Читать книгу Look, But Don't Touch - Sandra Chastain - Страница 7

CAT MCCADE drove her gleaming black Harley into the restaurant parking lot, gunned the motor, then let the bike glide to a stop in a no parking area. She peeled off her black helmet and shook out a waterfall of straight blond hair that fell to her shoulders. Once she’d dismounted, she removed her jacket, slung it over her shoulder, and strode toward the front door on long, leather-clad legs.

It was Friday night and Cat could feel the eyes on her as the noisy patrons of the Atlanta Tex-Mex restaurant turned to look as if a television star had entered their midst. She ignored them, searching for Bettina, who would have a table and margaritas waiting. She could always depend on Bets.

From the time Bettina had hired Cat as a photographer for the models in Bachelor in a Box, they’d been friends. She’d gone on to become very successful in supplying phantom bachelors for women without permanent mates. The client selected a photograph of her fictitious lover and a “relationship” was established wherein Bettina sent gifts, letters and placed telephone calls to make it all seem real. The only problem was, on her off hours Bettina used her matchmaking efforts to arrange real relationships for her family and friends. And that included Cat.

“Cat! Over here.”

Waiters and patrons stood back, allowing Cat to move through the crowd to her friend who was waving at her from a table in the corner. Bettina was drinking something pink and slushy. At the other place was a mug edged in salt and filled with an icy-green liquid.

Cat sat, picked up the mug and took a sip. “Not bad, Bets.”

“Best margaritas in Atlanta and you know it.”

“Ah, Atlanta, our hometown. No place like it. But by Monday I’ll be in San Antonio along the River Walk, drinking the south-of-the-border variety.”

Bettina gave her a look of bemused disbelief. “You just got here and now you’re leaving? Of course you are. You never stay anywhere long enough to unpack.” She tilted her head. “You know, I often wonder what you’re running from.”

“Not from,” Cat amended quickly. “To. There’s a whole world out there, ready and waiting for me to find it.”

“And what’s it?”

That stopped Cat for a moment. “It is my job,” she said. “I’m a photographer. I enjoyed the architectural shoots and nature studies but, quite frankly, I got tired of being an assistant, and I’m just not into bugs and wild animals. What can I say? I like the comforts of hot water and good food. And being able to sleep in my own bed at night—alone.”

“So that’s why you photograph men, to sleep alone? I’ll admit you’re a challenge to my matchmaking abilities. But I’m up to it. After all, I found my brother, Mitchell, a wife who’s willing to travel with him.”

“I repeat. I’m not looking.”

“I know. But don’t think I’m not on to you. You like to be the one to call the shots. It just seems to me that a woman like you who works with men all the time could find at least one who suits her.”

One thing about Bettina Dane, she didn’t give up. To her, Cat couldn’t possibly be happy until she had a husband or at least a significant other. “Lots of them suit me…through a camera lens. I like my life, just like it is. And that’s how I intend to keep it. I’ve seen too many desperate women willing to give up everything to keep a man.”

“Cat. Look at your sisters. They’re happy, aren’t they?”

“I knew a long time ago that I wasn’t like my sisters. They didn’t like the location moves that came from being military brats. I did. When they married and settled down, they sent out roots that have gone so deep they hardly take a vacation. They say they’re happy—” Cat shrugged “—but so does my mother.”

“What makes you think she’s not?”

“Because she has no life of her own. In the military, an officer’s wife is simply an extension of him. And now he’s retired and she’s switched to caring for grandchildren. She’s never had her own identity.” There was a catch in her voice when she said, “That’s never going to happen to me.”

“I know how much you worry about her, but you’re carving out a lonely life for yourself,” Bettina said. “Who exactly are you waiting for?”

“I’ll know him when I see him. But, for now, I like my life just fine. Besides, where’s your significant other, girlfriend?”

Bettina sighed and admitted, “You’re right. You either marry at eighteen and divorce at twenty or you suddenly realize you’re thirty and there are no available men interested. But the difference in me and you is that I haven’t given up. I like men. I’m just selective.”

“To each her own. Your relationships are selective. My relationships are impersonal.”

“That’s what you told me when you did your first photographs of the hunks for my Bachelor in a Box portfolio. Your work may be impersonal to you, but I have to tell you, Cat, the poor guys who were your subjects told me that it affected them a little differently. They said you’re a vamp.”

