Harlequin - Jennifer Greene

by Hot to the Touch

  If he couldn’t live without her, he obviously had to find a way to kick himself in the butt, completely heal and start a real life again.

  It would seem he couldn’t live without her.

  It would also seem that he couldn’t possibly live without making love to her—preferably every night, Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  possibly more often, for the rest of their natural lives.

  Only, she’d freaked after. He mentally replayed those moments after they’d made love. Yeah, he’d told her she was the sexiest woman alive. That didn’t seem like an insult, did it? I mean, for damn sure, he should have said she was the most beautiful, the most brilliant, the most wonderful woman in the world before he got to the sexy adjective. But God knew, he meant the compliment with love. He meant it with honesty. And he could have sworn Phoebe didn’t need flowery packaging to tell her something straight from his heart.

  Besides, he’d known she had a little thing about thinking of herself as unsexy. But that was the point.

  Why he’d said it. Why he’d wanted to compliment her that way. Guys prayed to find a lover who was honestly, uninhibitedly hot for them, someone who fired up for the same things he fired up for. Yet no male with a brain really thought he’d ever find that. You worked at sex just like you worked on everything else.

  Except with Phoebe. She was more than his dream. Every time they touched, she felt like his missing half. He’d reached heights with her he hadn’t known existed…and as far as he could tell, she had, too.

  Yet he’d made that comment, and suddenly she’d run inside on the excuse of their needing to warm up.

  Then she’d insisted his session time was up. He’d said, what the hell did that matter. She’d said, “Fergus, I thought you were only going to be here for two hours. I’ve got a baby scheduled to come over tonight.

  It’s not as if I knew we were going to make love.”

  And that was the crux of the crisis. Not what she’d said. But that she’d called him Fergus instead of Fox.

  She might as well have punched him in the stomach.

  When he reached the top of the stairs at Moose’s place, he knocked once, then freely opened the door.

  “It’s just me,” he called out.

  But he still couldn’t get his mind off Phoebe. He loved his brother, even loved to play poker, once upon a time. Just not tonight. He needed time alone. It wasn’t just that he was all riled up about Phoebe, but that he needed concentrated time to think about life. A job. The serious decisions looming imminently in his future.

  Still, again his mind sneaked back to Phoebe with another itchy problem. He never had gotten an answer about what happened with her ex-fiancé. That had to be a major key, he figured, because hell, if it wasn’t a major key, he was in major trouble. She’d only committed to helping him for a month, and that month was up in a matter of days.

  He knew, as sure as he knew he was allergic to clams, that once that month was over, she was out of there unless he found some way to stop her in her tracks.

  “Moose? Where the hell are you?” he called out.

  He assumed the poker table would be set up in the den. It always had been. But the den was as quiet as the kitchen, where Fox automatically opened the fridge and pulled out a beer.

  The whole upstairs apartment was bigger than it looked, and Moose wasn’t one to deprive himself of creature comforts. The kitchen looked like an audition for appliance heaven, and the living room was fancied-up with a home theater, set-in bar, recessed lighting and a lit-up aquarium with exotic fish.

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  “Moose? Am I really the first one here?”

  Past the leather and sleek technology center were a pair of bedrooms and baths, one on either side of the hall, and then came a long narrow sun room that Moose had always used for an office. Now, though, Fox saw the gaming table as he crossed the threshold. He opened his mouth to offer a greeting and instead closed it faster than a gulping fish.

  Moose jerked to his feet. “Hey, Fox, didn’t hear you come in. You’re a little early—”

  “I know, I—”

  “Fox, you know Marjorie, don’t you? Marjorie White?”

  “No. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.” Fox stepped forward with his hand outstretched because his mom hadn’t raised any sons who didn’t know their manners. But in a single glance, he could see the gaming table had no cards on it, no drinks, no junk food. No one else was in the room but Moose and this woman.

