Читать книгу Mad Enough to Marry - Christie Ridgway - Страница 10

Her shift in the kissing booth over, Elena O’Brien pushed through the crowd in the direction she’d seen Logan take after he’d left her. Her fingers touched the folded bill stuffed in her pocket. It was the only thing that kept her going after him.

She’d rather be running in the opposite direction.

There was only one man who could make her feel adolescent-awkward. Only one man who could make her feel a half-shy, half-wild sixteen again, her shoes sliding off her heels because her abuela—grandmother—always bought them big for a growing girl. At sixteen she remembered her lips throbbing too, scrubbed clean at Nana’s insistence of the scarlet lipstick Elena wanted so badly to wear.

Only girls that were payo—trashy—painted their mouths. Girls who did such a thing—and in such a color!—got the wrong kind of attention from boys.

Her abuela, God rest her soul, had been right about that.

Now, all these years later, Elena didn’t have time for men and any kind of attention they might give her. Not when there was Gabby to think of and all the money that it would require to put her through college and then medical school. Elena was working two jobs already and, she thought with a sigh, she might have to pick up a third to pay for the damage the recent earthquake had done to the home she and Gabby had inherited from their grandmother.

Anyway, the truth was that Elena had lousy luck when it came to men. It wasn’t much hardship to sacrifice them so that her sister could achieve their dream.

Catching sight of broad shoulders and a dark golden head amongst those gathering around a small stage on her right, Elena’s feet paused of their own accord, her heart twitching in that stupid, childish way again. Despite the fact that Logan Chase was her best friend’s brother-in-law, she gave serious second thoughts to letting him live with his own mistake. She didn’t want another confrontation with him.

But she steeled her spine and headed his way, because she refused to be ruled by her ridiculous reactions to him. Pride demanded it. Anyway, he was never going to know how he affected her. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

She excused herself through the knot of people until she stood directly behind him. “Logan.” When he didn’t immediately turn, she touched his back.

Something jolted through her fingers, shooting up her arm. Logan jerked around.

“You,” he said, his brown eyes wide.

Elena stared. The word had briefly formed his mouth into a kiss and her lips started throbbing again. Not because he made her recall those lipstick scrubbings as she’d tried to tell herself before, but because not twenty minutes ago he’d pressed that mouth against hers. The kiss had spun her away from the kissing booth, from Strawberry Bay, even—unbelievably—from her worries and responsibilities.

Biting down on her betraying bottom lip, she shoved her hands in her pockets. The bill crackled against her fingers, reminding her she’d had a purpose beyond reliving that kiss to seek him out.

“You made a mistake,” she said, drawing out the thousand-dollar bill.

He glanced at the money, then back at her face. “Who’s in the kissing booth?”

Willing herself not to flush, she pretended she hadn’t admitted to him that her failure in the booth bothered her. “I took the first shift because everyone else had a conflict. This is the Homecoming Queen’s hour.”

“Ah.” His very white smile broke across his face, carving lines into his lean, tanned cheeks. “Good.”

Elena stiffened. “Yes, well, I’m sure she’ll have much better success.”

“Damn it, Elena.” Logan’s smile died and he pushed his dark gold hair behind his ears. It was longer than she’d ever seen it, almost messy, and it fell forward again immediately. He pushed at it once more, an awkward movement, as if he didn’t know how to manage the new length. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounds.”

“How did you mean it then?” Oh, she was proud of herself for how cool she sounded. Almost uncaring.

He muttered something under his breath. “I—”

The rest of his words were cut off by a trumpet fanfare from the speakers set up nearby. Almost immediately a line of teeny tiny girls in pink tights, leotards, and tap shoes shuffle-stepped onto the stage. The line leader carried a sign proclaiming them to be Miss Bunny’s Tapping Tots. Applause erupted from the crowd around them.

Logan said something to her, but it was lost in the first notes of “The Good Ship Lollipop.” Elena shook her head and pointed at her ears to indicate she couldn’t hear, bringing her attention back to the bill in her hand.

She held it mutely up to him.

