“Fucking awesome,” I breathed, then heard the crunch of footsteps behind me.
I peered around, not yet straightening, to see brown loafers. Brown chinos. Blue-and-green plaid shirt, green knit tie. Tweed jacket. Hands in pockets. Straight, even teeth behind a smile. Dusty eyeglasses, one fingertip pushing them up a perfectly healed nose. Warm brown eyes. Neatly parted wavy brown hair.
“Hiya, Clark,” I said, slowly straightening and turning to lean against my car. I smiled as I saw his gaze drop down to my legs, as it often did, and slowly rise up my body. I don’t know if all librarians ogled the way this one did, but he had it down to an art form. He took his time, leaving no curve unseen. Did I arch my back when his gaze finally made it to my chest? Of course I did. And was rewarded with a nostril flare, the equivalent of a facial boner.
When his eyes finally made it to mine? His grin deepened. “Vivian,” he breathed, in that warm-honey way. But then his grin faltered with shyness. “I trust you had a good flight?”
It was okay; I wasn’t really ready to be face-to-face with Nighttime Clark. Daytime Clark was a piece of work in his own right.
“Seriously? You want to talk about my flight right now?” I asked, pushing my shoulders back more, internally giggling when he immediately pushed his eyeglasses up his nose again.
“Um, well, what did you want to talk about?” He gulped, and I decided to take it easy on him.
I grinned and patted the car. “Let’s take this baby out for a spin.”
His face flashed something close to gratitude, which was quickly masked. “I trust you have insurance for this car?”
I laughed out loud, which earned me an “impossible woman,” but said with a touch more fondness than usual.
I slid in behind the wheel, he took shotgun, and we drove that beauty straight up the coast.
We drove for an hour, passing Fort Bragg and beyond. The coastline was even more wild and curvy up here, just dangerous enough to add an extra thrill to the day. The ribbon of blacktop cut a winding trail along the cliffs, the Pacific crashing on our left, the mountains soaring majestically on our right.
And between me and the mountains? Clark, who regaled me with stories of the pioneers who first settled this coast, the gold miners who brought their families out seeking riches, the towns that rose around a lucky vein and then expired just as quickly when the gold ran out. The pirates that navigated these waters, pillaging and plundering. Oh yes, the plundering.
And in between the stories, we tuned in the local oldies station and gave the Bel Air what it deserved: doo-wop. Rama lama. Shoop shoops. And a few dingdongs for good measure.
It was good, it was easy, it was fun. The car was slick, speedy when the road was straight, and a smooth, easy boat on the curves. A total bubble of awesome. And we rode around in that bubble all afternoon, me and my Bel Air, my librarian, and my shoop shoop.
The librarian.
Yes, that’s what I said. The librarian.
We headed toward home as the sun began to sink over the ocean, painting the blue with strands of gold.
When we reached town, Clark directed me to turn left into a driveway.
“Why are we stopping here?” I asked, pulling up next to a perfect saltbox Cape Cod.
“I need to pick something up,” he answered, jumping from the car and hurrying around to my side. He held the door open and closed it behind me.
“This is your house?” I asked, looking all around.
“Yes. Why do you sound so surprised?”
“This isn’t surprise, this is excitement. I’m dying to see where you live,” I announced, running up the front walk. I peered in through the windows on either side of the door and saw books everywhere, stacked neatly on bookcases and on tabletops. An easy chair. The perfect shade of green on the walls, soft and comforting. A fireplace with a stacked stone hearth.
“I have a key, you know,” he said, right behind me. I could feel his breath on the top of my head, he was so much taller than I was. “You don’t have to look through the windows.”
I laughed. “Only if you want to show me.”
“Of course I want to show you. But don’t you want to see the Legless Knight? He’s waiting for you in the garage.”
Looking back at the windows, I asked, “Rain check on the house?”
He nodded. “Rain check.” Then he led me around the house. In the tidy backyard I saw a fire pit, gas grill, and Adirondack chairs arranged on the patio into conversation circles. He paused next to the garage.
“So the knight’s standing guard over the Taurus, is he?” I joked.
“The Taurus is one of the most stolen cars in America, Vivian. Statistically speaking, if you were going to have your own personal knight in shining armor, wouldn’t you want him guarding something you knew was likely to be stolen?” He smiled down at me.
“I suppose. Think that’s why he was in Aunt Maude’s bedroom? Maybe she was afraid someone was going to steal her fourteenth stack of tube socks.”
“Maybe she just got lonely. It happens.” He unlocked the door, but still we stood.
“It happens to everyone at some point,” I said, aware once more of how much taller he was than me. I was staring at his Windsor knot, loosened as it often was by the end of the day. I could see the tiniest smidge of skin peeking through. It was a tan smidge, and I remembered how sun kissed his chest was that day on the trail.
As my nose caught the scent of warm Irish Spring, I looked up to see his face. He was watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite identify.
“Agreed,” he murmured.
“Huh?”
“I agree with you. Everyone gets lonely sometimes.”
“Not if they have a knight in shining armor, though,” I said, and felt a blush creep into my cheeks. Before he could answer and plunge us deeper into the Land of Trite, I saved us both. “Let’s get him and bring him back home, okay?”
