Tempting the One (Meadowview Heat 4; The Meadowview 4)

by Rochelle French

  “Are you turning a profit with your business yet?” he asked. Talking business always kept his libido in check.

  She gave him a puzzled look. “Sweet Meadow Scents? It became profitable within six months. When everyone started buying green and focusing on organic, it really took off. Now I pull in six figures a year.”

  “Not profit,” he assumed out loud.

  “Yep, profit.” She grinned.

  “Seriously?” He had a difficult time believing that a business run out of someone’s kitchen could pull in such an amount. And from what he knew, that’s where Chessie still worked—in her kitchen.

  “Some of my more profitable clients are high-end hotels and bed-and-breakfasts. They contract with me to create exclusive products for them. When you pick up a bottle of hand lotion at the spa, it has that spa’s logo on it.”

  “Proprietary labeling?” He’d heard the term before.

  “Uh huh.”

  She dropped down on the couch next to him, almost close enough to touch, but not quite. Close enough for him to catch a hint of her scent, however. He drew in a breath, smelling lavender and a hint of something else. Some herb, maybe. But mostly, just Chessie. She’d smelled the same way she had when they were kids. There was a four year difference between them, but since their parents were good friends, he’d known her since the day she was born.

  “I design the scent,” she continued, “and it’s theirs forever. The ones I contract with pay well for products that use nothing artificial, are considered fair trade, and that are ‘green’—you know, eco-friendly.”

  He concentrated on not concentrating on her boobs. “How do you make body stuff eco-friendly? I mean, I can understand the organic and natural stuff, but pegging it as ‘green’? I don’t get it.”

  Chessie smiled, her soft, full lips curving upward, then leaned back. She’d taken off the snap-front cowboy shirt earlier, and under the tight baby-blue T-shirt, Theo could see the outline of her nipples. The soft cotton of the sweats rose even higher. Oh god. And oh damn. He needed to get control over his libido. He couldn’t keep getting a raging hard-on every time Chessie moved.

  “Even using all-natural products, there’s still packaging and harvesting to consider,” she added.

  Booooooring. But at least her words had pulled him from his interest in her boobs. If she wanted to talk shop, good for her. Good for him. A dull conversation about fair trade organic crap would surely make his arousal disappear.

  “For instance,” she said, “plastic has petrochemicals, so I use post-consumer recycled glass bottles and jars. I make sure that products I get from foreign countries, like shea butter, are not only certified organic, but are harvested and traded using fair trade values.”

  She brought her hands to her head and gently massaged her scalp, moving from the top down. He leaned closer, hoping to catch another whiff of her scent. What she’d been saying about running a green business was cool, but held little appeal compared to her scent in his nostrils.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, pulling away.

  Good question. He was supposed to be paying attention to her business model, not re-energizing his erection. “Smelling your hair,” he admitted.

  “Why?”

  “You always smell yummy.”

  “Oh.” She pulled back. “Lavender and sweet-grass shampoo. I make it myself.”

  “With those lavender plants you want help transplanting?” He wished he had free use of his hands so he could entwine his fingers in Chessie’s luscious hair, see for himself if it felt as silky as it looked. If this was what distracting himself from his body’s attraction to her looked like, he wasn’t doing a very good job.

  “No,” she answered. “I buy organic lavender oil from a grower in the Napa Valley. Those plants out front are from seeds given to me by my great-grandmother, Louisa.”

  “I think I remember her,” he said, vaguely remembered a tiny woman with a face like a dried apple, all round and wrinkled, at various Gibson family functions, and Chessie draped over the woman at all times.

  “Yeah, you and Sadie would have met her at all our family functions. And yeah,” she laughed lightly, “she was definitely old. Over a hundred, in fact. She’d been born in England, in the late 1800s, where her family had a lavender farm going back to the fifteen hundreds. Until the first World War, that is.” Chessie sucked in a breath and suddenly looked away.

  “What happened?”

  She shrugged, as if she was trying to act nonchalant, but the tight expression on her face said otherwise. “During the war, lavender fields were expected to be plowed under and replaced with food crops. Her family had to plow under all the plants to make room for stuff like potatoes and carrots and onions.”