He shook his head.

She shook it in his face. “A mistake,” she mouthed.

When he didn’t respond, she gritted her teeth and grabbed his arm to tow him somewhere quiet. She was due at her second job in less than an hour.

The art show was set up a little ways from the stage, and the panels on which the paintings were hung muffled most of the music. Elena halted in the first aisle and faced Logan. “This is your money,” she said, holding out the bill. When he’d dropped it in the bowl, she hadn’t immediately noticed its denomination because she’d been distracted—okay, fine, dazzled—by their kiss.

A small smile playing over his wide mouth, he pushed his hands in the pockets of his jeans, looking down on her. He was a rangy six-one or six-two, much taller than her five-feet-and-almost-five-inches. Maybe that was why he always managed to make her feel like she was on her first date.

Or maybe that was because he had been her first date.

“That’s the kissing booth’s money,” Logan said.

She frowned at him. “Do you need glasses or something? This is a thousand-dollar bill!”

He shrugged. “You don’t think you’re worth it?”

She swallowed a sound of annoyance. This is what he did to her. He either made her feel clumsy, cross or a lethal combination of the two that played havoc with her self-control. “Logan.”

“Hmm?”

“It’s no big deal.” Her voice was even, reasonable. Very mature. “You accidentally put the wrong bill into the jar. Give me five bucks, I’ll give you this back, and we’ll be fine.”

He laughed. “We haven’t been fine since—”

“Since my best friend started going out with your brother.” Her path and Logan’s hadn’t crossed for years, but then Annie and Griffin had fallen in love.

“I was going to say we haven’t been fine since the night we met.”

In an instant, Elena’s mouth dried. She’d been newly sixteen, newly orphaned, new to town. He’d been eighteen, golden, a man in her eyes. Her heart jumped around in her chest just as it had done then and she felt the flush of sexual arousal bloom over her skin, just as it had done then too. He’d awakened her that night.

Then a week later humiliated her.

Her fingers tightened on the crisp paper and she looked down at it, then back up to his face. “What game are you playing?” she said slowly.

Now it was his turn to look annoyed. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why would you put this much money in the fishbowl?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. His hand lifted. Fell to his side in a fist. “You are too much work,” he finally ground out. “Can’t you just accept it as a donation?”

A thousand dollars for a kiss? A thousand-dollar donation for prom decorations? Her face felt stiff and she remembered all over again that Logan’s family owned Chase Electronics, the biggest employer in town. He’d grown up within the walls of an estate that was on California’s historic register.

“Pardon me for not understanding how little this is to the privileged set,” she said. “On my side of town a thousand dollars is a lot of money.”

“Elena, I didn’t mean it like that.” He shook his head, sighing. It sounded like frustration. “Would you believe me if I told you I wish it wasn’t always like this between us?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him how he wished it was between them. But that was dangerous, much too much like truly wishing, and though Logan had once upon a time awakened her with a kiss—kisses—she’d given up on princes and happy-ever-afters long ago.

Over his shoulder she spotted her sister with Tyler Evans, turning the corner to the next aisle. Elena frowned, her constant niggle of worry over Gabby growing as she caught sight of the teenagers’ entwined hands.

“Fine then,” she told Logan, shoving the thousand-dollar bill back into her pocket. “I’ll make sure your money gets to the committee.” Without waiting for his response, she trailed behind Gabby and Tyler.

Logan trailed her.

She turned her head to look at him. “Why are you following me?”

“Because, damn it, I’m never satisfied with the way things end between us.”

There was something hot in his eyes. She hated when he did that. At will, it seemed, he could put a sexual burn into his gaze. She was sure he did it to fluster her, so of course she’d die before she’d let him know that look made her knees quiver and her stomach flutter.

“Stop doing that.” She made sure she sounded irritated.

He shook his head, then put his hand on her arm, halting her movement. “Elena…”

Her body was trembling, it was horribly embarrassing, but it was. She tensed her muscles, hoping he wouldn’t detect her helpless reaction to his touch. What an unsophisticate he’d consider her if he knew.

