Good Guy Heroes Boxed Set

by Julie Ortolon

  Fine. Incredibly good. That didn’t mean it had been smart. In fact, letting him kiss her had been the exact opposite of smart. She didn’t want or need a man cluttering up her life. So she’d just file their mini make-out session under Shit Happens and not let it happen again. Her hormones screeched out in protest, but she firmly ignored them.

  Once again composed, she grabbed her key ring from the foyer table then headed back outside. And was totally proud of the breezy way she said, “Watch the broken springs. I wouldn’t want you to open an artery,” as she tossed him the key ring.

  “Thanks,” he said, his tone unmistakably dry.

  After carefully settling himself in the driver’s seat, he slid the key in the ignition. The engine turned over on the third try. He shot her a thumbs up then disconnected the battery recharger and slammed the hood. “That should hold you for a while, but you need to have a mechanic look it over.” He glanced at the crack in the windshield and the missing radio antenna. “Actually, what you need is a new car.”

  “A new car isn’t in the budget. I’ll just feed this baby a couple quarts of motor oil and she’ll be fine.”

  Silence descended and Melanie found herself uncharacteristically tongue tied. Half of her was scared to death he was going to kiss her again.

  The other half was irritatingly scared to death he wasn’t.

  Her common sense told her to set things straight immediately. To tell him that while their kiss had been nice (yeah, yeah, fabulous), it had been a mistake and wasn’t going to happen again. Unfortunately it seemed she’d suddenly turned mute.

  “What’s the matter, Mel Gibson? You look nervous.” He took a step closer to her, until their bare legs brushed. “Am I making you nervous?”

  “Certainly not,” she lied in her haughtiest tone. Nervous? He made her more nervous than a dog on its way to the vet.

  He studied her for several long seconds with an expression she couldn’t decipher. “Well, you make me nervous.”

  “I do?”

  “Big time. And I can’t say I’m happy about it.” He frowned. “Every time I look at you my stomach feels weird.”

  “Probably ate some bad Boston cream,” she suggested with a shaky laugh.

  “I don’t think so. But we can argue about it later.”

  “Later?”

  “Yeah. The cookout, or aka Your Half of Our Bargain. I’ll pick you and Nana up around one-thirty.”

  He neatly replaced his tools. Melanie tried not to notice how tanned and strong his arms looked, or how incredible they’d felt wrapped around her. She failed completely. She noticed and she remembered.

  “There’s a pool at my mom’s subdivision,” he said when he finished, “so bring your bathing suit. And don’t forget those brownies.”

  “Brownies, Nana, bathing suit. Anything else?”

  Again he regarded her with an unreadable expression and she found herself holding her breath. Then he shook his head. “Nope. See ya, Mel.” He ambled off to his car, whistling like he hadn’t a care in the world. Infuriating man. First he kissed her into oblivion then he walked away as if nothing had happened. Men. Blech. No wonder she’d sworn off them. Smart girl. But not so smart now, and look at the mess she gotten herself into. A cookout. With Mr. Sexy. And she couldn’t back out of it— he’d fixed her car so she owed him.

  After watching him drive away, Melanie entered the house and stalked the length of the kitchen several times, thoroughly annoyed at herself. “I should have told him I didn’t want to see him again,” she muttered as she paced. “When he’d offered his proposition, I should have said, ‘Sorry Chris, but I have no time for you and I don’t want to involve myself with you, or any man, in any way.’”

  Exactly. So how the hell had that turned into, “Sure, I’ll go to the cookout and bring dessert?”

  Damned if she knew.

  And now he’d kissed her. Kissed her until she’d all but melted into a steaming puddle on the driveway. She could still feel the imprint of his body against hers. Still taste him on her lips. She stopped pacing and dragged her hands through her hair. Why, oh why hadn’t she given him and his doughnuts a firm adios and wished him a nice life? Why hadn’t she slammed the door in his beautiful face? Why hadn’t she—

  Nana tapped her on the shoulder and Melanie nearly jumped out of her skin. “You okay?” Nana asked. “You were talking to yourself. That’s never a good sign.”

  Melanie snapped out of her fog. Okay? Not exactly. “I’m fine.”

