Highly Charged!

by Joanne Rock

  “I live next door.” He nodded toward the only other house in a ten-acre radius. “Just thought I’d see who was playing demolition derby on a vacant residence.”

  “It’s not vacant anymore.” The yellow flip-flops quit their slap, slap, slap pace as she stopped a few feet away. Forgotten headphones dangled around her neck, the muted tunes classical sounding. “I inherited the house and I’m starting renovations today.”

  “You call that renovating?” Amused, he peered meaningfully at the exposed shed foundation. “Seems to me you’re not going to have anything left by the time you’re finished.”

  “A tacky metal shed circa 1970 was only junking up a turn-of-the-century farmhouse.” She folded her arms. “I’m going to strip down some of the add-ons like the detached garage and that old chicken coop in back. I’m trying to have the place declared a historical site and to do that, it needs to be in a form that’s closer to its original condition.”

  His brain was still stuck on the phrase I’m going to strip down even though that sentence hadn’t taken the direction he had hoped. With an effort, he tried to recall what else she’d said.

  “You’re one of the relatives?” He recalled old Ms. Lissander had dismissed all her extended family as greedy vultures and wondered where the hot brunette fell in the spectrum. If she was greedy in a hedonistic way he could be totally on board with that. The day was looking up.

  Then again, when you awakened to nightmares about blowing up all your friends, that left a lot of room for improvement.

  “I’m a student of her writing, actually. I teach literature at Old Dominion University. Nicole Thornton.” She extended her right hand, the silver and turquoise bracelet catching the sunlight. “You can call me Nikki.”

  “Brad Riddock.” His palm enveloped her fingers. And no matter that the normal ritual of polite contact was observed according to standard procedure. That garden variety touch blasted his nerve endings faster than the ice cubes he’d dunked his face in. “And I remember Ms. Lissander penned some pretty racy stuff.”

  Red-hot erotica, in fact, long before the women’s movement took hold. The thought of the lady professor studying that kind of thing was intriguing. He was vaguely aware that he hadn’t released her hand yet.

  Curious, he stroked the juncture between her thumb and her hand. He could have sworn a flicker of awareness darkened her eyes before she snatched her fingers back.

  “Chloe Lissander channeled a great deal of passion into everything she did.” Nikki nodded toward the white farmhouse behind her. “But by the time she moved back to her childhood home, she didn’t have the energy to transform this place the way she wanted. She left it to me in the hope that I’d fulfill her vision.”

  Nikki stared at the sprawling farmhouse and lopsided deep porches while Brad considered the way she’d jumped when he touched her. As a man who knew a thing or two about sparks and charges, he guessed his hand wasn’t the only one still humming with the aftershock.

  This grew more interesting by the minute. He’d never been able to walk away from a situation that could turn explosive at any second. And the gathering heat between him and his new neighbor was a hell of a lot more compelling than the countdown to doomsday he kept seeing in his dreams.

  At a time when he needed a distraction more than he needed his next breath, Brad quickly made Nikki Thornton his new number-one priority for the next two weeks until the shrink cleared him for deployment.

  “A bit daunting when you look at it from this angle, isn’t it?” he remarked, edging a half step closer while her back was turned.

  “It’s daunting from every angle.” Straightening, she smoothed a twitchy hand over her glossy dark hair. “Guess I’d better get to work.”

  He tracked her movements, wondering how much time they had before this rogue spark combusted. For the first time in his life, he wished he could hasten the explosive process.

  “Can I give you a hand?”

  SIZING UP HER SUPER STUD neighbor as he sent her surprisingly lustful glances, Nikki could think of numerous uses for his hands, none of which involved hard manual labor. And, judging by the way he’d lingered over their touch, he’d be amenable to a few of them. But she hadn’t moved out to the country to moon over a hot guy who only blew through town a couple of times a year between military stints around the world. In all the times Nikki had visited Chloe, she’d never caught a passing glimpse of him until the other night when she’d gotten far more than a peek.

