by Lori Wilde
“Why, thank you.” She straightened, looking like a perky cocker spaniel that had just won best in show at Westminster.
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“Oh, so you like a proper woman who doesn’t drive a Jeep without doors?”
“I never said that.”
“How about some tunes? Let’s have music.” She reached for the radio dial. A lively hip-hop beat pummeled the air.
Abel made a face.
“What? Not a fan?”
“Not my style.”
She eyed him. “Classical music buff?”
“Country.”
“Aah. Like who? Blake Shelton?”
“Among others.”
“I listen to everything. Rap, classical, jazz, rock and roll, country, trip-hop, Celtic. It’s all good.”
“I’ve never met anyone who likes all kinds of music.”
“Well, now you have. Music is the icing on the cake that is life.”
“It is one of life’s simple pleasures. Something I don’t get to enjoy much.”
“How come?”
“Too busy working.”
“So what do you do for a living?” Poppy pulled to a stop at a red light, pushed her sunglasses down on her nose, and peered over the rim at him.
“Um...” He was so busy noticing how good her firm supple arm looked as her hand gripped the gearshift beside his knee that he almost forgot the cover story Captain Higgins had invented for him.
“Accounting.”
She pushed her glasses back up. “You’re a CPA?”
“Um, yeah.” It wasn’t a sexy job, and he expected the light to go out of her eyes.
“Oh, that’s great,” she enthused.
“It is?”
“Maybe you could help me with my bookkeeping. I love being my own boss, except for all the paperwork. In high school I was terrible in math.”
“Why don’t you just hire a bookkeeper?”
She blew out her breath and her bangs ruffled from the burst of air. “I had one for a while, but she embezzled from me. That added to my trust issues.”
“You?” He shook his head. She seemed so easy breezy. “You have trust issues?”
She rolled her eyes. “Out the wazoo.”
Her colorful language intrigued him. He wasn’t accustomed to women who talked so freely. “Why’s that?”
She waved a hand. “Unstable childhood. I’m not blaming my mother. I’m grown. My issues are my problem, not hers. Although our parents shape us, ultimately we’re responsible for who we become.”
He liked her attitude. She took responsibility for her own behavior.
“Oh, dear.” She frowned.
“What is it?” He scanned the area, instantly on alert, trying to see what had alarmed her.
“I’m out of gas.”
“You don’t keep your tank half full at all times?” She swung her head around to stare at him as if he were an alien being. “You do?”
“Yes. Not only does it help with gas mileage but—”
The Jeep sputtered, then died.
“Ah, crap.” Poppy coasted the stalled vehicle to the side of the road. Traffic whizzed by them. “And there you have it. Another one of my terrible flaws. I forget to put gas in the tank.”
“You really meant you were out of gas, out of gas.”
“That’s what out of gas means.”
“Most people say they’re out of gas when they’re on a quarter of a tank.”
“Would those be the same people who keep their tank half full at all times?”
“It would.”
“Too bad you’re not with one of those people.” Poppy unbuckled her seat belt and hopped from the Jeep. “C’mon.”
“Where are we going?”
“To push, there’s a gas station on the corner.”
He got out and followed her to the back of the Jeep. “You get back inside and guide the Jeep. I’ll push.”
“Don’t be silly, I’ll help you push.”
“Who’s going to guide the Jeep?”
“The same person who would guide it if you weren’t here.”
“If I wasn’t here, some guy would stop and help you.”
She flashed a grin. “I know.”
“Get in the vehicle, Poppy,” he said in his most authoritarian voice.
“Ooh, bossy. Do women usually go for that?”
He pointed at the driver’s side. “In.”
Her saucy little tongue darted out to touch her upper lip. The morning sun cast a bright glow off her soft skin.
Abel gulped, feeling the chemistry churn inside him. Dammit, he wanted to kiss her. A real kiss this time, none of that cheek smooching bull.
Poppy turned and went back to the Jeep. He angled his head, watching her magnificent rump as she walked away. Then he leaned down and put his shoulder against the back of the Jeep. “You got it in neutral?”
“I do.”
“Here we go.” Abel pushed and the Jeep rolled forward.
A few minutes later, they were at the gas station filling up the tank. Poppy bounced into the convenience store and came back with two granola bars and two power drinks. She tossed one of each to him.
“Stamina,” she said. “You’re going to need it for surfing.”
“Thanks.”
“Thank you.”
“What for?”
“Not ragging on me too much for running out of gas. I know it bugged you.”
“What’s the point of nagging you?”
“Exactly. My last boyfriend—” She broke off and shrugged. “But you don’t want to hear about that.”
Abel tensed. Was she talking about Barksdale? “I don’t mind if you need to get it off your chest.”
“No guy likes to hear about a woman’s ex.”
“We’re not dating, remember.” He needed to encourage her to talk about Barksdale, get as much info as he could, even though he really didn’t want to hear the details of her relationship with that hose bag.
“No,” she agreed.
“We’re friends, right?”
“That’s still up in the air.”
