by Kaylea Cross
The sight of Rayne’s tall, broad-shouldered frame sitting there on the couch caused her heart to skip a beat, and she chided herself. Even if he were interested in her, she had a list of specific reasons why she didn’t want a man in her life right now. One: she was too busy with work and her softball career. Two: Rayne had a reputation that would make Casanova seem like a choirboy. Three: no way did she ever want her heart broken again. She couldn’t survive that kind of pain a second time. And she knew if they got together, Rayne would definitely break her heart.
Keeping this firmly in mind, she chose a seat on the other side of the coffee table and tried to pretend that his smile didn’t make her insides do somersaults. She glanced down at the deck plans spread across the table. “So, when will you guys start?”
“Next week, if I can get all the stuff together,” Drew said. She loved Drew dearly and was so glad Teryl had married him. He was funny, supportive, and most importantly, not afraid to stand up to Teryl’s infamous assertive personality. “Just think of all the flowers you can put in the planter boxes.”
“Now you’re talking. So long as you promise not to kill them, Teryl.”
Teryl narrowed her eyes. “Maybe you should plant artificial ones, then.”
“They’ve been telling me about the gardens at your place,” Rayne interjected, the lamplight highlighting the green and gold in his darkly lashed eyes. “I’d love to see the house sometime.”
“Anytime,” she told him. “It might even remind you a little bit of Charleston,” she said, pronouncing it as Chahlston, “so you’d feel right at home.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Are you making fun of my accent?”
“No, you know I love your accent. It reminds me of my stepfather, Michael’s. He teaches American history back east, mostly about the Civil War.”
“You mean the war of northern aggression,” Rayne corrected softly, lips curving.
“Ah...okay.”
“It’s a very important distinction,” he assured her.
She held up a hand in acknowledgement. “Duly noted.”
Drew pushed to his feet and stretched. “Well, this has been a fascinating history lesson, but we’re both on early shift so I’d better take you home, Hutch.”
“Sure.” Rayne rose from the couch.
“I can take you home,” Christa blurted. The others looked at her. “I’m heading home anyway, so I can drop you off on my way. If you’re okay with it,” she added, hoping she wasn’t blushing.
“That’d be great,” Rayne said.
Drew regarded Rayne with an arched brow. “We can trust you to behave yourself alone with Christa, right?”
Rayne winked at her, sending her pulse skyrocketing. “Maybe.”
Christa laughed. “I love it when you get all protective of me. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”
“Damn right we’re protective of you.” Teryl had a habit of referring to Christa’s ex as ‘The Shithead’, which was true enough, but she tended to go overboard with the overprotective thing.
Christa picked up the bag holding her dirty uniform and spoke to Rayne. “You ready to leave?”
“Sure.”
At the door Teryl leaned up and kissed Rayne’s cheek, then rubbed away the lipstick mark. “Okay, go off and save the world for us tomorrow. But don’t shoot anyone unless you have to.”
“I’ll try and restrain myself,” he said, and let Christa precede him outside. The cool night air was damp and smelled of freshly cut grass, stars twinkling overhead. He followed her to her truck and opened her door for her.
“Oh, thanks,” she said and scrambled up into the cab. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had opened her door for her.
“You’re welcome.” He even closed her door before rounding the hood and climbing in himself. The truck suddenly seemed small with him in it. Well over six feet tall, broad through the chest and shoulders, he made her feel petite and fragile, and with a five-eight medium build, that was saying something. He dominated whatever space he occupied, his confidence so absolute she’d once mistaken it for arrogance. Now she understood he was a natural leader, an alpha male who just happened to be loaded with charisma and sex appeal. As the notches on his bedpost no doubt proved.
She started the ignition and pulled out of the driveway. “You live down by the beach, right?” No sense tipping him off that she’d committed every detail she knew about him to memory. Kind of obsessed, like her stalker, but way less scary. And more pathetic.
As she thought of her fan her eyes scanned the street to see if anyone was following her, but nothing suspicious caught her attention.
