jen once again. “I understand. If she wants you back, you need to work through your fight.”

She sounded understanding, Mac thought. He waited for her to pitch a fit. She didn’t. He hadn’t realized she’d ended the call until she charged from the back room. Anger slapped her flip-flops. Her radar picked him up. She was on him in a heartbeat.

“I knew you were here,” she accused. “You’re like a wiretap, listening in on my private conversations.”

He thought he’d been quiet. “How’d you know I was here?”

“I heard you breathing.”

He’d been holding his breath and only released a short, soft whoosh before he turned blue. Apparently Jen had sharp hearing.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the best he could do.

“Sorry that you eavesdropped, or sorry I don’t have a date?” she asked.

He went with “No date.”

She shrugged, sighed. “It doesn’t really matter. It’s been a long day and I was running short on time. I only had twenty minutes to get home and pull myself together.”

“I held you up. I’m to blame.”

“I may find fault with you, Mac, but not tonight,” she said. “I could’ve shoved you out the door at any time.”

Instead she’d let him stay, let him dress a mannequin. She’d recognized his insecurity in being colorblind and promised to keep his secret. He hoped she was true to her word.

“What about Twilight Bazaar?” he asked.

“I have several family members selling artwork. I need to make an appearance. I can attend alone.”

“Or you could attend with me.”

“Bailing me out a second time,” she said more to herself than to him. “Let’s learn from our past mistakes. We didn’t connect at the Sneaker Ball, it’s doubtful we will over art.”

“I’m an art connoisseur.”

She looked skeptical. “An expert on women, I could accept, but art? Not a chance.”

“Art was an option if I didn’t make it in volleyball,” he said straight-faced. “I like to finger paint, papier-mâché, and mold peanut butter play dough. I’m a master with the glue gun and macaroni. I love to body paint and roll around on butcher paper, especially with a partner.”

“You excel in sticky mediums.”

“The stickier the better.” Black Cherry body oil came to mind. Unexpected, but timely. The oil warmed to the touch and was lickable and tasty. He had a need to get naked and naughty. He hadn’t had sex for a week. Kami had been willing and they’d fooled around. In the heat of the moment, thoughts of Jen had crossed his mind and lingered. He couldn’t shake her. He’d lost interest in Kami.

All that would change tonight.

Maybe he’d cruise the Blue Coconut for a game of pool or hit happy hour at the Parrot Walk. There were always hot chicks wanting a cocktail and a hook-up. He was in the mood for rug burns and love bites.

“Mac?” Jenna snapped her fingers near his nose. “I’m leaving.”

“Hang loose.” He followed her out.

She locked up, then left him with a wave of her hand.

He watched her walk away. There were no mincing steps or major wiggle to the woman, he noted. She moved with purpose. She smiled at everyone she passed, many being family and friends. A red light stopped her at the Center Street crosswalk. He caught her profile.

A breeze brushed her hair off her face. Her cheekbones were high and the tilt of her chin was stubborn. She was petite and fit. No way was she packing five extra pounds. She was too damn firm. She looked hot in her belly shirt and shorts. She had a light golden tan, which he found prettier than the beach babes who baked a dark brown.

She waited and waited at the long light. She glanced at her watch, then swung her arms at her sides. A pedicab approached and she flagged it down. She climbed in the three-wheeled rickshaw. The driver took off, cutting the corner sharply.

She was gone. He experienced a sense of emptiness. He neither liked nor understood the feeling.

The bar scene suddenly lost appeal.

He felt left behind.

Jenna Cates was worth pursing.

He ran in front of the next pedicab, forcing the driver to slam on the brakes. The driver said something rude, which Mac ignored. He was at fault. He could’ve caused an accident on the boardwalk.

He pointed east. “A pedicab just rounded the corner,” he said. “Can you catch it?”

The driver looked college age. His name badge read JOE. He eyed Mac as if he were crazy. “Give chase in this heat?”

