Don't Touch My Petunia

by Tara Sheets

  “I’m inclined to believe,” he said.

  She turned back in surprise. “Why?”

  Because you look like a forest nymph who just sprang out of some dark fantasy. Because in the half-light you seem to glow like a rare, otherworldly creature. Because the plants flow around you in recognition, like they’re paying homage to a force of nature similar to their own. He cleared his throat. “I don’t know.”

  Her blue eyes flashed with mischief. “Well, if I were you, I’d be careful in these woods. They could be dangerous for a mere mortal like yourself.”

  “How so?”

  “For one thing, there’s poison ivy everywhere. If you don’t know how to look for it, you could find yourself in a world of hurt.”

  “I’ve never been bothered by poison ivy. I’m immune.”

  She tilted her head and regarded him with interest. “Even still, see that plant there?” She pointed to a bright green plant with large, palm-like leaves. “That’s devil’s club. It’s beautiful, but has hidden thorns. If it gets under your skin it can cause problems.”

  Exactly like someone he knew. Logan smiled.

  “I’m not kidding.” She gave a little stomp for emphasis, which made him smile even more. “You could get hurt out here if you’re not careful.”

  “I played in these woods when I was a kid, Juliette. Never had a problem with sticker bushes or poisonous plants.”

  “Fine,” she said with a toss of her hair. “Wander at your own risk, then.”

  Logan moved toward her. “The plants aren’t what concern me. You are.” The real risk was the woman standing in front of him right now, barefoot in nothing but a thin nightgown.

  She frowned and bit down on her bottom lip.

  Logan wanted it. The memory of the kiss they shared in the flower shop still haunted him. He wanted to taste her again.

  “I’m no threat to you,” she said.

  Woman, if only you knew.

  The forest grew very still. It almost seemed like the trees were holding their breath to see what would happen next.

  “Don’t worry, Logan,” she said softly. “I won’t put a magic spell on you. At least nothing permanent. Besides, there’s no such thing as fairy tales, right? You have nothing to worry about.”

  He watched her go, the white nightgown like a splash of light in the shadowy woods as she walked away. When he couldn’t see her anymore, he finally turned and walked slowly back to his house.

  Like hell, he had nothing to worry about. She was everything he didn’t need, and yet he couldn’t stop himself from wanting her. She was infuriating. Alluring. Impulsive. Unconventional. He could count on both hands all the reasons she was not the girl for him. He wanted a peaceful life with a woman he could raise a family with. The type of woman who was reliable and sensible. He’d been through enough chaos. He wanted roots. Something steadfast.

  Logan had dated his fair share of wild women. The fun kind who make you laugh and were always up for a good time. He spent most of his days on leave in California when he wasn’t stationed overseas. He and his buddies were always up for a party, and there were always women more than willing to participate. But that was before he’d seen how bad it could get. Before the bombs. Before he watched people he cared about die.

  Now all he wanted was to be home. He was done with the wild life. And Juliette was a wild, free spirit whom he’d never quite understood. Even back when he only knew her as a waif-like kid, she’d been unusual. Always with plants or flowers stuck into her pockets, hands grubby from digging in the dirt.

  Logan climbed the stairs to his house, checking the loose planks in the porch floorboards. He was much better off focusing on his renovation projects. Kevin was going to come by later and help with the porch sanding. It would be good to watch the house improve over the next few weeks. God knew he could use the distraction.

  He glanced back into the woods. A pair of golden eyes watched him from beneath the ferns. The cat seemed to be waiting for him. He turned and walked into the house, resolved to find a way to get Juliette out from under his skin. It was time to focus on the future. No more games.

  Juliette Holloway was a wild card, and he wasn’t a gambling man anymore.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Hope floats,” Juliette whispered under her breath as she walked toward the waterfront. It had been a good day, and she was determined that her boat date with Brock this evening was going to be even better.

  Kat had proved to be a natural at greeting and helping customers. She already knew how to work the register, and customers seemed to like Kat’s easy nature. They even doted on her dog, Hank. Things were looking up.

