Читать книгу Turn Up the Heat - Isabel Sharpe, Isabel Sharpe - Страница 9

JUSTIN PULLED ON his thermal jacket, thrust his hands into puffy black gloves and stepped into boots that promised to keep his feet warm and dry through whatever winter could offer. So far it had offered a lot. Very generous was winter here in Wisconsin. Not much in common with the last thirty winters of his life spent in San Diego. When he’d announced his plans to move to Milwaukee, his friends all got the same bewildered look in their eyes. Dude, what are you smoking? They’d predicted he’d last through January then come shivering back to sunny California.

So far he was holding strong, but days like this …

He peered through the back window at the outdoor thermometer the previous owners left with the house, which he could barely see. Five-thirty and nearly dark. And this was better than it had been in December, when it had started to get dark an hour earlier.

The temperature registered … eighteen? Sorry, but that wasn’t enough degrees for him. Who was responsible? Who could come to the state and fix it? Shouldn’t spring have started by now? Near the end of January? He was certainly ready.

He braced himself and opened the door, cringing at the blast of air that attacked him as if he were naked. The day before had been miraculously warmer, enough to melt the snow on his roof, which meant that as temperatures dropped again, his gutters became icicle hangers and his driveway a skating rink.

Yes, he had moved here on purpose.

He closed his eyes, briefly picturing palm trees, sunshine—he’d seen the sun maybe ten times during the three months he’d been here—sandy beaches, waves made for surfing.

No point torturing himself. He started on the perilous journey toward his garage for a bag of salt, reminding himself that he owned this spacious two-thousand-square-foot house with full basement, instead of the cramped two-bedroom he’d sold in Solana Beach, his hometown on the California coast. Point in Wisconsin’s favor, they were practically giving houses away here. He’d jumped on this one, a typically midwestern brick bungalow on a quiet street in Shorewood, just north of the city of Milwaukee, and made enough profit on the sale of his old house not only to buy the place with cash, but to allow himself time to settle in and write the first book in what could turn out to be a very profitable series with Troy, his closest friend from college.

Justin hadn’t been planning to move, but the coauthoring book deal from Troy and the amount of work they’d need to do together, coupled with the nasty break-up of a relationship, had certainly planted the seed. It wasn’t until his new neighbor, out of the blue, made a very generous offer to purchase his house that Justin started to view the idea seriously. In the end, it almost seemed as if the fates were pointing him here.

The fates clearly had a high tolerance for cold.

He made it to the garage, no falls or bruises, all bones intact, hefted the bag of salt and managed to work out a method of sprinkling and shuffling carefully forward at the same time, ice crackling under the mineral assault. If he was lucky, he could get the car over this and onto the street without smashing into anything. Snow driving and Justin were only just getting acquainted.

At the end of the driveway he’d turned and started on the sidewalk when a movement across the street caught his eye. His neighbor, whatever her name was, had emerged from her house into the strong beam of her back-door light, and was sauntering toward her car, a bright red minivan parked on the street. He’d seen her through the window a couple of times, but meeting people on a block where no one was ever outside unless he or she was pushing a roaring snowblower had proved complicated.

This woman intrigued him. Not just because she was young, attractive and he hadn’t happened to see a guy attached to her, but because, unless she was one of twins or triplets, every time he’d seen her in the past week she’d been sporting a completely different look. Not just different clothes, but hair, accessory styles, even her movements. The first time he’d noticed the change from her usual casual outfit and aura, she’d been striding aggressively toward her car in a pantsuit masculine enough that he could have worn it, no coat, hair in a severe bun, eyes imprisoned by thick, dark-framed glasses. The second time, late one evening, she’d been taking out her trash at the same time he was watering plants in his living room—plants he’d bought to remind himself that not every living thing had died in October. That time, Mysterious Neighbor wore unobtrusive rimless glasses and had her hair in a soft, long braid, exposing chunky gold earrings. On her slender body a bulky hip-length cream sweater hung over casual tan pants and sensible brown shoes. She’d moved in slow dreamy steps, a book tucked under her arm.

Tonight? Whew.

