All five feng shui elements were present and accounted for, and everything sat in the locations recommended by the book. Unfortunately, just arranging the elements wasn’t going to do the job of improving the Chi, because if she was reading the darn Bague map correctly, the wealth/blessings area of this home sat squarely in the middle of the bathroom. Any good fortune coming her way was getting flushed right down the toilet. The thing to do, according to the Symbolic Practice experts, was deflect the positive energy to a more secure, comfortable place—make the Chi welcome and convince it to hang around.
Now her escaping Chi would bounce off the foil, and…she tracked it’s trajectory with her eyes. Flow back into the living area and…smack into Michael’s massive flat-screen TV. After that, who knew? But, if she switched the couch and the TV around, her Chi could land on a nice, big sofa, and hopefully, snuggle in.
Inspired, she marched out to the living room and eyed the monster TV. More than just a television actually. There were all kinds of components tucked into the base of the sleek, hardwood easel housing the big screen. Happily, the whole thing sat on casters. A peek behind the screen revealed a convoluted twist of wires running from the TV to the other devices, and several electrical cords plugged into a surge protector connected to a wall socket, but, luckily, no cable coming out of a wall jack. Gotta love Wi-Fi. She straightened. Power everything down, unplug the surge protector, roll the media shrine to the opposite wall, and reconnect. How hard could it be?
An hour later, she had the TV and all its mysterious accessories positioned along the proper wall for maximum Chi flow, but the sofa was another matter. It wasn’t on wheels and moving the heavy, awkward piece more than a few inches at a time required more raw strength than she could muster. All she had to show for forty minutes of pushing? Sweat dampening the front of her pale gray, cropped yoga tank, and the back of the matching, low-rise, fold-over pants, and, oh yeah, a sofa stalled lengthwise between the dining and living area. She kicked the blasted thing with her bare foot, but only succeeded in stubbing her toe.
Nerves jangled when she heard the front door open. She looked up as Michael and Dane walked into the apartment, made their way past the kitchen to the dining/living area. Michael’s eyes lit when they landed on her, and her heart rolled over in her chest like a puppy hoping for a belly rub. Then he took in the state of the apartment and froze.
His eyes narrowed as he looked around, and suddenly she saw the room from his perspective—beads strung through the dining room light fixture, nail polish on the kitchen counter, throw pillows in the corner. Uh-oh. Those same eyes went wide and more than a little anxious as he scanned his no doubt expensive entertainment system neatly positioned along the new wall.
“What the hell, Chloe?”
She blew her hair off her sweaty forehead and scratched her nose. “I can explain.” Maybe she should have asked his permission before rearranging his space, even if he would benefit from the improved Chi flow as much, if not more, than she. “I think I mentioned this morning that I felt my Chi was blocked?
“You did. I didn’t really know what that meant, but I figured unblocking your Chi might involve a trip to the drugstore. Never, in a million years, did I think it involved fucking with my FiOS.”
She was hot and tired, defensive, and, God save her, the combination brought out her temper. “I didn’t fuck with anything, and your Chi is blocked too, mister, so this helps you as much as it helps me. What you see here is the ancient Chinese science of feng shui.” She pointed to the book on the coffee table. Dane picked it up and, helpfully, held it aloft.
“It wouldn’t kill you to keep an open mind,” she added.
“My mind is plenty open, and so are my eyes. You know what’s blocked? My access to the hall. There’s a goddamn sofa in the way.” He picked up the remote control from its built-in ledge in the TV stand, hit power, and ran the setup through its paces. Apparently satisfied everything worked he returned the remote to its holster.
“I told you I didn’t mess it up. Look, the problem is very simple. The Chi—positive energy, I guess you’d call it—coming into this place is flowing straight down the toilet and dragging all prospects for wealth and blessings along with it.”
“Great. Now it has to hurdle a six-foot sofa to get to the toilet, and so do I. Nice strategy.”
“Oh, for goodness sake. The sofa isn’t staying there. It’s supposed to go here,” she pointed to the empty wall.
