To Date A Disaster (Southern Sanctuary - book 6)

by Jane Cousins

  Erik’s work boots struck the marble stairs loudly as he headed for the library, on the uppermost floor of the council building. A bad feeling beginning to churn in his gut. Crap, he’d done his best to keep his schedule erratic of lately. Laying false leads, lying his ass off. Telling people he was headed left, whilst he snuck off right. So far it had all been going to plan, except for today as he was committed to teaching the art appreciation course at the library every Thursday night over the next five weeks.

  He couldn’t back out of his commitment, Aunt Patricia had organised the workshop series and she scared him even more than his mother. Especially at this moment in time, given the knowing smirk she was currently directing his way as he entered the library reception area. Crap, he sensed major trouble brewing.

  “Hey gorgeous.” He leaned across the large oak desk, lips puckered.

  Patricia shook her head, laughing, placing her hand on his forehead and pushing him backwards. “Not a chance, I know where those lips have been. I was wondering if you were going to turn up.”

  “And let down a dozen art devotees… never.” Erik paused and then gave his Aunt a hopeful look. “Unless no one signed up?”

  Patricia laughed merrily. “Oh, they signed up alright. I had to turn people… and when I say people… I mean women, away in their droves.” She picked up a clipboard, handing it over.

  Erik glanced down the list… each and every name listed was female, an unfamiliar. Fuck, this wasn’t just a set-up, it was an ambush. “What did my mother do, stand in the street and harass single women into signing up?”

  Patricia smoothed down her fitted bronze coloured scoop necked sweater. “Harass is a strong word. Besides, I don’t think there was much arm twisting required after she showed them your picture.”

  “Goddess, give me strength. I swear Aunt Patricia; she’s gone off the deep end.”

  “She loves you. She wants you to be happy.”

  Erik chuffed a derisive laugh. “She could care less if I married a harpy, she just wants to get her mitts on some grandbabies. Why isn’t she harassing Hadleigh or Locke? Both are melded now, shouldn’t she being circling where her chickens are sure to hatch?”

  Patricia laughed again. “They’ll get there in their own time. I think your mother is just worried you and Fen are so stubborn that you’ll dig your heels in to spite yourselves. It really isn’t just all about the grandbabies; she just wants all her children to be happy. To have what she and Gunther have.”

  “I am happy… or I was until my mother went loco on my blissfully contented single ass.”

  Patricia waved him off. “I don’t wish to have a discussion about your ass. Go… set up, the modelling clay is in the storage cupboard… oh, I almost forgot, Great-Great-Aunt Adelaide rang to say she can’t make it. Something about a scheduling conflict, her publisher wants her to rewrite the last chapter of Savage Sinful Love and tone down the bondage scene.”

  “Damn, what am I going to do without a model?” Erik eyed his Aunt thoughtfully.

  “Don’t even ask. I’m leaving early to have drinks with Maureen… why don’t you be the model. All those women are going to be staring your way longingly anyway.”

  Erik shook his head in frustration. “Nah, I’ll think of something… later.” He swooped across the desk before Patricia could stop him, planting an affectionate playful kiss on her cheek.

  * * *

  Cara was a convert. She loved Haven Bay. In fact, she loved the whole of the Southern Sanctuary and everyone in it.

  She loved her little one bedroom cottage located directly across the road from the park that butted up against the beach. She loved the winter weather, the clear blue sky days, mild temperatures and abundance of sunshine. She’d grown up in Vermont and the idea that this was winter time here in Queensland made her want to laugh out loud.

  She loved her job, the library, overseeing the renovation and fit out of the new children’s wing and working with Patricia Bennett and the rest of the library staff.

  Yes, she loved everything and everyone… because she was cured. It was miracle.

  It had been ten days since she’d arrived and ten days since her last attack. It was as if that last weird experience, when the molten lava ball of anxiety had dropped low in her body and she’d gone from normal to disaster central in less than a second had blown a fuse somewhere inside her.