Dark hair hanging sexily loose past her shoulders, tight black miniskirt, fabulous legs in sheer black stockings, which happened to be one of his favorite looks. His gaze followed those shapely legs downward into black lace-up stiletto ankle boots. Under her gaping long black sweater—she must be part Siberian not to be wearing a coat—a purple clingy top dropped low enough to make him yearn for a two-scoop ice cream sundae in spite of the cold. Delicate silver earrings, a silver bracelet, rings on her fingers—bells on her toes?

He realized he was gaping and gave what he hoped was a friendly and neighborly wave, which was all they’d exchanged so far. Her answering smile reached across the street and practically pushed him off his feet.

Whoa.

He crossed, almost forgetting to check for cars, took off his right glove and offered to shake with frozen fingers. “Hi there. I’m Justin.”

Her fingers, extracted from black leather and lace, were warm. “I’m Candy.”

He was about to say, yes you are, when it occurred to him what could be a fun compliment from someone she trusted would sound slimy coming from a stranger. “Nice to meet you, Candy …”

“Graham.”

“Candy-gram?”

She shrugged, smiling wryly. “Dad had a weird sense of humor. My real name is Catherine. I’ve tried to switch to the full name, but …”

He knew this one. “But everyone has always called you Candy, and using another name would be like throwing part of yourself away.”

Her turn to gape at him, but unfortunately not because he was the hottest thing she’d seen all winter long as had been the situation when he was doing it. “How did you know?”

“My last name is Case.”

“Case?”

“Justin …”

“Justin Case.” She cringed, where every other person who made the connection burst out laughing. “Oof. Sorry.”

“Thanks.” He was distracted by the way her full curving lips were colored a plummy shade that complemented her top. She parted those lips and her breath emerged, a soft white cloud in the dim light. He had a sudden and urgent desire to kiss her, and when he lifted his gaze to her eyes and felt the earthquake shock of attraction, he almost did.

Almost. “Uh, yeah, my dad was quite the jokester, too.”

“Apparently.” She broke the eye contact, glancing across the street at his house. “Well, welcome to the neighborhood, Justin Case. How long have you been here?”

“Since November.” He put his glove back on, crossed his arms over his chest. She had dynamite eyes, lashes long but not fake-looking; subtle liner and smoky brown shadow made them large and smoldering, yet he had the feeling that when she wasn’t dressed and made-up in one of her guises, she’d look farm-girl sweet. Nothing turned him on more than the combination of heat and innocence. He wanted to ask if she was seeing anyone, and how she’d feel about staying indoors with him for the rest of this miserable season. “Pretty serious cold here today, huh.”

“Today?” She blinked at him.

“My thermometer said eighteen. Brutal!” He shook his head, taken aback when she looked puzzled. “For this time of year, I mean.”

“You’re not from Wisconsin, are you.”

“Uh. Southern California?”

She smirked. “That explains it. Eighteen is a pretty normal temperature. This winter has actually been really mild. We usually go subzero in January.”

He shuddered. Were there flights out of Milwaukee to anywhere warm leaving this afternoon?

“It’s not that bad.” She shifted on the sidewalk, gesturing with her hands in her pockets; her sweater gaped and he got a very nice eyeful. She wasn’t tall—he was six-one and she came up to his chin in those incredible boots—but perfectly proportioned. If anything could warm him up … “What made you move here, Justin?”

“A book contract.” His teeth started to chatter; he wondered if she’d think he was making a move on her if he invited her to continue their conversation inside.

“No, kidding! What about?”

“An interactive how-to computer manual. There will be a disk with the book, and an e-version. In the ebooks, readers will be able to click links to pursue subjects further, see short animated demos or try out software screens. We’re trying to duplicate a classroom experience. A friend pitched the idea to our publisher. He’s the computer guy. I’m the writer.” Could she tell his sentences were getting shorter and shorter as his body started to want to shake in earnest? It took more and more energy to hold still. Not macho to start violent trembling. “If it flies they’ll want a whole series.”

“No kidding! That is most excellent. Did you write in California? Where were you from exactly? I have a friend in L.A.” Her conversation tumbled out, as if she’d been holding back before.

