by A. J. Pine
To her credit, her mom had never nagged her about the way she dressed, though it was obvious that style had never been important to Jessa. It’d never mattered what she wore, seeing as how she spent her time with animals. She’d been bled on, vomited on, pooped on, peed on…so she’d never actually had a reason to wear nice clothes. Most of her life, scrubs, yoga pants, and T-shirts had suited her just fine.
But Dr. Carla Roth was refined, elegant, brilliant, and incredibly sophisticated. Even as a professor, her mother wore beautiful silk blouses and wrap dresses with heels. At a cocktail party, the woman glittered like royalty. She’d won three of the university’s largest grants by simply charming old men at various university functions.
Unlike Jessa, her mother had never had her heart broken. Not once. And that was exactly the kind of woman Jessa needed to become.
Her book club friends—Naomi Sullivan, Cassidy Greer, and Darla Michelson—had been all too eager to help her craft a new look.
The whole group had led her down Main Street, parading through the clothing boutiques, arms full of adventurous new garments for her to try on.
But now, hanging in her closet, the skirts and brightly colored tunics didn’t appeal to her the way they had last night when everyone was oohhhing and aahing at her in the dressing rooms.
She snatched a flowery blouse off a hanger. What did that go with again? Was it the blue skirt? The red capri pants that her friends swore made her look exactly like Katharine Hepburn? All the new colors and patterns in her closet started to blur together in a whorl of confusion. Whoa. This could take a while. She needed coffee. Stat.
Leaving the clothes behind, she dashed through the living room to the kitchen and scooped heaping tablespoons of coffee into the French press. The familiar scent of her morning routine soothed the mounting tension from her hands. She could do this. She could match a shirt and shorts, for the love of God. It wasn’t rocket science. She had an MBA, Cam it!
After filling the kettle, she set it on the stove and cranked the burner. It was the flowery shirt that went with the capris, right?
Shit. She had no idea. It was time to call for backup. Snatching her cell phone off the counter, she summoned her mother.
“Hello?” Her mother sounded a bit out of breath, which meant Jessa had probably interrupted her morning yoga practice.
“Hi, Mom,” she said, glancing down at her body. Come to think of it, she might benefit from a morning yoga practice, too. The only morning practice she embraced regularly involved pastries.
“Jessa?” her mother wheezed. “Is everything all right, honey?”
“Everything’s good!” she said, trying to sound chipper. “I bought all those clothes you told me to get.”
“That’s wonderful! I’m so happy for you.” Her mother sounded more relieved than happy. “You’re finally investing in yourself. It’s going to make such a difference. You won’t believe what new clothes can do for your self-confidence.”
“Yeah. Um. It’s pretty exciting.” But it’d be even better if she could actually dress herself in the new clothes. “So listen. I have some important meetings today and I’m not sure what top to wear with my red capri pants.”
“Hmmm…” Her mother mused as though this decision ranked right up there with purchasing a house. “Were you able to find a white asymmetric blouse?”
“Uh—” What was an asymmetric blouse again?
A knock sounded. At the front door. Yes, that would be the door, which was neatly centered between the two large bay windows a mere twenty feet from where she stood. In the kitchen. Wearing only a bra and thong.
Okay. She edged her back against the refrigerator. Sheer curtains had seemed like a good idea when she’d picked them out last year, but she was starting to regret that decision. Clearly, she hadn’t thought through the implications of what would happen when she wanted to make herself a cup of coffee dressed only in a thong and Bold Lift bra.
“Jessa?” her mother said loudly. “Did I lose you?”
“No. I’m still here,” she whispered.
Another round of hearty pounding pried a squeal from her lips. What the hell was happening? Who’d knock on her door before seven? Was her house on fire or something?
“Honey? Is everything all right?” her mother asked.
“Yes,” she hissed. “But I’ll have to call you back.” Before her mother could answer, she clicked off her phone and set it down. Holding her breath, she stood perfectly still and quiet—minus the loud drumbeat of her heart.
The knocking didn’t stop.