  No more simmering hot ball of dread, now there was only the faintest, barely even there, buzz of heat located north of her gut… okay, okay, so it was centred between her legs. Which was a little distracting and embarrassing, but if she kept busy she discovered she could easily ignore it. In a word, it was – wonderful. Life was wonderful.

  She was so happy that she didn’t care that her uncontrollable hair was now a slippery glossy mass of ringlets that had seemingly developed a mind of its own. Forcing her to re-braid it every two hours. Nor did she dwell on the rather disconcerting outcome of Riya’s revamp of her wardrobe. Take for instance the outfit she had on today. In the past it had just been a dowdy, plain, unspectacular white shirt and black skirt. Thanks to Riya, the skirt now ended several daring inches above her knee, there was a black velvet belt, that cinched her waist in and the shirt now sported twinkling jet black diamante buttons, the top two of which seemed to be faulty, no matter how many times Cara attempted to do them up, they would not stay fastened.

  Two weeks ago that would have driven her to distraction. Now she was too busy and happy to care about such inconsequential things, so what if she showed a tiny bit of cleavage, she was a librarian, not a nun. In fact, those last words had come from Patricia just this afternoon when she’d caught Cara fiddling self-consciously with the buttons of her blouse for the umpteenth time. It was time she accepted she was safe. She didn’t have to meld into the background any longer.

  Closing down the computer, Cara looked around in surprise at the empty research area. Whoops, how had it gotten so late? She must have been concentrating too hard on the decorating site, copying down tips and ideas that might be suitable to incorporate in the children’s wing of the library.

  Standing she winced, rubbing her back absently, glancing at her watch she shook her head. Where had the day gone? Damn, she had promised Patricia she’d check in on the art appreciation group and make sure they had everything they needed. Grabbing her files she made her way towards the arched entry way that would lead her to the central domed room where tonight’s clay modelling workshop was slated to be held.

  Juggling her files as she stepped onto the colourful mosaic tiles, she was pleased to note someone had taken the initiative and moved all the chairs and tables back out of the way. There was now a raised dais in the very centre of the room, encircled by twelve individual work tables and stools. Excellent, looked like whoever was leading this workshop had everything under control. Footsteps sounded off to her left, a man carrying a large wooden box was striding towards the dais.

  Cara frowned, frozen, she could only see him from the side… the back, but there was something awfully familiar about those tight faded jeans clinging to what was admittedly a tempting male butt. Um, why did he look familiar? Whoever he was he was wearing a flowing white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to each elbow, his arms tanned and muscular… something about those arms. His dark chocolate brown hair was clubbed back into a short ponytail at the base of his skull but a large hank had come free, obscuring his profile.

  She watched, fixated, as he all too easily positioned the large wooden box onto the dais, the muscles of his broad chest and back flexing under the thin material of his shirt, for a moment she forgot how to breath. Hurriedly she sucked in a large lungful of air, the sound drawing the man’s attention. His head flicking to the side, his hair sweeping back off his face, straight nose, high cheekbones, rugged jawline in need of a shave and sensual lips, quirking up at the edges. Cobalt blue eyes fixed on her position.

  In a split second Cara’s mind went into overdrive… pirate, lothario, sinful… ha
ndyman! Without warning the insignificant buzz between her legs went supernova volcano, no warning, no build-up… just kapow… eruption. She felt the invisible explosion rocket out from her in all directions.

  Immediately, from behind the thick opaque plastic covering the archway to the under-renovation children’s wing there came a warning shout, a curse, the sound of metal hitting concrete with a loud ear-splitting clatter, another shout, glass breaking and then ‘pfft’ the plastic covering billowed, as something metallic and blue pierced the plastic and shot across the room to hit the handyman with what sounded weirdly like metal striking metal.

  Cara clasped her hand over her mouth, eyeing the handyman. Merda, what had just happened?

  The plastic sheeting tore back and Dave, head of the work crew, stormed out looking flushed and shocked. “Is everyone okay?”

  “I think the question should be is everyone okay in there?” The handyman bent to pick something up.