“Just down from the pier, on Marine Drive.”
“You must have an incredible view.”
“It’s pretty tough to take, all right.” He swiveled his head to study her, and her fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “Where’s your place? How come I’ve never been there?”
“Huh?” She shot him a glance. That had come so far out of left field she wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly.
“Drew and Teryl are always talking about how they go over there all the time, but you’ve never asked me over with them. There a reason for that?”
“No, I swear. I promise, next time I’ll invite you too. Deal?”
“Deal.”
As he settled back into the seat with a creak of his leather jacket, she caught the tangy scent of his citrusy cologne. It was cruel for a man she couldn’t touch to be so beautiful and smell that good. She had to fight the urge to lean over and breathe him in. Instead, she checked the rearview mirror to make sure she still wasn’t being followed. As awesome a distraction as Rayne was, she couldn’t forget about that weird encounter it the parking lot.
Through her open window, the salt of the ocean teased her nose, the lone cry of a seagull blending with the quiet background music of the radio. In the distance the shadowy forms of the San Juan and Gulf Islands rose out of the Strait of Georgia, the lights of Semiahmoo Resort winking from across the bay. Moonlight shimmered silver across the water, silhouetting the gentle contours of the shore. Crescent-shaped tide pools on the exposed sand glimmered like a scalloped lace hem that stretched the length of the beach. On Marine Drive they headed east, past the people strolling along the promenade and the illuminated pier jutting into the dark tide, past the gift shops, restaurants and ice cream parlors, the trees lit year-round by delicate strands of lights.
With Rayne beside her, she let herself relax. Maybe she was too wound up about this whole stalker thing, she thought as she checked the mirror again. If he hadn’t followed her to Teryl’s, and he wasn’t following her now, then chances were—
“Something wrong?”
She glanced at Rayne, then focused back on the road. “No, why?”
“You seem distracted, and you keep looking in your rearview like you expect to find someone behind us.”
His bang-on observation left her speechless. Maybe she should tell him. He was a cop. But what if Seth was harmless and she was just overreacting? Last thing she wanted was for Rayne to think she was a head case. “Sorry. It’s nothing.”
“Okay.” He let it go. “My building’s on the left at the next corner.” He indicated a condo complex in sleek lines of stucco and glass.
“There you are,” she announced, pulling to the curb. “Front door service with a smile.”
He tipped his head. “And a beautiful one at that. Thanks for the lift.” His grin had her heart tripping.
Flattered, but not allowing herself to dwell on it, she shrugged. “Anytime.” He climbed out of the truck, his jeans hugging his powerful thighs and butt, and she had to will her heart to slow down.
“Don’t forget to call me,” he reminded her as he turned around and shut the door.
“I won’t.” She was more likely to forget to breathe.
“I’ll give you my cell number. That’s the best way to reach me.” He searched in his pocket for a piece of paper and pen, t
hen leaned on the truck to write. “No excuse now.”
“Thanks.” Her schedule was so crazy, between work and ball— “Wait ... how about tomorrow night? For dinner,” she clarified when he stood there frowning. She cleared her throat. “I know it’s short notice, but I don’t know when else I’m—”
“I work until seven. Seven-thirty okay?”
Relief flooded her. “Sure. I’ll invite Teryl and Drew too.”
“Okay. Give me your address.”
She recited it, said goodnight and rolled up the passenger window, then pressed a hand to her galloping heart.
Pulling out her cell phone, she asked her oldest friend to be there tomorrow night and Teryl agreed. Driving away, she glanced in her rearview mirror, but Rayne had already disappeared inside.
Well, of course he had, she told herself. Only the weirdoes watched until you were out of sight.
****
The following afternoon Christa loaded her border collie cross, Jake, into the Chevy Avalanche for a trip to the local plant nursery, where she’d filled a cart to overflowing with pots of deep blue delphiniums, bright yellow marigolds and cheerful purple pansies with gold faces. Now, sitting back on the heels of her gardening shoes, she wiped the sweat off her forehead with her arm and paused to survey her hard work.