  Juliette turned the corner and headed toward the pier, trying to feel more excited about her boat date with Brock. Maybe they’d hit it off, once he got away from fawning groupies. She had to admit, there was something very flattering about having Hollywood Houseboat’s most eligible bachelor interested in her.

  She settled her purse more firmly on her shoulder, determined to have a good time.

  “Miss,” a voice called behind her.

  Juliette turned to see the crew member with the tortoiseshell glasses from the night at the barbeque. Was he Tweedle Dee or Tweedle Dum? She couldn’t remember.

  “Just a few quick questions.” He was holding a recording device in his hand.

  “Tweedle,” she said cheerfully. “So nice to see you this evening.”

  He held out the recorder. “What are you and Brock celebrating tonight?”

  “Just a date.” Juliette continued walking toward the pier. “No big thing.”

  “What kind of big thing?”

  “The ‘no’ kind,” Juliette said, staring straight ahead.

  He tripped along behind her like Hank the Tank. “So if Brock proposes, you plan to say no?”

  She whirled to face him.

  He stopped fast, narrowly missing bumping into her.

  “It doesn’t really matter what I say to you, does it?” she asked.

  His lower lip bulged out as he considered her question. “Not really.”

  “So even if I make up something, as long as you can work with it, you’ll quit bugging me?”

  He adjusted his glasses. “If you give me something good.”

  “Okay.” She crossed her arms and thought for a few moments. “How about . . . Brock is being blackmailed by a band of ruffians, and he’s hired me, an undercover assassin, to take them all out.”

  Tweedle scoffed. “You lost me at ‘band of ruffians.’ This isn’t medieval England.”

  “Fair enough,” Juliette said. “What if I told you I was a magical creature, with the ability to mix up spells from the things I grow in my garden. And this summer I plan to have my wild, wicked way with Brock—a poor, unsuspecting mortal.”

  “See, now you’re not even trying. Magic spells?” He scoffed. “You need to give me something realistic. Something that would make a good story.”

  “Fine.” Juliette gave him the first story that popped into her head. “How’s this? I’m from a family of all girls and one of us needs to marry a rich man so we don’t all die penniless. At first, I thought Brock was arrogant, even though he’s a great prospect because he makes over ten thousand a year. But after a bunch of misunderstandings, I’ve come to realize he’s not just another hot bod in a wet pirate shirt. He has a big old mansion, too. So now I’m thinking cha-ching! I sure hope he proposes soon.”

  He looked mildly appeased. “That’s not too bad. Any of it true?”

  Juliette put her finger to her lips. “Shhh. I’ve said too much already.”

  She left him standing on the sidewalk, sending a silent prayer of thanks to Jane Austen as she made her way toward the waterfront.

  Brock was already waiting for her at the pier. “Hey, babe.” He leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek, then gestured to a dinghy bobbing in the water. It had two wooden bench seats, a small outboard motor, and looked barely big enough to hold four people. />
  Juliette looked down at her floral dress with dismay. It wasn’t that she minded the smaller boat, but she wished she’d worn jeans instead of changing into her best silk dress. For some reason, when Brock said he was going to take her on a boat date, she thought it would be a bit more glamorous.

  “Sorry it’s so small,” Brock said with a laugh. “It came with the houseboat, and we all have to share it. Tonight’s my night. I thought it’d be fun to get out on the big waves and watch the sunset.”

  “Sure.” Juliette didn’t bother pointing out that there were no big waves. Some islands had huge waves and crashing surf, like Hawaii or Tahiti, but not Pine Cove Island. Everything was usually calm and quiet. Even the ocean.

  A few minutes later, they stepped carefully into the tiny boat, and Brock maneuvered it away from the dock, pulling alongside Hollywood Houseboat as they passed. The “houseboat” was a sleek yacht, with two levels and both a lower and upper deck for dining and sunbathing.

