Love Me Sweet (A Bell Harbor Novel)

by Brogan, Tracy

  “I’m turning up the heat. It’s freezing in here,” he said.

  “No, I have to pay for that heat. Turn it back down and put on a sweater. And some socks. Better yet, put on your coat and boots and go someplace else. What did you say your name was?”

  “Grant Connelly.” He walked past her and into the kitchen.

  She turned to watch his movements. “OK, Grant Connelly. You’re showered, dried off, and dressed. So now you need to skadoosh right on out of this house. The house which I have rented and paid for.”

  He looked over his shoulder at her as he put his hand on the refrigerator door handle. “Do you have any food?”

  “What?”

  “Food. You know? Something to eat?” His wet hair was messy, as if he’d shaken like a dog to get the water out but hadn’t bothered with a comb, and the scraggly beard looked like more a case of lost razor than style decision. Clearly he was not trying to impress anyone.

  “Yes, I have food, but it’s mine,” she said.

  His smirk was sly and crinkled the corners of those eyes, whatever color they might be. “If it’s in my fridge, then I should get to eat some of it, don’t you think? I can’t go anywhere on an empty stomach.”

  A puff of relief escaped from her lungs. Go anywhere? Good. He was planning to leave, and she then could have this place back to herself. That’s all she wanted. To be left alone.

  “There’s peanut butter and jelly,” she said.

  “Peanut butter and jelly?” The smile turned dubious and he looked her over more carefully. “How old are you?”

  First rule of celebrity was never admit your age. “How is that any of your business?”

  “I just want to make sure I’m not harboring a runaway sixteen-year-old.”

  Delaney crossed her arms and all but stomped her fuzzy-slippered foot—which would not have helped prove her maturity, so she refrained.

  “I’m well beyond sixteen. I just happen to like peanut butter and jelly. So how about I make you a sandwich while you get your things together and then you can lea—” Another thought interrupted the first. “Where’s your car?”

  He shook his head and opened the refrigerator. As if he owned the place. “I don’t have one. The church bus dropped me off.”

  “The church bus?” Oh, no. Not another preacher’s son. She would’ve rather he’d been dropped off by an alien spacecraft.

  “Yep. Church bus. Hallelujah and amen.” He did the Jesus woot-woot with both hands, then pulled an apple from the top shelf. He really wasn’t catching on to the whole get-your-ass-out-of-here vibe she was sending. He seemed to be more in the make-yourself-at-home mode.

  “Well, if you don’t have a car, then we should call you a cab. It’s getting late, and in case I haven’t mentioned it, I’d like you to leave.” The sooner she could get him gone, the sooner she could start to breathe again. He didn’t seem like the tabloid-reading kind of guy, so there wasn’t much chance of him recognizing her, but it was unnerving to have a total stranger in her house. Or his house. Landlady’s son or not, she didn’t know anything about him.

  Except for what he looked like naked.

  She did know all about that. Hiccup.

  “Yeah, about leaving.” He set the apple on the counter and ran both hands through his wet hair, slicking it back a little. It looked good that way. Sexy, which Delaney so did not need to notice. Her lungs went whump as her knees went goosh.

  He took a step toward her. “See, my family doesn’t know I’m back in town yet. I was hoping to surprise them, but it’s too late to do that tonight, so I think I’ll just crash here and call my mother in the morning. In the meantime,” his voice dropped and his mossy-eyed gaze met hers, “how about if I make that sandwich for myself and you can entertain me with a story about why you have a backpack full of cash sitting in the closet.”

  All her blood seemed to clot in place, leaving her queasy and breathless. She leaned back, as if she could physically evade the question. “You went into my closet?”

  One light brown brow lifted and he crossed his thick arms. “Technically it’s my closet. Where’d you get that money?”

  Damn it. She’d had a lot more control over the situation when he’d been naked and soaking wet. A man without his pants was a man willing to negotiate, but right now she was the one exposed and vulnerable. She took a big, deep breath. “The money is mine, and I don’t owe you any explanation. That was totally unethical of you to go through my things.”

