All for You

by Christi Barth

  Gray and Ward both snickered. And then their heads cracked around faster than a whip to stare at the man walking by. He looked pretty ordinary to Zane. Dark hair and eyes that put his ancestry as Black Irish. Maybe a decade’s more laugh lines around his eyes than Zane. A pressed blue button-down shirt, jeans—nothing to distinguish him from all the other men at the hotel.

  “What the hell are you doing out of the kitchen?” asked Gray. Shock reverberated from every word. Topped with a serious dash of bewilderment.

  The man’s gaze shifted along the floorboards, then over to the door. “I have a thing.”

  “I know. It’s called dinner service. As head chef, this shouldn’t be news to you. Since it normally takes us turning off the lights around you to lure you out of the kitchen.”

  “My staff has it in hand. The rush is over.” He jammed his hands in his pockets and failed miserably at looking casual. Zane had been studying people his whole life. That kind of fake nonchalance indicated either a burglar making off with a priceless work of art, or a woman. Oh, yeah. He looked a little closer. Noticed the damp curls of hair brushing the collar of his shirt, like the man had just run a wet comb through it. Tried to spiff himself up. Yep. It was a woman, all right.

  Zane specialized in asking uncomfortably personal questions of total strangers. He saw no reason to hold himself back tonight. “Hot date, right?”

  With the measured and simultaneous speed of windshield wipers, Gray and Ward swiveled to look at Zane, and then back to the foot-shifting man. “Huh. You holding out on us, Joel?” Ward grilled with fingers cocked like a gun at the other man.

  “What? No. Why?” The staccato rhythm of the words matched the sharp jerks of his head. To Zane’s trained gaze, he couldn’t look more guilty if he tried to pull off this denial with a swimsuit model strapped to his chest.

  Pointing a lazy hand at Zane, Gray added, “Dr. Buchanan here is an expert on human behavior. Did he nail it? Do you have a secret woman?”

  “No. No woman. I mean, she is a woman, but she’s not a secret and she’s not that kind of a woman. Not a date. No.”

  Zane didn’t buy it. Grown men didn’t babble like that unless it was exactly that kind of a woman. But clearly whoever she was? A big-ass secret, at least from these two. And he felt kind of bad for making a man built like a Navy SEAL squirm under his just-for-fun scrutiny. “Sorry for the false alarm.” He stuck out a hand. “Zane Buchanan. A not-always-right expert.”

  “Joel McMurray. Executive chef here at Mayhew Manor.” A semi-hearty laugh. “We all miss the mark occasionally. I’ve burned a few souffles in my time. No harm done.”

  Gray’s eyes were still narrowed in disbelief. “So if it’s not a willing woman, what’s dragging you away from dinner service?”

  “Dawn texted me that the motion-sensor light in her backyard came loose. It’s flapping all over the place. Going off and on every ten seconds and driving her nuts. I figured I’d head over now and fix it. Shouldn’t take long.”

  “We certainly don’t want our mayor going round the bend,” said Ward. “Remind her she could’ve called me. I’m always happy to help out.”

  “She knows she can count on you. You’re like the son she never asked for who eats all her food.”

  “We all have our special talents.”

  Joel ran a hand to smooth his hair. Cleared his throat. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

  Zane scanned all three again. Gray and Ward looked like they bought his story. Joel looked like he wanted to escape before they realized it’d been a load of bull. Sure, the light was probably broken. But who combed their hair and changed shirts to fix a loose light? To be precise, Zane’s expertise was in analyzing why people blindly gave up all their possessions and free will to follow a megalomaniac. But a guy dick over heels for a woman acted pretty much the same way.

  So he knew he was right. Something was going on between Joel and the mayor. Question was, who knew and why more people didn’t. One more mystery he’d have to dig into during his stay. Just because it’d drive him nuts not to find out the whole story. His schedule was filling up nicely. Teach one class a week. Find a possibly imaginary submarine. Get to the bottom of the chef’s secret. And at the top of the list, in bold and all caps, get his lips on Casey again as soon as possible.