“I’m from Solana Beach, outside San Diego. Yes, I wrote, technical manuals for a scientific engineering company.”

“Oh, wow. That sounds so …” She faltered.

“Unbelievably exciting? Universe-altering, in fact?”

“Of course.” She tipped her head, smiling again, hair hanging in a shiny curtain behind her right ear. If he wasn’t about to turn into Frosty the Snowman, he’d really enjoy being on the receiving end of that deep-brown gaze, imagining what else she might find unbelievably exciting.

But he was about to turn into Frosty the Snowman.

“Listen, I know you natives consider this a balmy day in paradise, but I am about to start dropping limbs. Would you like to bring this conversation over to my house? I have coffee on, though at this point I’m thinking of bathing in it.”

She laughed. “I’d love to, but I have a … date.”

“Yeah, okay.” He was surprised to be so disappointed. But of course a woman like this would have a boyfriend, or guys all over her. Guys who’d walk around on a day like today in shorts, shirtless and not even have their balls retract. His were somewhere up near where they’d been the day he was born. “I should have figured with you so dressed up.”

“I don’t always dress like this.”

He almost said “No kidding” but didn’t want her thinking—okay, knowing—that he’d taken a somewhat voyeur-type interest in her and was already curious about her abrupt changes in style. “Too bad.”

She smiled, and under her sex-aura he thought he detected shyness. “Thank you.”

“You … go on a lot of dates?”

“Recently, yes.”

He took a step back. He really liked the look of this woman, the way she smiled so often, and the sensual energy she emitted, but he wasn’t the type to stand in a testosterone line. Angie, his ex-girlfriend, was like that. A man-magnet, who was a lot better at attracting than at repelling, for which she was unapologetic, to say the least. She was one of the reasons he’d done more than just consider cutting ties to his home state.

“I joined a dating site.”

“Yeah?” He stopped moving back. That would explain all the dates—easy access to a pool of single guys. But not the variety of outfits. “How’s that working?”

“Not bad. Not great.” She laughed. “Sometimes I don’t know if it’s such a good idea.”

He nodded, not really understanding. For someone who didn’t think it was a good idea, she sure put a lot of effort into transforming herself.

“My friend owns the site. Milwaukeedates.com. It’s … sort of a favor to her.”

“Really.” Now that was interesting. She was going on dates to help out a friend, not to find someone? What about the women who signed up legitimately at the website? What about the poor men who thought they were on a real date and had a chance with her? “The company isn’t doing well? Needs more women?”

“Oh.” She dropped her eyes, clearly flustered. “No, she … No, it’s doing very well. In fact, Marie won a Best Success Stories award last year from Women in Power, a local organization of female business owners. I belong, too.”

“Good for her.” His reporter instinct started humming. Something was making this appetizing Candy-gram pretty uncomfortable. After graduating with a degree in journalism from the University of Southern California, Justin made most of his money through his technical-writing job, but kept his hand in investigative reporting simply because he loved it.

“What do you do?”

“I have my own event-planning company. We do kids’ parties, adult parties, corporate events, whatever anyone needs.”

“What a great job.”

“I enjoy it a lot.”

His mind was still spinning. Bob Rondell, longtime friend and ex-roommate, a good-looking successful guy who loved conspiracy theories, had one about a dating site he’d joined in San Diego. He was convinced the company employed hot women, put up their profiles, and had them show up on two or three chaste dates per new enrollee, to boost the site’s cachet and to keep the men eagerly paying steep monthly dues in case the next date worked out better. At the time Justin had chalked up the theory to Bob’s bruised ego.

But … he’d heard other rumors of deceptive practices on dating sites. It could happen. Justin had learned to trust his instinct when it told him something was worth probing further. Just not here, now, with his ears on fire, his nose running and his toes going numb.

“Well, enjoy your date.”

She looked rueful. “Coffee in your kitchen sounds more fun.”

“The offer stands for another time.” He backed into the street a few steps, keeping their eye contact going, and then turned and did everything he could to amble casually up to his back door when every frozen cell in his body was begging him to run as fast as he safely could.

Was it spring yet?