  “Sounds tough.” He shifted his weight so he could bump shoulders with her, wanting to let her know he cared.

  “A lot of people had it worse—the war was horrible. But for my family, they ended up losing everything. They couldn’t recoup after the war ended. Plus, Louisa’s husband had sunk his entire fortune into the lavender and lost it all. Ultimately he left her, blaming her for ruining his family’s reputation and costing him his inheritance.”

  “That blows.”

  “Totally, right? He broke her heart, taking off with some rich socialite.”

  “The guy was a douche.”

  Chessie snorted. “That’s one way to put it. She lost everything—the family farm, her livelihood, her husband. All Louisa brought with her to America after the war was my granddad, who’d just been born, and the few seeds that remained from the original lavender plants from the farm. She grew them for years. When she died at a hundred and three, she bequeathed me all her lavender.”

  “A bit of an odd inheritance.”

  Her face tightened. “Is everything about money to you?”

  “I didn’t mean it in a judgmental way. Just seemed odd to give someone plants, is all.”

  Chessie softened a bit. “That’s all she had to give me. She never made much money, being a single mom. But she loved my granddad and my dad and really, really loved me. I was honored to get her lavender.”

  “You were close.”

  Her eyes grew soft. “Very. She was a huge part of my life growing up. I miss her every day. She’s the reason I started Sweet Meadow Scents. I’d spend part of my summers with her when I was really little, and she’d teach me how to make soap and lotions using the flower and herbs she grew herself.”

  An owl hooted outside, and Theo looked up, realizing that only darkness existed outside the windows. He was surprised to realize evening had already come. Next to him, Chessie yawned.

  “It’s only what, six thirty? Not exactly a night person, are you?” he teased.

  She grinned and shook her head. “Nope, I’m not. I’m sure you’re used to going to bed late and probably with some hot bimbo by your side, two things that won’t be happening tonight. You’ll be going to bed early and alone.” She yawned again, this time stretching her arms up high overhead, allowing him a great shot at her breasts.

  He pointedly looked away and recited the Gettysburg Address in his head. Slowly, things down there returned to their normal, flaccid state.

  “You okay for now?” she asked. “Liz is due here at any minute and I need to focus on her. Don’t want to leave you in need of anything. Like a bedpan.”

  He groaned, closed his eyes, and rolled his head against the back of the couch. “Tell Liz to come in and see me when you two are done discussing wedding bullshit. I’d like to see her again. And thanks for helping her out. I know she didn’t make life easy for you or my sister when we were all young, but she had her issues.”

  “We all do,” Chessie said pensively, then stood and left him alone. And left him to wonder what issues could be plaguing the usually cheerful Chessie Gibson.

  * * *

  A perplexed Chessie sat perched on the edge of the sofa, next to Theo, and listened as the man filled Liz Pritchard in on how he’d ended up
smashed to smithereens under a pine tree. What Theo was saying wasn’t anything like what she’d thought had happened.

  “Wait—you mean to tell me you were rescuing some kid, and not staring at a snow bunny?” she asked. “That’s how you broke all those bones? Rescuing someone?”

  Across the room, the redheaded woman, Liz, once the nemesis of Theo’s little sister Sadie, made a clicking noise with her mouth, drawing Chessie’s attention.

  “Why wouldn’t you think Theo capable of rescuing someone?” Liz drawled. “What makes you immediately assume he’d be checking out women?”

  Funny, how Liz’s immediate defense of her friend warmed Chessie’s heart. She turned to Theo and put a hand on his elbow. “Sorry,” she said. “Liz is right. I must have misunderstood Sadie. She told me you’d gotten hurt chasing someone down the mountain. I assumed that meant you were chasing a woman. I was wrong.”

  For a moment, Theo simply sat there, staring at her hand on his elbow. The moment grew awkward—should she pull her hand away? Keep it there? The heat from his body radiated upward, into her palm, and the soft hairs on his forearm tickled her fingertips. Nice.

