Finding The One (Meadowview Heroes 1; The Meadowview Series 5)

by Rochelle French

  Grape down cleavage, mistaking friendliness for a come-on, hair filled with baby spit—she wasn’t sure this evening could get any worse.

  But then the baby pulled hard with both hands and released the dress’s straps and all of a sudden Gertrude T. Prendergast learned how much worse the night could get.

  Because all she could do was watch helplessly as the broad straps of her dress—straps that also served as her bodice—floated down to droop at her waist.

  Completely baring her breasts to the crowd.

  For a brief moment, as Mac stared at Trudy’s naked breasts, his brain couldn’t figure out what the heck had just happened. Then he wrenched his gaze upward and took in her shocked and humiliated expression. Oh, God, the poor thing. By tugging on her dress straps, his infant nephew had just accidentally bared the woman’s uh…amazing boobs. In the middle of the art gallery, for all to see.

  Instinctively, he pivoted on one foot to stand in front of her—blocking her nakedness from the crowd—then pulled her against him.

  Trudy stared up at him, her face a blank slate, then those mouth lines were back, coupled with a deep line between her brows. A vein transecting her brow beat rapidly. “What are you doing?” she gasped out.

  He peered down at her. “Rescuing you.”

  “You’re hugging me.”

  Her brilliant green eyes flashed. In high heels, her mouth was nearly level with his. Her warm, juicy, lush mouth. He fought the urge to kiss her. Instead, he pressed one hand against her back, clenching her chest tight to his, and deftly snared one of the straps of her dress with his other hand.

  “Get off me!” She struggled, but he held her firm.

  “If I let go of you now, you’ll flash everyone. Again. I’m guessing that’s something you’d rather avoid…”

  Her cheeks heated. “Um, yes.”

  “We look all cuddly at the moment. No one can tell I’m re-dressing you. All you have to do is hold still. I promise I’ll be a perfect gentleman.” He worked the strap of fabric up between their chests, then slid it up and over her shoulder.

  “I can do it myself—”

  “I’ve almost got it,” he added. “I promise no one can tell what I’m doing. It’s dim, with the lights low and the spotlight on Gregor. If anyone even notices, they’d think I’m just hitting on you.”

  She snorted. “You should have helped me with your baby before this disaster happened.”

  “My baby?” He lifted his gaze from hers to look for his sister and nephew. Doe had melted into the crowd, taking Aaron with her. At least the little bugger had let go of Trudy’s dress. “Aaron’s not my baby.” His fingers found the other silken strap.

  “But he called you ‘Dada.’”

  “Contrary to popular belief, an infant’s first word isn’t ‘Mama,” it’s ‘Dada.’ I’m sure moms all over the world glare at their husbands regularly, but who am I to argue with a baby?”

  “So that woman isn’t your wife?”

  Realization formed. “You mean Doe? She’s my sister.”

  Trudy pulled back, her eyes squinted tight and her brow wrinkled, but in a cute I’m-so-confused way, not an I’m-gonna-kill-you way. “Oh, wow. Total mistake on my part.”

  Maybe Trudy had been dissing him because she thought him a two-timing pig. Hope flared. He could fix this situation. If Trudy would let him. After all, he’d been a bit of a pain this evening. Not that he’d meant to be, but hey—miscommunication happened. And he’d had a boatload of miscommunication with the radiant woman standing before him tonight.

  He chuckled.

  She frowned.

  But the downturn of her lips didn’t match the warmth in her eyes. In such close proximity, he caught a whiff of her scent. An intoxicating aroma of something sweet and— “You smell like a salad.”

  “What?” Trudy pulled back. The fabric slipped.

  “Don’t move,” he warned. “You smell like carrots, or maybe lettuce or something. Nothing to do with the food on the plate you’re holding,” he added quickly. “And flowers, too. So I guess you smell more like a garden. Huh. I’ve never been around someone who smells like a garden before. Very sexy.” He sneaked a peek at Trudy’s face.

  She shifted until their mouths were a mere inch apart, puzzlement written across her face. “It’s…it’s my shampoo. Cucumber mint.”

  He inhaled. “Smells delicious.” He dipped his face closer to her neck, his hands still working the straps behind her.

