by Toni Blake
As she locked the cabin door and walked to her midsize sedan, she couldn’t help glancing upward toward the house on the hill. All was still, no one about. She let out a sigh, wishing it would stay that way. She missed her peace and quiet.
But a glimpse down at the long, colorful skirt she wore brightened her spirits again. It had made her feel alive and energetic to put on something she enjoyed wearing, and she’d learned not to take even the smallest bit of happiness for granted over the last few years. Sometimes it was the little things in life.
Only, as her Nissan reached the end of her driveway, she caught sight of the lovely sign she’d erected above her mailbox: Interiors by Tessa. Oh brother. Yeah, clever of you withholding your name that way. Very slick. He’ll never figure it out.
She bit her lip, thinking of him again. Lucky Romo. A year ahead of her in high school, he’d been the bad kid, the rough and tumble type. He’d gotten into fights, skipped school, driven a fast car, and sported long hair even then. He drank and smoked. She’d heard he did drugs.
Then, as soon as he’d graduated, he’d just . . . disappeared.
Maybe, when she added it all up, the most shocking thing about him now was that he’d actually been nice enough to help her find the cat.
And maybe the real question was . . . Why do I start sweating a little every time I remember seeing him yesterday?
She thought back to it, trying to recall everything she’d felt. A strange nervousness, certainly, that had bordered on fear. He was so . . . big now. She’d never have guessed Lucky Romo would end up so broad-shouldered and muscular. Plus, she’d never known any biker dudes before . . . or potential outlaws, either—a thought which made her shiver a little. She’d also suffered a certain sense of . . . naïveté with him that she’d never before experienced. Odd, because she wasn’t particularly naïve. She was thirty-three years old, after all—but somehow she’d felt . . . too innocent in his presence. Like he must think she was silly for the way she’d talked to Mr. Knightley. Like she’d seemed stupid for letting him get away.
So all of that was enough to explain things like lumps in her throat and a little sweating. Except that . . . there was more. If she was completely honest with herself, she’d suffered . . . a stark, rather brutal attraction to him. Completely unbidden. And unwanted. Because he did frighten her a little. There was that whole outlaw-biker question hanging over him. And all those tattoos. Just being around him had felt a bit hazardous, even when he’d relaxed some and helped her lure Mr. K. back.
And ugh—again that view of her nipples came to mind. Upon getting Mr. Knightley back into the house, she’d stood in front of a mirror and—yikes. Note to self: Now that you have a neighbor, always wear a bra. Always.
And now . . . stop obsessing over this. Yes, that sounded like a good idea. After all, there was plenty to celebrate—the sun was shining, she was on her way to lunch with friends, and she was unloading this persnickety kitty. Conveniently, Amy lived in an apartment above her bookstore, Under the Covers, where Tessa worked part-time, so she could easily drop him off on the way to lunch.
Half an hour later, cat and cat owner had been happily reunited, and Tessa and Amy found Rachel already at a table at Dolly’s Main Street Café, looking as stylish as ever in high-heeled boots, a red print scarf draped about her neck, and her shoulder-length blond hair in a chic new cut. She’d moved back to Destiny last fall to help run her grandma’s apple orchard, but giving up a jet-set life in Chicago hadn’t dampened her fashion sense. And a lovely tan glow from her Florida jaunt to visit Mike’s parents only made her look all the more fabulous.
“Okay,” Tessa said pointedly as she took a seat, “I’m not going to ask either one of you how your trips were, because I have news. Big, big news.”
Rachel blinked, appearing surprised, likely because it was seldom these days that Tessa had news—big or otherwise. Yet Amy stopped her from sharing it by wagging a finger in her face, her strawberry blond locks bouncing with the natural curl Tessa envied. “First, I want to know how you’re feeling. I felt awful making you kitty-sit, but I couldn’t think of anybody else, especially with Rachel away, too.”
“I’m fine now,” Tessa said. “And my news is more important than that.” Which was saying a lot. After several years of a mysterious digestive illness, Tessa had recently been diagnosed with Crohn’s disease. The ailment had taken a huge toll on her and forced her to make major changes in her life, but she tried to be tougher than the condition—plus she was near to bursting with wanting to tell them about yesterday.