“Hello?” A man’s deep rumbling voice sent her heart off to the races again. There was something vaguely familiar about it…
“It’s Lance Cortez. I need to talk to you.”
Lance! Oh. Holy. No. This was not happening. She gazed longingly at the other side of the living room to the safe darkness of the tiny hallway that led to her bedroom. There was no way she’d get through there without him seeing something. Like her ass, maybe. Cam it!
Get the front door with the windows, the ignorant Home Depot salesman had advised. It’ll let in the most light. Yes, and now it would also give Lance a clear view of a very full moon.
She flattened her body against the cabinets, craning her neck, and sure enough, he stood right there on her front porch, now peering through that lovely window on the door.
Oh, God. Her lungs heaved so hard it felt like the Bold Lift Bra was about to bust at the seams. Calm down, she instructed herself. He’ll go away. He had to go away.
“Jessa! I know you’re in there. Your car’s here,” he called again, rapping the door with that big manly fist of his. “I need to talk to you. It’s an emergency.”
Tell me about it! Maybe she could call 9-1-1 and have him escorted off her porch…
Footsteps thudded on the front porch, moving closer.
Sweet lord! Lance Cortez was peeking through the bay window!
“Hang on a sec!” she yelled, then hit the deck, pressing her body against the wood floor. Lifting her head, she assessed the distance to the hallway. It might as well have been twenty miles.
Okay. Think. What would Naomi do? That was an easy one. She never would’ve gotten herself into this situation in the first place because Naomi had the ability to get dressed without the assistance of coffee.
“Jessa, I really need a word,” Lance called again.
“Be there in a minute!” Despite the fact that she was basically naked, sweat itched on her back. Her room. She had to get to her room. And there was only one way. She’d have to army crawl. As long as she stayed on this side of the couch, Lance probably wouldn’t be able to see her from the window. It was risky, but what other option did she have? He obviously wasn’t going away.
Here goes. Trying to remain one with the floor, she squirmed forward, shimmying past the bookshelf. Squirm, pull, squirm, pull. She edged against the couch, bare skin grazing the cold wood planks.
Yes. Yes! It was working. Almost halfway now…
A scratch stung her hip as something sharp caught the delicate strap of her thong.
Uh oh. Contorting her body, she tried to get a better look. A loose staple from the re-upholstery job she’d done on the couch had hooked her adorable brand-new panties. Cam it! She should’ve known a staple gun wasn’t enough to hold a couch cover together. Thanks a lot, Pinterest.
“Jessa!” More pounding.
“Hold on! Give me a minute!” she called, trying to wring the panic from her tone. What the hell was his problem, anyway? Couldn’t he take a hint? She pushed onto her side to free herself from the staple, but her legs smacked into the end table. The whole thing toppled over with a deafening crash. Ow! Shit! She rolled over, gripping the backs of her calves. At the same time, the thong stretched, ripped, and snapped, falling to the floor underneath her.
“Jessa?” Lance yelled through the door. “What was that?” The doorknob clanged like he was trying to get in. “Is everything okay?”
&
nbsp; Hot tears filled her eyes. “Fine!” Minus the throbbing in her legs and the fact that she’d just shredded a fifty-dollar thong.
“Are you sure?” he persisted, the sonofabitch. “That sounded bad. Is the key still out here?”
The key? Oh, dear God, the key! Her dad had always left a house key underneath the flowerpot…
A new wave of terror surged, blinding her with white-hot fear.
The sound of metal clanged in the lock.
“No!” She squealed, scrambling to hide herself behind a small square throw pillow from the couch. “Please! Don’t come—”
The door sprang open.
Right as Lance stepped around the couch, she shifted the pillow to cover her lower hemisphere.
“What’re you—?” He halted like he’d been shot, his gaze bouncing from her eyes to her bra and then, sure enough, down to the pillow.
“Turn around! Cover your eyes,” she wailed. For the love of God! Humiliation curdled into anger. “Why’d you have to come in? Who just barges into someone’s house, huh?” Why couldn’t he have waited on the porch like she’d asked?