  He shrugged, broad shoulders flexing under white cotton. “It was an accident, but maybe we should call those police now and we can both talk to them.”

  He was bluffing. What a bluffer!

  Delaney straightened up and stood her ground. “Why would you call the police just because I have my own money? This is none of your business, you know.”

  He tilted his head. “Probably not, but I think I’d sleep a little easier if I knew you weren’t some mobster’s girlfriend who helped herself to all the loot in the casino safe.”

  Her fisted hands went to her hips. “Do I look like a mobster’s girlfriend?”

  Well, that was a stupid thing to ask. She didn’t want him studying her face that way. She may as well pull out the latest edition of Us magazine and show him her picture, although since arriving in Bell Harbor she’d given herself long bangs with a pair of dull scissors and dyed her normally highlighted hair a nondescript brown. With no makeup, she looked a lot different than those stock photos tabloid magazines used for covers. Still, she wished she’d put on her fake glasses. She pulled her new bangs down and over to the side as if that might hide her identity while Mr. Plain White Tee stared. Evaluating. Scrutinizing.

  “No. You don’t look like a mobster’s girlfriend,” he finally said, “but I’m trying to figure out why somebody with that much cash on hand would be renting this old house in Bell Harbor.”

  What the hell was she supposed to say to that?

  Of all the houses in all the towns, she had to go and rent a place that wasn’t really up for rent to begin with, and one that came with a man inside. That was some shit luck. Almost as shitty as having her old boyfriend sell their sex tape to the tabloids. What had she done in a previous life to deserve this particular situation?

  Time to dial up the perky. “Look, I swear the money is mine. I just . . . I wanted a change of scenery so I took all my money out of the bank and decided to do a little traveling, have a little adventure for myself.”

  Wait. Shoot. That was probably a foolish thing to admit. If he had a mind to, he could make her and her money disappear, and no one in her family would ever know what had become of her. Damn it. There sure was a steep learning curve to being on the lam. For instance, is that even what they called it anymore? On the lam? Well, whatever it was called, she wasn’t proving to be very good at it.

  Grant picked up the apple and shined it on his shirt, right over that muscular torso. “You’re looking for adventure? In Bell Harbor? In the middle of winter?” He sounded doubtful, and with good reason.

  Delaney tossed her ponytail in what she hoped was a convincingly carefree manner. “I heard you have good skiing here. But listen, if you can get my rent money back from your mother, I will gladly go elsewhere.”

  That wasn’t entirely true. She’d go elsewhere all right, but she wouldn’t be glad about it. None of the other places she’d looked at had been remotely acceptable, and with her luck, if she went back to the hotel, she’d get snowed in and end up like Jack Nicholson in The Shining. Leaving town wasn’t much of an option right now either. There was sixteen feet of snow in every direction, and she was driving a frickin’ Volkswagen Beetle. She’d nearly ended up in the ditch on the way home from the grocery store.

  Grant continued to stare, until the pressure nearly broke her. Maybe she should offer up the famous Masterson smile. It had worked in convincing
his mother, but something told Delaney that Grant Connelly was a little sharper in the intellect department than Donna was. So she waited, silent, while his body seemed to fill the space in front of her. The scent of one of her mother’s trademark soaps emanated from his skin. Ginger peachy. Most certainly not his usual fragrance, and the idea of him using her bath bar made those knees of hers wobble again. Not the time to be weak limbed. She crossed her arms and tried to look determined. Certain. Not guilty. The money was hers, after all. That was the only thing that really mattered here. He didn’t need to know all the details about why she’d left Beverly Hills.

  His sigh, when it came, was full of resignation. “You swear to me you’re not some runaway Girl Scout who took all the cookie money?”

  She held up three fingers in what she hoped was the Girl Scout salute. “I swear.”

  This chick was no Girl Scout, and anybody on the move with that much cash had to have a story, but he was just too damn tired to care. He hadn’t even meant to find that bag. He’d gone into the first bedroom and opened the closet just to throw in his own stuff, and there it was, a backpack, unzipped and gaping wide with banded stacks of money inside. If she was a thief, she wasn’t very good at hiding it.