“Wow,” Amy said, green eyes widening. “This must be some news.”
Tessa just looked back and forth between them. “Remember I told you about my new neighbor?”
They both nodded as Amy said, “And all the motorcycles.”
“Right. Well, yesterday I met him.” She didn’t plan to tell Amy exactly why she’d met him—no need to alarm her—and that wasn’t the significant part anyway.
“And?” Rachel said.
Tessa let out a breath. “He’s Lucky Romo.”
Amy gasped and Rachel’s jaw dropped. Though it was Rachel she kept her eyes on, because while Amy loved good Destiny gossip, it was Rachel’s connection to Lucky that made this so relevant. Mike had suffered a lot over Lucky leaving home. To find out he was alive would be . . . enormous.
Rachel appeared too stunned to speak for a moment, but finally managed, “Are you sure?”
“Mostly,” Tessa said. “I thought he looked familiar, and like a Romo—and then he turned around and his T-shirt said Lucky’s Custom . . . something-or-other on it. Even before that, I was thinking it could be him, so after that . . . well, how could it not be him?”
Rachel simply shook her head, clearly still trying to absorb it. “What did he say? Why is he back? Why hasn’t he contacted his family?”
“I don’t know,” Tessa explained, “because he didn’t say much. And I wasn’t sure I should ask him or even let him know I recognized him. I mean . . . there’s that whole outlaw-motorcycle-gang issue to think about.”
Now Rachel gasped, too. “Oh, you’re right.” Then she gritted her teeth. “God, if this is really him, should you be living next door to him? Out there in the middle of nowhere? Where no one can hear you scream?”
Tessa cast a dry look. “Thanks for giving me visions of ax murderers.”
“Sorry, but . . .” Rachel appeared deadly serious. “Mike has reason to think he turned out to be a really bad guy.”
“Yes, I know that. Don’t remind me. Because it’s not like I can just pack up and move. I bought the house. And I’m broke.” After having to leave a lucrative career in interior design behind in Cincinnati due to her illness, she’d come home to the promise of a new, more low-key job in interiors—which had then promptly fallen through. And since then, she’d been trying to build her own small decorating business, but so far it was a failure. She’d sunk much of her savings into buying the cabin, thinking it would be smarter than renting, and she was living off the rest, supplemented only by what she made at the bookstore.
Across the table, Amy tilted her head. “Did he seem . . . you know . . . bad?”
Tessa bit her lip. It was a complicated question. “Well, he has a lot of tattoos. Of things like chains and flames. So he looks kind of scary. And I felt pretty mousy when I was trying to talk to him. But . . . he was also sort of nice. In a quiet way.” Then she bit her lip, remembering the worst part. “Oh, and he saw my boobs.”
As Amy cringed in revulsion, Rachel made a bewildered face. “How the hell did that happen?”
“Well, he didn’t see them completely. Just through the ‘Hot Stuff’ pajama top you gave me. But that’s practically as bad. Very thin cotton. And white. And clingy.”
“Nice gift, Rach,” Amy scolded.
But Rachel just rolled her eyes. “I didn’t intend for her to socialize in it.” In fact, Tessa remembered, it had actually been meant as amusing encouragement. Tessa
had felt . . . well, considerably less than hot the last few years.
“I was wearing it around the house because it’s comfy, and I went outside, not expecting to meet the new neighbor. A mistake I will not make again, believe me.”
Just then, their favorite blue-haired waitress, Mabel, finally arrived with menus, and they all ordered drinks. Only after she’d gone did Amy say, low and cautious, “So . . . was he, like, openly staring? At your breasts?” Amy was fairly prudish about sex, yet she always wanted to hear about it, too.
“Actually,” Tessa recalled, “I had no idea he’d noticed them at all, because I’d completely forgotten what I was wearing. Until he called me ‘hot stuff.’ ”
“So he flirted with you,” Rachel said, looking none too happy. “Mike’s bad-seed-biker-brother flirted with you.”
