Jennifer Greene - Irresistible Stranger

The third book in the New Man in Town series, 2010

Dear Reader,

This story has a bunch of elements I love working with-a hero who’s not what he seems, a heroine who somehow has to find a way to right an old wrong, characters who have to take scary risks to get what they need in life.

He is so wrong for her. She’s so wrong for him.

What could be more fun?

I hope you enjoy the story!

Jennifer Greene

You can reach me at www.jennifergreene.com or on my Jennifer Greene page on Facebook.

The afternoon wasn’t just hot. It was choking hot. Gasping hot. Suck-your-brains-out hot.

Lily Campbell stepped off the curb, feeling the pavement fry her feet even through her thick, cork sandals. It was only two more blocks to the sheriff’s office.

She could make it two more blocks without dying, couldn’t she? Surely?

She wanted to laugh. She’d been so certain that this trip home to Pecan Valley after twenty years would be horrendously traumatic. Instead, every view so far had provoked a gush of hopelessly happy memories-of her dad pushing her in a creaking swing. Of her sisters shrieking and dancing through sprinklers. Or her being snuggled between her mom and dad on a porch swing, watching the fireflies at dusk.

Somehow, she always remembered the fire. Not the idyllic childhood before it. And for darn sure, she had no memory at all of this killer Georgia summer heat.

She pushed a heap of heavy chestnut hair off her neck, thinking she’d either have to get her long hair cut off or suffer heatstroke, but her real attention focused on Main Street. She passed Annabelle’s Bakery, Susan’s Secret Treasures, Belle Hair, an insurance office. On the other side of the road, hugging the corner, was Debbie’s Diner and a shoe store.

None of the names latched in her memory, yet somehow she remembered other things. A woman with big hair and a white ruffled dress passed by her, nodding a polite hello. An old gentleman snoozed in a white rocker outside a storefront. A couple of giggling girls, sucking on popsicles, window-shopped across the street.

She knew this town. It smelled and tasted and looked like home, even if she hadn’t been back since she was eight, even if she couldn’t imagine living here ever again. She’d given herself exactly eight weeks…to solve a twenty-year-old crime.

Complicating that problem-just a wee bit-was that no one twenty years ago believed there was a crime. Not the police. Not even her sisters. No one.

She’d plotted and planned this trip for almost two years, but back in Virginia the idea had made such sense. She needed to do this. She’d needed to forever. Now that she was here, trudging through this blazing, baking sun, she fully realized that everything about the plan was complete and total lunacy.

A red truck, older than her, stopped at the corner to yield the right of way. The next block echoed the last one. The storefronts were different, but the sleepy, Southern town mood was the same. First up was an old-fashioned pharmacy, then a crafty-type jewelry store-she had to gallop past that one, shielding her eyes, knowing how readily she could sucker into a new pair of earrings. Right now, she’d likely sucker into any conceivable sales pitch to postpone her visit to the sheriff’s office.

Lily figured that if a woman was determined to be stupid, there was no point in hanging out half a flag. Might as well go for it all the way. Still, she knew darn well that walking into that old brick building was going to be traumatic times ten.

She ducked under a candy-striped awning, kept going for three steps, then hopelessly, helplessly, backed up. For sure, this place hadn’t been around when she was a little girl, because she’d have remembered it. Griff's Secret-Fresh Churned Ice Cream, claimed the sign in the window. The list of flavors for the day included Peachy-Cream, Blueberry-Drizzle, Chocolate-Miracle, Baby-Blue and “as always”, Griff’s Secret.

She wasn’t hungry. And darn it, she hadn’t traveled all this way just to back down on a streak of cowardice.

But her right hand seemed to reach out and open the door. Her right foot seemed to step inside. The air-conditioning alone was enough to make her sink to the floor in a grateful puddle. She’d work up her courage again in a few minutes. Right now, nothing in life seemed more important than getting a taste of that ice cream.

Griff was just trolling the sports section for ball scores when the stranger walked in. Granted, he was always prone to noticing a good-looking woman, but this one snared more than a swift once-over.

The long sweep of lustrous chestnut hair caught his attention first, then the Yankee-white skin that looked softer than a baby’s butt. Soft pretty much described all of her. She was wearing a pale pink tee, white jeans, cork sandals. He guessed her height around a respectable five-five, nothing heavy about her, but she had distinctly soft edges-plump boobs, a definite cup to her fanny. Lips softer than butter.

Still, it wasn’t the prettiness that captured his interest, but the greed. On a scale of one to ten, she was easily a nine, every texture pure female, something about her that radiated sensuality, kindness, gentleness. Offhand, Griff would have pegged her as too goody-good for him, but then her blue eyes narrowed on the ice cream counter. And there it was. Right in her eyes.

A hefty dose of lusty greed.

She didn’t notice him. Griff suspected she didn’t notice much of anything. Good thing no small children stood between her and the ice cream, because she sprinted across the room faster than a thief in a bank vault.

“Can you tell me what this flavor is?”

She directed the question at Steve behind the counter. Griff had hired the kid when he had no place to go, which was pretty much how he found most of his workforce. Steve was gawky-thin, had two eyebrow rings, a tattoo on his neck and the generic scowl of a delinquent-which he was. He had been kicked out of school three times last year alone. Oddly enough, the stranger with the Virginia accent looked at the boy as if there was nothing unusual about his appearance.

“We call that one Griff’s Secret, ma’am. It’s everybody’s favorite. If you never tried it…well, let’s just say, once you’ve tried Griff, you never go back.”

“Hmm. Okay. Could I have a small cone? It has to be the smallest. I don’t even have time for that, but it looks so-”

“Yeah, it is, ma’am. Beyond good. Everybody says so.”

“How much?” She buried her head in a purse the size of a small country, emerged with a change purse barely big enough to hold a half dollar.

He’d have gone back to his paper-really. Except that, once she got a hold of the kid-size sugar cone, she sank into one of his fountain stools, closed her eyes, and took a single, long, slow lap.

The town claimed no one ever moved slower than Griff Branchard, but it wasn’t true. He just believed that speed required motivation. Seeing that soft, pink tongue curl around that cone propelled him across the room in maybe three seconds flat.

“I was hoping you might like that flavor,” he said, deliberately making his voice honey slow, because she looked like a lady who could be spooked easily-and he sure as hell didn’t want to do that.

Her eyes popped open, and for a whole, long second, she treated him to a dazzling smile. Griff had seen it before. Sometimes he only had a small window of opportunity before a woman slammed on the caution brakes, but invariably, females initially liked what they saw.