“Uh…” He seemed to be frozen in place. “Sorry. I heard the crash. Thought you were hurt…”
Was he gawking? His lips had parted with surprise. And then there were his eyes. Wide and unblinking. Men didn’t usually look at her like that…
“What the hell happened?” he asked, finally finding the decency to turn around and stare out the bay window.
Securing the pillow against her lower abdomen with one hand, she covered her Boldly Lifted chest with her arm in case he decided to peek again. “I had a bit of an accident.” She should make something up. Something really exciting. Something like she and a mystery man were playing this kinky game…
“Are you hurt?” Lance asked, his head swiveling toward her again.
She kept herself covered. Oh, yes. She was hurt. On more than one level. “I’m fine,” she choked out. “Can you get my robe? It’s hanging up in the bathroom at the end of the hall.”
“Right. Your robe.” He sort of side-shuffled his way down the hall and back, before tossing the robe at her without turning around.
Clutching her salvation, she scurried up to a standing position, the backs of her calves still aching, and wrapped the fabric around her, tying the belt securely at her waist.
Lance peeked over his shoulder as if to check on her, then turned all the way around.
She wasn’t sure if she was out of breath due to the terrible thong ordeal or to the fact that the elusive Lance Cortez looked so different up close. She’s seen him around town since she’d been back, but she’d never looked at him that closely. He’d never looked at her the way he was now, either. Eyes open slightly wider than a normal person’s, lips parted like he couldn’t remember what it was he’d wanted to say.
Yes, well, neither could she. Not with the sight of his dark hair, which curled slightly at the edges. It was mussed like he’d been nervously running his hand through it all morning. And those eyes. An arctic blue-gray. Cutting. He wore a dark red flannel shirt with the sleeves pushed up over his bulky forearms. His jeans were faded and worn like he worked hard, which she’d heard he did.
“So…” His voice had this deep soothing reverberation that made her want to curl up against him. “Did you fall or something?”
Or something. “I was in the kitchen making coffee,” she informed him, trying to smooth her hair into soft waves like it had been before she’d gone to battle with the couch. “Wasn’t expecting anyone to show up at my door…” Especially the enigma that was Lance Cortez. “So I panicked and was trying to get back to my room without giving you a show.” Which was clearly too much to ask from the universe.
“Oh.” His gaze seemed to fixate on the leopard-print thong that lay a mere two feet from his boots.
As swiftly as possible, she swiped it off the floor and shoved it into the pocket of her robe. “Um. Did you need something, Lance?” Because her humiliation meter was about tapped out for the day and it wasn’t even seven o’clock.
“Right. Yes.” That intense gaze pierced her eyes. “Dad spent the night out on the mountain and I need you to tell me how to find him.”
The news shocked her into stillness. “He spent the night out there?” Luis hadn’t said a word about camping when she’d talked to him Wednesday night. Though he did camp occasionally, he usually told her his plans.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” he went on. “His sleeping bag is gone, which means he planned on being out all night. But he didn’t bring his meds.”
Though she tried not to panic, her mind hopped on a runaway train car of worst-case scenarios. So many things could’ve happened to him…he could’ve taken a fall. He could’ve gotten turned around. He could’ve had a heart attack like her father…
Lance’s weight shifted. He cleared his throat. “So, have you seen him?”
“Not since Wednesday.” It was hard to swallow past the emerging rock formation in her throat. Because Luis had asked her to go up the mountain with him. And she’d said no.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m…” What if something had happened to him and he was all alone because she didn’t go with him?
A shrill whistle sliced into her thoughts.
Lance looked around. “You got water on the stove?”
Blinking fast enough to sop up threatening tears, she nodded quickly. “I was making coffee…”
“Coffee sounds great,” Lance said. And if that wasn’t shocking enough, he sat himself down on her couch.