“Hey guys, this sounds like a job for Super-Dane.”
“It’s my apartment. I’ll do it,” Michael said irritably.
Dane’s no overlapped hers. “Your back is still healing,” she said. “You are the last person on my furniture-moving help list.”
She looked over at the tall, rangy blond who was clearly enjoying the show. He grinned and walked to the other end of the sofa. “Where do you want this bad boy, sweetheart?”
“Centered along the wall there.”
“Okay. Count of three, I’ll pull, you push.”
“Thanks.” She smiled at him and moved into “push” position.
A minute later they had the sofa exactly where she’d envisioned it. Dane stood back, brushed his palms over his thighs, and admired the room. “This is actually a better arrangement. Now you won’t get a glare from the window on the TV.”
She shot Dane a grateful smile and glanced at Michael from under lowered lashes as he assessed the room. Even with his scruffy jaw and hand-combed hair, wearing a T-shirt from a local surf shop and a pair of wash-worn cargo shorts, he looked every inch a marine—a cranky, disgruntled marine.
Her temper faded in the face of his unease and guilt set in. No matter how good her intentions, her spur-of-the-moment redecorating had perturbed his sense of order. This was his home, and if he wanted his Chi running down the toilet, that was his business. She crossed her arms and massaged her overtaxed biceps and delts. “I’m sorry. I should have asked you before I started moving your furniture around.”
He closed the distance between them, shoed her hands away, and spread his wide, warm palms over her sore muscles. “I’m sorry I snapped. Walking in to find everything moved around kind of took me by surprise.”
A throat cleared on the other side of the room, and then Dane said, “Gosh, look at the time. I gotta get going. No, no. Don’t mind me. I’ll see myself out.” A second later the sound of the door closing reached her ears.
“If you really don’t like it, I’ll put everything back.”
“Give me a little while to adjust now that you’ve got everything where you want it. Who am I to reject ancient Chinese science out of hand?” With that, he gave her shoulders a last squeeze and then walked into the kitchen. He returned a minute later carrying two uncapped beers and offered her one. “The room looks good this way.”
She accepted the bottle and bit back a grin at the reluctant compliment. A grateful sigh escaped her as she took a sip and lowered herself to the couch.
He sat on the coffee table, directly in front of her, spreading his legs so his knees bracketed her thighs, and then leaned forward until his forearms rested on his legs. The position put his head below hers. He looked up at her from under his dark, slightly furrowed brows. “Why the sudden desire to improve your Chi?”
She stared at the thin, white scar on his wrist, and, because her restless fingers needed something to do, pulled her ponytail holder out of her hair, and tossed it on the end table. “It could stand some improvement, don’t you think? I mean, I’m sitting here with no job, no car, and no savings, wearing out my welcome until my luck changes, so”—she shrugged—“I figured this was worth a try.”
“You’re not wearing out your welcome.” The words were quiet but firm. “I may have to get used to the feng shui, but I like having you here, okay?”
“Yeah, right. Unexpected guests are never easy to live with, and I know I bring a thousand annoyances to the table. Plus, there’s no way you like me treating your guest room like a baggag
e check, or having my crap strewn all over your house for the next four weeks.” She pointed to the end table where she’d tossed her ponytail holder. It had landed on top of a pile of her “crap,” including her tube of lip plumper, which she’d found behind the couch of all places, a stack of silver bangles she’d had on before she’d started moving furniture, and a wadded up dollar bill. “You’re one of those a-place-for-everything-and-everything-in-its-place people, which is good feng shui, by the way.”
“I like to know where to find things. I don’t know if it’s feng shui, or having roommates for too long during my formative years, but too much stuff around me makes me feel hemmed in and disorganized. That said, our situation is temporary, and I’ll trying to go with the flow.” He reached over and picked up the bracelets and lip plumper. “To be honest, your crap fascinates me. Having you here is like visiting a foreign land.” He gave the tube a perplexed look. “Or planet.”