  Gray stood. “We were about to grab some nachos. Interested? Even though they’ll evidently be made by our second-string chef?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Zane hadn’t eaten since...hmmm. Red-eye from Phoenix to LaGuardia, then the drive to the Finger Lakes, followed by a spin through the Hobart sociology department before a late check-in and his dive in the lake. So maybe the airport club sandwich last night? The end result was that he could not just eat some nachos. Zane could take down a whole menu page from the pub-type lounge a few steps down the hall. He jumped up to fall into step with the others. “I think I burned up an entire layer of body fat trying not to freeze to death in that lake of yours.”

  Gray threw back his head and laughed, the sound filling the hallway as Ward joined in, too. “That’s why you borrowed my equipment? To dive in Seneca Lake?”

  “Yep.” Guess these guys knew about the super-cold water just below the surface. At least laughing kept them from calling him an idiot.

  “At night? In just those trunks?” More laughter.

  Smoothly, Zane replied, “You didn’t leave a wet suit lying around that I could appropriate.”

  One last snicker escaped as Gray steered him into the stone-walled room and across its expanse, past an enormous plasma screen playing a Yankees game. The high-topped tables were full of fans, judging from the yells as a line drive turned into a double. “How short-sighted of me.”

  Ward clapped him high on the arm, hard enough he had to catch himself before running into a waitress with a tray full of margaritas. “Your blood must’ve turned to slush.”

  It had. But Zane didn’t regret the experience one bit. Not when he factored in the de-icing he’d gotten from Casey. “It got thawed out plenty by my first welcoming committee.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “A gorgeous forest ranger. A veritable dryad in khaki. She saw me stumbling, half-frozen, out of the water and flipped into rescue mode. Wrapped me up in a blanket, which I didn’t really need after getting a good look at her. Blond braids, which are crazy sexy. Tight little body. Then she kissed me full out. Like I was the last guy in the world.”

  Ward pushed through the door onto the patio after making some elaborate gestures at the bartender that Zane guessed encompassed their order of nachos and another round of beers. They sat in the Adirondack chairs clustered a ways back from a blazing fire pit, just enough to take the chill off the breeze from the lake. “Did you get a name?”

  “Eventually. Wasn’t easy, though.” Another secret for him to unearth. He ought to make a list.

  “Casey Hobbes?”

  The right answer, flung out so quickly, caught Zane off-guard, although it shouldn’t have. Just an excellent example of the everyone knows everyone vagaries of small-town life. Then the brain cells that had short-circuited from her steamy kisses came back online. She’d mentioned that her friends ran the Manor. “As a matter of fact, yes.”

  “No surprise.” A smug smile accompanied a slow nod of Ward’s head. “Casey specializes in flings.”

  Gray’s eyebrows shot to the top of his skull. “Really? Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve sampled a whole buffet of women before settling on my entrée.” He leaned over the wide arm of his chair toward Zane. “I got a kiss my first night here, too.”

  “Must be something in the water,” Zane murmured.

  “Better hope not. ’Cause my kiss landed me a fiancée. Chances are slim you’d be lucky enough to find a woman half as wonderful as my Ella.”

  A place to settle down was what called to
Zane. Not a woman. Sure, he enjoyed them. He enjoyed how their facile minds worked in completely different ways from the male of the species. He got a kick out of the way they dressed up in lace and heels and sinful smelling perfume just to convince a man to undress them. Zane freaking loved the hours he spent between the sheets with women.

  But falling for one full time? No way. Not yet. He needed...well, he didn’t know just how many, but probably several...many?...more of them sliding in and out of his life. Not exactly notched on his belt, but to act as padding between him and the memory of his ex-wife.

  “I don’t want a fiancée. I just want a date. Or a chance at one. With Casey.”

  “You’re obviously a smart guy, Doc. She kissed you already, right? Unless you botched that, it shouldn’t be too hard to figure out what to do next.”

