Blazing Midsummer Nights (Harlequin Blaze)

by Leslie Kelly

She reached across the table and put her hand on his, squeezing briefly. It was obviously an impulsive move, driven purely by kindness, but he reacted to the softness of her touch, his heart flipping over in his chest. Just as he’d reacted to everything about this woman since he’d first heard her voice in her bedroom the other night.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thanks.” He thrust off the flash of sadness, explaining, “It had been a rough couple of years, and they made me promise to go do some living once they were gone.”

  “So you came to Athens, Georgia?” she asked with an amused lift of the eyebrow.

  “My Mom was Greek, but I couldn’t afford the airfare to the other Athens.”

  “Greece is on my bucket list.”

  “Mine, too,” he admitted.

  “Ever since I saw Mamma Mia, I’ve wanted to see the Greek Isles.”

  “Ever since I was a kid, I’ve wanted to go find the person who invented the name Lysander and punch him in the jaw.”

  They laughed together.

  “Lysander? That’s your real name? Seriously?”

  “Yep.” Having been curious since they’d met, he asked, “Tell me what Mimi’s short for.”

  She hesitated.

  “Come on, I told you mine, you tell me yours.”

  Sighing, she mumbled, “Hermione.”

  “Like in…”

  “Don’t say it,” she snapped, holding a hand up, palm out. “The next person who asks me if I’m named after a character in the Harry Potter books is going to get a slap. I mean, how long can those books have been out? Do I look like a teenager?”

  He couldn’t resist casting another look over her, from sun-tossed red hair, to beautiful face, slim neck, high breasts pressing against her tank top, all the way down her long, bare legs. Definitely not a teenager.

  “I wasn’t going to suggest you were named after her.”

  “It’s my grandmother’s name. I’m an only child, but I have a few cousins. I think my father was angling for a bigger trust fund for me while I was still in the womb.”

  Trust fund. Ouch. Another reminder that he was so out of his league with this woman. “How’d that work out for ya?”

  Her mouth turned down. “About like he hoped it would.”

  Interesting. She wasn’t happy with her silver spoon. He’d already guessed as much, judging by her lifestyle.

  “So if you’re a superrich trust-fund kid, why are you living in an apartment house and figuring out how to fit three-for-a-buck boxes of macaroni-and-cheese and half-price toilet paper on the same page of a sales circulars?”

  “Food and bathroom products on the same page? Never! That’s basic freshman marketing.”

  “Sorry, I never took that class. I was busy with ladder-climbing 101 and fire-hose handling.” Seeing her confusion, he chuckled. “Kidding. I never went to college.” Seeing a flash of confusion—or pity? Please God, not pity—cross her face, he quickly added, “Classic underachiever. That’s me.”

  Joking was better than getting into the subject. By the time he was eighteen, he was working full-time to help his dad pay the bills and take care of his mom, who was five years into an MS diagnosis. There’d been no time for school and certainly no money. But they didn’t need to discuss that.

  “I somehow doubt it,” she said, disbelieving. “It takes a special kind of person to do what you do—putting your life on the line to help others. You’re a real hero. Marketers are a dime a dozen.”

  Uncomfortable with the praise, he asked, “Is that your professional opinion, having analyzed the cost-versus-value-added benefits of marketers?”

  She laughed lightly, and he pressed forward with the subject change. He’d made his decision to enter his career for valid reasons, and was proud of what he did. He didn’t need anyone else’s strokes telling him he’d done the right thing. If he got strokes from this woman, he wanted them to be of a very different variety.

  Not happening, dude. Boyfriend, remember?

  “So, you never answered my question.”

  She glanced toward the big house, once white, now more gray after a hundred and fifty years of weather and history. “I love this place. I love living here.”

  “It is special. But couldn’t you buy one just like it?”

  She shook her head. “I could probably afford a house, but not like this one. The trust fund’s tied up with the family business—I couldn’t touch it if I wanted to. And I won’t take money from my parents. I work hard for what I earn.”

  “I always figured there were two kinds of boss’s kids. Those who got away with murder, counting on Daddy to bail them out. And those who worked twice as hard as everyone else to try to prove something. Do I have to guess which you are?”

  She sank into her chair. “I have to cop to the second.”

  “I figured.”

  “I started working in one of the stores as a cashier as soon as I turned sixteen. I’ve baked cakes, sliced deli meats, stocked shelves, even did some turkey bowling in my day.”

  He lifted a curious brow.

  A tiny dimple appeared in one perfect cheek as she grinned. “The night after Thanksgiving, when the stores were being restocked and a lot of frozen turkeys were left unsold, the stock guys used to set up bowling alleys with stacks of empty containers at one end, and use the birds as the balls.”