  The supermodel Mirage was standing on the lower deck with a glass of champagne and a pout so smoldering she was practically a fire hazard. Her gold Brazilian-cut string bikini glittered in the sunlight.

  She gave Juliette a withering look, finished off her champagne in one long gulp, and turned her back on them.

  “Wow,” Juliette said. “She seems super nice.” In a reptilian, swallow-you-whole type of way.

  “Mirage? Yeah, she’s a great girl,” Brock agreed.

  Juliette took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Maybe she just needed to lighten up a little. Lately she’d been so stressed about the renovations and dealing with Logan, she hadn’t had a lot of time to relax.

  “Hey, Kat’s friend,” Vespa called from the top deck. She leaned over the railing with a wineglass in one hand and a cigarette in the other. “If Brock gets handsy, you have my permission to slap him.” She gave a raspy laugh, then took a drag on her cigarette and sashayed away.

  Brock steered the boat around the marina, then took them up the island coast for several minutes before heading out into deeper water.

  Juliette tipped her head back and breathed in the salty air, loving the feel of the warm sunlight on her face and the cool breeze floating in from the east. One of her favorite things about summertime in the Pacific Northwest was that the sun didn’t set until around nine o’clock. It seemed to be Mother Nature’s way of making up for all the rainy days throughout the rest of the year.

  Seagulls called overhead, lulling Juliette into a feeling of deep contentment. This was exactly what she needed. Just a nice, relaxing evening where she could set her cares aside and have some fun with a nice guy.

  When Brock finally cut the engine, they were far enough from shore that the boats in the marina looked like small toys bobbing in the water.

  He looked back at the shoreline. “It really is beautiful out here.”

  Juliette felt a warm sense of pride for the island she called home. “I like to think so. When you live here your whole life, you sometimes forget—”

  “But it’s too quiet, right?” Brock interrupted. “How do people do it? Day in and day out.” He bent to rummage in a basket under his seat, lifting out a frosty bottle of French champagne. “Here we are.”

  Juliette raised her brows. “Fancy.”

  Dimples flashed. “I bring the party wherever I go.” He popped the cork, sending it flying across the water.

  “No.” Juliette watched in dismay. “I can’t believe you did that. It’s dangerous to birds and marine life to throw—”

  “Oh, I know. Sorry. Accident.” Brock reached under the seat and pulled out two red plastic cups. He filled one and handed it to her, then filled another.

  Annoyed at how casually he’d brushed off littering, she gripped the plastic party cup. “I’ve never had champagne this way before.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter how it goes down, as long as it goes down, right?” He tapped his cup against hers and took a champion swig. Then he topped his cup off and took several more gulps.

  “Easy there, sailor,” Juliette said. “Aren’t we supposed to savor it?”

  “Ah, no worries. I brought two more bottles.” He winked. “There’s plenty.”

  Juliette sipped her champagne, watching in reluctant fascination as Brock finished his cup and filled it again, thirstily chugging away like he’d been marooned on a desert island with his good buddy Wilson for the past five years.

  Finally, he gave her his full attention. “So.”

  She waited.

  He said nothing further.

  Was she supposed to say something? “Yes?”

  He gazed at her, swaying a little as the boat bobbed gently in the waves. “Juliette. Juliette,” he crooned.

  “Mm-hmm?”

  He grinned. “The fair Juliette.”

  Uh-oh. Was he going to start quoting Shakespeare? She eyed the distance to the shoreline. Had to be three, maybe four hundred yards. Could she make it swimming, if she had to?

  He ran a hand through his evenly spaced, caramel highlights. “I really like you.”

  She repeated his own words. “What’s not to like?”

  Brock tipped back his cup o’ bubbly and drained it again, then held up the bottle. “More?”

  “I’m still working on mine.” Since you only poured it forty-seven seconds ago.

  He poured more champagne into his cup and stretched back on his seat. “What I mean is, I like you a lot. I think we could really get along well together, you and I. Obviously, we’re compatible.” He took another swig.

  “How can you tell?” Was it the matching plastic cups?