“It’s only ninety-two.” Mac had played volleyball in three-digit temps. “I need speed.”

“I’m a cruiser.”

“I’ll triple your fare.”

“Add a big tip?”

Mac nodded. “Send the bill to Dune Cates.”

“Get in,” Joe said.

Mac settled on the narrow cushioned seat. The driver took off, pumping his legs like a superhero.

They rounded the corner at Center Street. Joe pedaled so fast that the back tires left skid marks. Mac squinted against the sun. He’d lost another pair of sunglasses. That made two pairs this week. He needed to be more careful.

He slapped his hands on the back of Joe’s seat. “That’s them, two blocks ahead.”

It felt like a car chase scene from a movie, Mac thought, as the driver left the wide sidewalk and took to the street. This wasn’t Bullitt, Ronin, or Mad Max, but a chase was a chase.

A car swerved and pedestrians scattered. Joe was hell on wheels. He beeped his horn at a flock of crows and shouted at a jogger. He was pedaling full-out and bridging the gap. Less than half a block separated them now.

Joe’s commotion caught the attention of Jen’s driver. The man gestured and she glanced over her shoulder. Mac was close enough now to see her face. Her gaze widened and her lips parted. She said something to her cabbie, which caused him to pick up speed.

Joe heaved a breath. He was growing winded. They quickly lost ground. The pedicab moved beyond the hustle of the boardwalk and pier and crossed into Olde Barefoot William, where the majority of the Cateses lived. The streets were quiet and the old Florida-style cottages were quaint. The homes were shingled and shuttered with wide porches. They’d withstood hurricanes and time. The homes were handed down through generations. Here lay the inner circle.

Enormous evergreens lined the narrow two-lane road. Ancient moss hung from the branches. The sun cast shadows and the scent of hibiscus and plumeria was heavy on the air. Sprinklers whirred as homeowners watered their lawns.

Mac craned his neck. His pedicab had stalled out. Joe was sweating and swearing under his breath. Mac leaned back on the seat and took a moment to plan his next move. He’d been so intent on reaching Jen that he’d yet to come up with an excuse for chasing her down. He had nothing.

He usually thought fast on his feet.

But Jen was smart. She would see through him.

He could only fake it for so long.

Jen’s pedicab soon turned left onto Sand Dollar Way. Joe got a second wind. He was pedaling for a big tip. He pulled behind the first rickshaw just as Jen exited.

“Thanks, Dude.” Mac slapped Joe on the back and hopped out.

Joe pedaled off and the second pedicab followed.

Jenna climbed onto the curb and he remained in the street. She stood very still and stared at him. Only craziness drove a man into a pedicab chase. He shifted several times, uncertain and feeling foolish. What to say?

She spoke first. “What the hell?”

“I stopped by for a visit.” Not his best opening line.

“We saw each other ten minutes ago.”

He shrugged. “It seemed longer than that.”

“Trust me, it wasn’t.”

“I thought we were bonding back at your shop.”

“Sorry, I didn’t get that same feeling.”

He kept at it. “I’m here, you’re here.”

She sighed heavily. “I don’t understand you.”

He didn’t understand himself most days. This was not going well. “Are you going to invite me in?” he asked.

She closed her eyes and appeared to count to ten. “Better to let you in the front door than have you break a back window.”

“I’d never do that.”

She blinked him a look. She didn’t believe him for a second. She turned and started up the stone sidewalk. The lawn swept wide and the grass was tall. Dandelions grew wild. The cottage sat back off the road. It was built on higher ground, which protected it from a storm surge.

A white picket fence bordered her property. Mac had never known anyone with a picket fence. He ran from women who wanted a house with a fenced-in yard, a two-car garage, and three children.

Damn, Jen already had the fence.

His stomach squeezed, but he didn’t get nauseous, a good sign for him. He could hold it together if he tried.

He followed her. The stones were sun-warmed and smooth beneath his bare feet. He was so busy checking out her place, he stubbed his toe twice.