  “Um, thank you?” she said. After a pause, she added, “You know, I do appreciate you rescuing me.”

  “My pleasure.” Mac traded positions with his hands and fished around for the other strap. He worked the soft silk up her chest. Someone bumped him from behind and his hand slipped.

  Trudy sucked in a deep breath.

  “Sorry. Unintentional.”

  “Really,” she drawled out, raising an eyebrow. But the corners of her mouth were raised. A good sign.

  “Yes, really. I’m being a gentleman, which, believe me, isn’t all that easy right now.” He maneuvered the silk and got both straps to cover her breasts. “Knot or bow?” he asked.

  “What? Oh, knot. Make that a double knot.”

  Mac closed his eyes and let his hands linger at the nape of her neck. Her skin under his fingertips felt as soft as silk sheets. He breathed in the scent of her hair again. Cucumber and mint, huh? Who would have thought that would be so enticing? He pulled the straps together behind her neck and tied a neat square not. Then he looped it again. “There. All concealed.”

  “Thanks.” Trudy heaved a breath. “You can let me go now.”

  “I’d rather not.” Mac loosened his grip but kept one arm wrapped around her, gently caressed the small of her back. He caught the attention of a passing waiter, then took the plate of food and the now-flat champagne from Trudy’s hand and placed them on the waiter’s tray. Then he caught her gaze. For a moment they stood, silent, connecting visually the same way they’d done earlier, when he’d been up on the balcony after she’d been attacked by a flying grape.

  The tension in her back released. That cute quirk of a smile came back.

  Mac’s pulse raced. No part of him wanted to let her go. The two of them most definitely needed to start over. He’d reintroduce himself, then introduce her to Doe and Aaron as his sister and nephew. But he wouldn’t introduce his father. Tonight he just wanted to be Mac, not Mac Johns, son of world-renown sculptor Gregor Johansson. Just this once he wanted to rest on his own laurels and not any residuals from his father. He could always get to “the son of” part later.

  “I know,” he said, leaning close to her ear, “let’s have a do-over.”

  Trudy wrinkled her brow. “A what?”

  “I’ll pretend like I didn’t see the grape”—Trudy blushed—“or your incredible, um, assets”—Trudy’s blush deepened—“and you pretend like you never thought I had a kid and was married. You know, a do-over.”

  * * *

  “A do-over,” Trudy repeated. Huh. She considered Mac’s proposal. Not an easy process, what with Mac’s firm body still pressed up against hers, causing all sorts of inappropriate thoughts to go through her mind (there were three condoms in her purse, right?). She stared into those hot blue eyes, and any coherency she’d once possessed dissipated, replaced by a powerful sexual draw.

  She gave herself a mental shake. Focus, Trudy. When Mac had pointed to her cleavage while he was up on the balcony, she’d thought he’d been laughing at her. But apparently he really had been flirting, although not very well, in her opinion. Then she’d gone all Wicked Bitch of the West on him. Following that, she’d erroneously assumed he was a married man.

  And even after she’d given him her best stank-eye and treated him like a stinky pile of manure, Mac had rescued her from broad humiliation, especially from her hopefully future employer. Now here he stood, asking for a second chance.

  He ran a light hand down her spine. “Well?”

  She shivere
d, not from cold but from intense attraction. Gregor Johansson was nowhere in sight, and she was pretty sure she’d noticed him ducking out of an exit while Mac was tying up her dress straps. And here this gorgeous and sexy guy was asking her for a do-over. She nibbled her lip as she considered the options…

  “C’mon,” Mac said. “Let’s try. I’ll pretend we’d never met, and you’ll do the same. What’s to lose?”

  “You do have a point,” she answered slowly, figuring she could go home now, or she could start over with the man who’d made her insides quiver from the very moment she set eyes on him.

  “Agreed. I’m in.” She leaned back far enough to hold out her hand for him to shake. “Hi, I’m Trudy. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Mac released his grip on her to take her hand in his. He bent and placed a kiss on the back of her hand. “I’m Mac. And the feeling’s mutual.”

  “Dada,” an infant’s voice interrupted.