  He scrubbed a hand across his whiskered jaw and resigned himself to wondering. Whatever her situation was, it wasn’t his problem. Tomorrow he’d go see his mother and the rest of his family. He’d get the girl’s deposit back and send her on her way. He turned back to the kitchen counter. “Fine. Whatever. Where’s the bread?”

  “That’s it?” Her voice squeaked in surprise, and then she hiccupped.

  “That’s it for now. I told you, all I want is food and sleep. I’ll get your deposit back for you tomorrow and you can find another place, because you can’t stay here.”

  “Deposit and six months’ rent,” she said.

  “What?”

  “I gave your mother a security deposit and six months’ rent, so she’ll have to give it all back. In cash.”

  A dull thudding began inside his skull, like the pounding of a Kayumanggi drum. Historically, things involving his mother did not go smoothly, and this had catastrophe written all over it. He turned back around, hoping maybe the girl would be gone. That maybe he was asleep and he’d dreamt up this whole thing. But no. There she was, all innocent looking, which meant she was anything but. “Please tell me you didn’t pay my mother in cash.”

  She frowned, delicate as an angry kitten. This chick was too cute for his own good, but at the moment, his mother’s gambling habit was the primary issue. Donna liked the slots, but they didn’t like her. If she had fifty bucks in her pocket, the only safe bet was that she’d lost it, and six months’ rent was a lot of scratch to donate to the Four Eagles Casino.

  “Yes, I paid her in cash.”

  “How much did you give her?”

  “Six thousand dollars.”

  He smacked his palm against his forehead. “When did you pay her?”

  “Four days ago. The day I moved in. Why?”

  Four days. Damn it. If he’d called ahead, none of this would be happening. If he’d let his family know he was coming home as soon as he’d gotten the invitation from Tyler, this place would’ve been empty and waiting for him. Just him. The sweet brunette and her backpack full of bills would have kept on going instead of moving into his closets and barging into his bathroom. But he hadn’t called. He’d wanted to surprise them, and instead, he was the one surprised, and now he’d be stuck with this woman, because unless things had changed since the last time he talked to Tyler, there was no way in hell his mother would still have that rent money.

  “What’s your name again?” He couldn’t remember for the pounding in his skull, and since she was leaning toward this side of hot, thinking of her as The Girl Scout seemed kind of raunchy.

  Her hesitation was subtle but her unease was clearly growing. “Elaine Masters. From Miami. So how is it that you own this house but didn’t know your own mother had rented it out?”

  “My grandfather died last year and left this place to me, but this is the first chance I’ve had to come home. Work keeps me out of the country most of the time. Last I’d heard, my brother was living here.” He started looking for the bread again, more to give himself something to do. He’d be able to think more clearly if he wasn’t gazing into those baby blues of hers. And right now he needed to think. And pray his mother hadn’t gambled away that money.

  “What kind of work?” She stepped forward and opened a cabinet, pointing at the bread.

  He took it with a nod of silent thanks as he pulled the loaf from the shelf. “Cinematography.”

  She slammed the cabinet door so hard the hinges rattled. “Cinematography? You mean, like, a videographer?”

  He hadn’t said arms dealer or evil scientist, but her instant scowl suggested he had. “Yeah, sort of. Ever heard of One Man, One Planet?”

  “Yes.” Her answer was clipped, her lips pressed into a tight line after she spoke.

  He pointed at his chest with his thumb. “Director of photography and coproducer until a few days ago when I quit.”

  It felt good to say that. He’d quit. Not because he was running away from the mess of Blake and Miranda, but because he wanted to move forward toward his own plans.

  “Do you spend much time in LA?” She sounded more like she was asking if he’d ever been convicted, or just arrested.

  “Not if I can help it. I don’t like Los Angeles.”

  “Why?”

  He took two slices of bread from the bag and set them on a plate. “It’s soulless. I spent a lot of time there when I was first starting out but the fake got to me pretty quickly. Glad to put that town in my rearview mirror.”