  “Tell me where to find her. I can take it from there.”

  Ward and Gray exchanged a level glance. Then Ward took the lead. “She’s one of my best friends. Promise to treat her well, and I’ll tell you where she works.”

  Tricky. Zane could promise a lot of things. As a man of his word, he’d stand by all of them. What he couldn’t promise, though, was how Casey might eventually interpret any of his actions. He’d just change the wording a bit, as any good scholar would, to be more precise. “I promise she’ll have fun with me. And that she won’t regret a moment we spend together.”

  Gray let out a low whistle. “Does a promise that steep come with a money-back guarantee?”

  “That’s for Casey to negotiate,” Zane answered with a cocky grin. “But speaking of money, I’d like to try diving again. If I do it up right and sign any form you shove in front of me, can I rent all your scuba gear—including a wetsuit?”

  Ward squinted in the direction of the black vastness of the lake. “Why do you want to?”

  “Why do people climb Mt. Everest? Or hike into the caldera of a volcano?”

  “Because they’re nuts?” suggested Gray.

  “Because it’s there. Or, in this case, because the sub might be there.” Which was all the incentive Zane needed to do just about anything. The power of might spurred him on every time.

  Ward hooted. “You’re a treasure hunter? Going after the submarine that’s as real as the Loch Ness Monster? Here I thought college professors were smart.”

  “Let me ask you—have you ever seen the submarine?”

  “Of course not. Nobody has. Because it’s just a story locals like to tell tourists to watch them ooh and ahh.”

  “Okay, but have you ever not seen it? As in, gone down looking for it and definitively proven that there’s nothing but water and more water down there?”

  “Of course not.”

  “That’s why I have to look. When something interests me, I don’t let up. I find out everything.” Funny. Zane was talking about the submarine. But as he spoke, the lush curves and soft mouth of his ranger invaded his thoughts. Why had she been so reluctant to share her name? Why didn’t she want official recognition for saving him? How many more kisses could he tease out of her? He didn’t plan on waiting long to find out.

  Chapter Three

  Casey assumed doctors spent eight years in medical school to learn how to use a scalpel, not how to plow through paperwork. But at least they expected to deal with it at some point. Paper seemed an integral part of most professions, from architects to lawyers to even actors with their piles of scripts.

  But Casey took the sheets stacked on her desk as a personal affront. As a forest ranger, her concern should be solely focused on nature. Trees and bushes and flowers. The pain-in-the-assedness of paperwork, of being locked in an office staring at spreadsheets, was an extra sharp jab to a woman who’d chosen her career because she loved being outdoors. Loved the sweet, tangy scent of fresh grass underfoot. The silken feel of brushing past dewy, delicate fronds. Hearing the insistent rap of a woodpecker, and being dazzled by sunlight fracturing through leaves. The waterfalls and caves and trails of the state park comprised her office. In theory.

  Her actual office was cramped. Tiny to begin with, and made smaller by the file cabinets lining the cinderblock walls. It was an office designed to make her want to finish quickly and get back into the park. As if she needed the motivation. Casey kept the mini-blinds snapped ruthlessly shut. Otherwise she’d spend all day staring out the window. The horrible dichotomy of her job was that summer—the most beautiful season that lured her to spend every waking hour in the woods—coincided with the height of tourist season. And all those extra people wallowing in her forest the way she wanted to caused enough paperwork to keep her locked inside twice as much.

  Not that shutting out the view kept Casey’s mind on her to-do list. A single vision of six feet of toned muscles and charm tormented her. Her thoughts had slipped back to last night’s lip-lock with the professor...um...often. If often meant reliving it over and over again pretty much every time she blinked.

  He’d called her beautiful more than once. His brain had chilled down to a temperature barely warmer than gelato, and yet he’d made a point of complimenting her. Long before he’d put his hands on her. That earned Zane a gold star. Of course, the way he kissed earned him enough stars to fill the Milky Way. That man knew his way around a pair of lips. Casey was far from a virgin. And she enjoyed tiptoeing through the tourists every summer just like all the other local singles.