“The trust issues again?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I must be more trusting than I thought to have even shared that with you. It looks like I’m making progress. My therapist would be proud.”
“You have a therapist?”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“You don’t strike me as someone who needs a therapist.”
“She gives me perspective.”
“You’re something of a paradox.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you say you have trust issues, but you breezily take a stranger with you to the beach.”
“It’s a public place and you’re not that strange,” she teased.
“Then you run out of gas. Most distrustful people would keep their tanks—”
“I know, I know, half full at all times.”
The gas pump made a clicking noise, indicating that the fueling was finished. She holstered the nozzle and screwed on the gas cap. Abel found himself watching her again, admiring the way she moved.
“I’m an extrovert by nature and I really like people. I trust people initially, on the surface, but when it comes to deep down, intimacy...” She shook her head. “I guess I’ve been burned one time too many.”
“The sticky-fingered bookkeeper and that ex-boyfriend you were talking about?”
“Among other things.”
“So really, it’s not that you have trouble trusting, but that you trust too easily and then get hurt because the threshold of your guard is so low.”
She snapped her fingers. “That’s it exactly. You’re pretty insightful.”
Assessing people was part of his training but he couldn’t tell her that. She took the receipt that the gas pump spit out. They were on their way again, traveling the short distance to the beach.
“You never did tell me about the last boyfriend,”
he prompted.
“You sure you want to hear this?”
“I’ve got broad shoulders.”
She checked out his shoulders and smiled. “You do.”
“Unburden yourself.”
Poppy hesitated and then said, ‘‘Keith was difficult to please. Nothing I did was ever good enough.”
“Was that why you dumped him?”
“I didn’t dump him. He dumped me.”
“What kind of bozo would dump you?” He heard the disbelief in his own voice. “Seriously, if you were my woman...”
“I’m not your woman,” she said. “I’m not anyone’s woman. I’m my own woman.”
“I know you are. I phrased that poorly. I—”
“Don’t worry about it. You care too much about what people think of you.”
“What makes you say that?”
She shrugged. “Is it true?”
“Yes,” he admitted.
“You don’t have to worry about impressing me.”
“Why’s that?”
“I’m already impressed.” She parked the Jeep in a beachside parking area. “C’mon, let’s surf.”
Chapter Nine
Poppy felt off-kilter around Abel. She was attracted to him and at the same time leery. He seemed too perfect. He made her feel safe and comfortable and that was not a good thing. She’d learned you couldn’t really trust people, no matter how much you might want to. He’d been right. Her issue wasn’t the inability to trust but trusting too much and then getting hurt because of it. Right now, she wanted to trust him with all her secrets. Not a smart impulse.
Tossing her head, she took her surfboard, zippered in a carrying case, from the back of the Jeep and tried to squelch the sick feeling building in her stomach. Too much. Too nice. The way he made her feel.
“Let me carry that for you.”
“I’m perfectly capable of carrying my own surfboard.” She swung away from him.
“It looks heavy.”
“I’ve been surfing for ten years. I’ve developed the muscles for it.”
“I feel like a lame-ass letting you do the heavy lifting.”
“Down, Sir Galahad. Women carry their own surfboards all the time. Besides, you’ll soon have your own to carry.”
He said nothing, but she could tell from the expression in his eyes he still didn’t like it. This one had a chivalrous streak she found far too appealing. In the past, she had depended too much on men, no doubt a legacy from her mother. But when that tendency had gotten her into some complicated relationships with men who tried to tell her what to do, she’d shrugged off that dependency and taken control of her life.
She liked what she had going now, running her own business. An apartment close to the beach where she could surf three or four times a week. She spent her time on things she loved. Her world was utterly in balance.
Well, except for the fact that she had certain physical needs that weren’t being met, but you couldn’t have everything, right?
Her gaze strayed to Abel. He looked incredible in spite of those silly Hawaiian print shorts. And his muscles in that T-shirt—well, wow. He wasn’t muscle-bound by any means—just the right amount of bulges and sinew, all lean and hearty.
“First stop, we have to get you a wet suit. There’s a surf shop on the beach. Let’s hit it.” She locked up her surfboard on a rack outside the shop for that purpose and crooked a finger, motioning him inside.
They entered the surf shop. The lovely smell of waxed boards greeted them. The store was packed with shirtless, barefooted surfer dudes and wahini. Sand dusted the floor. Ahh, her home away from home. She could spend hours in a surf shop, running her fingers over the boards, inhaling the scent. She got off on surfboards the way some women got off on shoes.
Poppy led him to the back of the store where the wet suits were stored. “What size do you wear?”
He told her and she leafed through the offerings. “Since you might not take to surfing, let’s go with a lower end model. You can sell it on Craigslist if you decide surfing’s not for you.”
“Couldn’t I just rent one?” he asked.
“You could, but you might really love surfing and the rental fees can add up quickly.” She handed him a wet suit and pointed to the dressing room.
“I’m going to look like a dork in this.”
“Not at all. But come out and model it for me, I want to make sure it fits you correctly. An ill-fitting wet suit is pure misery.”
