by Nicola Marsh
“I’m here to work, remember?”
“In that case, work. Consider me your first customer.”
He tapped his bottom lip as if deep in thought and scanned the tables. “Excuse me, Miss, could you recommend this?”
He picked up a crotch-less black lace teddy. “I’m involved with this really hot woman and I want to keep the fires burning when I’m not around so would this do the trick?”
Whoa. Had he just said what she thought he’d said? Her mind spun with the implications while her pulse skyrocketed at the thought of him doing the stoking he was so damn good at.
Why would he want to keep her fires burning when he wasn’t around unless he planned on returning?
Determined to keep the conversation light for now she fell into his role-play with gusto.
“I can see Sir is a man with good taste. Perhaps the lady in question would prefer something a little less obvious? Something like this?”
She picked up a white silk nightgown, tame compared with the other racy items surrounding it, until held up to the light where it’s sheer bodice came into its own.
Marc’s eyes widened as he registered the transparency of the silk. “Yeah, this is perfect.”
His gaze locked on hers, hot, intense, loaded, as he handed her the nightgown and his hand brushed hers. “I’ll take it.”
Electricity shot up her arm like she’d stuck her finger in a socket, the latent desire between them flaring in an instant. She’d never get enough of him, the heat he generated with a single look enough to melt her on the spot.
They had to make this work, whatever it took.
“Would you like it gift wrapped, Sir?”
She stared up at him from beneath her lashes as she stepped behind the cash register. “So the lucky lady gets a surprise.”
He reached across the counter and captured her hand, his thumb sliding over her pulse point in slow, concentric circles, setting her heart pounding.
“You think she’s lucky?”
Her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips and his gaze riveted to it, her rampant need reflected in his eyes. “Very.”
“In that case she’s about to get a whole lot luckier.”
He tugged on her hand until she had no option but to sidle around the counter and slide into his arms.
“Sounds promising,” she said, sucking in a breath as he kissed the hollow of her neck, his mouth tracing a meandering, lazy trail upward where he captured her lips.
“Ever done it in a tent?” He murmured, one hand pulling her flush against him while the other slid under her top and toyed with the clasp on her bra, his fingers tickling her skin.
“Not yet, but there’s a first time for everything. Oooh,” she breathed out on a sigh as he flicked the clasp and it gave way, freeing her breasts. Her nipples rasped against the lace, replaced by his thumbs brushing them in a slow, deliberate tease.
“Want to give it a try?”
He nuzzled her neck again while his hands drove her crazy, cupping her breasts, stroking them, creating magic as only he could.
“I forgot my—” Belle stepped into the tent and they sprung apart, Sierra mortified, Marc grinning.
“Never mind.” Belle beat a hasty exit while Sierra readjusted her top and glared at Marc, who thrust his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “Not my fault your friends like to watch.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Cupid’s Tips for the Enlightened Male
Women don’t appreciate sleazy underwear for Christmas.
Flo waited until she spied Will opening her front gate before grabbing her handbag and slipping out the door. She wanted to make it look like she was on her way out, not all dressed up and waiting for him.
She may be desperate, no use advertising the fact.
She sauntered down the path, grateful her makeover didn’t include heeled shoes. Her ankles wouldn’t have lasted five minutes in stilts and she towered over most people all ready. Luckily, Will was about an inch taller. After Charlie she’d had it with short men. Her dearly departed had been short in every way.
She knew the exact moment Will caught sight of her, for the dapper butler who never put a foot wrong stumbled.
“Watch your step, Will. Those cracks in the sidewalk can be a killer.”
William straightened and tugged at the hem of his jacket, his glance discreetly flicking over her before settling on her face. “You look very nice. Special occasion?”
Very nice? That’s all the old fool could come up with? He may come from the Mother Country but he sure as hell was no Shakespeare.
“Something like that.”
The special occasion being trying to get his attention, the silly bugger.
“I was hoping to have a cup of tea with you but maybe some other time?”
Was that disappointment she glimpsed in his blue eyes? She loved that blue, the color of Sydney Harbor on a crisp spring day. She hadn’t seen it in a long while but her memories hadn’t fade and if she were lucky she’d see it again before she curled her toes up in the big outback in the sky.
Disappointment was good. Disappointment meant he’d been looking forward to spending time with her. Time to reel him in a little.
“Yeah, some other time. I was on my way to Love Fest.” She sucked in a breath, hoping her cigarette-infused vocal cords didn’t quiver. Now or never. “You’re welcome to come along? It’ll be a hoot.”
“Love Fest?”
She almost laughed out loud at his supercilious eyebrow quirk.
“It’s the local festival, happens once a year before Christmas. People come from everywhere.” She gestured toward the town center. “I’m walking down there so you’re welcome to join me.”
“I’d like that.”
Flo’s heart gave a kick like a mule as Will fell into step beside her, pausing to hold open the gate. She could get used to this. Charlie would’ve barreled through the gate first and slammed it for good luck.
Damn, she had to stop comparing him to Charlie. They were the clichéd chalk and cheese; an old, dusty, worn out nub of chalk in comparison to a prize winning Camembert.