“Good idea.”
Soon we were driving through Mendocino with the knight in the backseat, his legs sticking straight up into the air next to his top.
I caught Jessica’s face full of curious as we cruised down the main drag, me, Clark, and a suit of armor in a powder-blue fifties’ convertible, blaring doo-wop like it was going out of style. The good news about doo-wop is it never goes out of style.
Still laughing as we pulled into the driveway and around the back of my house, I started when I saw Hank’s truck. With one glance, my heart began to pound. I couldn’t help it. I could see him in the barn, his naked, sweat-slicked torso instantly arousing my female parts. It wasn’t something I could control; it was just hardwired into me when it came to this guy.
I sat in the driver’s seat, drumming my thumbs on the wheel. I didn’t even notice Clark getting out of the car until he was standing next to me, thumping on the door. I dragged my eyes away from the barnyard porn to see Clark’s head down, his eyes averted. I looked back toward the barn and saw Hank taking notice. And now walking toward us. I quickly climbed out of the car, Clark closing the door with a soft thwack.
“Vivian, if I could just—”
“Viv,” Hank called out.
Hank in motion is something I can’t accurately describe, except to say that the pecs, the abs, the slick, the meat, the blond, the casual, the intent, the command of everything in his reach is utterly, literally, awesome. After two weeks of no Hank, I was now in the full flush of a direct dose, and it was too much for my system. What was it about this guy that turned me to mush like nobody’s business?
The truth is, I’d always had a weakness for a bad boy, the hard-to-get boy. On the page, the heroine was always attracted to the pirate, the rogue prince, the dark rider. And while a prince charming occasionally turned my head, the dirty-talking prince from the enemy camp stole my heart without fail. And my petticoat. The conscious, smart part of
me knew this man was no good for me. But the unconscious part of me hijacked my hormones whenever he was within orbit. The primitive need to be invaded by the strongest member of the pack sent me tits up and out, ready to be mounted.
Luckily, the conscious Viv won out today. So when Hank finally made it across the yard, I was breathing steadily.
Someone next to me was not.
“Back from Pittsburgh already, huh?” Hank asked, coming to a stop in front of me, an inch or two closer than societal standards. And deliberately so. He looked me up and down, and my stupid breath wanted to come faster.
“She’s from Philadelphia. Not Pittsburgh.”
Clark was closer than he’d been a moment ago; I could feel his tension through his jacket and into my arm. His Irish Spring was especially sharp and spicy.
“Oh hey, Clark, I didn’t even see you there. What’s going on, you two out for a joyride?” Hank deliberately stepped between us to have a look at the car.
Clark, ever the gentleman, allowed it, but I could see that his lips had disappeared. Which for Clark, I had a feeling, meant he was just below furious.
“You guys been at the junkyard? What the hell is that?” Hank laughed, pointing at the knight in the backseat.
“Hey, don’t go poking fun at Legless. He’s the best,” I said, patting the knight on the shoulder.
“Legless—wasn’t that the blond guy with the arrows in that movie? Ring Lords or something?”
Clark closed his eyes. His lips reappeared and were now counting to ten.
“Legolas is in the movie. Legless is coming back inside—right, Clark?” I asked, reaching out to rub his arm.
Hank’s eyes followed it like a hawk. He looked at the two of us, then grinned like he knew a secret. And it wasn’t a grin I liked very much; it changed his face from a thing of beauty into something different.
A face I had a gut feeling Clark had seen before. I had a very sudden and clear picture of what high school must have been like for Hank. And it was a somewhat different picture from how Clark experienced it.
“Well, hey, looks like he might be a bit heavy. Need some help lifting him out of the car?” Hank asked, moving further in between us to grab hold of the knight’s shoulders. “Wow, he’s pretty heavy. How ’bout I help you out here, eh, Clark?”
I answered first. “Thanks, Hank, that’s sweet of you but—”
“I got this,” Clark said, grabbing for the shoulders as well, their hands now on the knight.
Me? In between. “Hey guys, how about we just—”
“Oh man, look at your face! It’s getting really red! Come on, Clark, let me help Viv with this—it weighs a ton,” Hank needled, tugging at the knight. Clark tugged back just as hard, the movement jostling his glasses crooked on his face.
Me? Still in the middle. “Seriously guys, this is silly. How about we—”
“I. Got. This.” Clark grabbed once more for the knight and just like that, Hank let go. Tumbling Clark into the backseat.
Tumbling me into Hank. Who caught me tight around the waist. After weeks and weeks, I was finally, blessedly, pressed up against his naked chest.
Hank laughed, clutching me even tighter.
“I got this, Clark,” he said, his hands now splayed across my lower back.
We were all frozen in a sick, twisted tableau. Except for Hank’s hands, which continued to rove.
I pulled away, something I never thought I’d do in a million years. But he was being a total jerk.
Oh, Christ. Clark.
White-faced, he scrambled up and out of the car, grabbed the other half of the knight, and disappeared into the house without a word.
Hank looked at the other half in the backseat, then at me. “You want some help with that?” he said, his face already losing the intensity that had been on display a moment before.