  At that, she snatched her hand away. She did not need to be finding anything about touching Theo to be “nice.” She had six weeks of helping the man survive with his appendages compromised. Six weeks of feeding him, changing his bedsheets, helping him in and out of the bathtub, washing his clothes…oh, god.

  Six weeks of Theo.

  She’d always enjoyed helping others out before. She volunteered at her friend Lia’s sanctuary for abused women. Fed the homeless at the homeless shelter. Read to the blind at the library. What was it about helping Theo that drove her bat-shit crazy?

  “You weren’t the only one to think that, Chessie,” Theo said, “so it’s fine. No harm, no foul.”

  “How’s the kid?” Liz asked.

  “The kid ended up fine—I managed to knock him into a safe snow bank before the tree and I got up close and intimate. His parents found me before the ambulance hauled me away and let me know the kid’s fine.” Theo finished speaking and glanced at Chessie.

  She cocked her head, puzzled about something. “But you let me think you were checking out some ski bunny.”

  He shrugged. “I let you think what you wanted to think is all.”

  She frowned. “I wanted to know the truth. I always want to know the truth. Why lie?”

  Liz shifted in the easy chair and kicked her feet up on the ottoman, tapping Theo’s casted foot with a pointed designer heel. Chessie had been pleased at the outcome of their meeting—she had in mind a unique scent she’d create for Liz to wear at her wedding: spicy, fiery, and soft all at once.

  “It isn’t easy living a life where people think you’re different than who you think you truly are,” Liz said, her words sounding sultry, but with a hint of pain.

  “True,” Theo said. “You’d know better than anyone else.”

  Chessie felt chagrined. Liz had lived through the ultimate rejection—for years, she’d been looked at by her hometown as something she wasn’t. Had hidden a deep secret, kept tight in her heart. Chessie hadn’t bought into the rumors, but she hadn’t done much to stop them, either. She wished she’d done more for Liz. Helped her somehow.

  “So you dumped the rich dude and are gonna marry Hunter, huh?” Theo said, directing his attention to Liz. “Gave up on the mansion in Marin and the membership to the St. Francis Yacht Club in San Francisco?”

  Irritated at his blatant insincerity, Chessie blurted out, “She’s marrying for love, not money. Or prestige.”

  Silence met her statement. Uh oh. The sensation of ants crawling on her skin slid over her. She’d said something wrong. Again. The deafening silence was broken by a loud pop from the crackling fireplace. She cleared her throat, then spoke. “I apologize. I was being a little judgmental there.”

  “You think?” Theo said, sarcasm clear in his voice.

  Liz leaned forward and smiled, her expression a bit brittle, but warmth showing through just a bit. “It’s fine, Theo. I get what Chessie’s saying.”

  “Again,” Chessie said, “I’m sorr—” Liz’s hand on her knee stopped her.

  “Chessie,” Liz said, “at one point those were the only two reasons I’d ever marry for—prestige and money. I was going to marry a friend of mine who couldn’t love me, either, but could give me money. Power. A place in society. I couldn’t bear to marry for love. Didn’t ever want to fall in love. I’d been hurt by Hunter so deeply that the wound just wouldn’t heal.”

  Chessie got it. She really did. She’d been in that same wounded place before, with Arthur. And still, even now, she rejected the idea of ever falling in love. But unlike Liz, she’d decided never to marry—never have a serious relationship. For her, unencumbered sex was enough. But it wasn’t that way for all women, and truly, she didn’t need to judge others for their decisions.

  “I’m glad you and Hunter found your way back to one another,” she said quietly.

  “I’m glad, too. And mostly, though?” Liz said, arching an eyebrow and leveling her gaze on Theo, “I’m glad I opened up my heart to love. I couldn’t imagine living without it.”

  * * *

  Cold seeped up Theo’s back. The fire Chessie had built when they’d first arrived at her house had died down during the visit with Liz, and now a chill was settling into the air. He waited for Chessie to return to the living room after having walked Liz to the door and wondered what was next. Bed, he hoped. A warm bed. But he wasn’t sure if he should ask where he was sleeping. He wanted to be a good houseguest for Chessie, but wasn’t sure how. It would have been easier to stay at The Cottage with a caregiver, even without his sister and Ethan there, but that decision apparently hadn’t been his to make.