Unfortunately, Tessa’s more sensitive body parts chose this particular moment to flutter a bit at the reminder—but she tried to play it off. No way could she tell her friends she’d experienced an unwanted attraction to the bad seed. “I think he was just . . . trying to make a joke or something. But when I glanced down and saw . . . well, you know . . .” She stopped, shaking her head at the indignity of the memory. “I wanted to dig a hole and crawl into the ground.” It wasn’t so much having accidentally been seen in a too-thin top; it was being seen that way by someone she’d have to face over and over again.
After they’d placed their lunch orders, Rachel still looked glum. “I don’t know how Mike’s gonna take this. He has a real love-hate thing about Lucky.”
Tessa nodded. “Now you see why I said it was big news.”
“You have to be really careful, Tessa,” Amy said, her expression fearful.
Tessa turned the warning over in her head. Despite her own unease about the situation, she’d figured the shocking fact that Lucky Romo was home would be what her friends focused on. Now, their worry made her wonder if she should be even more wary of him than she already was. But she tried to look on the bright side. “Well, he’s been there for a couple of weeks, and other than some loud motorcycle noise, I haven’t heard a peep out of him.”
“Even so,” Rachel said, “we don’t know just how scary a guy Lucky really is.”
That afternoon, Tessa returned home ready to relax and clear her head. It was still unseasonably gorgeous out—sunny and seventy-five degrees—and her deck, located at the creekside end of the cabin, was calling to her. A book, some sunbathing—it sounded like exactly what she needed.
Although as she pushed through the door, she realized, to her shock, that it felt a little weird for Mr. Knightley not to be there. She still thought he was the most spoiled brat cat she’d ever met, but maybe there had been something vaguely comforting about seeing him lying across the back of her sofa when she walked into the room, or licking his little white paw and raking it across his little cat face.
On the other hand, though, it was nice not to have to worry about him making more rebellious runaway attempts, and who liked changing kitty litter anyway? She loved her peace and quiet and was ready to bask in it. And hopefully her neighbor on the hill wouldn’t have any loud visitors this afternoon to mess that up.
As Tessa moved about the house, tidying up a bit, she reflected further on her friends’ fears but decided they were probably overreacting. Amy was a natural worrywart, clearly forgetting that Tessa had resided comfortably on her own in Cincinnati for ten years, first earning a degree from the University of Cincinnati, then getting a good job in her chosen field. And Rachel—still used to city life—claimed Tessa lived in the middle of nowhere, but her cabin was only a fifteen-minute drive from town. Ever since Rachel had hooked up with Mike—who was a cop—she’d started becoming more cautious. She was still bold, wild Rachel in some ways, but spending so much time with an officer of the law was definitely making her more guarded.
Glancing out the window over her kitchen sink, she peeked up toward the house above hers. All remained still, but it brought to mind more questions about Lucky Romo. She hadn’t seen him coming or going very much, so what did he do up there all day? His shirt had said he had some kind of motorcycle-related business, but where was this business? Surely nowhere nearby or the Romos would have known his whereabouts long before now. So what had happened to the business? Had it failed and somehow brought him home? Yet, if so, how had he afforded the small ranch house?
Then a totally alarming thought struck her for the first time: Did he have a woman up there who she also hadn’t seen? Did they stay inside so much because they were busy having lots of sex? Could Lucky actually be married?
Okay, your imagination is getting the best of you. Stop thinking. Relax and enjoy your afternoon. And, seriously, what did she care if he had a biker babe? It’s not like she and Lucky Romo would ever fit together in any way.
Although—yikes—that thought made the idea of a biker babe a little daunting. What if Lucky’s old lady—since that’s what bikers called their women, right?—thought he’d flirted with Tessa and decided to beat her up for it?
Stop. Thinking. Already.
On one hand, Tessa felt a little lazy to be embarking on an afternoon of sun-worshipping, but on the other, her crazy thoughts proved she needed some R and R, right? It was important to take care of herself, both mentally and physically. And sure, she also needed to figure out how she was going to make a living, since apparently no one in rural Ohio needed an interior decorator—but maybe basking in the sun would allow her to . . . be inspired.