  And where he was dressed like a rag man and holding a long-necked bottle of beer, she was wearing what his mom called country club clothes. Stockings. Clunks of gold here and there. Blond hair sharply styled. Subtle makeup, little black dress, expensive perfume.

  “Fergus, I’ve heard so much about you for years.”

  “Well…I’m glad to meet you.” He said politely, and then shot a shocked and confused look at Moose.

  “I thought you two hadn’t met each other before,” Moose said heartily. “Marjorie doesn’t teach, Fox.

  But she used to be married to Wild Curly Forster. Remember him? Linebacker, my class, not yours, but turned into the sharpest lawyer this side of Gold River.”

  “Sure,” Fox said, who had never heard of the guy before.

  “He died a few years ago. Car accident.”

  “I’m sorry,” Fox said automatically.

  “So you both know something about loss,” Moose said firmly.

  “Say what?”

  Marjorie intervened with a quiet little laugh. “Your big brother is springing this surprise on you, I realize.

  But we don’t have to make a big deal out of it, Fergus. He just thought you’d like some feminine company for a change. Let’s just have a drink and talk a bit, all right?”

  “Sure,” Fox said, and again spared a glance at his brother. Murder was too good for him. Hell. Torture was too good for him. “I could have dressed differently, but I assumed I was coming for a poker game.”

  Moose slapped him on the shoulder. “Marjorie could care less how you’re dressed. You two just put your feet up. Get to know each other. I put a couple DVDs in the machine, got some wine cooling. I’ve got to go check downstairs. We’re having a hell of a gig downstairs tonight, company party for Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  Wolcott’s.”

  “Moose, hold up—”

  “I had the boys make up a tray of finger foods, so just pull it out when either of you are hungry—”

  Marjorie hadn’t stopped looking at him, and now a miserable flush climbed her neck. “Fergus, I realize you weren’t told about this. I never liked the idea of blind dates, either. But I’d thought, from what your brother said…I mean, it’s not like I’m so hard up that I need to be set up.”

  “Of course you don’t.” Hell. Hell. Hell. Her feelings were hurt. Fox could plainly see the flush, the trembling mouth, and thought he was going to strangle his brother, and enjoy doing it. He couldn’t fulfill that daydream quite that fast, though. “Marjorie, just sit down, all right? We’ll talk. I really didn’t mean to come across as…”

  God knew how he filled out that thought. Cruel? Mean hearted? He really didn’t mean to give her the impression that she was too ugly to warrant his time. She was pretty. Very pretty. Actually, she was damn near gorgeous.

  She just wasn’t Phoebe.

  Before he could turn around, his brother had disappeared. There was nothing he could do about it—not for a few minutes. She was obviously mortified and miserable. He couldn’t insult her, just because he wanted to kill his brother. Come to think of it, he’d really wanted to kill both brothers, because for damn sure, Bear had been consulted on anything Moose did.

  Both of them were dirt. Turncoats. Pond scum.

  He served Marjorie a glass of wine and then unearthed the platter of hors d’oeuvres, after which
he listened to the entire, unabridged story of her marriage to Wild Curly Foster. Their courtship. His death.

  Their two children. The money he’d left her. Her evil in-laws. The trip she’d taken to Paris last year to recover from all the stress. How much she missed a man.

  When the telephone rang, though, he finally had an excuse to run downstairs. The call was from the local police, asking his brother for a donation. Fox offered them a four-figure gift, but after he hung up he told Marjorie the call had been from Moose—that there was some kind of emergency downstairs; he’d check it out and promised to be right back.

  Faster than lightning he charged downstairs, taking the restaurant’s back door into the kitchen. He stormed past the clanging pots and steaming smells and cooks yelling at each other, past the computer service area and the maître d’s. Finally he located the fink—opening wine for a crowded party in one of the restaurant’s private rooms.

  Moose spotted him in the doorway. Fox figured his brother must have noticed the steam coming out of his ears, because he promptly aimed his thumb toward the outside.