The May sun was already beginning its climb down, bringing a humid heat that promised to become sweltering. The reflection from the windows on the south side of her house made the pale yellow exterior glow—the perfect backdrop for the plants she’d tucked in along the front walk, if she did say so herself. Gazing up at the Victorian gabled and turreted roof, Christa felt a swell of pride.
Her house was her pride and joy, a haven of warmth and coziness that wrapped around her like a hug. The first summer she’d moved in she’d added dark green shutters. Last fall she and Michael had completed the landscaping, then installed the stained glass panels in the transom window above the kitchen sink that dappled shards of cobalt, ruby and gold on the gleaming hardwood floors she’d re-finished. The glow of satisfaction curling inside her made every penny she’d put into the place worthwhile. So what if she still had a sizeable mortgage, even after spending her grandparents’ trust money? This was her perfect little nest to do whatever she pleased with.
Giving Jake a scratch behind his ears, she picked up her tools and replaced them in the shed, painted to match the house, before settling into her favorite wooden chair perched under the pink dogwood canopy. She’d stained it cobalt to match the delphiniums shooting their spikes into the air in the perennial beds. Basking in the peace of a job well done, she surveyed the carefully placed arbors and obelisks draped with twining wisteria and clematis, the stone fairies peeking out from behind a leafy hosta or clump of merlot and saffron-colored pansies. She had just swallowed an icy mouthful of tea and leaned her head against the backrest when her cell phone rang.
“Hi hon, it’s me,” Teryl’s cheery voice greeted her.
“Hey. You checking in to find out what’s on the menu for tonight?”
“Uh, actually, no...I’ve been called to a crisis at the office. My client’s gearing up for a hostile takeover tomorrow morning, so we’ve got to get everything prepped today. Sorry, hon.”
“Oh. Are you sure you won’t be finished in time for dinner? You could come later and I’ll save a plate for you.” The meat was already in the oven braising and she couldn’t call and cancel on Rayne now.
“Sorry, sweetie, but I’ll be at the office all evening. I’ll make it up to you, though. Steaks on me sometime next week, okay?”
Well, crap. Now what? Dinner alone with Rayne felt too much like a date, and she didn’t want him getting the wrong idea. “Sure,” she answered. “Sounds great. Thanks for letting me know.” When she hung up, she pondered her options. Talk about awkward. She kicked off her gardening shoes and went into the kitchen in search of the piece of paper with his cell number on it, then came back outside and dialed.
He answered on the second ring. “Hutch here.”
“Hi Rayne, it’s Christa.”
“Hey, darlin’. What’s up?”
That deep drawl, the easy way he said the endearment slid right through her. Like hot fudge dripping over melting ice cream. “About tonight...”
“What about it?”
“Teryl just called to say they can’t make it. So I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner some other time instead.”
A pause. “Are you uninviting me?” His voice held both suspicion and amusement, and still managed to make her tummy flutter.
“Of course not. I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable with only me here, that’s all.” Who was she kidding? She was the one who’d feel uncomfortable. In the two years since she’d met him, all she knew about him was that he had grown up in Charleston and had done a stint in the Marines—stationed in Hawaii of all places—then moved to Vancouver and become an Emergency Response Team officer. Other than the ride home last night, they’d never hung out together.
His warm laugh cut into her analysis. “Why would I be uncomfortable? I can’t remember the last home-cooked meal I ate, and from what I hear you’re damn good in the kitchen.”
“Okay, then. If you’re sure.” Damn, she was already nervous.
“Can I bring anything?”
“No, thanks. I’m all set. So I’ll see you at seven-thirty then?”
“You can count on it, sugar.”
When the dial tone buzzed in her ear, she sank into her chair, nerves jumping in her stomach. Rayne was everything that intimidated her in a man. A rumor was going around that he’d actually had an escort pay him for an evening, though even Drew couldn’t say for sure it was true. He had ‘dated’ and presumably slept with countless beautiful women, including models. She’d heard about plenty of them over the past two years.