  He snorted a laugh. “Sounds like fun. So I guess you really have worked your way to the top in the family business.”

  She glanced away, toward the sky, which was turning purple and blue as the sun dropped lower in the sky toward evening. “I don’t want what I haven’t earned. I was determined to prove to my father that I am not just a useless daughter, good only for patting on the head and sending out to buy dresses.”

  Ouch. Despite the softness of her pretty, lyrical voice, the pain came through loud and clear. “Daddy issues?”

  “I don’t need his approval,” she snapped. “I want his job when he retires.”

  And obviously, she was afraid she wasn’t going to get it. Or thought there was a chance she might not.

  Licking her lips and not meeting his eye, she explained, “I guess that’s a bit of a lie. I do want his approval—or at least, I want him to think I want it. He’s resisting the idea of a woman taking over the company his grandfather founded, which he almost single-handedly saved from bankruptcy ten years ago.” She huffed. “I have an MBA, but I don’t have a penis.”

  Thank God.

  “You don’t have any siblings,” he pointed out, remembering what she’d said earlier.

  “Male cousins.”

  All other things being equal in terms of the job, it seemed crazy to him that any parent would favor a nephew over his own child just because of her sex. Talk about a strange value system. Mimi acted like the only thing that mattered was the job, but he couldn’t imagine it was easy growing up and always being made to feel somehow “less” in the eyes of a parent.

  His own upbringing had included a lot of struggle, mostly because of his mom’s illness, but his parents had always made sure he knew they loved him.

  “My cousins aren’t even interested in the business—one’s a lawyer, one’s a pilot, another’s a musician.”

  So, all things weren’t equal. And the father was still being sexist? Bizarre.

  “So you must really love what he does if you so want his job, huh?”

  She thought about it for a moment, then admitted, “No. Not really. I like sales and marketing—honestly, I would rather be trying to sell more than cold cuts and jelly doughnuts.”

  He laughed. “Then why are you so determined to stick with the grocery biz?”

  “I guess I’m just the type who never likes being told I can’t do something. Hearing from the time I was a kid that a man had to run the company was like waving a red cape in front of a bull.”

  “Sorry, but I have to say, your dad sounds like a tool.”

  She chuckled. “He’s all right. Just old-fashioned and stu
bborn. I haven’t exactly made it easy on him.”

  “What kid does?”

  “Well, my mom tells me I always went out of my way to do the opposite of what he suggested. He wanted me to take dance lessons as a little girl—I insisted on karate. He hoped I’d be interested in music in school, I was interested in boys and track. He wanted me to go to Georgia State, I went all Yankee on him, to that evil, great wild north known as Maryland.”

  “Whatever Daddy says…you go the opposite way.”

  “In the past,” she admitted. “But now, going all Sigmund Freud on myself, I suspect that’s why I started going out with Dimitri. To extend an olive branch, do something he wanted for a change. And to make my father think I see things just the way he does. He sees Dimitri as perfect for me.”

  He tensed. Couldn’t help it, his muscles just stiffened reflexively when he heard the other man’s name.

  The other man? Make that—her lover’s name.

  “So your boyfriend comes with Daddy’s stamp of approval?”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” she immediately replied.

  He couldn’t help pushing the issue. “Your lover?”

  A long hesitation. Then she admitted, “Not that, either.”

  His heart skidded. “I thought…I heard voices in the hall late Friday night, after everyone was gone.”

  She looked down, her lashes hiding those expressive eyes, as if she didn’t want him to read too much into her words. “That was Obi-Wan. Dimitri was long gone by then.”

  “So you didn’t…”

  “No. We didn’t.” Like a broken record, she again reminded him, “Not that it’s any of your business.”

  No, of course it wasn’t. But that didn’t stop him from wanting to fist bump the sky. “Got it.”

  Their stares met, and he suspected she was reading his silent relief, evaluating it, figuring out how she felt about it. Hell, he didn’t know how he felt about it himself. It wasn’t as if he had any kind of chance with this woman beyond being friendly, sharing a beer and occasionally saving her ass from bees and falling ladders.

  He was also willing to offer underwear advice anytime she required it. Hey, he was neighborly that way.

  But anything else? Was that really possible?

  A bird landed on a feeder nearby, and a lawn mower started up down the street. But Xander couldn’t tear his attention off her face. He found himself trying to figure out whether her eyes were more blue or purple, wondering if he’d ever seen such a vivid shade before and sure he hadn’t.

  Finally, she looked at her beer bottle, as if the stare had grown too intense. “Speaking of Dimitri, I know he came across as rude at the party. I’m sorry about that name crack.”

  “You don’t need to apologize for him.”