  In the fresh, cold air of the parking lot, Fox darn near took a swing at him. “What thehell were you doing?”

  Moose lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. “The idea was for you to rejoin life again. To get out of the bachelor house. To budge you off ‘go.’ To remind you of the good things in life.”

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  “So you thought I needed fixing up with a woman!”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “What thehell would you call it, then?”

  “What I’d call it,” Moose said calmly, “was Phoebe’s idea.”

  “What?”

  Moose slugged his hands in his pockets. “She called me two mornings ago. She knew it was my night to have you over. She assumed I’d be setting up a poker game, but she wanted to suggest a different idea. I do happen to know a few women, you know.”

  “Phoebetold you to set me up with a woman?” He still couldn’t grasp it.

  “Not setup, Fergus, for God’s sake. She just said part of healing—part of motivating you to rejoin life again—was remembering the good things in life you used to enjoy.”

  “Like women?”

  “Hey. I figured you’d be pissed as hell. But I guess Phoebe figured I’d be the brother who really knew women, you know? So I’d pick someone okay. And Marjorie’s heard about you for a blue moon. Kind of had a crush on you from afar, or so they say—”

  “I got it, I got it.” There was nothing more to say, and he couldn’t keep Marjorie just waiting upstairs by herself. He had to get back up there and get himself out of this. But his mind kept reeling in the information that this had been Phoebe’s idea. An idea that surfaced two mornings ago…which meant it was the morning after they’d made wild, tumultuous love on her back porch.

  The only conclusion he could draw was that their making love must have scared her—really scared her.

  Badly scared her.

  But why…? He didn’t have a clue.

  Friday morning Phoebe was in the middle of her Baby Love wellness class when she heard a knock on the back door. She scooped up two of the babies and carried the thumb-suckers with her to answer it.

  Fergus grinned when he saw them.

  “Got your hands full, I see.” He dropped a kiss on her nose, then moved on past, carrying a toolbox—and shoes that tracked in sand, she noticed. “I just had an extra hour to spend on the waterfall, so thought I’d take advantage if you didn’t have any clients in there.”

  “I don’t. I’ve got a class going in the living room, but that’s not a problem. How’re you doing?”

  “Whistling good. Couldn’t be better,” he assured her.

  Not that Fox had ever complained, but his perky tone was distinctly unlike him. “No aches or pains at Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  all?”

  “Nothing worth mentioning. Went to the doc yesterday. He hadn’t seen me in a while, claimed I looked alive for the first time in months. Believe me, that was a mighty compliment, coming from hi—”

  “So,” she said in her laziest tone, “did you have a good time with your brother the other night?”

  He peeled off his jacket and started laying out gear, barely glancing up. “You mean Moose’s night-out thing? I’ll tell you the truth, red. The night did just what I think you wanted it to—jolted me good. And I can hear the babies from here—so you can go back to your class, don’t worry about me.”

  He hunkered down on his knees with his back to her. Her mouth was still open to ask him another casual, lazy question, but somehow that was impossible now. Between the perkiness and the snappy kiss on the nose and the mysterious dark glint in his eyes, he was really acting…indecipherably different.

  HadMoose set him up with that Marjorie? Had anything happened? Was she going to chew off any more fingernails fretting about it?

  Damn it. Had he kissed TOW? That Other Woman?

  “Phoebe?”

  When she heard one of the moms’ voices, she quickly spun around and rejoined the circle in her living room. Her therapy room was huge, but still not big enough to accommodate six moms and their babies—at least when the group needed to be spread out all over the carpet. Everybody brought mats for the Baby Love class. The babies were all naked. None was older than four months.

  The babies were all happier than clams. The moms were all exhausted and frazzled. Which was why she’d started the program.

  “Okay, now. A relaxed baby makes for a relaxed mom…and I’m making you a promise. The more you touch your baby, the happier he’ll be. We’re going to do four types of massage exercises today. Playful.