  But he’d stood out. She’d spent all morning trying to figure out why. Was it his commanding strength overlaid with tenderness and finished with a whole lot of sex appeal? Guess she’d lived in the heart of the Finger Lakes wine country too long when she started describing kisses the same way she described a glass of Riesling. Aaand that made Casey think about what it would be like to kiss him with wine-slicked lips. To taste the honey and apricot sweetness on Zane’s rough tongue as it plundered her mouth...

  * * *

  The thwap of the screen door on the outer office sent her hands flying to her face. Casey didn’t blush. Didn’t see a need to be that embarrassed about anything. But she tested the temperature of her cheeks anyway, because her core temp had just shot up ten degrees with that little fantasy. They felt hot. Hopefully anyone looking for brochures or bathrooms—her two most asked questions—would attribute the flush to summer. Even though this early in summer, they’d be lucky to hit eighty by mid-afternoon. Crap. Why was she worried? There was no cartoon thought balloon over her head flashing the words I’m having sexy thoughts in pulsating neon.

  Flustered, she smoothed the wispy tendrils at her temples that always escaped her French braid. “I’ll be right out.”

  “How about I just come all the way in?” Zane’s head and shoulders popped sideways around the doorframe. His hair flopped over his forehead the tiniest bit. It was adorable. Paired with the ear-to-ear grin, it made him look mischievous. Ready for fun or trouble. Probably both, if last night’s idiotic illicit dive was anything to go by.

  “Um, okay.” It surprised Casey how happy she was to see him. God, what was wrong with her? That was as much a lie as the ten pounds she’d shaved off her official weight when she renewed her license last month. And lying to yourself was always pointless. So, yeah—happy to see him. So happy that she did a quick mental check on whether or not she’d worn the lined bra that would hide the effect his presence was having on her nipples. The surprise centered more on the fact that he’d found her. That he’d taken the time to find her. As much as Casey hated it, years of habit kicked in a tiny dose of suspicion. “How did you track me down?”

  He eased the rest of the way into the room, tapping the nameplate on the door proclaiming her Park Manager along the way. “Finding things out is sort of my specialty.”

  Casey sucked in a breath. Then held it as she actively ignored her knee-jerk alarm at his statement. Her ingrained, over-developed caution? Ridiculous. A random, submarine-hun
ting college professor had no interest in her past. Make that a random, hotter than Indiana Jones submarine-hunting college professor. And if, by some stroke of very bad luck he actually did, he’d be frothing at the mouth to ask her questions. Not avidly reading the chart along the wall depicting the life cycle of a forest. “So, you researched me?”

  “Of course not.” His swift response held a tinge of outrage as he twisted around. “I only asked where you worked.” A cocky grin quirked his lips up at the corners. “But I’m betting I find out everything else I want to know about you before too long.”

  Casey didn’t take or make sucker bets. The professor might well be the best darn researcher on the planet. He might even find the legendary submarine. But he damn well wouldn’t learn everything about her. Nobody ever did. His eagerness to dig into her life dimmed the pleasure of seeing him. Just a tiny bit. The way a porch light dimmed for a moment when a moth flew past.

  At her overly long silence, Zane’s eyebrows drew together. “Look, I just wanted to see you again. I met some friends of yours—Ward and Gray?—back at my hotel and after they vetted me, they told me you worked here. I’m not stalking you.”

  Of course not. Casey was the one with the overactive worry. She was the one with the dark past to hide. Zane was just a professor. The kind of professor she’d dreamed in the sixth grade about getting someday. The worry could wait for another day. It always did.

  She stood. Came around the desk to hook a finger in the collar of his white camp shirt. Stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. “Well, if my friends gave you the thumbs up, I should probably just clear off my desk and drop my panties for you right now.”

  “Should we maybe close the door first?”

  His easy acquiescence cracked her up. Laughing, she backed away to lean her butt on the edge of the desk. “You don’t get fazed by much, do you?”