“Elena.” His voice softened, hoarsened. That heat in his brown eyes was melting the strength she counted on for survival. “You are so madden—”

“Elena! Someone bought my painting!”

At the sound of her sister’s voice, Elena found the will to pull away from the spell of Logan’s gaze and touch. She turned to face the approaching Gabby, Tyler a bit behind her. “What, Gabriellita?”

Gabby’s face was flushed and her eyes sparkled. “I sold my very first painting!”

Elena tried to catch up to her sister’s excitement. “You brought your art to the show.” She vaguely remembered Gabby telling her that she and Tyler were each submitting a painting, but the details had gotten lost in all the other details of their busy life.

Gabby nodded. “Mr. Barger—he’s the one in charge of the art show—said it sold about ten minutes ago. And Mrs. Eddleston from the bank is writing a check for Tyler’s painting right now.”

Her little sister looked as though she was about to pop, and it made Elena grin.

“Congratulations, Gabby.” It was Logan.

Gabby’s head jerked up and she blinked, as if noticing him for the first time. Hot color rushed across her face. “Thank you. Really. Thank you.”

Confused, Elena looked between Gabby and Logan. “What’s going on?”

“I bought the painting,” Logan said, his gaze on Gabby. “You can verify it with Mr. Barger, by the way, that I didn’t realize who the artist was until after the sale.”

Elena turned to look at him, still bewildered. “You bought a painting?”

There was a funny expression on Logan’s face. “I’ve just moved and I could use something for my walls. The painting…” He cleared his throat, shrugged, looked away. “Called to me.”

There was a buzzing in Elena’s ears. “Wh—” She had to stop, start again. “Which painting, exactly, did you show today, Gabby?”

Her sister gulped. Audibly.

“No,” Elena protested, her voice swallowed up by horror.

Gabby nodded, an expression somewhere between mischief and apology in her eyes. “Elena in Bed.”

Elena’s gaze flew to Logan, even as a flush moved just as quickly from her toes to her forehead. Forget worrying about looking sixteen. Because now the man had bought the right to look at her—all day and all night if he wanted.

And though she appeared decent enough in the painting, it didn’t help her state of mind to know—and Logan likely suspected—that beneath those covers she’d been stark naked.

Late Sunday afternoon, Logan blasted U2 through his stereo speakers as inspiration while he stripped the fourteen coats of paint covering the banister of the stairway in his three-story Victorian. His fingers ached from his grip on the scraper, his back would never be the same after spending the day half-bent, and he was stooping because his knees were already bruised to hell and back. But he’d never been happier in his life, he thought, singing along with Bono. Yeah, man. It was a beautiful day.

It took a while for a muffled banging to distinguish itself from the drumline of the song. Someone was knocking on his front door.

Logan descended the steps at a jog, then paused to turn down the stereo before approaching the foyer. With his hand on the doorknob, he hesitated. Maybe he should—

No, even if it was good ol’ Jonathon Chase, his father, intent on another turn of the guilt screws, it was too late to pretend he wasn’t home. Bracing himself, he pulled open the door.

Elena stood on the other side, looking as surprised to see him as he was to see her. They stared at each other for a moment, then she blinked, her gaze traveling down, then back up to meet his.

“You’re, um, dirty,” she pointed out, her voice as surprised as her expression.

He nodded, his own gaze involuntarily zeroing in on her full mouth. Dirty in his mind too, he could have added, because he’d been dwelling on that kiss they’d shared. Not to mention all the time he’d spent studying his new art acquisition, Elena in Bed.

Uh-oh. He suddenly had a very good idea about why the beautiful bane of his life was standing on his doorstep. She’d made some vague threats before hurrying off the day before about getting the painting back.

No, he resolved instantly. No way. It was his! It felt damn good to have something she wanted for once. What other man could say that?

“May I come in?” she asked.

Oh, she wanted the painting bad, Logan decided, because she was actually managing to sound sort of friendly.