He’d nearly reached the cottage when the grass wavered, parted, and her cats appeared. He saw one, two—a total of four. They came after him, all big, sneaky, and slinking.

He was more of a dog than cat person. These four didn’t seem crazy about him, either. They circled him. He swore one hissed. Were they feral?

“They’re Savannahs,” Jen said from the porch. “A pairing of the African Serval and a domestic cat.”

Their wild African genes were visible to Mac; their domestic side, not so apparent.

“The cats have spots on their coats,” Jen told him. “They will fluff out the base of their tails in a greeting gesture.”

No fluff, Mac noted. He wasn’t welcome.

A darkly furred male brushed his calf in a footrace to the steps. The cat won. He stopped on the top stair, claimed it. Mac watched the cat watch him. The Savannah was long and lean with boomerang-shaped eyes and a hooded brow. Cheetah-tear markings ran from the corner of his eyes down the side of his nose to his whiskers.

A second cat passed him. This one could leap. The Savannah made it from the sidewalk to the porch in a single bound. The cat should wear a cape. In a matter of seconds, all four surrounded Jen. Mac faced a gauntlet.

“Attack cats?” he asked.

“It takes them a while to warm to strangers.”

How much time? he wondered. The Savannahs were shifty and suspicious, with a pack mentality.

“Do you plan to introduce us?” he asked.

“You’re a passing acquaintance and won’t be around long enough to know them well.”

“Good manners, Jen,” he persisted. “Their names?”

Her sigh was heavy; her expression exasperated. “They have African names. There are three males.” She pointed to each one. “Jengo, Neo, and Chike.”

Chike, Mac noted, was the black Savannah guarding the stairs. The cat gave him the evil eye.

“The female is Aba.” She reached down and scratched the ear on a light-colored tabby. “Care to come in?” she challenged.

He had two options: walk back to the boardwalk or survive her cats. His decision came when Aba fanned her tail. Perhaps there was hope for him yet. He could charm most females.

Mac took a chance. He climbed the steps, keeping one eye on Chike. He didn’t want his toes mauled or his calf used as a scratching post. He moved slowly.

Jen held the door for him. He entered, expecting cat paws on his heels. The Savannahs surprised him. One leaped onto the glider. The remaining three sought window boxes.

“No flowers for you,” he said to Jen.

“The cats claimed the boxes years ago. Cool spots on a hot day.”

“Do they come inside?” he asked.

“There’s a cat door in the back,” she said. “They come and go, but never leave the yard. They’re loyal and territorial.”

“You have four.” He couldn’t get over the number.

“They’re my kids.”

“No diapers, midnight feedings, or college funds.”

“They also don’t talk back and are more trustworthy than the men I date.” She flipped on the ceiling fan and an overhead light.

He’d expected a cat smell, but the air was clean and fresh. He believed a home fit a person’s personality, yet the cottage was in contrast to the woman. He took in her space. The inside shutters on the windows were open. The interior was bright and pleasant. Cozy.

Her furniture was overstuffed and comfortable. Bamboo runners ran throughout. What had he expected, straight-back wooden chairs and sharp-edged tables? Perhaps photos of her with the Wicked Witch of the West and her Flying Monkeys?

There were clusters of pictures, some taken of her family and others of her cats. How she’d gotten all four to pose around the base of a Christmas tree was beyond him, yet they’d stretched out, patient and alert. Mac could never have sat still that long.

His condominium was ten times the size of her cottage. Dune had helped him invest in the beachfront property. Size mattered. His place had entertainment value.

His condo had pitched ceilings, wide glass walls, and an open staircase that led to a loft. His furniture was made for his body. He’d let a designer pick the color scheme. She’d recommended pewter, sand, and sage. Chairs-and-a-half along with ten-foot couches were spread throughout.

He had an open-door policy to friends and fans. Company came and crashed at all hours. The more the merrier.