  “We’re fine.” Dave ran a hand over his face. “Damn scaffolding folded like a deck of cards… never seen anything like it. Then two ladders fell and then a light fixture, strangest damn thing you ever saw. Something hit my toolbox, next second, my screwdriver is shooting out of the room like it was fired out of a f… bleeding canon.” Dave looked back at the perfectly round golf ball-sized hole in the dead centre of the plastic sheeting.

  “Here.” The handyman held up the screwdriver, the tip of it bent back almost in an l-shape. “I believe this is yours.”

  Dave took the screwdriver, staring down at it in wonder. “What the hell.” He looked around the room. “Must have hit one of the stone columns.”

  “Must of.” The handyman agreed amiably, watching as Dave, still scratching his head in confusion, shuffled back behind the plastic sheeting and the keep out signs.

  Cara blinked, that wasn’t right, was it? The screwdriver hadn’t hit a column. In fact, she was pretty sure it had hit the handyman.

  But that wasn’t possible, if it had he’d be on his way to hospital with a screwdriver buried four inches into the back of his thigh instead of just a puckered hole in the denim material just below his left butt cheek. Cara frowned, she’d been staring at his jean clad butt moments ago, there hadn’t been a hole in his jeans then… so did that mean? No, what she was thinking was impossible, there was no way the screwdriver could have hit the handyman and he could still be standing.

  “You okay?”

  She blinked again and swallowed hard. “You’re the handyman.”

  “Well, I am a man and if I do say myself… I am pretty handy, but that’s neither my name nor my job description. I’m Erik… Erik Valhalla.” He moved to stand directly in front of her, cobalt blue eyes scoping her out from head to toe, smiling as he did so.

  “Cara Devigne.” She clutched her folders close to her stomach, for some reason afraid to reach out and touch him. “I… I think we met the other day, the ladder and there was a sign…”

  “Yes we did.” He continued to grin at her, studying her with intent cobalt blue eyes.

  Cara shifted on the spot, gorgeous men never stared at her like this, she wanted to fidget, she wanted to disappear, she settled on blushing furiously.

  Erik couldn’t believe what a clumsy oaf he was around this woman. He thought he’d imagined his reaction to her at their first meeting, when he’d fumbled positioning the new iron scrolled sign he’d made for Gigi, bringing it down on his head, tearing his favourite t-shirt in the process. Then this angel had fallen at his feet as if torn from a Botticelli painting, looking all kinds of gorgeous even though she had obviously been dazed and hurt. A completely foreign wave of possessiveness had assailed him, frankly scaring the crap out of him. In an act of self-preservation he’d dumped the fallen angel on his cousin Riya’s couch and made a hasty retreat.

  Now with her standing only a few inches away he drank in the red-gold curls that his fingers actually itched to reach out and touch, her gorgeous heart-shaped face and captivating cupid bow lips, the top lip slightly fuller than her bottom lip. Cara’s golden skin tones reminded him fondly of the setting sun caressing the bricks of cream buildings dotting the many Italian piazzas. Wide blue eyes stared out at him behind the barrier of her glasses; they were pure crystal in colour, like sapphires, mysterious and knowing.

  And her body, those full breasts and hips, tiny waist and long legs, double damn, it begged to be explored, to be painted, sculpted… worshipped. He guessed in bare feet she would have stood at about five foot eight, a perfect fit for his own six foot frame… hold on… perfect? What the hell was he thinking? The woman had obviously not only turned him into a clumsy oaf who stood in the way of shooting screwdrivers without moving but she’d destroyed all his Goddess given common-sense.

  Danger… this woman was dangerous.

  Shit, do not flinch, do not panic, and whatever you do, don’t stop smiling. If nothing else the past few months of his mother’s torturous endeavours to see him hooked and mated had taught him that running only seemed to make women chase you.