  “Well, you’re bloody beautiful. So, you know”—he waved his finger in the air between them—“we fit together, right?” He pronounced “right” with such a heavy accent, it sounded more like “roit.”

  “I don’t know if you can decide compatibility just based on looks.”

  “Sure you can.” He held his hand above his head, palm down. “I’m on this level, see?” He raised his cup to join it. “And you’re up on my level, too.”

  Juliette looked up at the plastic cup, wobbling above his head. “I’m not sure I follow.”

  He brought his hands down and leaned forward. “Just trust me on this.” Another gulp of champagne. “I’m brilliant about these things, all right?”

  “Roit,” she said slowly. “And you’re also very humble.”

  “I am,” he agreed, nodding his head vigorously. A little too vigorously. If Juliette didn’t know any better, she’d say he was drunk.

  “Say, Brock, did you get a head start on the champagne before we met tonight?” She made it sound like a joke, but she needed to know. If he’d been drinking before, it would explain his weird behavior.

  “Nah.” Brock waved his hand. “I wouldn’t start on the good stuff without you.”

  That was a relief.

  “I did some tequila shots with the gang, though,” he added. “We like to start early.”

  She pressed her eyes closed for a moment. “That’s just great.”

  “I know.” He refilled his mug, splashing some on the floor of the boat.

  “I was kidding,” Juliette said.

  “About what?”

  “Never mind.”

  Holy dunce cap. Either he was really dumb, or just stupid drunk. Maybe Kat was right about Brock all along. Juliette should’ve listened to her. She shouldn’t have broken her own dating rule. Never date a new guy in a place you can’t escape. You never know when you’ll want to run screaming for the hills. Juliette looked longingly at the shoreline. It seemed farther away than ever.

  “Anyway . . .” Brock rose unsteadily to his feet and plopped down on the seat beside her.

  He grinned.

  She showed some teeth.

  “You and I make sense together,” he said amiably. At least he was a happy drunk.

  Juliette took a long sip of her champagne. If this was a paddleboat, she’d be backpedaling so hard right now.r />
  Brock scooted closer. “I think we should bang.”

  She coughed. Gasped. “What?”

  He thumped her on the back. “We should have sex. Trust me. You’d love it.”

  “Mmm,” she said, still wheezing. “Let me think about it.”

  “In a few weeks I’ll be gone, so don’t think too long. When you decide to go for it, just give me a ring.”

  There would be no ringing, and no banging. Of that, she was certain.

  “One of the things I’ve learned in life is, if you see something you want, you just gotta go for it, you know?”

  “Words of wisdom, indeed,” Juliette said, taking another sip of champagne.

  Brock suddenly whipped off his shirt.

  Juliette leaned away, startled. She eyed him warily, just in case he tried to get “handsy.” His torso was so shiny, it looked waxed. There wasn’t a follicle of hair on him. From a purely Mattel perspective, it was ideal. Like a glossy Ken doll. If he was up for sale on eBay, he’d be “Brand New In Box.”

  “Let’s go for a swim,” he announced.

  “No way.” Juliette clutched her plastic cup. “That water is freezing.”

  He flexed his arms and stretched. “You sure?”

  She had to admit his six-pack abs were pretty impressive. The defined muscles were so symmetrical. Oddly symmetrical. She squinted her eyes and peered closer. Was he . . . ? Oh, my god, she had to ask. “Are you airbrushed?”

  “Yeah.” Brock studied his abs. “It’s part of the gig. We all have to look good on camera. You know Tammy, on the set?”

  Juliette shook her head. Everyone on the houseboat crew kind of blended together. Aside from the Tweedles, Kat was the only person on the crew who stood out, but maybe that was just because she liked Kat. And Kat had gorgeous red hair that no one could miss.

  “Tammy’s our makeup artist. Anyway, she does all our spray tans. Contouring, ab enhancements, all that stuff.” He tossed the empty champagne bottle aside and grabbed a new bottle from the basket. A few moments later, he’d popped the cork and held the bottle out to her. “More?”