But when he emerged from the dressing room clad in the wet suit, the misery was all hers as a hard ache yanked up tight in her stomach. Omigosh, the man could have been a swimwear model, he was that hot. The wet suit clung to his honed frame, showcasing every attribute he possessed, and he possessed a lot of them.
Poppy gulped. She was in over her head with this one. If she was smart, she’d tell him she had a headache and needed to go home. But clearly, she was not smart, or she wouldn’t be here with him in the first place.
“How do I look?” he asked, arms extended.
“Umm...”
“That bad, huh?”
No, dammit, that good. “It fits,” she mumbled.
“I’ll just go change.”
“Wear it.”
Oh, you shameless hussy. You just want to stare at his ass.
“Just wear it out of the store?”
“No point in changing and then trying to shimmy into it on the beach,” she said, even though she wouldn’t have minded watching that, as well.
“Good point.”
“Next stop, surfboard rental,” she said as they walked up to the cash register to pay for his purchases.
In the process, his elbow brushed lightly against her rib cage, just underneath her breast. She knew the touch was accidental, but that didn’t stop her body’s red alert.
What if it wasn’t accidental?
Poppy slid a sideways glance his way as he dug his wallet from the back pocket of the Hawaiian shorts that he had thrown over his forearm along with his T-shirt. Neptune himself couldn’t have looked sexier.
Okay, so he was sexy. Okay, so she liked him. She wasn’t ashamed to admit it. That didn’t mean she had to do anything about the attraction.
He was different from the men she was accustomed to—disciplined, logical, handy with a hot water heater. She shivered thinking about how this broad-shouldered man had been in her apartment, so close to her bedroom. Would he be just as handy in bed?
“Cold?” he asked.
Another good quality. Concern for others. Stop cataloging his good qualities. Look for faults. Look for things that will annoy you after you’ve dated him for a while.
Hmm, that was a tall order. She couldn’t find anything annoying about him.
“Yeah,” she lied.
“Let’s get you out in the sun.” His smile was genuine, but it seemed rusty, as if he didn’t use it often. It wasn’t that he was stern, more like he’d forgotten how to play.
Well, she could cure that.
You shouldn’t be curing anything. You should be keeping your distance. Cure yourself of short-term relationships.
Ah, but honestly, was it so wrong to hang out with him? Maybe she should have a fling with him. Let him be her palette cleanser after Keith. A good guy to restore her faith in humanity.
What would he do if she kissed him right here? A real kiss this time. None of that cheek stuff. Felt that firm mouth on hers. Splayed her fingers over that taut chest, felt his heart skip a beat. Find out if she affected him as strongly as he affected her.
Briefly, his hand went to the small of her back as he guided her out the door. The slight pressure sent another shiver up her spine, but he quickly dropped his hand.
She blinked against the strong sunlight, reality smashing through the sweet little daydream she’d been spinning. Seagulls cawed. A group of college-aged kids played volleyball. The air lay heavy with the scent of sea and sand.
She retrieved her surfboard, and they stashed hi
s clothes in a locker. She shimmied into her own wet suit, fully aware that he was watching her from the corner of his eye while trying to pretend that he wasn’t. After that, they went to rent a beginner board with a leg rope for him.
They stood in line at the rental kiosk. Amid the middle-aged tourists and their roughhousing kids, Abel looked as out of place as a sports car in a parking lot full of bicycles.
Really, what kind of accountant had muscles like that? He should have a different career. A bodyguard maybe. Or a military man. He projected that kind of presence. Law enforcement? Or no, wait... she had it now. This guy oozed cowboy from his pores. The raised-on-a-Montana-ranch thing. He should be a ranch foreman.
A strong man you could count on. Sure, there was something efficient about him, organized, but he didn’t look like the type to sit at a desk all day and crunch numbers.
Once he’d rented the surfboard, she led the way to the beach and even though she was in charge, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was the one guiding things. As if nothing was accidental and he’d orchestrated it all. Where was this feeling coming from?
“What now?” he asked.
“First we wax our boards. You can borrow some of my wax.”
“What’s the wax for?”
“For traction, so your feet can grip the board. Here, watch me.” She laid her board in the sand, pulled a small tin of wax from her beach bag, and got down on her knees. Using a circular motion, she demonstrated how to wax it up. “Since you’re a beginner, go ahead and wax three-quarters up the length of your board.”
He dropped to the sand beside her. He was so close she could smell him. Her nostrils twitched. Damn, but he smelled good.
“What next?” he asked when they were finished.
“Stand up.” She got to her feet and he followed suit.
“Okay, now wh—” His words were cut off as Poppy shoved him in the middle of the back and he stuck out his left foot to catch himself.
“Hey!” Abel scowled. “What did you do that for?”
“Natural-footed.”
“Huh?”
“I gave you a little shove to see which foot you’d lead with.”
“A little warning would have been nice.”
“If I'd warned you, it wouldn’t have worked. You would have been thinking about which foot to put first. Determining which foot is dominant requires instinct.”