  The wind howled outside, a lonely moan that rattled the windows. A draft from under the door wafted across his bare feet, and he tried to recall the last time he’d been cold. Blake didn’t like to shiver on camera, so they tended to shoot where it was warm, and Grant had forgotten what a winter in Bell Harbor was like. Now he was starting to remember why he’d avoided them.

  “So now you’re back in Bell Harbor to do what? Stay? Pass through?”

  Clearly his motives were suspect to this woman, but why, he could not imagine. He wasn’t the one traveling around with stacks of cash stuffed into a bag.

  “I’m here for a while. Like I said, I just quit my job, so things are a little up in the air for me.” He found the peanut butter in another cabinet and went back to the refrigerator for the jelly. Elaine had retreated to the edge of the kitchen, eyeing him with a new wariness. It made him feel as if he was being unreasonable, and wrong somehow. But this situation wasn’t his fault. Then again, it wasn’t hers either. This problem was Donna’s.

  “Look,” he said as he spread some jelly on the bread, “I’m a nice guy, and I’m a tired guy. I’m going to eat this sandwich and go to bed. If you want to spend the night here, that’s fine. Or you can go to a hotel. Either way, I’ll try to get your money back tomorrow. OK?”

  He hadn’t counted the stacks in that backpack, but there was certainly enough to keep her comfortable someplace besides his house, still he wasn’t some asshole who’d insist she leave tonight, especially in this brutal weather. He glanced up at her and thought he saw her dash away a tear, but she blinked fast and looked out the window as if evaluating her options.

  Under the circumstances, he guessed her distress made sense. That was her money they were talking about. And although he knew she was safe from him, she didn’t know that. He knew he wouldn’t kick her out with no place to go either, but she didn’t.

  A burdensome sense of chivalry overcame him—brought on by his extreme fatigue and hunger, no doubt, because although he was a nice guy, he wasn’t that nice. He wanted her gone. Still, he had to make the offer. “Not exactly Miami out there, huh? All things considered, I suppose if you want m
e to stay someplace else, I could. And I guess I should call my mother.”

  Chapter 4

  “THERE HE IS! OH, CARL, come and say hello. You remember my oldest son, Grant, of course. And this is Elaine. She’s renting the house.”

  It was nearly nine o’clock in the evening when Delaney and Grant arrived at his mother’s house. A couple of black Labrador retrievers bounced around and barked as if they’d never before seen people, and Donna was equally aflutter, her cheeks stained pink as she hugged Grant so enthusiastically his breath came out in an amplified gasp.

  “OK, Mom. Glad to see you too,” he said, smiling and patting her on the back as if reminding her to let him go.

  Donna’s manatee sweatshirt had been replaced by a peach-colored cardigan that did nothing for her complexion, and Delaney started to mentally make her over. It was a hazard of her job as a stylist, constantly re-dressing people in her mind. Grant’s mother had been pretty once. Delaney could see that in her delicate bone structure and the color of her eyes. With a just little effort, this landlady might even be attractive.

  Delaney could not say the same for the house, however. This place needed a complete overhaul. It was faux–Swiss chalet on the outside, but inside it was Early American tacky. Cheap ginger-colored paneling, rust-and-avocado plaid upholstery on a gargantuan sofa, and salmon-colored shag carpet, circa 1975. Family photos in mismatched frames hung on every spare inch of wall, and where there were not pictures, there were stuffed and mounted animal heads. Deer, rams, rabbits, and something that looked very much like a garden-variety billy goat. Somebody around here liked to shoot stuff. Awesome. If the conversation about her money went south, Delaney just might end up on the wall.

  “I can’t believe you’re here,” Donna said to Grant. “You could’ve knocked me over with a two-by-four when I heard your voice on the phone!” She tugged his arm, leading them into the lemon-yellow kitchen. A big pine table filled much of the room, and a wilted poinsettia sat in the center. Leftover from Christmas, no doubt, although from the looks of it, Christmas five years earlier.