An awkward silence descended, crazy considering they’d chatted nonstop over cups of tea at her place the last few days.
Maybe her appearance was scaring him rather than impressing? Surely a man with his obvious taste—look at how the old coot dressed, in his fancy-shmancy ties and jackets—would like a woman to get dolled up a little? Or perhaps he liked the untrimmed-wild-grey-curls-no-makeup-look? Fat chance.
“I love this town.”
His words floored her. Sure, Love had its charms but what would a man who’d traveled extensively see in a backwater place like this?
“Really?”
She tried to keep the skepticism out of her voice but failed.
“It reminds of Bourton-on-the-Water in the Cotswolds. Not the architecture or scenery but the general feel of the place.”
He paused and shot her a sideways look that would’ve made her knees weak if she were prone to that sort of thing. “The warmth of the locals especially.”
Heck. The old codger was flirting with her. This makeover stuff worked wonders.
“Anyone in particular?”
If his words had floored her she almost passed out when he took hold of her hand.
“You’re a charming woman, Flo. Utterly charming.”
“Get away with you,” she said, flattered beyond belief. She should tug her hand out of his before Essie or Rosa saw them.
On second thoughts, let them. Why shouldn’t she have a little of what everyone else in this town had?
“I like what you’ve done with your hair, by the way. You look lovely.”
“You’re a charmer,” she said, blushing for the first time in forty years. “Glad you like it.”
The silence was more comfortable as they strolled toward the town square where a huge Ferris wheel could be seen over the treetops.
He cleared his throat, stopped and she
silently cursed her new shoes, the soles skidding along the footpath. If he hadn’t been holding her hand she would’ve fallen flat on her arse.
“There’s something I want to ask you.”
Last check up, the doc had said her heart bordered on tachycardia. The way it was racing now, the quack could be right.
Will squeezed her hand. “We hardly know each other, but I want to change that.”
She added shortness of breath to her growing list of medical complaints.
He frowned a little. “At my age I have no idea if I’m interested in seeing someone. I’m stuck in my ways. I’m organized, efficient—”
“Anal.”
His eyebrows shot heavenward and she mentally booted herself up the arse, relieved when his compressed lips eased into a smile.
“I’m devoted to my job and not really interested in change.” He took a deep breath. “But if you want to take some time getting to know each other, maybe I can continue visiting after Marc returns to the city?”
His grip tightened on hers as if daring her to disagree.As if she would.
“Be my guest.”
An overnight one, preferably, and she almost giggled. It had been so long she wouldn’t know what to do.
“Good. Now that’s settled, take me to the fair.” His smile made her heart pound and for a moment she wondered if the palpitations had morphed into cardiac arrest. Damn, and before they’d got to any of the good stuff.
Weak knees? Pounding heart? She managed a feeble smile, thinking, “I’m too old for this shite,” and loving every minute of it.
Marc sipped his flat white and struggled not to grimace. Diner coffee wouldn’t be one of the things he missed about this town. Sierra was right; he was a coffee-snob and proud of it. If a man couldn’t get a decent Ristretto when he needed one, where was the justice?
Forcing down another sip, he saw Eric Grayson enter and wend his way around tables toward him. Little wonder the PI had taken so long to come up with anything. The wiry detective ambled at snail’s pace.
Eric’s phone call had promised information and Marc should’ve been ecstatic. Instead, he was strangely ambivalent about his save-mom-from-the-farmer quest now he knew Hank. The man was a decent, stand-up guy and treated his mom like a queen, which is what she deserved after putting up with George for so long.
Sierra had been right, had probably issued that challenge for him to stick around Love to get to know Hank for that very reason.
To give her credit she’d kept her end of the deal by stalling the wedding if his mom’s complaints were anything to go by but now he could leave town happy, secure in the knowledge his mom had made a wise choice.
“Marc.” Eric shook his hand before sliding into the booth opposite. “How are you?”
“Fine, thanks. Drink?”
Eric shook his head. “Got work up to here.” He chopped at his neck. “Sorry about the delay, been snowed under the last week.”
Eric’s averted look-away raised Marc’s hackles. Eric had something to tell him and he didn’t look too thrilled about it.
“What did you come up with?”
Eric glanced around, as if ensuring their privacy and leaned forward. “This information is strictly confidential.”
“Right.”
Marc’s foreboding increased. Maybe he’d been celebrating too soon?
“Hank Stevens isn’t his real name.”
Shit. The guy had an alias?
“His name is Hank Steven Warner and he’s more than a farmer.”
More? Marc instantly imagined the worst. Drug lord? Brothel owner?
“Heard of Warner Haulage?”
“Yeah, they’re huge.”
“Biggest transport company in California. Owns farms from Imperial Valley to San Joaquin. You name it, those farms produce it. And package and transport. The whole kit and caboodle. Hank’s—”
“What are you two gossiping about?”
Flo thumped him on the back and Marc silently cursed his landlady’s poor timing. “We’re in the middle of something—”
Flo ignored him. “Hey Eric. Haven’t seen you in a while. How’s the spy business?”
Eric folded his arms and sat back, content to make small talk while Marc wanted answers, now.
