Susan Andersen - Some Like It Hot

“Hooyah,” he breathed when she turned three-quarters away from him, propped a foot on the edge of the tub and bent to dry her lower leg. He had to physically restrain himself from reaching out to stroke the sweet, firm curve of her ass. He cleared his throat and sternly recalled the topic they’d been discussing before her rise like Venus from a fucking shell had blown it from his mind. “Why didn’t one of those parents just take over?”

She glanced over her shoulder at him. “You’re a logical thinker, aren’t you? And hiring someone familiar with the program would make sense...if even one of them had been in the market for a short-term job that was about to transition from part-time to ten-hour days.”

That got his mind back in the game. “I thought you said it wasn’t that difficult!”

“The scenario I propose for Cedar Village isn’t. But the kind of auction I did for the school was held in an Atlanta hotel, featured a sit-down meal and included enough items to fill a ballroom. It also employed an auctioneer at a live auction for the high ticket items. That’s a much more time-consuming endeavor.”

She climbed from the tub and balanced gracefully on one foot while raising the other to towel it dry. Upon finishing both feet, she turned, crossed her arms beneath her breasts and pinned him squarely in her sights. “So, have I demonstrated enough experience to volunteer at the Village?”

Luckily for him, it was dim out here, so the blood he felt surging up his throat and onto his face likely didn’t show. He’d inferred that she might have nothing the home could use yesterday—or that the boys would make mincemeat of her, because he’d been rattled by the microsecond spent all but wrapped around her when he’d stepped in to help with the leaning tower of glasses. Rattled—and wanting nothing more than to avoid running into her at the one place he felt most like himself.

But he’d known when she’d made Brandon squirm with nothing more than a look that she could hold her own with the Cedar Village boys. “Yes,” he said honestly. “And then some. Do you want a regular schedule—” which he’d prefer so he could arrange, for both their sakes, to be elsewhere “—or—”

“I’d rather come when I can, if that works for you. My hours at the inn change week to week and sometimes even day to day.”

“Sure.” He pulled out his wallet again and searched through it for a Village card. Locating the one he knew was in there somewhere, he pulled it out and extended it to Harper. “Sorry this’s so battered, but the director Mary-Margaret’s name and number are on it. She’s the one to talk to, but I’ll let her know about our conversation on Thursday, which will be the next time I’ll be there, so she’ll know who she’s talking to when she gets your call.”

“Thanks, Max.” She pulled a vivid red cover-up over her suit and slid the card in its pocket, then gathered her room card and the still half-full can of pop from the little shelf. “I’ll give her a call on Friday.”

“Are you headed back to your place?”

She nodded. “Yeah. It’s been a busy day—I’m going to call it a night.” She looked him over. “You have to be pretty whipped yourself. You slaved over a hot stove and rode herd over teenage boys for a good part of yesterday, and have obviously worked today.” She indicated his department uniform and holstered gun.

He shrugged. “What can I say—I’m tough.” One hand hovering just above the small of her back, he gave her an after you sweep of his free fingers. “Come on. I’ll see you to your place, then I’m gonna head home, myself. I’ve got a beer calling my name.”

“You don’t have to walk me home.” She grinned up at him. “But you’re going to anyway, aren’t you, ’cause you’re Mister Responsible.” She turned in the direction he indicated and headed down the path that intersected with another that led to her cottage, getting ahead of his hand, which he dropped to his side.

“That’s me,” he agreed. “And for a woman I’d lay odds on being pretty damn independent, you’re being suspiciously easy to steer.”

“Never get between a man and his beer, I always say.”

“No fooling?” Tucking his hands in his front pockets, he strolled a scant inch behind her. “I just might have to marry you.”

He thought he saw her step falter, but maybe not, because he blinked and she was walking with hip-swinging ease. Not to mention the wry smile she shot him.

“You don’t think you might have kind of low standards for a future wife?” she inquired.

“Hey, I’m pretty serious about my beer.” And damn amazed that for this moment, at least, he felt downright at ease with her.

“Ah, well, then.”

They arrived at her cottage, and she turned to face him. “Thanks, Max. You truly are a nice guy.”

“No, I’m not!”

Her dark brows furrowed. “That’s not an insult.”

Except for the part where being a “nice” guy was usually the kiss of death when it came to getting laid.

He straightened. What the hell difference did that make? It wasn’t as if a woman like Harper was going to sleep with a guy like him anyway.

“You’re right,” he said, giving her a stiff smile and falling back into the professionalism he’d used from day one as a shield against his attraction to her. “It was a very nice compliment—it’s just been a long day, like you said. But I’m always glad to be of assistance.” He tweaked the room card from her fingers and slid it into the slot, then turned away for her to punch in the code.

He twisted back when he heard the door open and gave her a crisp nod. “You enjoy the rest of your night, now.”

“O...kay,” she said faintly.

But he was already off her porch and halfway down the path.

CHAPTER FIVE

“I’M SO GLAD we finally managed to get together.” Harper said as she slid into a chair across a small wooden table from Tasha at The Anchor bar Friday afternoon.

“No fooling—I’m happy you could get away during the day.” The tall, attractive strawberry blonde gave her a rueful smile. “I’m afraid the downside to owning my own pizza joint is that my work is generally just kicking into high gear about the time everyone else’s is winding down and they’re getting ready to go home for the day.”

“And erratic hours are rather the upside of my job. I guided a kayak group along the shoreline to town this morning, but Fridays are a big transition day—checkouts in the morning and even more ins during the late afternoon, so I don’t have anything scheduled until my sunset yoga class this evening. So, good-oh for us, huh?”

“What’s good-oh for you two?” A purse landed on the table next to Harper, and she looked up to see Jenny pulling out the chair beside hers. “Tell me I didn’t miss anything good.”

“Nah.” Tasha shook her head at her friend. “We were just congratulating ourselves on finding some mutual time off.”

“Yeah, too bad about you peons.” Bouncing a fist off her chest, Jenny flashed them a big smile. “It’s good to be boss.”

“Hey, I’m a boss, too,” Tasha said. “I’m the boss of me.”

“And yet you’re always tied to Bella T’s from late afternoon on. Hell, from lunch on most of the summer.”

“Yeah, I should probably think about hiring more people to give me some flexibility.” She slid them a sly smile. “Still, it could be worse. I could be the peon like Harper.”

“Now, that’s just cold!” But Harper laughed, enjoying herself immensely. She’d been sitting with the two women for less than five minutes and already it had occurred to her that she’d done herself a huge disservice when she’d failed to pursue more female friendships over the years.