She laughed and held out her hands for her things. “You’re fascinated by lip plumper and costume jewelry?”
“See, I would have called it lip gunk, because up ’til this moment, ‘lip plumper’ wasn’t in my vocabulary. I’m learning a whole new culture. What the heck is lip plumper?”
Instead of answering, she gave him a demo. She smoothed some over her lips and smacked them together as the active ingredient kicked in and made her feel like she’d just kissed a Jalapeño. “It makes your lips fuller…more kissable.”
His eyes locked on her mouth. “You don’t need it,” he said and proceeded to show her just how kissable he found her. When he pulled back, he stared into her eyes for a full second and then growled, “Holy shit. What the hell is happening to my lips?”
Another laugh slipped out before she could stifle her amusement. “Lip plumper tingles a little.”
“Tingles?” He swiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “It burns like napalm.”
“You get used to it.” She sipped her beer to hide a smile and watched him scrub his lips clean. “Still find my crap fascinating? Because I think I just proved my point.”
By way of answer, he simply leaned in and kissed her again. Slowly. Deliberately brushing his lips over hers. By the time he drew back she had her eyes closed and her arms twined around his neck. She forced her heavy eyelids open and stared at him.
He gave her a slow, satisfied smile. “I think I just proved my point.”
Her heart slipped out of its life jacket and paddled toward the deep end of stupid, where the water was way over its head.
“And your point was?”
“Don’t stress about your Chi or your luck or wearing out your welcome.” He looked like he wanted to say something more, but then he stopped and smiled. “Would it settle you down if I told you you’re the best roommate I’ve ever had?”
Uh-oh. That heart of hers just kept drifting deeper and deeper. “Really?”
“No contest. Of course, you have to keep in mind that Trevor was my first. He refused to let me have the top bunk and enjoyed throwing his blankets over me while I slept, so I woke up in a sweaty, claustrophobic cocoon every morning. My next roommate was my younger brother Logan, who bitched incessantly because I refused to let him have the top bunk, even though he walked in his sleep at least three times a week until he hit puberty. Oh, yeah, I’ve also roomed in a barracks with forty belching, farting marines.”
No women, she noted, and tried to pop the idiotic bubble of happiness swelling in her chest at the realization.
“You really think you can live with the room this way?”
He glanced around, then back to her, and inspected her from top to bottom, until every erogenous zone in her body felt like it had been kissed with lip plumper. “My Chi’s flowing better already.”
Chapter Fourteen
“You have to get me out of here, Lynne. I’ll take any assignment, anywhere. I’ll take receptionist, orderly…janitor.” Chloe clutched the phone to her ear and stared blindly out the living room window at the sun shining over the San Onofre Mountains.
“What’s wrong?” Concern laced Lynne’s voice. “Has Major Hottie turned out to be a major asshole?”
“No.” She swallowed the bubble of panic trying to rise in her throat. “No. He’s…” Perfect. “I just can’t stay.”
“He asked you to leave?”
“No. He told me I could stay as long as I needed, but I have to do some…um…damage control—”
“Uh-oh. Dinner Saturday night blew your cover, and his boss figured out your engagement isn’t real?”
“Saturday went fine.” Too good. “We fooled them.” And she was fooling herself if she thought she could live with Michael for the next few weeks without falling for him the same inevitable way an apple falls out of a tree. He was gravity and whatever wings she’d grown were useless against his pull.
“So, why the rush to leave? Especially when I’ve got a dream job lined up for you in New Mexico.”
Because this guy already owns every inch of my body, and if I hang around much longer, he’s going to own my heart, too.
“During dinner with the Hardings I kind of insinuated I would be looking for a permanent position locally now that Michael and I are getting married. This morning, Loretta Harding called to say she mentioned me to a friend of hers who owns Veronica’s Oasis—a day spa here in San Clemente, just a couple blocks from the apartment. Wouldn’t you know, Veronica is looking to add to her roster of massage therapists, so, long story short, tomorrow morning I have an interview.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Yeah, uh-oh. If she offers me a job, I’m screwed.” Her chest tightened, as if already squeezed in a trap.