Jenna rested her hip against an armless chair. “What now?” she asked.

He glanced at her, then over her shoulder. Her backside was reflected in an oval mirror. She stood relaxed, her left hip jutting. The smooth tapering of her spine and sexy curve of her hips gave her body symmetry and flow. She had a sweet ass.

“Stop checking out my butt,” she said sharply.

Busted. He met her gaze and smiled. “I thought we’d attend the bazaar, unless you’d rather have sex.”

She didn’t return his smile. Instead she arched a brow. “Have you seen yourself today?” she asked. “You’re a moving mess.”

He crossed to the mirror. He’d had better days. He was rough around the edges with his weed-whacker hair, dark circles under his eyes, and heavy stubble.

He’d grabbed the cleanest clothes in his pile of dirty laundry. His hoodie had paw prints near one pocket where Ghost had jumped on him after digging in the sand. He wore a white T-shirt underneath, soiled by a grease stain. He’d been eating french fries and used his shirt as a napkin. His board shorts hung just fine, low on his hips and a little wrinkled, but clean enough to wear a third day. He was barefoot and would need a pair of flip-flops or sandals to get into the Civic Center.

He glanced at Jen’s feet. Small. He could wear a pair of her flip-flops if necessary. It didn’t matter if his heels hung over the back.

“I’ve looked better and I’ve looked worse.” He was honest. “Let’s hit the bazaar for an hour, then part ways.”

“Brush your hair first.”

“I’d also like to shave.”

Her gaze narrowed. “You want to borrow my brush and razor?”

“Like we were roommates.”

“Which we’re not.” She looked inordinately pale.

“Where’s your bathroom?” he asked.

“Down the hall, second door on the left.”

He found it easily. He cleaned up the best he could. He shaved with her pink Lady Schick and wet down his hair. He liked her boar-bristle brush. He then added toothpaste to his finger and brushed his teeth. He gargled with a capful of her mouthwash.

He was soon as good as she was going to get.

He shrugged off his hoodie and tugged his shirt over his head on his way back to the living room. Jen stood in the same spot he’d left her. Her eyes widened when she saw him.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“You’re undressing.”

“Just down to my boards. I need something clean. Any chance you have an extra shirt, size large?”

“You’re imposing, Mac.”

“One shirt, one hour. That’s hardly an imposition.”

Her sigh was long-suffering. “My nightshirt might fit you.”

She slept in an oversized shirt. He liked that. He wondered if she wore panties. “No flowers, baby animals, or rainbows, I hope.”

“It’s solid black.”

He could pull off black. “I need something for my feet” came out of his mouth next.

She pursed her lips. “My uncle left a pair of gardening boots in my garage. You’re welcome to those.”

She led him to the waterproof boots. They were brown, worn, and snug. His toes curled under. The fleece lining made his feet sweat. It seemed like he was standing in hell.

“You ready to go?” he asked.

She looked down on her belly shirt and shorts. “Quick change,” she told him. He followed her from the garage.

“Care to introduce me to your vibrators?”

Her steps faltered. “Wait for me by the door.”

He preferred her living room. He checked the bottom of his boots to make sure he wasn’t tracking in mud or manure. The rubber bottoms were clean.

He walked around, biding his time. He opened and closed the shutters, sat in her antique rocking chair, and set her wall clock five minutes fast so she’d never be late.

She soon returned in a sundress and sandals. He stared. The light color set off her tan and the gauzy fabric was nearly see-through. He wondered if she wore underwear.

He was so into her, he almost dropped the T-shirt she tossed his way. He made a mad grab. He pulled it on and noticed her nipple imprints. He patted his hands down his chest. The cotton flattened.

He then sniffed his sleeve. “I smell like cake.”

“Frosted Cupcake body lotion,” she told him. “The scent is vanilla bean and butter cream.”

Great, he smelled like dessert. He’d have to skip the main crowd at the Civic Center and walk the perimeters of the exhibits. He hated smelling edible.





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