Jennifer Greene - Wild in the Moonlight

“Hey, Violet. Come see how this is coming!”

Firmly, she turned her attention back to her class. Betsy, at the table’s far end, was exuberantly slathering on her newly made almond cold cream. She’d come dressed today in a baseball cap, Jack Daniel’s tee, and her favorite sequined tennis shoes. And then there was Harriet, who’d been married fifty-two years and could have starred in the infamous portrait of the two farmers carrying the pitchfork. Harriet had so many lines from the sun that the first three layers of cold cream seeped into the crevices and were never seen again. Roberta had been showing up for the classes ever since her divorce, wearing five pounds of mascara, a bra that pushed her boobs up to her throat, and fire-engine-red nail polish. And then there was Dinah.

“Hokay,” Dinah drawled, “I think this aftershave lotion is finished. It was fun to make and all, but now I don’t know what to do with it. Or how.”

Harriet, ever wise, piped in, “Trust the one virgin in the group to make something for a man.”

“Hey, who said I was a virgin?”

“The point, dear, is that we obviously need someone to test the aftershave on before you try giving it away as a present. Anyone have hairy legs? I mean, someone who’s willing to admit it?”

Betsy, who always played Harriet’s straight man, promptly burst out laughing. And because Betsy’s laughter could make anyone laugh, within seconds the whole room was cracking up, holding stomachs and gasping guffaws and sputtering coffee-made worse as bare legs were lifted in the air as proof of their recent shaving-or lack thereof.

Silence fell as suddenly as a light switch. God knows how the rest of them realized there was a man in the room, but Violet sensed Cameron’s sudden appearance from the instinctive change in her own heartbeat.

She whirled around to see him standing in the doorway, a steamy mug in one hand and a sheaf of papers in the other, looking wrinkled and sleepy and sexy. Wild. Wantable.

His eyes found hers as if there was no one else in the room. Last night suddenly danced between them-that surge of wanting, of urgency, of belonging, like she’d never felt for any man or anyone else. She’d never given herself that easily, that intimately.

And suddenly she wasn’t so sure she could manage being as wicked and immoral as she wanted to be. Suddenly she sensed she could risk more with Cameron than she’d ever risked before-if she wasn’t very, very careful.

The other women pounced on Cameron for entirely different reasons. “My God. He’s the ideal test case,” Dinah said.

Cameron tore his eyes off her and seemed to swiftly take in the others in the room. He may not have heard the gist of their earlier conversation, but he seemed to pick up fast that he was in trouble. He said, “No!” as if hoping that would cover everything.

“Now, there’s nothing to worry about, dear. Come on. We just want to put a little bit of lotion on your cheek. It won’t hurt. It’s made of witch hazel and apple vinegar and lavender and sage-”

“Oh, my God. No. ”

“It’s supposed to make your skin feel really soft,” Dinah assured him. “That’s the whole point. To make it easier to shave-”

“Violet.” His gaze swiveled back toward her. Desperately. “I just need to talk to you. About some business-”

Harriet said, “There now. Just sit down. You can do all the business you want with Violet and we can test our little aftershave recipe on you at the same time. You’re not from Vermont, are you, but women here have been known to keep secrets for three and four centuries. No one will ever know you’ve been here, trust us. Don’t be scared-”

He backed out of the doorway and took off like a bat out of hell.

She couldn’t even try to catch up with him for several hours. She had to finish up the class and clean up, after which her two girls arrived to formally open the store for business. It was past ten before she could catch a five-minute stretch when the phone wasn’t ringing or some customer asking for her.

Then, though, she had a hard time finding him. She looked in the house, in the yard, in the greenhouses. His car was still parked by the barns, so he hadn’t left the property, but she was mystified where he might have walked. Finally she located him at her great-grandmother’s cottage.

Decades ago the cottage had been built to give Gram independence in a way that would keep her close to family. No one had lived there after Gram died until Camille had come home in the spring. The place had been fixed up then-except for the roof. That was the infamous roof she’d hired to have fixed so Cameron would have a place to stay. The roofer was supposed to show up this morning, but just like most mornings in a week, he’d neither showed nor called.

It was Cameron on top of the roof with a hammer in his hand, a box of shingles next to him. He’d yanked off his shirt, undoubtedly because of the sun beating down with baking intensity. His skin looked oiled and bronzed. All six cats were up there with him-either trying to help, or just wanting to be around the sexiest guy in three counties.

She felt the same way, but she stood below with her hands on her hips. “So. You’ve decided to take up a new career as a roofer?”

He turned around on a heel and rubbed a wrist on his damp forehead. “More likely a new career as escape artist. Those women aren’t still around, are they?”

“No.” Maybe last night was between them like an elephant in their emotional living room, but she still had to grin. “You’re safe.”

Apparently he wanted more proof. “And you don’t have any of that smelly aftershave concoction anywhere around, do you?”

“Why, Lachlan. The girls did scare you. Imagine, a big strong guy like you-”

“I’m not scared, ” he said testily. “I just happened to come across this half-finished roof because of your cats. They were scared. Ran out of the place faster than I did and led me to the nearest high place.”

“You expect me to believe that half-baked story?”

“Look. I’m sure they were nice women. In fact, if I ever get attacked in the middle of the night by a gang of cutthroats, I’d really like them on my side. Especially the one-” he motioned vaguely “-you know. The one who’d rearranged the shape of her-”

“Breasts.”

“Yeah. So that they looked like two oranges poking out right under her chin. And the one with the hairy legs-you know, the one who looked as if she had more wrinkles than a Shar Pei? Look, it’s just a lot safer up here-”

“You’re killing me.” Damn man. They’d gotten into serious, deep waters last night. Mighty deep waters. Yet somehow he was making her comfortable, making her laugh.

He squinted down at her, his voice quieting. “Well, chére, it damn near killed me to sleep down the hall from you last night.”

Her pulse suddenly seemed to careen down a long, sleek hill. Who’d have guessed he would confront her hurt, confused feelings straight up? She took a breath. “Then why did you?”

“Because of the lavender. Because until we get some legal details discussed and agreed on, I’m representing Jeunnesse. That doesn’t have to be a complication. But I don’t want you worrying for even a minute that it could be.” He lifted a sheaf of papers from his side. “Have you got fifteen minutes to look at these?”

“Cam, I hate legal mumbo-jumbo,” she groused, but her pulse careened back up that long, sleek hill. So he hadn’t slept in the other room because he hadn’t wanted to be with her. And he was sure as hell still looking at her as if she were sugar and he was more than happy to take on the role of hummingbird.