“Keep your voice down,” I hissed at him, furtively glancing over to Mrs. Weaton’s house. She rented the small cottage in front that was part of the Butler estate. Another one who had too much to say about my business, although I loved her dearly. Jack rocked back on his heels, his hands still in his pockets, and took a deep breath.
“I guess I’m just making sure by asking you to help me, I’m not taking advantage of you. I’ve been burned, okay? Try not to take it as an insult, but as more of a show of respect for you and your time.” He pursed his lips, and then let out a puff of air, like he was about to say more. “Look, forget it. Forget I asked.” He turned to go.
I leaped forward and grabbed his arm, turning him back to face me. “Ok. I’ll do it.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I couldn’t tell whether he looked disappointed or regretted asking me in the first place.
“No, seriously, I’ll do it. I want to do it. I think you’re entitled to some time away like a normal person to figure your ... stuff out.” Or whatever it was he needed to do.
He looked away at that.
“I know what it’s like to need that time,” I went on. “You can pay me if it makes you feel better.” I let go where I’d been clutching his strong arm so hard I had to flex my fingers. “Sorry.”
“Shit, you’re strong. I may bruise tomorrow.” He rubbed his arm in a mock show of discomfort, then added more seriously, “I actually think I might. Bruise, I mean.”
I rolled my eyes. “No you won’t. I guess I got strong hands from fixing up the house. It takes some muscle to wield those power tools, you know.” And his arm had felt pretty muscly to me. That thought made me swallow hard. What the hell was I doing?
Jack arched an eyebrow. “You and power tools? That I have to see.” Then he stepped back and appraised the house once more. Taking in the white expanse of the front and the large Lowcountry-style rocking chair front porch, I knew he could see past the peeling paint and broken shutters. His gaze took in the careful way I had planted pots on either side of the door and how clean and swept I kept the place. This house had pride.
“Do you happen to know what I did before I got famous?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I told you. I’m not your groupie.”
He pursed his lips. “I know, I know. Sorry. Well, let’s just say I have an idea.”
F O U R
“I’m coming. Ouch!” I yelped as I stubbed my pinky toe on the hall table on my way to the front door. Grabbing my foot, I hopped the last few steps.
For obvious reasons, I’d lain awake for several hours the night before reliving every single nuance of my bizarre encounter with Jack Eversea. My dreams, when sleep blessedly arrived, hadn’t given me much reprieve. So the pounding on the door at nine in the morning had caught me in a full on coma.
Opening the door, I squinted into the bright day just in time to see a tall, bare-chested mess of sweat and exertion in dark glasses pushing past me into my house. What the—?
Jack.
I lost my balance and went flying backwards. The next few seconds were a ridiculous cacophony of squeals, grunts, and flailing limbs as Jack tried to reach for me and kick the door closed behind him at the same time.
“What the hell?” my winded voice finally managed just as we hit the floor, Jack sprawled completely on top of me. He scrambled up quickly like he’d been stung.
“Shit. Sorry. I just ... people were walking past and they were looking at me. I panicked.” He glanced back at the door to make sure it was closed and took his sunglasses off.
I still lay sprawled like a starfish on my hall floor, dressed in the small Hello Kitty sleep shorts and spaghetti strap tank I’d slept in. Not enough clothes to be meeting male visitors. Certainly not how I envisioned seeing Jack Eversea this morning. I could almost hear Nana sniff disapprovingly from wherever she was haunting the house at this precise moment. Thank God I hadn’t removed the old floral carpet yet or I’d have a butt full of splinters to round out the moment.
“So you thought accosting me half-naked as I opened the door would arouse less suspicion?” I narrowed my eyes, making a colossal effort to keep them on his face and not stray down his glistening ... I slipped just once ... yes, glistening chest. Seriously? I groaned and closed my eyes letting my head fall back hard on the floor, ignoring his outstretched hand. Maybe I could knock myself out and I wouldn’t remember this. And my God, up close, he smelled like sand and sea and the ocean breeze ... and ... like ... man. I’d always thought my avoidance of all things male would keep me out of trouble long enough to see my dreams of leaving town through, but I was beginning to sense my mistake. A little prior romantic experience with men would have really helped about now.