  Enervating. Comforting. And calming. One at a time…”

  She usually went around the circle, working with each baby and mom individually. And she intended to this morning, too, but after starting the group with the technique for the second exercise, she popped to her feet and strayed down the hall.

  “Hey,” she said cheerfully.

  “Hey back,” Fox said, but he didn’t turn around. He’d pulled off his shirt, stripped down to old jeans and boots and gloves for the stone and mortar work. The plumbing was all done for her waterfall. So was the tile part of the pool. Really, the project was nearly done—it just happened to be at the messiest and dustiest part of the construction.

  Temporarily, though, she didn’t give a rat’s tail about her waterfall. Even a few weeks ago, Fox would never have stripped off his shirt—no matter how hot it was—because he’d never have wanted anyone to see his scars.

  They were riveting, she thought. Not pretty. But all the wounds were closed now, the swelling and discoloration completely gone. His natural complexion was more olive than pale, so even in early spring Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  his skin had a healthy ruddiness. The breadth of his shoulders, the ripple of muscle in his forearms, spoke of how hard he’d worked to regain strength. She noticed that he hadn’t shaved. The fuzz of whiskers on his chin seemed to be coming in blonder than his head hair. Mostly she noticed the strong profile, the good-looking nose and wickedly sexy eyes and…

  “Is your class over?”

  She jumped when Fox suddenly spoke. “No, no, I just wanted to see how you were doing. You’re really moving along!”

  “Yeah, the worst was the plumbing. I should be able to finish up the mortar and all this messy, smelly stuff by Saturday. So that’ll also give it Sunday to dry before you’ve got people in here again. That sound okay to you?”

  “Sounds good. So you had a really good time on your Moose’s night out, huh?”

  “Yeah, I’ll say. Hmm. Phoebe, I think you need a different shower head than the one you picked out.

  One with a softer spray.”

  “Okay.”

  “You want me to pick it out, get
it?”

  “Yeah, whatever you think is best. Just tell me and I’ll reimburse you. So…we’re on for Monday, late afternoon, right?”

  “Right. In fact, there’s something I’d like to do with you on Monday, if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure. What?”

  “Nothing weird. But you’ve been pushing me to get outside, get more in the fresh air and all…and there’s something I’d like to do that afternoon. Unless you object—”

  “No, no, that’s fine. I can do the exercises with you almost anywhere. So.” She cleared her throat.

  “Whatever you did with Moose, you think you’ll do it again?”

  He lifted his head. “I hear one of those babies crying. Your class is probably wondering where you are.”

  She heard the baby cry, too, but still hesitated. It was one of her absolutely favorite projects, the healthy Baby Love massage group, yet still, she couldn’t seem to move.

  And Fergus suddenly sighed. He pushed up, from his hands on his knees and slowly walked toward her, his hands and torso covered with a thin layer of mortar dust, his jeans crusted with it. He came close enough to touch her but didn’t—which was probably a good thing, because eventually shedid have to go back to the class, and she was dressed for them in a white terry tunic and terry pants.

  He came so close, though, that she could see the dark glints in his eyes. His gaze magnetized hers. She couldn’t look away. That close, she could no more have looked away than stop breathing.

  He said softly, “I think it’s cute, Red. Your trying to set me up with other women. God knows, no one ever had the nerve to try that on me before.”

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  She’d have answered him—except that he closed the few inches between them. His hands didn’t touch her—his dusty, sweaty torso didn’t touch her—but he bent down and brushed his mouth on hers. It wasn’t a kiss. More…the threat of one. More…the promise of one.

  “You want to know if I kissed her?” he murmured.

  “No.”

  “You want to know if I considered—”

  “No.”

  “Because I’ll tell if you ask me. I’ll be honest with you. No matter what. You’d be honest with me the same way, wouldn’t you, red?”