  A sly grin eased over Nana’s wrinkled face and she nudged Melanie in the ribs. “Great kisser, huh?”

  Fire burned in Melanie’s cheeks, but there was no point in denying it or even trying to soft soap it as Nana could read her like a book. “Actually, great is an understatement.”

  Nana slapped her knee and let out a whoop. “Well, it’s about time! But I do have one piece of advice.”

  Good. Advice is what she needed. Levelheaded adult advice from her wise grandma. “I’m listening.”

  “Better change your shorts before you meet his mama.” Nana cast a pointed glance at Melanie’s rear. “Mr. Great Kisser left a motor oil handprint on your butt.” With that, Nana walked out of the kitchen, chuckling.

  Melanie twisted around and groaned. The seat of her shorts— her favorite shorts— bore the black imprint of Chris’s large hand. She didn’t know much about motor oil, but she suspected it would be nearly impossible to wash it out of cloth. Great. Of course, now they were even on the ruined clothes thing, although she was only out a pair of shorts. He’d lost a suit.

  She glanced again at the handprint and heat swamped her at the memory of his hard body pressed against her.

  She seriously needed to stay away from him.

  In fact, she never wanted to see him again.

  Damn it, she couldn’t wait until 1:30.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  *

  CHRIS LOUNGED ON a chaise by the pool and struggled to keep his eyes off Melanie.

  Talk about mission impossible.

  From the moment he’d seen her in her bathing suit, all the blood had drained from his head and settled in his groin, a fact that made standing up without holding a towel or a newspaper in front of him a bit of a problem. For now he lounged, knees strategically bent, cradling an ice-cold can of Coke between his hands, and tried to carry on a conversation with his brother. But his gaze and his attention remained on Melanie who sat at a nearby round table, shaded by an umbrella, chatting away with his sisters, mother, and Nana. From what he could gather, they were debating the virtues of different brands of food processors. Of course, it was hard to eavesdrop on their conversation with Mark flapping his lips.

  Mark was talking a mile a minute, but who the hell knew what he was saying? “Blah, blah, blah,” Mark said. Chris nodded absently and made a few noncommittal noises in response, but he was too busy feasting his eyes on Melanie to follow Mark’s story.

  Her turquoise bathing suit looked like a tank top paired with a bikini bottom and was downright modest compared to many he’d observed, but as far as he was concerned, she was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. Damn, the woman had more curves than a mountain road. A mere inch of toned tummy was visible, a tanned bit of skin he couldn’t stop staring at. A tanned bit of skin he vividly imagined exploring. With his tongue.

  He raked his hands through his hair and sighed. Good God, the woman had him behaving like a hormonal fourteen-year-old. He hadn’t suffered such a bad case of tongue-tying, palm-sweating, boner-inducing lust since the seventh grade, when Marisa Guacamora had let him feel her Kleenex-enhanced breasts through her cheerleading sweater. If Melanie had worn a bikini, he’d probably have suffered an aneurism. This heat she inspired in him was downright scary.

  But even scarier was the way his mom and sisters had reacted to her. He didn’t bring many women around to meet the fam— he’d learned long ago that doing so opened him up to The Inquisition. Still, while his family had been polite to the last
couple of his dates they’d met, they’d also clearly been less than impressed.

  Not so with Melanie.

  His mom and sisters had taken to her, as well as Nana, like ham to Swiss cheese. Within minutes they were laughing and chatting as if they’d known each other for years. Over the next two hours, during which time the group enjoyed drinks on the patio then walked to the pool, Chris had basically been elbowed into the “men group” of his brothers-in-law and Mark, while his sisters and mother had commandeered Melanie and Nana, regaling them with stories of Chris’s childhood. And now they sat all chummy around the table, yakking away, laughing and smiling while he was stuck here with Mark. Even his brothers-in-law had deserted him to float around in the pool— which he couldn’t currently do thanks to his damn hard-on. Another burst of laughter came from the table then he heard his sisters and Mom saying they planned to pick up lunch from the Pampered Palate one day next week and have a picnic in the park— and could Melanie join them?