  Not when a pregnant and hormonal Sadie was dictating his after-surgery care from New York. He knew better than to argue with a pregnant woman. Especially a pregnant woman in pre-term labor.

  And he knew Ethan would take care of Sadie, but it was tough not being able to catch the first flight out and care for his sister himself.

  Chessie entered the room, and his first thought was wow. She looked beyond wiped. Guilt swept over him. This hadn’t been his decision, but he figured it was better to inconvenience Chessie than upset Sadie. And he was certain Chessie would agree. It just wasn’t something the two of them could—or should—discuss. Some things were better left unsaid.

  She yawned, then gestured to him. “Let’s get you to off to bed. I’m too tired to help you with a bath tonight, though. I’ll figure out the bathing situation in the morning, but I’m beat right now.”

  The hollows under her eyes had turned a darker shade sometime in the last hour. A wave of compassion rolled up his chest. Chessie had a life, and his predicament and his pregnancy-induced hormonal sister had invaded that life. At the end of this, he’d write Chessie a big check to pay her for the time and energy she would have to put out in caring for him. How much, though? Ten thousand dollars? Twenty?

  She came over and helped ease him up. “Keep your weight off your shattered ankle. Balance on the sprained one.”

  “Yes, nurse.”

  “That’s doctor, to you.”

  When she placed his arm over her shoulders and slid her arm around his back, supporting his weight, her head came tantalizingly close. Close enough to kiss, but he wasn’t about to try something as ludicrous as kissing Chessie Gibson. She’d punch him out. Instead, he breathed in her warm and natural scent as she helped him hobble to the wheelchair.

  Wheeling into the bathroom, he brought his head up sharply when they entered the large space. Silvery-gray walls were edged with swirls and whorls of black vines and leaves. Thick black towels hung on intricately designed black iron towel racks. A stainless steel soaking bath stood framed by a bay window, while a three-sided glass shower took up the corner. A long white marble countertop with two stainless steel vessel sinks lined an entire wall.

  “Not
what I expected to see in a farmhouse,” he said. Both the bath and shower were large enough to comfortably fit two people. Two people, and plenty of activity.

  Or, two people and a wheelchair, he thought, reminding himself to keep things realistic.

  “The bedroom suite and kitchen were the only two areas of the house I had redone when I bought the place. Since I do most of my work in the kitchen, that was a necessary remodel. But the bed and bath—” Chessie’s face took on a dreamy quality. “This remodel was pure luxury. I figured I deserved something decadent in my life.”

  She could afford it, too. That bathtub ran somewhere around $25,000. Yet she bought her clothes from vintage stores and drove a truck that couldn’t be less than a day under fifty years old.

  Chessie was one heck of a tangle of incongruities.

  “I’m going to lock up the house,” she said, interrupting his line of thought before he could ask about the obvious discrepancy between her income and lifestyle. “Holler when you’re done doing whatever it is you need to do, and I’ll help you get into bed.” Carefully, she helped him up, then edged him to the marble counter where he could take most of the weight off his sprained ankle, and stood behind him for a moment, presumably to make sure he wasn’t going to fall over. His back warmed at the sensation of her body heat, so close to his.

  Then she turned and disappeared, leaving him alone.

  For the first time in days, he looked in a mirror.

  And blinked.

  Who the heck was that?

  The face that stared back hardly seemed to be his. He looked like—holy shit, he looked like hell.

  His hair, usually finger combed with loads of product to flop charmingly in front of his eyes, was instead matted and standing in stiff spikes. The multi-day stubble he hadn’t shaved since the morning of the accident didn’t give him the groovy hipster look but instead put him straight in the right-off-the-railcar hobo category. He’d expected a small bruise on his cheekbone since he remembered hitting it with the edge of his ski when he went down, but no—this was a full-on black eye.