  The incident had played and replayed in her dreams ever since.

  But even if she’d been in a position to explore her much neglected sensual side, Nikki knew herself well enough to recognize a high risk relationship. She appreciated stability. A sense of home. Community. She’d been shuttled off to strangers as a kid every time her scholarly parents had an opportunity to participate in farflung archaeological digs or teach at exotic universities, so it was only natural she was drawn to put down her own roots at Chloe’s home. Getting involved with a guy who circled the globe for his job would be foolish.

  She just hoped her jumpy heartbeat and twitchy skin got the message soon.

  Because, no doubt, he was even more incredible looking up close. Tall and lean, he had the easy grace of an athlete when he moved. A tattoo roped one arm, the design thick and intricate with a Celtic feel. The pattern was visible just below the sleeve of his dark blue T-shirt with some kind of navy emblem imprinted on the chest. Sleek muscles beneath the cotton gave the shirt an outline that a store mannequin would have envied, with ridges and rises in all the right places.

  But even more than the killer bod, Brad Riddock’s face was the sort a woman couldn’t look away from. Aquamarine eyes were offset by the slash of straight, dark eyebrows—the menace of the latter preventing the former from being overly beautiful. In the same way, a full, sensuous mouth rested below the sharp blade of his nose, the whole package starkly appealing.

  “Not to knock your efforts,” he prodded, “but at very least, I could finish up the tractor work without putting any wildlife at risk.”

  Recalling the incident with the rabbit, she winced.

  “I didn’t see him at first,” she blurted, guilt pinching at the thought of what could have happened if she hadn’t stopped in time. “Thank goodness he was so quick to get out of the way or—”

  She couldn’t finish the thought. Maybe Brad had a point about her not belonging on the heavy equipment.

  “I hope the tractor isn’t to blame for the rest of the wounded.” He pointed toward the two cages on the back patio currently inhabited by a chipmunk and a blue jay.

  “Of course not. I pulled the bird from the jaws of a tomcat on the front law and the vet says he needs a few days for his wing to heal before I set him free. And the chipmunk—” But did he really need to know all about the strays she took in, just the way Chloe always had? They had been one great big family of strays. A tradition she enjoyed carrying on in Chloe’s absence. “Well, suffice it to say he was injured through no fault of my own.”

  “I’m on leave from my job with the navy for a couple of weeks. I work in demolitions—explosive ordnance disposal, officially.” A shadow crossed his expression before he shrugged and she wondered if his leave had anything to do with the mass of bandages on his left leg. There were less than the first time she’d seen him, but they still covered plenty of his lower limb. “I’ve been climbing the walls between gigs anyhow. This way I can ensure that my house remains standing through the process and the local rabbits live to tell the tale.”

  Frowning, she peered into the woods, certain that brown bunny had numerous friends and family. She refused to injure any wildlife in the process of renovating the house.

  And she needed to make some progress. If she didn’t get the historical society’s okay, it left the home all the more vulnerable to Chloe’s slew of relatives who didn’t care about honoring their famous kin’s memory. Once she had that protection of the historical designation, she’d h
ave enough security to turn her attention to Chloe’s other request…

  “You must ensure the diaries are published in their original form, Nicole.” Chloe squeezed her hand from where she lay in a hospital bed, her grip surprisingly vital for a woman that doctors had warned repeatedly would not make it through another night. Seven days after entering the hospital, Chloe seemed to be holding her own, her short nails still painted her favorite shade of fire-engine red.

  Nikki admired her so much. It had been a dream come true to meet a literary legend—one who had inspired Nikki on a personal level from the first time she’d read about Chloe’s life as a young girl, getting shuffled from house to house the same way Nikki had. They’d both grown up among strangers. Never knowing a real home.