Inside, still enjoying the mental picture of Candy’s body beckoning in purple and black, but feeling bad for the guy she was going to meet with all the excitement of someone facing jail time, he let himself warm up for a few minutes, turning over the meager facts. Nothing substantial to go on. But … an article exposing fraud of any type was always fascinating to readers, and it wouldn’t do any harm for him to check further.

He hauled out his phone and dialed Bob in California with fingers still clumsy from the chill. Would he ever get used to winter in this place? He missed surfing the most. Maybe he should take up cross-country skiing. Supposed to be a good enough workout that you didn’t mind so much being flash-frozen.

“Bob, hey, it’s Justin. What’s going on?”

“Sitting on my balcony in a swimsuit, getting some sun, enjoying a good book and a beer. You?”

Justin made a noise of disgust. “Up to my testes in ice.”

“Ha! Dude, I knew you’d get hammered there. Serious winter. Come home, the living is still easy.”

“Nah, I like it so far. Except for the cold.”

“Right, and that’s only a mere eight months of the year. I lived in Boston and nearly died. Wisconsin is worse.”

“Don’t need to hear it, I’m living it.”

“I’m telling you … How’s the book coming with Troy?”

“We’ve made a good start.”

“Yeah? I can’t picture the two of you doing anything but goofing around drinking beer.”

“We’re working. We have deadlines, we have to.” He put icy fingers under his arm to try to thaw them. “Listen, are you still signed up at that dating site?”

“CalDates? No-ho-ho-ho.” He chuckled out the syllables. “Waste of good money. I told you my theory.”

“That’s why I’m calling.” He outlined the situation with Candy, her odd behavior and his completely unfounded suspicions.

“One question. Is she hot?”

“Let’s just say hers is the only house on the block without snow.”

Bob snorted. “Then yes. I bet you anything she’s working for this friend of hers who owns the site. Probably whoever comes in, he’s matched up with her in whatever disguise he seems to want, and bingo, she walks in and he’s thinking ‘look at this chick, this is the site for me!’ Then she disappears after a couple of dates. ‘It’s not you, it’s me. No, really.’

“After that, he keeps striking out, but the memory of that first hot woman keeps him renewing the charges. I’m telling you, men are simple. Lonely men are even simpler. ‘Do I have a hope of getting laid again someday? I’ll keep paying.’”

Justin made a noncommital sound and switched his hands so the other one could have hope of getting feeling back. He wasn’t sure he liked hearing men classified as simpletons, though he admitted one glance at Candy dressed the way she was today, and he’d been having some pretty simple thoughts: Me want that.

“You know they did some study of chickens pecking at levers. One group always got food when it pecked. Pretty soon those birds got full and stopped. One group never got food from pecking. They gave up, too, pretty quick. The third group sometimes got food, sometimes didn’t. Those guys never stopped pecking. See what I mean?”

“Uh …”

“Dude, men are the same. Give us a little hope, a few dates with a fantasy babe, and we’ll keep trying forever. It’s brilliant when you stop to think about it.”

“Brilliant.” He was even more uncomfortable now. The chicken story was a little close to home when he thought about his relationship with Angie. For every week she was horrible to him, there was one he was in, and yeah, he kept pecking that lever for way too long. “Well, thanks, I’ll stay in touch.”

“You do that. And visit. You’ll crack by March at the latest. Government there will be handing out free straitjackets by the end of the month, I’m telling you.”

“We’ll see.” Justin said goodbye and hung up, chuckling and shaking his head. Bob the Man. Full of it, on many levels.

However, as much as Justin was skeptical of his friend’s theory, it wouldn’t hurt to check out Milwaukeedates.com. He missed the journalistic rush of adrenaline as worthwhile stories emerged under his digging, and would like to keep that part of his career going in Milwaukee. Uncovering a dating-site scam wouldn’t earn him a Pulitzer, but it could be a solid foot in the door in this new city. Once he got enough details and felt a story was possible he could put together a proposal and see who bit.

Only one problem as far as he could see.

If he was investigating Ms. Graham’s involvement, he couldn’t ask her out with anything more in mind than coffee and information. While where she was concerned, his mind was full of a whole lot more than that.