Still, as she padded down the hall to her bedroom and began to change into her bikini, more questions arose. Could Lucky Romo see her deck from his house? And if so, was it prudent to put that much of her body on display in front of him? Or in front of his surely-territorial-if-she-existed girlfriend?
But then she shook it off. She wasn’t going to let her brawny new neighbor influence her activities. She loved the sun. She’d waited all winter for the sun. And she’d bought the house partially because of the deck. Besides, he was seldom outside. And if he did have a girl up in that house, she’d have to get over it. People wore bathing suits to pools and beaches all over the world—and he’d already seen more of her breasts than the bikini showed anyway. So she was sunbathing, damn it.
Thus she proceeded into her swimsuit—and a few minutes later exited onto the deck with towel, book, and sunscreen in hand, immediately glad she had. Pots of colorful spring pansies situated around the deck brightened her mood as the sweet scent of fresh-blooming hyacinth wafted up from beside her front walk. And as she settled into her lounge chair, the sun’s rays felt like heaven. As minutes began to pass . . . it was almost as if those rays somehow radiated through her, into her, warming her inside and out. Ah . . .
Why did the sun always make her feel . . . sensual somehow? Maybe because of the sensation that its warmth actually touched her skin? Or because she always felt a little prettier, sexier, with a tan? Or . . . was that feeling hitting her now only because big, bad Lucky Romo had called her “hot stuff” yesterday? And maybe it had been the first time in ages that she’d felt . . . remotely hot. Or even lukewarm.
She bit her lip, remembering how it felt to be . . . sexual. The sad truth was that she hadn’t had sex in over four years. At first, because of her health. And even in the three years since she’d moved home to Destiny, there had still been enough bad days to keep her off balance—and though she’d dated a little in that time, she’d had no more than a goodnight kiss or two at the door. She yearned for that connection with a guy, but it had become a hope that felt very distant, almost unattainable—because it was hard to be sick and broke and sexy all at the same time.
So even if nothing much had suddenly changed here . . . maybe it had. Maybe it was huge that in this moment she finally felt sexy again. Even just lying in the sun by herself. She felt sexually aware and sexually alive, and maybe thanks to Lucky Romo, she felt . . . a little bit desirable.
That’s when she blinked and caught sight of him.
Up the hill, on his own deck. Watching her. The mere glimpse of him, peering down at her, stole her breath.
She never let on that she noticed him. For some reason, she instantly wanted him to think he was stealing a secret, forbidden peek at her. Did he like her body? Did he want to . . . do things to her? It was almost difficult to breathe under the weight of the unbidden questions suddenly invading her mind, the thick sensuality rapidly filling the air around her.
Despite herself, her breasts ached. Her limbs felt heavy. She stretched out on the chair, one knee bent, arms stretched overhead, attempting to exude the natural, carefree sensuality she felt coursing through her veins right now. Oh God, it was good to feel this . . . normal, this vibrant and alive. It was as if the sun pumped life and health and energy into her flesh. Or was it just Lucky Romo’s eyes doing that? She bit her lip, pondering.
Another casual glimpse upward a few minutes later revealed that her new neighbor still sat on his deck, peering unabashedly down through the tree limbs that hung in the space between them. Looked like he held a beer can in his hand. He wore some sort of dark bandana-type thing around his head, long hair falling from the back. Today’s T-shirt had the sleeves ripped out, making his tattoos all the more noticeable, even from a distance.
He was still as intimidating as hell. Yet her skin tingled.
Following instincts now, Tessa reached behind her to lower the back of her chair, laying it flat. Then she turned over onto her stomach, letting the sun warm her back. Mmm, it felt good. Almost as good as those surreptitious glances from the house on the hill.
Then she thought about her favorite sundress—with a halter tie and low-cut back. Tan lines didn’t look good with it. Maybe she should untie her top.
Of course, she couldn’t lie to herself. She didn’t want to untie the top just because of tan lines. She wanted to untie it . . . for Lucky Romo. The last guy on earth she ever could have imagined wanting to bare skin for.