She, on the other hand, was his total opposite when it came to dating. Until her stalker had appeared in her life, she'd led a fairly boring existence, which was exactly the way she preferred it. She rarely dated anymore. According to her ex-boyfriend she was nothing special in bed. She had to stop being so hung up on Rayne. Getting involved with him would be like committing emotional suicide.
Maybe she should call her ex, to remind herself what heartbreak felt like. That ought to cure her of any romantic fantasies about Rayne.
Chapter Two
At seven twenty-seven, Rayne parked in front of the yellow Victorian-style house. He didn’t usually pay much attention to houses but this place really was something to look at, like one of those fancy bed-and-breakfasts people paid a fortune to stay at. When he walked to the back gate, he stepped into a genuine fairyland decked out with strands of white lights trailing along the lattice fence, over an arbor and tangled amongst the trees. Glowing lanterns hung from various shrubs, and tall candles flickered invitingly on the patio table.
Wow. Martha Stewart had nothing on Christa Bailey. If she could cook half as well as she kept her home, he was going to be in heaven.
A black and white dog came barreling out, skidding to a stop at his feet, dancing around him. Rayne held out his hand to let the dog smell him and saw from the tag on his collar that he had just met Jake. He gave the fluffy ears a ruffle. “Hey, fella. You’re a pretty friendly guy, aren’t you? Do you always let strangers into the yard?” The dog leaned into his touch and gazed up at him adoringly. Rayne hoped Christa had a good alarm system. “Hello?” he called out as he headed toward the French doors off the patio.
“In here,” Christa answered from the kitchen, pulling something that smelled spicy and garlicky out of one of the two wall ovens. An island topped with pale granite graced the center of the room, surrounded by acres of granite counters and walls of white cabinets. A white apron front sink sat under the window overlooking the backyard, a butcher block stuffed full of knives next to it. On the far wall was an intimidating stainless steel gas range that looked like it had come straight out of a gourmet restaurant. The place was clean an
d bright, cozy without being too feminine. He liked it immediately.
“Hi,” she said, smiling as she swept back a stray lock of espresso-colored hair, the overhead lights making it gleam. She looked fresh and pretty in pale yellow top and worn jeans that clung in all the right places, making her legs seem a mile long. He’d always been a sucker for long, shapely legs.
“Hello yourself,” he answered, and handed her the flowers he’d brought, glad he’d accepted the invitation.
“Thank you.”
Was that a blush? He fought back a smile. “You’re welcome.” When she’d called out the invitation from the truck he’d had the impression she hadn’t meant the words to come out, and then when she’d phoned him earlier he’d been sure she was going to cancel on him. Funny, how she seemed so at ease with everyone else yet tended to clam up around him.
He wanted to get to know her better. He enjoyed being around her, but then, everyone liked Christa. Need help moving? Call Christa. She’d even lend you her truck. Need your bathroom painted? Christa would be happy to help. Got the flu and no one to look after you? She’d be right over with some home-made chicken soup and a bottle of Nyquil. The quintessential girl-next-door, the kind of woman you’d take home to mom—the exact opposite of every woman he’d been with, but even that didn’t squelch the growing attraction he felt every time he saw her.
“Whatever you’re doing in here, it smells amazing,” he added. Her cheeks were flushed a rosy pink and her robin’s-egg blue eyes danced as she shot a grin at him over her shoulder. He loved that she was so quick to smile.
“Braised spare ribs with Yorkshire pudding and roasted potatoes,” she told him in that slightly husky voice that made his insides tighten every time he heard it. “I know you’re a meat and potatoes guy.”
“You got that right, lady.” He sniffed appreciatively, picking up the scent of chocolate. She stood on tiptoe to gather some plates from a cupboard, revealing a few inches of taut, smooth midriff as her shirt rode up. An image of him nuzzling that satiny strip of skin entered his brain before he could stop it. “What’s in there?” he asked instead, nodding at the other oven.