Which immediately edged up the dial on his Trouble Meter. It was best not to let her inside. Call it a premonition, call it learning from past mistakes, but he and Elena did not do well in close proximity. Consider that kiss. No, better not. Not when she was so near.

He stepped out onto the porch, trying to invent a polite refusal. Hustle her toward home. Out of his life, good. Without his painting. Very good.

But now, a few steps closer to her and with his initial surprise out of the way, his eyes widened again. Elena appeared exhausted. Strangely defenseless too, with her sumptuous curves swallowed up by a white T-shirt and a baggy pair of denim overalls.

With a pale face and tired shadows beneath her baby blues, she was also so gut-wrenchingly gorgeous it made a man want to slay her dragons as much as he wanted to seduce her. Cursing his own weakness, he found himself turning right around to usher her inside.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, directing her toward the front room. Layers of wallpaper were peeled back from the plaster in long curls. Pink stripes over yellow flowers over a design that might once have been green but was now grayish.

She paused in the middle of the room, taking in the bay window, the wallpaper curls, the two old recliners—one with duct tape on the seat—that faced a big-screen TV sitting on a platform of cinder block and plywood. He watched TV sometimes while he worked. The recliners had been left behind by the previous homeowner.

She looked over at him, her expression amazed. “You do actually live here. Your mother gave me this address when I called but I wasn’t sure I understood her correctly.”

Logan gestured toward the recliner sans duct tape, and then frowned as he watched her drop to the seat with a little sigh. She seemed glad to have something beneath her.

“Oh, Mom has the story straight,” he replied, scrutinizing Elena even more closely. “Can I get you something to eat? A beer? Soda?”

She waved a weary hand. “Whatever.”

When he came back in with two bottles of beer in one hand and a plate of cold pizza in the other, Elena was collapsed against the back cushion of her chair. He handed her a bottle and put the pizza on the scarred end table between the two recliners, nudging over the remote control to make room.

She took a long swallow of beer then cast him a look. “You really quit Chase Electronics?”

He took a chug from his own bottle. “Yep.”

“You moved out of your condo and bought this Victorian. On my side of town.”

“Yep. Though the condo is actually Griffin’s. He and Annie will live in it when they get back from the honeymoon. Until they find their own house, anyway.”

“You quit Chase Electronics,” Elena repeated as if still not quite believing it, then took a longer swallow from her bottle.

“And I bought my buddy Reuben’s rehab business—which doesn’t mean much more than his tools and this house which he was only half finished converting into apartments. But he wanted to move to Oregon with his girlfriend and I wanted to break the chains tying me to my desk at Chase Electronics. A match made in heaven.”

“You know how to do all this?” She gestured with her beer toward the wallpaper and then the bay windows. Half the trimwork around them was missing, the other half was shedding paint coat number fifteen.

He shrugged. “We’ll find out.”

Her jaw dropped.

He laughed. “It’s not as reckless as it sounds. Though I got my MBA at Stanford, I have an undergraduate degree in Industrial Arts. I’ve always wanted to work with my hands.”

It had been his brother almost passing up on love and his parents celebrating forty years of a merger instead of a marriage, to wake Logan up to that fact. He’d opened his eyes to find himself tied to a dreary job in the family company and also tied to an almost-fiancé. Both fulfilled other people’s expectations—but didn’t do a thing for him.

Elena drank from her beer again. “Your father…”

“Is predicting disaster. Me on my knees begging for my old position back at Chase Electronics.”

“You look determined to prove him wrong.”

“Yeah.” Logan had overcomplicated his life for years by going along with dear old dad, but it was simple now. He’d focus solely on building his business—a business that would satisfy him. “People are interested in restoring the Victorians and California bungalows around town—even more so since last summer’s earthquake damaged several of them.”

At the mention of the earthquake, she frowned and then quickly drained her beer and carefully set the bottle on the floor. “Well, I’m sure both of us have better things to do. I came to pick up my painting.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “You mean my painting?”

Her lips compressed in annoyance. “I’m paying you for it,” she said, patting the pants pocket of her overalls.

“I never said I’d sell it.”