  Chloe had gone on to create a sense of home no matter where she lived, circling the globe in search of adventure and taking in strays and strangers wherever she went. Nikki had been pulled into the creative whirlwind of the older woman’s world, but she’d never managed to find the source of Chloe’s strength. Her belief in herself. Even now, battling kidney failure and the symptoms of early dementia in a sterile white room, Chloe remained a fierce, bright light.

  “If they are in the house, Chloe, I promise I will find them.” Deep breaths, she reminded herself. She refused to cry in front of someone so strong. “I will make sure the originals are published.”

  “I hid two of them long ago but I never told anyone where and these days I have such a hard time remembering anything. The vultures don’t want those diaries to see the light of day.” She frowned, her gray hair sticking up in tufts like a newborn bird’s fluffy feathers. A strand of red prayer beads from a Tibetan monk hung from one hand off the side of the bed. The vultures she referred to were family members who visited her twice a day in attempts to coerce her into changing her will or signing over her power of attorney. “They don’t even know what I wrote in them to begin with, so don’t let their protests stop you. My life is my own to share.”

  “Of course.” Nikki had poured her a glass of water from the plastic pitcher beside the bed, unwilling to think about her life after Chloe’s death. She had no idea where to begin looking for diaries that Chloe had forgotten where she’d hidden. “Have a drink and I’ll take you for a spin in the corridor. We’ll see if the guy in Room 142 is still trying to flash the nurses every chance he gets.”

  “In a minute.” Chloe set the water cup down along with the prayer beads. “I have so much I wanted to share with you, Nicole. You’re the daughter I never had, and it has meant a great deal to me that you’ve been here with me while I prepare for my next big adventure.”

  She winked a wrinkled eyelid, smiling as if death was a worthy opponent she looked forward to battling. Nikki’s breath caught, her chest constricted tight.

  “Where else would I be?” she finally managed, thinking Chloe was more pale today than yesterday.

  “You should be out in the world, falling in love. Having wild, out of control sex.” Edging higher up on the pillow, Chloe nodded toward the wheelchair in the corner. “But since it’s too late in the game for me to tell you everything you need to know about that, I’ll settle for a ride to Room 142 so we can heckle the old flasher and give the nurses a break.”

  Nikki shook off the memory that still left her heart in her throat. Maybe she’d get lucky and find those two missing volumes while she worked to methodically clean and organize the property this week.

  “I have to warn you, I’m operating on a real budget here,” she told Brad finally. She would have hired help in the first place if she could have afforded it. “The inheritance tax cost me my savings, so I really can’t pay—”

  “All the more reason not to keep a rented tractor sitting idle.” He pointed to the equipment parked in the middle of the rolling lawn dotted by overgrown flower-beds full of heirloom flowers. “You can tell me what’s next or if you have plans drawn up for the project, I can look those over instead.”

  His eyes already roamed the landscape as if assessing the flaws for himself. Any hint of flirtation was gone—although maybe wishful thinking had imagined those hot looks earlier. Right now, he was all business and, amazingly, prepared to offer his services…for what kind of reimbursement?

  The thought of being in his debt worried her, but she wasn’t in any position to refuse. The property was a gem in the rough, but Chloe’s relatives had rented it out for many years while she traveled the globe, and various renters had let it go to seed. Later in life, Chloe had used it as a home base for her work. She’d always had grand plans for it, though, insisting it held special memories of her first real romance. Sadly, the diary that would have chronicled that time period was one of the volumes that remained missing.

  “I’ve got some lists and sketches inside the house if you want to take a look.” Pointing the way, she started off in that direction, trying not to dwell on those sexy ultramarine eyes of his. “I really appreciate the help. Chloe’s family has been so angry with me that it’s nice to find someone who doesn’t think this renovation is a terrible idea.”

  He was quiet for a moment, and she could still feel the hum of awareness from their handshake earlier. She wondered if his eyes were on her now, and peered over her shoulder to check.

  But his easy grin didn’t betray anything.

  “If your property value goes up, mine does too, right?” His gaze went to the roofline of the house where several add-ons through the years had marred the classic lines of the place. And, wow, all those gables and dormers reminded her she sure had a lot of territory to scour for those two missing diaries.