Heat blanketed her, making the robe feel like a fur coat. He wanted to sit and have coffee with her? While she wore her robe? “But…um…maybe…well…okay…” The words stumbled over one another, mimicking the erratic beat of her heart. No. Don’t you dare, she told that stubborn thing.
No matter how beautiful Lance Cortez was, she was done with romance.
Chapter Three
He’d only stayed for the coffee, so he’d best stop looking at Jessa like she was on the menu.
Lance did his best to reel in his tongue and crank his jaw closed. But…damn.
It had to be the thong. And the bra. And the robe. Who knew Jessa Mae Love owned sexy lingerie? Not him. It would’ve been better if he’d known, if he’d been prepared to see her like that—all half naked and done up like a no-strings-attached fantasy. Her legs were much longer than he’d ever realized. Long, tanned, and defined. Lethal combination. Must be all of that hiking she did.
Though he knew better, his gaze followed her to the kitchen. Yes, Jessa had spent every summer in Topaz Falls for as long as he could remember. He’d known of her, even a little bit about her, considering their fathers were more like brothers than friends. He’d seen her around the ranch, but he’d never looked at her too closely. How could he have ever missed that bust, which he’d gotten a nice view of before he remembered his manners and turned away. He may not get out much, but he was still a man. And he had perfect eyesight. He noticed things like that. Somehow on Jessa, he’d missed it until the moment he’d seen her lying on the floor. All of a sudden, there they were, two perfect breasts staring him in the face, and he was awake on a whole new level. Even without coffee.
The unrecognizable woman in front of him—could he even call her Jessa anymore?—worked quickly in the kitchen, clutching the top of the robe like she wanted to bolt it together. He almost wished she could.
After she’d removed the screaming teakettle from the stove and poured water into a French press, she sort of scuttled past him. “I should go change,” she said in a huskily sexy voice that didn’t seem to fit her. Or at least it hadn’t. Before the lingerie…
“I’ll throw on some clothes,” she went on, nervously shifting her eyes. “Then we can talk about Luis.”
Yes. Clothes. That would be best. Because if she put on more clothes, maybe he could focus on something besides these details he’d never noticed about her. Like the soft way her blo
ndish hair cascaded past her shoulders. Or the way her earnest, unsure, brown-eyed gaze had stirred something inside him. Instead of answering her, he simply averted his eyes and nodded, giving her permission to go, giving himself space to get his shit together. Because he’d just spent a good five minutes checking out Jessa Mae Love. Town animal activist. Best friend to his sixty-seven-year-old father. Which was weird.
God, this was so weird…
“Um. Be right back.” Her skin blotched bright pink before she whirled and scampered down the hall, that short robe riding up enough to make his eyes pop open wider so he could get a better look before he checked himself again. Jessa Mae Love. He tried to picture her the way he’d always seen her—wearing tan hiking pants, a T-shirt, hair pulled back tightly into a ponytail, and those eyes obscured by thick-rimmed glasses. But the image kept morphing back into sexy robe babe. No way would he get her out of his head now.
He pushed off the couch and did a lap around her living room to get the blood flowing somewhere besides his crotch.
Trying to distract himself from the action happening in her bedroom down the hall, he looked around. The house was the typical 1940s bungalow. Jessa’s father, Buzz, had lived there for more than thirty years. A few years ago, his father had dragged Lance to a poker game here. Back then, dark wood paneling covered the walls. A hazy smell of cigar smoke contaminated the furniture. It’d been the typical elderly bachelor pad—everything old, moldy, and most likely purchased from garage sales. But Jessa had really lightened things up.
She’d painted the wood paneling bright white and knocked down the wall that used to separate the kitchen from the small living room. There were pops of orange and turquoise in pillows and curtains. Instead of trinkets, a wall of white bookshelves was filled with academic-looking hardbacks. He paused in front of the white sofa and studied the picture that hung on the wall behind it. Jessa and Buzz standing on Topaz Mountain. He leaned in closer. She had on the typical Jessa uniform—pants and a loose-fitting T-shirt—but on closer inspection, it did appear that the woman had always been more well-endowed than he’d given her credit for…