“Logan. I didn’t have time for this yesterday, I had to get to work. But there’s no point in arguing. I have the money.” Her hand went to her pocket again as she jumped to her feet. Then she swayed, looking dizzy.

Logan rose in concern as she put an unsteady hand on the back of her chair. “Elena?”

She blinked at him. “I’m fine,” she said quickly. “I just stood up too fast.”

He took a step toward her anyway.

Thank God. It gave him enough time to catch her as she fell.

He figured she was fainting. Or maybe she was passing out from a combination of no food and that one beer. Either way, he expected she’d keep her mouth shut.

But cradled in his arms as he climbed the stairs toward his second-floor apartment, Elena gave him grief.

“Put me down. I’m fine. Just a little tired or something. Put me down. Let go. I stood up too fast. I’m fine. Put me down.”

He let her drone on, which she did, of course, until he dropped her onto the mattress in his bedroom. Then he told her to shut up.

Unnecessary, though. Because her mouth had snapped closed, mid complaint, when she saw what he’d hung on the wall opposite his bed.

Damn.

Her gaze moved to him accusingly and she struggled to her elbows. “You told me yesterday that you wouldn’t hang it! You promised.”

He shook his head. “I promised I wouldn’t let anyone see it. But enough about that. You need to lie back and rest.”

“I need to get my painting back!”

Double damn.

He sighed. “It’s my painting, darling. And you’re not going anywhere until we figure out why you went down for the count. Should I call a doctor?”

“Of course not.” She sat up.

His hand on her shoulder, he forced her back to the pillows. “Did you eat today?”

She looked ready to take a bite out of him. “I assisted at the cooking school this morning. We made seven-grain waffles with strawberry syrup. I’m sure I took a taste.”

A taste. “And then what?” he asked.

“And then I spent a few hours wading through the summer admission applications stacking up in my office, if that’s any of your business.”

Though officially an “administrative assistant,” Logan had heard she virtually ran the admissions office at the local community college single-handedly. He shook his head. “Elena, it’s Sunday. You worked two jobs today and you went to work yesterday as well. No wonder you’re dead on your feet.”

She glared at him. “Some of us can’t afford to sneer at overtime.” One hand slid into her pocket and the other grabbed his. Paper slapped against his palm. “There. Your money.”

Instead of green bills, he looked down at a section of the newspaper folded into a small rectangle. “What’s this?”

She made a little huff of irritation and fished through her other pocket. “A mistake.” She drew out a wad of cash. “Here.”

He avoided accepting it by unfolding the newspaper to glance at the circled ads. “You’re moving?”

“Temporarily. If I can find something we can afford for a month or two.”

“Why?” He looked at her over the top of the newspaper.

She sighed. “They did another round of earthquake inspections in my area and guess what? They found serious damage to our foundation. Gabby and I have to be out while it’s being repaired.”

“No earthquake insurance?”

Her blue eyes tried to wither him. “I don’t own any diamond mines either,” she said, then swung her legs over the bed to sit up.

She had to flatten her free hand to the mattress to steady herself and her face seemed to go paler.

That sign of vulnerability made him feel a little sick. “Are you having any luck finding someplace to live?”

She took a fortifying breath. “On my budget? Not yet. But I have a few other places to check out today.”

“Today? Hell, Elena, you don’t even have the strength to stand up.”

She didn’t protest, but she didn’t agree either. Instead, she mutely held out the wad of cash.

He hesitated, mulling something over in his mind. If he made the offer, certainly she’d refuse. But hey, that was smart, he thought, because just the offer alone would earn him Good Guy points. In the game of Elena vs. Logan, nobody knew better than he that he needed all he could get.

She flopped the cash at him, both the bills and the gesture tired-looking. That did it. Witnessing yet another crack in that tough shell of hers made his stomach roll over and his last shred of self-preservation play dead.

“I’ll give you the painting back on one condition,” he said. “That you and Gabby move in here with me.”

Her eyes widened. Oh yeah, Logan thought with great relief, she was gonna say no. And he was gonna get to keep Elena in Bed where she belonged.