“Well, now…maybe not.”
“No, I am. I’ve already thought about this every which way. If she extends an offer, I have to find some reasonable grounds for turning it down, because, obviously, I can’t accept and then up and leave in a few weeks. That wouldn’t be right.”
“What if it’s a great job? Keep your mind and your options open, because, much as I hate to lose you, you might actually want to accept the position.”
“I won’t. I like the excitement of being a traveling therapist.” That was her story and she was sticking to it, even though New Mexico was starting to sound more lonely than exciting. “But even if I fell in love with the opportunity, I can’t accept because then Michael and I are stuck in the fake engagement.”
“Stuck-schmuck. Get a paycheck under your belt so you can afford your own place and then go ahead and have your fake breakup. The only difference is, instead of moving to a different state, you move to a different apartment. Happens all the time.”
“Not to me. It’s too messy, and it means extending the amount of time I stay with Michael, because it would take a while to save up first, last, and a security deposit. I can’t do it. I need a clean break.”
“I’ve got your clean break coming the first week of June. That’s the best I can do.”
So much for improving her luck through the magic and science of feng shui. “All right. Keep me—”
“I know, I know. I’ll call you if any jobs come up before then. In the meantime, remember what I said. Keep your mind and your options open.”
“I get the feeling you want to keep your options open.” Veronica put Chloe’s résumé aside and smiled at her from across the clean, white desk in her clean, white office.
Chloe returned the smile and hoped hers didn’t look as strained as she felt. “I sort of do. You have a great operation here, and I’m very tempted by your offer, but—”
Veronica waved a hand. “Hey, you don’t have to explain. You’ve just moved in with your fiancé, you’ve got a wedding to plan, and a honeymoon, and the weight of all that is forcing the rest of your life up in the air right now.”
“Yeah.” And the weight of all the dishonesty was forcing her eyes to the floor. Veronica turned out to be nothing she’d expected. Going strictly by looks, the dark-eyed, raven-haired spa-owner was only a ha
ndful of years older than she. Maybe twenty-nine, at the outside. She’d opened her business four years earlier as a massage-therapy practice, and then branched out into a full-service day spa. Now she employed a staff of twenty, including massage therapists, estheticians, nail techs, and support personnel. The whitewashed, cottage-y space offered state-of-the-art treatments in a comfortable atmosphere. A casual, relaxed vibe prevailed, despite the steady stream of clients. Just the kind of place Chloe would have pictured if someone had asked her to describe the perfect spa.
Veronica tapped Chloe’s résumé. “You have great experience, and, based on our conversation, I think you’d be a really good fit here. Your philosophy on health, wellness, and client service matches ours. God knows we could use the extra hands.” She rested her forearms on her desk and leaned in, giving Chloe a contemplative look. “It also sounds like you’re happy with Helping Hands, so maybe we shouldn’t mess with a good thing. I have a proposal. How about I contract for your services through Helping Hands? We can start on a part-time basis, booking you for days when we’re doing bachelorette parties, bridal parties, and other occasions where we get hit with lots of clients at once. What do you say?”
Well damn. How could she say no? More troubling, she didn’t want to. “I say sounds like a plan.”
…
“I made the ‘discrete inquiry’ you requested.”
Michael pulled into his parking spot at Casa Clemente and took his phone off speaker so Dane’s voice no longer flooded the interior. “What did you find out?”
“I spoke to the owner of the Camp Pendleton Massage Therapy Clinic under the guise of seeking a reference for Chloe. He told me they were pleased with her skills, but Sempler terminated her assignment because their current patient load didn’t require an additional pair of hands. I also made a discrete inquiry to a certain lady friend of mine who is part of Harding’s support staff, and she assured me Harding has received no complaints about anyone under his command.”
Falling for the Marine (A McCade Brothers Novel) (Entangled Brazen) Page 14