  She laughed. The baby was back. The baby who’d single-handedly—well double-fistedly, to be accurate—bared her “girls.” Mac’s nephew—not his son.

  “Ehem.” Mac’s sister—not his wife—edged her way between them, the baby on her hip and the tall man who’d been on the balcony with Mac earlier at her side. “Planning on introducing us?”

  Mac rolled his eyes. “Trudy, meet my sister and nephew, Doe and Aaron, and my friend, Remy Toussaint.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Doe jiggled the wide-smiling baby on her hip. She turned to Mac. “I gotta head back to Meadowview. I need to get this squirt to bed sometime this century. Besides, Mister Celebrity Artist we just celebrated wants me to finish arranging a trip to Europe for him early in the morning. Apparently, I need to actually work in order to get a paycheck.”

  Wait—had the girl just inferred she worked for Gregor Johansson? The very man Trudy needed to save her career, her loft, and basically her life as she knew it? Maybe Doe could help her meet the man. “You work for the artist?” Trudy asked.

  Rather than answering, Doe let out a yelp. She smacked her brother in the arm, flashing him a pointed look. “Did you just kick me?”

  Mac raised his eyebrows at his sister. “No, I believe you stepped into my foot.”

  Puzzled, Trudy watched as a series of glances were tossed back and forth between brother and sister. Some sort of odd sibling dynamic, she figured, used to her own silent wars with Milla.

  Mac turned his attention back to her. “Doe occasionally works for Gregor,” he answered slowly.

  “And his know-it-all son,” Doe added, then quickly dodged her brother again.

  “Um…in that case, do you think you could introduce me to Mr. Johansson? I’d love to meet him.” Trudy left off the “because I want him to hire me” part of that sentence. She figured these folks didn’t need to know she was desperate for the contract with the sculptor.

  “Um, sure…but not tonight,” Doe said. “Sorry, but he left already.”

  “He’s gone?” Mac asked, his voice a little sharp and the lines around his mouth a bit tight as he looked at his sister.

  “Yep.” Doe nodded. “He’s driving himself back to Meadowview. And Remy here is taking Aaron and me home. What about you two?” She flicked her gaze between Trudy and Mac, an eyebrow raised.

  “I’m taking Trudy out for a drink,” Mac said.

  “Wait—what?” She hadn’t agreed to go out with him yet, had she? She glanced around for Milla, then mentally kicked herself. She was being a ninny. This guy was gorgeous. Condom-worthy. But her sister’s seal of approval would make her more comfortable before she went out with the guy. Milla had great taste in men—Trudy’s brother-in-law Jarrod was a prime example.

  Mac cupped her elbow in his hand and brought his head close to hers. “C’mon,” he murmured in her ear. “Let me buy you a drink. It would be a great start to our do-over.”

  She fought to suppress a smile. This guy was charming as well as sexy.

  He backed up and held her gaze. “Hey, I’m a nice guy, once you get to know me. And I’ll be a perfect gentleman,” he said, loud enough to capture his sister’s attention. “My sister can vouch for me.”

  “Wish I could.” Doe shoved Aaron in his arms. “I’d trust Mac with my life, and his best friend Remy here is a sheriff. But my brother’s far from a gentleman—”

  “I’m turning over a new leaf,” Mac said, frowning. He turned to Trudy. “For the first time in a long time, something—no, make that someone—is inspiring me.” He flashed a grin. “I promise I’ll behave.”

  Trudy turned to the man standing silently at Doe’s side. “You’re really a sheriff?”

  “Yep,” Remy said, pulling aside his blazer to flash a badge attached to his belt. “Up in Deloro County. And Doe’s not telling the full story. He treats women right, even”—he notched his chin at a grinning Doe—“his pain-in-the-rear little sister here, although she puts him through the wringer. He’s trustworthy.”

  “Yeah, Remy’s right,” Doe fake-sighed, then smiled and nudged her with an elbow. “Besides, you look nice. You’d probably be good for my brother. Plus, if you turn him down, he’ll moon and mope for the next month or two or five, and I’m the one who’s going to have to hear about it. Please, save me the headache.”

  Trudy couldn’t help herself—she laughed.

