Jennifer Greene: Irresistible Stranger

His heart immediately resumed beating on noting she wasn’t wearing a bra. And that her plump, perfectly shaped breasts were rising and falling, indicating life-not to mention a delectably appealing rack.

By the time he’d finished a complete study-legs were damned good, way, way better than he expected, a little Yankee white, but the calf shape was just that perfect arch of a curve. Anyway. By the time he finished, she had one eye open.

“Please,” she said. “Go on in. Leave me for dead. There are all kinds of people in the house. If you want someone, just pound on the door.”

“I was looking for you, actually.”

“No point. I’m useless. In a state of complete decline. I can’t move, can’t talk, don’t even care anymore.”

“Are we…” he tried to think of a delicate way to phrase it “…having a little trouble adjusting to the heat?”

She closed the eye. “There’s air-conditioning. That’s what the ad said. It didn’t lie. I bought a thermometer yesterday. My room’s cooled off to eighty-seven degrees. Now go away. I can’t stand anyone watching me while I sweat.”

“I brought ice cream.”

“Beg your pardon?” One eye slid open, then the other.

“Griff’s Secret. A pint. Two spoons. Cold.”

“Say it again.”

“Ice cream.”

Silence. Then… “I don’t know why you went to the trouble of tracking me down, but I absolutely don’t care. You can have whatever you want. Just show me the ice cream.”

He lifted the pint container.

She swung around to a sitting position faster than a jet takeoff. “Spoon,” she said.

He produced two from his polo shirt pocket-as well as a hunk of napkins.

“Do not watch me eat this,” she instructed. “I intend to inhale. And I may drool. You need to understand. Thomas Wolff had it right: ‘You can’t go home again.’ I’m hot. I’m miserable. No one likes me. If I were you, I’d hide behind the veranda rail. Protect yourself from being seen with me.”

If she made love with half the enthusiasm that she ate ice cream, bless her heart, Griff might just have to propose. Of course, he’d have to test that theory. And at the moment, she definitely didn’t look in the mood.

When he didn’t interrupt her ice cream inhaling to intrude with conversation, she piped up. “Did you hear the fire truck siren a couple hours ago?”

“Yup.”

“I set that fire.”

“Did you now?” He didn’t lean over to clean up the dab of Griff’s Secret on her cheek, but man, he wanted to.

“I’m not sure what street it was on. Or where it was. In fact, I didn’t have any idea I’d set the fire until an old busybody four doors down came storming into Louella’s kitchen to track me down. So, if that’s why you stopped by-to hear it from the horse’s mouth, so to speak-now you’ve got it direct from me. The fire was all my fault. I did it. Fire setting’s in my blood. I’m nothing but trouble. The only reason I came back to town was to cause trouble.”

“Thanks for sharing.” Okay. He couldn’t stop himself. That bit of ice cream on her chin was too tempting to ignore. Her eyes shot to his when she felt the touch of his finger. His eyes shot clear-cut communication right back.

So. He didn’t have to worry anymore that she didn’t feel the same electric click that he did. Both of them knew-speaking of fire-that there were potentially explosive sparks.

“I took one look at you,” he said, “and before I had a clue about all that history, I just knew, right off that bat, that you were a wicked, wicked woman.”

“Watch it. A compliment like that could bring tears to my eyes. Most men who first meet me seem to immediately figure out I’m a pretty plain old ordinary schoolteacher.”

“Plain old ordinary? That never crossed my mind. I took one look and thought there’s a breath of fresh air in this town. A gorgeous, sexy woman, who can make a T-shirt look like designer clothes, has eyes a man could drown in, with character and mystery surrounding her like magic.”

She almost choked on the last spoonful of ice cream. “All right, all right. You know I’ve been here a couple days, so as you might have guessed, I already know your story. You charm every female that’s ever crossed your path-whether they’re two or ninety, married or single. You’ve gotten a marriage proposal from every single woman in a three-county radius-”

“Not every single one,” he corrected.

“Just most. And I can see why. You’re adorable and all.”

“Thanks.”

“You started out in Savannah. Hard to imagine why you’d settle in this itsy-bitsy town. But lots of people have been happy to fill me in on why they think you came here-even if I never asked. And I really don’t need to pry into your life or anyone else’s.”

“I understand. Once you’re inside the town limits, it hits like a wave. The hot air from people talking about each other. There’s no escaping it.”

“Who knew? Anyway…let’s see what else I was told. You can, of course, correct or deny any of this. You come from a good family-that means, a Southern family, a family that was established here long enough to fight in the War of Northern Aggression. You went to a good school, North Carolina, I think I was told. Played B-ball. Everybody remembers that you graduated, but not what field you graduated in. No one’s sure if you ever had a real job. Somehow, you didn’t feel like making anything special of yourself.”

“That’s me. Just lazy as can be.”

“Yup. That’s how I heard it. Thankfully, you invented and patented your own ice cream. Maybe moved here because the cost of living was extra-reasonable. You can sit around all day and just make a little ice cream, hire kids to help you, and spend the rest of your time romancing all the pretty Southern Belles. Why should everyone need to be ambitious? Why should you do hard work if you don’t have to? Only…none of the girls have caught you. In bed, maybe. In affairs, maybe. But nobody’s caught you anywhere near the altar, or that’s the story I heard.”

“Anything else?”

“Anything you want to deny so far?”

“Oh, no,” he assured her. “Gossips have the story absolutely straight.”

“They usually do,” she said without missing a beat, and finally turned her head to face him. “So I might ask you what your real story is. Sometime. If it’s something you’re interested in sharing.”

“I was going to make the same offer. To listen if you needed an ear.”

She turned quiet, the devilment in her eyes fading. A moment ticked by, then another. The bustling noises inside the house had faded into the single noise from a television. Lamplights had turned on throughout the neighborhood.

The sun had taken its lazy Southern time going down, but it finally ebbed out of sight, nothing left but a deep violet haze beyond the trees and rooftops.

He didn’t realize how much time had passed, how late it had become…but it seemed as if she suddenly did. “You know what?” she said.

“What?”

“I’m glad you stopped. You didn’t need to. It was beyond kind-particularly for a man who seems to have a mighty reputation in this town for not caring much about others. You keep that kind streak really well hidden, I gather.”

“I’m not kind.” Sheesh. It was like being accused of larceny or something. No guy liked to think of himself as kind.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I won’t tell. I just brought it up because I didn’t want you to think I needed looking after. I knew coming back here would be tough. I’m all right.” Rather than leave it on a heavy note, she came through with a grin and added, “Except, of course, for dying of the heat.”