  Oh, this was bad. Very bad. This had Death to Bachelorhood scrawled all over it. He needed to nip this in the bud. Get this cookout over with, take Melanie home, then tell his family to forget about her and do that very thing himself.

  Yes, that’s what he needed to do. His mind knew it. But his heart rebelled at the thought. Because damn it, he liked her.

  Genuinely liked her. And that was a hell of a lot scarier than mere lust. Lust was easy and basic and uncomplicated. Liking her was a whole other ball game. He wished he didn’t, but really, how could he not? She was warm, intelligent, funny, a great cook, and if his smiling five-year-old niece who’d attached herself to her like a sand burr was any indication, she was also great with kids. Plus, his sisters clearly liked her. Plus, his mother had already sent him several not-so-subtle approving nods. Plus Melanie was a fabulous kisser.

  Damn it, he should run— not walk— away from her and her big brown eyes to protect his long-anticipated freedom, but he felt disinclined to move so much as an inch. In fact, it suddenly occurred to him that being a “swinging bachelor” was not all it was cracked up to be. His date last night with the perfect-on-paper-disaster-in-person Claire was proof of the pitfalls of singledom.

  Was it possible that after spending only two months as a carefree man-about-town he was ready to call it quits? Give up the ship, throw in the towel, and involve himself in a meaningful relationship?

  No! He wanted to live it up— have all kinds of guy fun. Sow some oats. Date a hundred women. Yeah. That’s what he wanted.

  Wasn’t it?

  He’d certainly thought so. Until two days ago.

  Now it seemed he only wanted one woman. The sexy brunette who, at this very moment, was following his sisters and niece into the pool. Wanted her so much he felt on the verge of detonation.

  One woman? Whoa! The enormity of that walloped him with the force of a brick to the head. He could practically feel his long-awaited freedom disappearing like steam in a windstorm. No way was he giving up the ship. Damn it, he was going to be a bachelor if it killed him!

  Clearly he was suffering from a case of too-much-work, not-enough-play syndrome. And if Melanie was the one his annoyingly particular libido wanted, so be it. Surely if they slept together, she’d be purged from his system along with everything about her that threatened his lifestyle. As long as he was upfront that he wasn’t looking for a long-term relationship, he wouldn’t feel guilty when they parted ways. He had nothing to lose and everything to gain by pursuing her. What was the worst that could happen?

  She could say no.

  His insides cramped in protest. No was not an option he cared to contemplate, especially when yes was so much better.

  Hmmm. Sleeping with Melanie. Melanie in his bed, tousled from a bout of hot sex. That was definitely something to consider.

  And where better to consider it than in the pool?

  He set aside his Coke, closed his eyes and mentally ran through the multiplication tables until his arousal subsided enough for him to make a run for the pool. He was just about to stand up when Mark jabbed him in the ribs.

  “Holy crap, Chris, she is totally hot,” Mark said in an undertone. “Every time I look at her, my bathing suit gets tight. I’m so horny I can barely think straight.”

  Chris turned to look at his brother. “What?” He must have heard Mark wrong. He didn’t just say horny. His brother couldn’t be lusting after Melanie.

  “I said she’s totally hot. Jee-sus, what a body. I’m not sure what office she’s running for, but she definitely has my vote.”

  Great. His twenty-one-year-old brother had the hots for Melanie. This had to be stopped right now. Melanie was his. Well, she wasn’t his yet. But he meant to change that. ASAP.

  Christ, what was he thinking? He raked his fingers through his hair again in frustration. She wasn’t his. He didn’t want her. Mark was welcome to her.

  Okay, he wanted her and Mark was definitely not welcome to her. But he didn’t want to want her. And he definitely did not want Mark to want her. If Mark so much as touched her, Chris would have to hurt him.

  “Back off, bro,” he drawled in as casual a tone as he could manage. “Melanie’s mine.”

  Mark lowered his sunglasses and peered at him over the rim. “Huh?”

  Chris lowered his own sunglasses and stared right back. “Mine,” he repeated. “Hands off.”

  Mark frowned in obvious confusion, then his expression cleared and he grinned. “Whoa, big brother. Not that Melanie’s not great— and waaaay better than the last few of your dates who were, no offense, utter bores— but I was talking about Zoey.” He let out a low whistle. “She’s freakin’ sizzling.”