  No, he needed to be sneaky, smart and cunning…. he needed to scare Cara off, make her think it was her idea. As plans went, it sounded perfect… only one problem… how? Then he noticed the blush gracing her cheeks at his attention… damn, she was a little bit shy as well, his cock went from sit up and pay attention to me mode to the equivalent of howling at the moon. Hell, trying to make it look casual he scratched his stomach, dragging his shirt out of his jeans as he did so to help hide his body’s unmistakeable attraction to the gorgeous woman standing in front of him.

  Shy, mentally he clicked his fingers, he could use that. He amped up his smile to predatory, feeling a little bit of dickhead, but his single status was at stake here, no gutter was too deep. “So, I’m guessing Aunt Patricia asked you to help out with the art class set up?” He deliberately kept his voice low, husky, his eyes now fixed deliberately down the front of her blouse.

  “Um… yes.” Cara fought not to blush deeper. The hot molten ball was back once more, buzzing so loudly between her legs she was surprised no one else could hear it. Oh, what was wrong with her? The buzz was ridiculously distracting and confusing. She should be feeling disappointed… not turned on. Erik Valhalla had just gone from simmering hot guy to leering lout in a flat second.

  Admittedly she didn’t have a whole lot of experience with men but she knew enough to realise that she should be feeling offended by the fact his eyes were now super-glued to her cleavage. The last thing… the very last thing she thought she’d find herself doing was straightening her shoulders and thrusting her chest out further. But she wasn’t half Italian for nothing, there was fire in her veins. It was why she’d kicked Meggans in the head when he’d attempted to climb the ladder, it was why she’d faced down a bully who tried to over-charge her for fixing her car.

  She was a librarian… but she wasn’t a mouse, even if she did sometimes dress like one. She wouldn’t let this cad intimidate her. “Do you need help then?” She forced herself to enquire, giving him a determinedly professional look.

  Goddess damn it, Erik should send her scurrying off, all he had to say was no. But there was something about the way she’d met his challenge, it had surprised, and hard as it was to believe, turned him on even more. There was no other explanation for why he opened his mouth and the words. “We could really use a model tonight… are you up for it?” Spilled out.

  He leaned in further still, invading her personal space, knowing it would make her feel uncomfortable, come on Angel… run… run or he’d be doing something both of them would live to regret as he was caught in the backlash of his actions, being only inches from Cara with his eyes locked downwards he could now see the lacy edges of her cream coloured bra and that scent of hers, it wrapped around his senses like silken ties, shackling him in place. She smelled of Italian bergamot, geranium, purple rose and honey.

  Cara could hear the sound of approaching female voices, the class participants must be arriving. She sh
ould make her excuses, duck out while the going was good. At the very least she should step back, away from this man who exuded so much heat she felt scalded with him standing so close.

  Seriously, what was wrong with her? She should be feeling indignant at the liberties he was taking, crowding her, staring so conspicuously at her breasts but all she could feel was that hot lava ball between her legs pulsing in time with her heart beat.

  “Scared?”

  She snapped to attention. “What did you say?”

  “I asked if you were scared, it is a life clay modelling class after all.”

  “Nude?” Cara felt herself blush all over.

  “Well, there’s a sheet involved… but essentially, yes.” Erik scooped up a white silk sheet from over a nearby chair, running his hands absently over the soft material.

  Cara couldn’t believe she was still standing there. The idea of being all but nude in front of a room full of strangers… in front of Erik? She should be running for the hills… or at the very least hyper-ventilating. Hey, why wasn’t she having a panic attack? Sure the molten ball was still making its presence known… low, embarrassingly placed between her legs. It was confusing and distracting, thumping away madly as her heart raced, but it didn’t seem like she was going to devolve into panic city. Weird… different.

  Before Erik could push Cara for a response several women walked into the room, exclaiming over the floor, the paintings and the domed roof before as a group they fell abruptly silent, their gazes coming to rest upon Erik.

  For some reason Cara felt herself bristle as the women’s eyes latched onto Erik’s frame with avarice intent. The hushed silence hanging over the room signalling all too clearly that collectively, they liked what they saw.