“It’s not spying, it’s investigating.”
Marc had to intervene before his landlady launched into one of her long-winded conversations. “Flo, we really need to wrap up this meeting—”
“Investigating? Fancy term for sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
She cackled and waved Marc back when he opened his mouth to interrupt again. “Speaking of which, how do you two know each other?”
Marc shot Eric a warning glare. “Business. Something we need to get back to?”
Marc hoped his mustered innocence held up under the scrutiny of Flo’s suspicious stare.
“Better not be funny business.” She leaned over him. “Poking into matters that don’t concern you only ends in trouble. If you’re spying on Hank and Liv—”
“You have nothing to worry about.”
But he did, starting with discovering the true identity of the man his mom was betrothed to.
Casting one last, shrewd glare his way through narrowed eyes, Flo straightened. “Yell if you need anything.”
“Shall do…” Eric clamped his lips shut when Marc glanced at his watch and tapped its face.
He waited until Flo waddled away before slamming his palms on the table.
“I want answers. Now.”
Eric held up his hands. “Okay, okay. Warner Haulage? Hank’s the owner.”
What the…? Warner Haulage. Hank Warner.
No frigging way.
“Yep, our Hank’s successful. I’ve collated the details in a full report back at the office. Just need to print it off.”
Stunned, Marc shook his head. “You’re sure about this?”
Eric stood. “I know my job. You wanted information, I got it for you.”
“Thanks.”
Marc shook Eric’s hand in a daze, relieved his soon-to-be stepfather wasn’t involved in a drug cartel, annoyed his mom and Sierra hadn’t told him.
They’d let him make a fool of himself when a simple word about Hank’s identity would’ve sent him on his way. With Sierra’s warped logic she’d probably wanted to teach him a lesson and his mom had been in on it.
“I’ll drop by the office, pick up that report and settle my account.”
Eric nodded. “Fine. Remember the info’s classified? Hank values his privacy.”
Marc couldn’t fault him there. “No worries. Thanks.”
Eric left and Marc asked a waitress for a refill. Showed how stunned he was by Eric’s revelation, needing a top up of diner coffee.
He owed Hank an apology for doubting him.
As for the two most important women in his life, he needed to have a little chat with both.
Hank had a plan. Cook lunch for Liv and once they’d finished, drop his bombshell over their traditional cup of tea with Mozart playing in the background. It seemed the perfect plan until the phone rang.
Olivia answered, listened briefly, before handing him the receiver with a resigned roll of her eyes. “It’s for you. Tad McKennie. Says it’s important.”
“Hell,” he muttered, taking the receiver and wondering what had gone wrong now.
He’d traveled to the Imperial Valley farms several times over the last week, personally overseeing employee relations thanks to a rogue manager. He’d thought everything was sorted. He’d thought wrong.
“Hank, you better get out here pronto. Looks like the entire staff on Scott’s farm are ready to walk out and we’ve got that massive avocado order to fill.”
Hank glanced across the kitchen to where Liv sat, toying with the steak on her plate. “Can’t you handle it?”
“Sorry. The employees won’t speak to anyone but you.”
He rubbed his forehead in the hope to stave off a bli
nder of a headache. The avocado contract was worth millions, though the money wasn’t the primary issue. He valued his workers and if they were ready to walk, work relations at Scott’s farm had to be disastrous.
“I’ll leave straight away. Be there soon as I can.”
“Good. I’ll try and keep the peace ‘til then.”
Hank hung up and turned to Liv. Her stony expression chilled him. He’d left her in the lurch several times recently and looked like she was tiring of it. He hoped she’d understand once she learned the truth. Unfortunately, that would have to wait for now.
“Liv, I—”
“Have to go. I heard.”
He crossed the kitchen, knelt beside her chair, grabbed her hand and kissed it. “Sorry, love. I’ll fix the problem and be back as soon as I can.”
“What problem?”
She hadn’t questioned him before, content to accept when he had to go to the Valley on farming business. Not that he could blame her. He’d be downright suspicious if she scooted off on business every other day.
“Tell you all about it when I get home. Promise.” He kissed her full on the mouth, saddened by her lack of response. “Sorry about lunch.”
She stood and crossed to the sink with a mumbled, “Hmm,” and it took all his willpower not to sweep her into his arms and take her into the bedroom, lock the door and make love to her, so he could hold her in his arms afterward and spill the truth.
“Just go.”
She refused to look at him and he hoped to God she wasn’t crying.
“Liv, I love you.”
He squashed his Stetson on his head, picked up his keys and headed out the door, cursing his business for interrupting what promised to be the most important speech of his life.
Though it wasn’t a total disaster. He’d fix the problem at the farm and be back home later tonight, when he’d tell her everything.
He’d ring Eric, get him to hold off telling Marc until tomorrow and everything would be fine.
As Hank started the SUV and headed down the long, winding drive, he didn’t see Liv staring at him from the back window, tears trickling down her cheeks.
Sierra cradled her coffee mug while scanning the front page of the LA Times. She hadn’t had a spare moment recently and taking a few minutes to read the newspaper was a luxury.
