Carolyn Greene - An Eligible Bachelor

When he had returned home a few moments ago and pointed the nose of his elegant black sports car toward the garage at the left side of his house, he had heard a woman’s voice. Considering his new tenant’s domestic tendencies, Wade had assumed she was singing as she did her housework. During the past week, the lovely Ms. Jensen had been cleaning and gradually moving her belongings into the apartment.

Not that he was surprised. The first time he’d met her to show her the apartment, he’d immediately pegged her as a young June Cleaver. The single mother didn’t have the high-heeled shoes or strand of pearls, or even a husband, as the old-fashioned TV character had, but he knew with certainty she had the nesting instinct. And that spelled danger.

Long ago he’d learned to pick up on such clues, and less than a minute after he’d met his attractive tenant, he had mentally hung a Do Not Touch sign on her. And, as if to ward her off, a long-standing superstitious habit prompted him to rub the Bachelor of the Year pin on his collar. Women who sang while they did housework were definitely off his list of possibilities.

He crossed the driveway to the deck behind the attached apartment. Amusing as this might be, he’d have to make this quick. His little black book held promise for a fruitful evening.

“Sean?” Her cry was plaintive now, as if she’d given up hope that anyone would come to her rescue.

Odd that she would be calling his brother for help. The Joubert syndrome that weakened Sean’s muscles forced him to walk with crutches and prevented him from lifting heavy objects. It was Saturday afternoon, so the teen was no doubt driving his cart around the course as he picked up trash, retrieved lost golf balls and chatted with the country-club guests.

Geneva stiffened as if she must have felt the vibrations when he crossed the wood-planked patio.

From her facedown position, she pushed a hand out the window and motioned him closer. “I thought you’d never get me out of this mess. Do me a favor, and don’t mention this to your brother, okay?”

“And why wouldn’t you want him to know?”

“Mr. Matteo?”

“You can call me Wade.” Out of habit, he fell into his come-a’calling voice…a deep, rich tone that he’d cultivated to go along with his playboy persona.

She wiggled her toes, and he knew instinctively that he’d gotten to her. “Would you please lift this window off my back?”

Geneva tried to keep the panic out of her voice. Like it or not, she was at his mercy.

“How do I know you’re not a burglar? Maybe I should call the sheriff.”

“Come on, you rented the place to me just last week. You know who I am.”

“Now that you mention it, I do recognize the legs.”

Geneva automatically tugged at her skirt to make sure she wasn’t showing him more than just lack of coordination with the window.

Her ex-husband, Les, would have a field day with her predicament if he were here. Fortunately, he and his relentless put-downs were long gone now. She only hoped her landlord had more restraint.

Geneva grew warm when she remembered the first time she’d seen Wade. With looks like his, it was easy to understand why women practically stood in line to go out with him, and she had responded to his blatantly masculine charm by blushing and succumbing to a fit of shyness. Once again he was making her feel inexperienced and naive…which, come to think of it, she was.

Strong male hands gripped the small of her back, and Geneva stiffened at their touch.

“Bear with me a moment,” he said, his arm nudging her bottom as he braced his elbows on either side of her hips in an attempt to push the window up.

Although he’d started out teasing her, his actions were now matter-of-fact. Even so, she felt embarrassed at being caught with her rump up and her guard down. Geneva’s abdomen chaffed against the frame, but there was little she could do with the window pressed firmly against her back. The thin scarlet T-shirt had worked its way loose from the waistband of her denim skirt and did little to cushion her from the wood biting into her body.

A moment later the window shuddered upward and Geneva was freed from its grasp. Backing gingerly out of its clutches, she gathered her son close, then smoothed the tangle of brown curls that fell over her shoulders.

Momentarily forgetting to thank her rescuer, she lifted the hem of her top and inspected the damage. There was no blood from the scrape on her side, but a broad patch the size of her palm flamed a bright pink, and tiny ridges indicated where the skin had barely been broken.

Wade leaned close and made an appropriate noise of sympathy that somehow made her feel better.

“That’s gotta hurt like he—” He interrupted himself, his gaze darting to Jacob. “—a lot.”

Suddenly remembering she was exposing her midriff to a man who was not a doctor, Geneva jerked the fabric down without bothering to tuck it back into her skirt. She set about fussing with her clothes in an attempt to cover her awkwardness.

“You look great,” he said in an obvious attempt to reassure her but, coming from him, the words served as a reminder to beware the reputed philanderer on her doorstep. He took her shoe from his hip pocket. “You dropped this, Cinderella.”

Geneva reached to take it from him, but he had already knelt before her and cupped the heel of her bare foot in his hand.

“I feel like a regular Prince Charming,” he announced as he slid the canvas shoe onto her foot.

Self-consciously, Geneva moved backward. The deck railing prevented further retreat.

“What? I don’t bite.”

She looked down at her feet and wondered why the heel he had cupped in his hand still burned from his touch. “That’s not what the neighbors say.”

She hadn’t actually meant to say the words out loud, and she was all set to apologize, when he threw his head back and laughed. The deep sound of it wrapped around her, making her glad to have caused such a reaction, even if it had been accidental.

“Ah, so my reputation precedes me.”

He didn’t seem upset at having been the topic of discussion. Instead, he seemed amused by it. Perhaps he was used to such an occurrence.

“Let me put your fears to rest,” he said, his gaze capturing hers with such an intensity that she couldn’t have looked away if she had wanted to. “You’re not my type.”

With an involuntary squaring of her shoulders, she found herself annoyed rather than relieved by his declaration. There was nothing wrong with her. She was reasonably attractive, in pretty good shape, intelligent and, as a bonus, she was quite handy with most things domestic. And although her ex-husband had tried to make her believe otherwise, she was very easy to get along with.

At her skeptical “hmmph!” Wade raised an eyebrow. “Would you care to elaborate on that?”

“Not really.” She lifted her chin, determined to set some ground rules. “Your personal life is none of my business, and I don’t care what type of woman you prefer as long as you’re discreet about it.” She ruffled her son’s hair. “It wouldn’t do to have a certain someone asking questions about the birds and bees because of our neighbor’s activities.”

Besides, she’d already shared a roof with one skirt chaser. She had no desire to repeat the experience.

“You think you have me pegged.”

She took Jacob’s hand and started toward the house, but he intercepted her. Her gaze fell squarely on the broad wall of his chest, which blocked her view but presented her with an even better one.

“So tell me what you believe my type is,” he persisted.

Geneva crossed her arms in front of her and immediately regretted the action when it caused the shirt to rub her sore spot. “I’ve heard what people say about you, and in this case I believe they’re right.”