  “I think he felt some kind of vibe between you and me. I guess I was feeling embarrassed over you walking in on me like you did, and he sensed it. So he was being a little protective.”

  “Like a kindergartener guarding the last Fruit Roll-Up in the box.”

  She offered him a cheeky grin. “Fruit Roll-Ups can be on the same page as macaroni-and-cheese, by the way.”

  He smiled, but didn’t let her get away with changing the subject again. “You know you don’t belong with him.”

  His bluntness seemed to take her by surprise. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Absolutely nothing. That’s the problem.”

  Her brow scrunched in confusion.

  “I mean, he’s too perfect.”

  Hearing her tiny gasp, he wondered if that was something she’d been wondering about herself.

  “Guys like that usually end up with Barbie dolls on their arms.” He cast a quick, rakish look over her body. “And I’m not saying you don’t fit the bill in terms of being one hell of a beautiful woman, but you sure aren’t made of plastic.”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it again, as if not sure what to say. Finally, she whispered, “Thanks.”

  “Dimitri’s in over his head with you, and I suspect he knows it. Because as much as you want to make peace with Daddy, I already know there’s a lot more to you than the grocery-store sales-circular queen.”

  “He’s not a bad guy,” she insisted.

  “Maybe not. But he has no idea what to do with you.”

  “Do with me? You make me sound like I’m some kind of troublesome teenager.”

  “You’re trouble all right,” he said with a wry grin. “But you’re not the problem. He is. He doesn’t know what you want or how to give it to you.”

  She gasped, and Xander suddenly remembered the second prediction from her fortune cookie the other night. He hadn’t meant to echo them, but now that he’d said the words, he couldn’t deny he believed them.

  “And I’m not adding the words between the sheets here,” he said, not wanting her to think he was being salacious. “I mean, I would lay cash money Dimitri has no idea how badly you want your father’s job, or how much it hurts you that your old man’s resisting.”

  “Well, I…”

  “I also bet he isn’t happy about you living here and hasn’t got a clue why you do.”

  The tightening of her mouth confirmed that theory.

  “And does he have the slightest idea that you go all Katy Perry when you’re in the shower?”

  Her jaw fell open.

  “Thin walls, babe,” he told her with a wicked grin.

  “Note to self—no more singing ‘Last Friday Night’ in the shower,” she mumbled.

  “Don’t stop on my account. Did you know you actually got a little louder on the ménage-à-trois line?”

  “Shut up,” she said, laughing.

  He went back to this point. “Anyway, nope, the walking Ken doll doesn’t know the real you at all.”

  “How can you possibly know that?”

  He shrugged. “Because he let you walk into that house alone to try on fancy underwear Friday night. Meaning he has no idea how badly you need to be…”

  “Whoa, there, hold on.”

  He held up both hands, palms out. “Sorry. I meant, he has no idea how badly you wanted to have sex. Hot, wild, steamy sex. The guy’s got no clue.”

  Her lips parted and she took a long, slow breath. He could practically see the thoughts churning behind her violet eyes and knew he’d been pretty outspoken about something that didn’t concern him. Still, he had been thinking about this since Friday night, and now that he’d said something, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

  Of course, he didn’t go on. He didn’t tell her he suspected that, after their hot kiss, she had been thinking about having hot steamy sex with someone else. As had he.

  And considering she’d already admitted she had not started sleeping with another man, he had begun to wonder if he still had a shot with her after all.

  Finally, she managed to say, “My relationship with Dimitri is really…”

  “None of my business. Yeah, yeah. I know.” He leaned back in his chair, kicking his legs out and crossing his feet at the ankle. “Of course, considering you were half-naked and kissing me a few minutes after trying on seduction lingerie meant for him, maybe it is my business.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You kissed me.”

  “I didn’t feel you resisting.” Far, far from it.

  “You caught me off guard, that’s all.”

  “For five solid minutes?”

  “It wasn’t five minutes.”

  “It was at least five minutes. Maybe ten.”

  “Ten seconds, at most.”

  She looked like she was about to continue, probably to insist his watch was broken and the clock moved backward, and up was down, but he snorted. “Keep telling yourself those lies.”

  She sputtered, obviously not used to not getting the last word. Finally she went for the third-grader response. “You…you jerk.”

  “However long it lasted, you’ve got to admit, that was a hell of a kiss.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest,
keeping her mouth closed, not daring to deny it. Her quivering lips and out-thrust chin looked more adorable than determined.

  Adorable…like everything else about Mimi Burdette. She was gorgeous, funny, smart. And oh, so damn stubborn.

  He couldn’t resist teasing her a bit more. “I’m assuming your housewarming gift for your new neighbors don’t always include tongue?”