“No. I’m going to wait for Clark.”
He nodded, and was in his truck before I even had a chance to wonder what the hell had just happened.
I heard the porch door bang open and looked up to see Clark barreling down the steps. Still not meeting my eyes, he grabbed the other half and started to head back in. “Hey, wait, let me get the door for you,” I said, trying to get there before he did.
But that’s not how Clark rolled. Holding the bottom half under his left arm, he held the door open for me. Still looking at the ground, but holding the door open. For me.
I was no fool. I let him. He followed me inside, and when I went left to the living room, he again headed upstairs. It was stuffy inside from being closed up while I was away, and I busied myself opening windows and shoving aside curtains. When I heard him coming down the steps, I turned to face him.
His tie was tied neatly, hair once more parted and neatly combed. The color had come back to his cheeks, and as he pushed his glasses up on his nose I smiled at him, relieved to see that he was okay.
“Vivian, my understanding is that the contractor will be here to begin reviewing the work orders on Friday. Is that still correct?”
My smile fell. “Um, yes. As far as I know, but—”
“And your friend Caroline is also due back this weekend, yes?”
“Yes,” I answered frowning at him slightly.
“Very good. I left a few notes for you on some of the changes you want to make; please review them before Friday so we can discuss.”
“What?” I asked, confused.
“Friday. It comes after Thursday, which comes after Wednesday, which is preceded by—”
“Clark, stop,” I interrupted. “Are we back to this? Listen, I know what happened back there wasn’t—”
“Please review the notes before I come back on Friday,” he said curtly, and started for the back door.
“Wait, just wait a minute,” I said, hurrying to keep up with him. He paused before the door, silhouetted by the setting sun. “I’m not going to see you until Friday?”
“I’m very busy, Vivian, and I’ve spent enough time on this project already. Please make sure you’ve gone through those notes.” He headed out through the door, stopping when he was at the bottom of the steps. Turning back just slightly, but still not meeting my eyes, he said, “It’s going to rain later this week. I noticed while you were gone that the tarp had come loose on the southwest corner, so I took care of it. You shouldn’t have any trouble.”
“Thank you,” I said quietly.
He finally turned back and met my eyes, and I was crushed by the coldness in them. He acknowledged me with a nod, then left.
That night I slept with the knight on guard once more. The chilly ocean wind buffeted the house on all sides, but inside, it was warm.
Well, the house was.
I wasn’t.
chapter thirteen
I looked at the calendar that week more than I did my senior year of high school counting down to the last day of school. I was planning Caroline’s visit and getting things ready for the contractor to arrive, making sure I had as much done as I could before the real work started.
I missed Clark. I missed the shit out of him. I was used to him being there, telling me interesting factoids and bits of trivia. Used to him challenging me on everything from the proper way to save photographs to why a properly working fireplace is essential to life as we know it. I was used to his neatly parted hair, his dusty eyeglasses, and his low chuckle when something I did truly tickled him.
I missed his phone calls. I missed the insight into the man behind the tweed, the man who was interested in more than memorabilia and historical significance. I missed the innuendo after he had a Scotch or two and the delicious way his deep voice slid over me. I missed Nighttime Clark a lot.
But Nighttime Clark didn’t call.
I finally started cleaning out Aunt Maude’s bedroom, the last one to be done. I let the knight keep watch fr
om the hall while I began to declutter, starting with the bowling balls down the center of the bed. I put fresh sheets on, along with a new duvet I’d picked up in town. I cleared out clothes, clutter, and stacks of old mail.
But her closet yielded a fascinating windfall. Buried behind an old chest of drawers, in the deepest part of the closet, was another trove of paintings. I dragged the entire stack out into the late afternoon light and went through them one at a time.
These were not landscapes. They were of a decidedly more intimate nature. Sensual, erotic, beautiful, in fact. The faces were mostly suggested rather than shown clearly, but the one or two that did include features showed that the woman involved was Aunt Maude, and the man was . . . No.
“Mr. Montgomery?” I whispered, a violent blush erupting across my face.
Good God damn, this house has seen some funky shit go down. And speaking of going down, please see painting number seventeen. The real eyebrow raiser was painting number eighteen, but my viewing was interrupted by a knock on the front door. For a second my heart began to beat faster in anticipation, until I remembered I’d asked Jessica to help me hang curtains today.
“So tell me all the latest gossip. What’s going on with Hunky Hank the cowboy man?” she asked, settling into a rocking chair on the back porch, cold beer in her hand.
I sat down next to her, rolled my eyes at her comment, but offered her a clinking cheers.
“What? Romance novel not quite working out as you’d planned it?”
“No comment,” I answered through my smile.
“He doesn’t want to saddle up and ride?” she teased, making me laugh in spite of myself.
I thought of the offer he’d made about the bareback and the riding and the everything else. At the time, I’d thought it was exactly what I wanted. I mean, he was the ideal, right?
“All is going according to plan.” I sipped my beer.
“I see.” We rocked a few times. “You sure about that?”
“Nosy bitch.”
“Friendly bitch—there’s a difference.”
“It’s a fine line you walk there.”
The Cocktail Collection Page 76