  Fine. She hadn’t wanted the distraction of an attraction anyhow. Just as well that he didn’t seem to have an ulterior agenda by offering her a hand. Or so she told herself. Some perverse part of her mourned the fact that his potent stare wasn’t fixed on her anymore.

  “I guess you’re right.”

  Now if only she could scrub the memory of what he looked like while stalking around his living room half-naked from her brain.

  2

  NINE HOURS LATER, BRAD had run out of daylight as he shut off the tractor.

  He’d uprooted tree stumps, dug out a couple of old foundations to outbuildings that no longer existed and hacked through an overgrown section of the lawn where a garden would eventually grow. He’d used a jackhammer, an insufficiently powered backhoe and the tractor with a couple of different attachments, all of which could go back to the rental company tomorrow since he’d gone medieval on the workload to make a major dent.

  It felt good to work after being idle. It felt even better to impress a woman who’d nabbed a Ph.D. by studying sexy literature. The contrast fascinated him, making him all the more determined to find that sensual side beneath the hardworking professor.

  Now the scent of barbecue hung in the air as Nikki lit a few torches around the backyard. She’d been on trash patrol most of the day, arranging for a scrap-metal company to pick up the remains of the shed, some old ladders and the contents of the basement she’d been cleaning. They’d been so busy they’d barely seen each other beyond a few utilitarian conversations to facilitate one another’s projects, which was just as well since he’d gotten the distinct impression she would have refused his help if she thought he planned to hit on her.

  He knew he hadn’t dreamed the leap of attraction between them when they’d shaken hands, but she’d looked about as pleased to realize it as she’d been to find a garter snake hiding in the basement earlier.

  He didn’t know what that was all about, but he had two weeks left on his “vacation” to figure out a way to bypass it. Nikki was the key to replacing his apocalyptic dreams with something a whole lot more entertaining.

  Approaching the old flagstone patio outside her back door, Brad set the tractor keys on a weathered wrought-iron table. At the sound of the metal clinking against the iron, Nikki turned away from the grill, a basting brush in hand.

  “I hope you’ll stay for dinner.”
She gestured to the table where he noticed two paper plates and a jug of iced tea. “You worked so hard today, the least I can do is feed you.”

  She’d changed since he’d chased the snake from the basement. A clean white tank top and khaki cargo shorts hugged her curves. Her damp hair was starting to dry around her face, the glossy brown turning chestnut in the glow from the torchlight.

  “I’d accept, but you might faint from the smell.” He sniffed the shoulder of his sweat-soaked shirt for confirmation and knew he couldn’t share a table with her like this. “Do I have time to shower?”

  Her eyes wandered over his chest before she turned back to the grill.

  “Sure.” She gave a jerky nod that made him wonder what she’d been envisioning. “The chicken will be ready in about ten minutes, but I can turn off the heat and keep it warm for…” she cleared her throat “…whenever you’re ready.”

  Her last words came out a bit garbled, and he noticed she picked up the cup of iced tea she’d poured for herself. She took a long swig and kept her back to him.

  Interesting.

  “It’ll take me ten minutes, tops.”

  The night air felt cool as he jogged into the darkness, away from the heat of the torches and grill and an even hotter woman. The furry brown mutt he’d been feeding was there at the hedge line, wagging its tail so hard its whole butt shook.

  “Hey, Killer.” He scratched the dog’s head, thinking that taking in strays seemed to be as much a hobby for Nikki as it had been for her predecessor. Chloe Lissander had packed her yard full of bird feeders and bat houses, willing to care for all comers. “I’ll pour you some food, but my guess is the grub will be better next door if you want to try your luck.”

  Inside, he showered in a hurry, eager to take advantage of every minute Nikki was willing to spare for him tonight. She was seriously hot and thinking about her penning lofty critical theories about erotica had kept his imagination steaming along all day.