  Chris gave him a blank stare. “Zoey? The florist with the unpronounceable last name?” Chris’s mom had introduced them at the house. They’d exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes, then her cell phone rang. She’d excused herself to take the call and that was the last he’d seen of her. And until this second he’d forgotten all about her.

  “Hell, Chris, are you blind? Look at her.” Mark jerked his head toward the other end of the pool. Zoey lounged on a chaise, her curvy body on display in a hot-pink bikini that barely covered the essentials. Her long, curly blond hair was piled on top of her head, and she was flipping through the pages of a magazine.

  “That’s the florist?” Chris couldn’t help but stare for several seconds. The woman was this close to getting arrested for indecent exposure.

  “That’s the florist,” Mark confirmed. “I talked to her for a while back at the house. She only works at the flower shop one day a week. The rest of the time she’s a model for Stacy’s Armoire.”

  “The lingerie company?”

  “Can you believe it? Who would have thought that Cousin Margie’s second cousin’s neighbor’s sister would turn out to be a lingerie model? I can just picture her posing in a thong. Holy hell. Somebody throw cold water on me.” Mark sat up and faced Chris. “Look, I know Mom invited her for you, and I know how you’re into the bachelor thing, and I know this is a request of biblical proportions, but is there any chance you’d consider… ” His voice trailed off.

  Chris smiled and gave Mark a playful punch on the arm. “Knock yourself out.”

  “Seriously? You’d bow out?”

  Chris looked over at Zoey. Her hot-pink bikini top resembled two postage stamps connected by a wisp of dental floss. His gaze shifted to Melanie. And a tingle of anticipation shot through him— a zing that Zoey and her blatantly sexy attire simply didn’t inspire. Damn. He had it bad.

  “Consider me officially bowed,” Chris assured Mark. “Why don’t you mosey on over there? Zoey probably needs someone to rub oil on her back.”

  Mark clutched his heart. “A dreary job, deserving combat pay, but someone’s gotta do it. Can’t have all that luscious female flesh getting sunburned.” He saluted Chris and made his way over to Zoey. Within twenty seconds he was smoothing oil on her back with one hand and giving Chris a thumbs-up with the other.<
br />
  Good. Now at least Chris didn’t have to worry about his mother shoving Zoey at him the rest of the day.

  As if the thought of his mother conjured her up, she suddenly stood beside his lounge chair. “Sylvia and I are heading back to the house to get dinner started,” she said, nodding toward Nana. “You all should plan to head that way soon.”

  “Will do.”

  She leaned closer and said in her sonic-boom whisper, “We all like your girl very much.” Before Chris could think of something damage-control-like to say, she motioned with her eyes toward Mark and Zoey and added, “Am I a matchmaker or what? See you in a few!” With that she sauntered away, chatting with Nana as they exited the pool area.

  Which meant his time at the pool was limited. Which meant it was time to get in the water and do what he’d wanted to do since the moment he’d picked up Melanie— get her to himself.

  Walking to the edge, he made a shallow dive and surfaced several yards from Melanie and his niece. “Uncle Chris!” Amanda squealed. “Toss me high like you did last time!” She turned to her new best friend. “Watch this, Mel. It’s way cool!”

  Chris obligingly tossed Amanda up, catching her before she went under the water, laughing at her shrieks of delight. After the fifteenth toss, he pleaded exhaustion.

  “Gotta rest,” he said, huffing and puffing in an exaggerated way. “I’m an old man. Besides, Grandma said we need to head home for dinner.” When Amanda started to protest, he tousled her hair. “When you get back to the house, look in my gym bag in the family room. There’s a present in there for my favorite girl.”

  Amanda needed no second urging. She hopped out of the pool and ran across the cement, yelling, “C’mon, Mom, we hafta go. Now. Gramma said.”

  “Boy, you know how to clear a room,” Melanie said, her voice laced with amusement as Chris watched his sisters and brothers-in-law exit the pool and gather their belongings.

  He turned to her and barely swallowed the groan of longing that rose in his throat. Damn, she looked good all wet. And she smelled really good, too. Like a tropical drink. One he was dying to taste.