  Maybe the night wouldn’t end up a complete waste, after all. Mac, apparently, did want to get to know her. And he did interest her, too. She’d have to find a new way to reach Gregor, but this guy might be a nice distraction from her problems for one night. After all, he made her toes curl.

  And in a really, really good way.

  “All right,” she said. She’d wait for Milla to get back from the ladies’ room and let her know she was going out with Mac for a drink. They’d driven separately, so Milla wouldn’t be relying on Trudy for a ride. And given that Mac had an actual sheriff vouching for him, Milla wouldn’t need to interrogate the man—or get out her smart phone and Google his bona fides right then and there as she’d done before (embarrassing, sure, but the act had saved Trudy from dating a guy whose Facebook posts consisted entirely of cute kitten memes). Besides, Milla would probably fist bump Trudy, then check to make sure Trudy still had those condoms.

  “A drink, then?” Mac asked, a hopeful look on his face.

  She smiled. “One. Just one.”

  “You won’t regret it.” Mac’s mouth stretched into a smile, then he slipped her hand through the crook of his arm. Heat emanated from his body as he tucked her in close.

  This time, the butterflies playing soccer in her stomach weren’t from nerves…they were from excitement.

  * * *

  An hour later, Mac wanted Trudy even more. Before the two of them had headed over to the bar, she’d seen her sister off and he’d made sure Remy was taking Doe and Aaron back to Meadowview, leaving him and Trudy free to see where the night would lead them. They’d spent the last hour in the quiet hotel bar across the street from the art gallery doing something Mac rarely did with a woman on a first date—they were getting to know each other, and very well, too. They’d sipped dirty martinis (two for him, one for Trudy), as they’d agreed and debated on opinions of art, politics, and religion.

  Amazing. The woman underneath the flaming red mane of hair and behind the snapping green eyes captivated him completely. Trudy showed an iron strength wrapped in a cloak of vulnerability that intrigued him to no end.

  Like the woman he saw as his Warrior Woman.

  And she was freaking hot.

  But could part of this attraction be connected to how well she portrayed the images he wanted to capture in his art? Trudy’s strength and innocence certainly conveyed every trait of his warrior woman. She’d said she modeled—but would she want to model for him? A model like her had to be in big demand.

  He had a stack of portfolios on his desk at home, sent over from various modeling agencies. He hadn’t yet gone through them all, but he’d throw them out in an instant if Tru
dy was interested. But he still felt torn between his desire to photograph her and his craving to sleep with her.

  He glanced at her. Trudy swirled the olives in her drink, lifted up the toothpick, and pulled one off with her teeth. Oh yeah, baby. Arousal jabbed at him, the way it had back at the gallery. Thank god his sister and Remy had convinced Trudy he was a good guy. And they’d also convinced her sister, Milla, although that hadn’t seemed too hard to do. The pregnant woman had seemed a bit protective of her sister, but excited to know Trudy had a date (although her actual words were, “good for you, sis, hooking up with a hot one”).

  Underneath the table, Trudy’s leg brushed his, the touch inspiring heat to flood his midsection. Holy hell. Could she be sending him the let’s-do-it-now signal? Was she just as interested?

  “Last call,” the bartender called out.

  Damn. He didn’t want his time with Trudy to end. He had a room in the hotel—since he had a meeting with Ian Ackerley in the morning, he’d decided to stay in Sacramento overnight instead of making the two-hour trip back to Meadowview. Maybe he should mention the room to her and see how she reacted. Because if he was reading the look she was giving him, the half-lidded intense message of seduction, she wanted to keep the night going, too.

  Or maybe he’d better hurry up and ask her about modeling for him before things got too personal.

  Confusion had his mind all twisted up, and the dirty martinis (yeah, right, blame it on the martinis) were so not helping.

  Was it better to ask her now about modeling now, or after the date was over? Maybe it was better to come clean. Let her know she inspired him, and that if she wanted work, he had a contract for a model out there…

  Yeah, he’d better be up front about his mixed desires. Let her make the decision.

  “You mentioned back at the gallery you were networking,” he said. “I’m assuming that means you’re looking for work. I’m—” He cut himself off, catching her new expression.