Cat smiled. In a way Bettina was right. She could have used experienced models for that shoot but she preferred real men and she’d had to learn how to make them relax. “So? Any good photographer develops her own techniques and if a little flirting gives me what I want on film, I reap the results. The men feel important and nobody gets hurt. And occasionally…well, there’s nothing wrong with enjoying your work so long as you move on. That much of the military life I liked.”

“Being a military brat didn’t seem to bother you,” Bettina agreed.

“Hated the rules and regulations. Loved the travel.”

Bettina took a look out the front window at Cat’s bike and nodded her head in the direction of the parking lot. “I can see that. A motorcycle? I don’t know why that surprises me. Do you intend to ride it to Texas?”

Cat laughed. “I wish. No, I’m driving the El Camino.”

Bettina rolled her eyes. “The truck? I can’t get over that. You have the looks of a sex goddess—every man you meet falls at your feet—and you drive a truck?”

“The El Camino isn’t a truck. It’s a sleek, restored, classic vehicle, a cross between a truck and a convertible. It may not be your style, but I love it. Tell me, what are you driving these days?”

“I drive a white Honda Civic, and the only way anybody notices it is if I park it illegally.”

“Bettina, you may be supplying imaginary lovers for women who are satisfied with a picture and a few phone calls and gifts. But you have the opportunity to see these guys up close and personal. I say you ought to buy yourself a red convertible and drive out to audition your bachelors personally.”

“Not interested,” Bettina said. “I don’t mix business and pleasure.”

“You don’t have any pleasure. My career is my pleasure and it works fine for me.”

Bettina nodded. “I suppose. But, unlike you, I think it’s important to build roots. Your sisters may have established domestic roots—well I’m building business roots. Haven’t you ever stopped to think where you’ll be in ten years?”

That made Cat pause for a moment. The future was always out there. She told herself she’d know it when she arrived. She sure as hell didn’t have a game plan to get her there. “Someplace exciting. But for now the near future is enough for me to think about.”

“So what’s the new assignment?”

“I’m going to Texas to shoot a catalog for Sterling Szachon. You’ve heard of him, haven’t you? He’s Texas’s answer to Donald Trump, a love-’em-and-leave-’em tycoon who’s opening a chain of underwear shops for men.”

“I’ve heard of him,” Bettina said. “Sounds dangerous. Better keep your distance and stick to scouting for those yummy models.”

Cat slapped her hand down on the table. “I know. Why don’t you come with me and help me look for men?”

For a moment Bettina looked startled, then studied Cat thoughtfully. “No way, but I know who might be able to help you—my brother Jesse. He lives in San Antonio.”

“Jesse? Well, I always hire a local assistant. If he’s looking for a job, I’ll talk to him.”

“Jesse, a photographer’s assistant?” Bettina chuckled. “I don’t think so. He’s a rules-and-regulations Texas Ranger now.”

“I guess that means he wouldn’t consider posing for my catalog. If I said you told me to look him up to add him to my portfolio, he’d probably run the other way.”

Bettina laughed. “You got that right. I don’t know what I was thinking. Forget looking him up. You two would never get along anyway, you run away from rules and regulations. Beside, Texas Rangers only operate in Texas.”

The conversation shifted to Bettina’s new service, Rendezvous. The idea for the service had come about after a busy executive had asked her to arrange a real exotic weekend with a real woman. Now she had as many male clients with special requests as females. And the best part about it was that everything was anonymous.

“That’s great, but I don’t know why the men need you, Bettina,” Cat said. “There are travel agencies who specialize in that sort of thing.”

“Not for the men I deal with. These are high-profile individuals who want complete confidentiality. Since this part of my service caters to the client’s personal needs, it’s very expensive—and business is booming.” She eyed Cat. “You know, I could really use a partner if you ever decide to stop covering the world and find a man of your own.”

Cat laughed. “I don’t need a nine-to-five business and I don’t need a man. You already know that, girlfriend.”

They polished off the chips and tacos, finished their drinks and left, splitting in different directions, Bettina to her Honda and Cat to her Harley. At the last minute Bettina turned back. “You know, Cat, maybe I’m wrong about you and Jesse. You’re very different but you do have some things in common. He has a motorcycle. And he seems to be as much a connoisseur of one-night stands as you.”

“Forget that. First of all, I’m not interested in one-night stands with anyone I know personally.” Cat ticked off her fingers. “Second, Jesse already has a job and I’ve had enough rules and regulations to last a lifetime from my father. And third, unless your brother agrees to audition, I couldn’t even put him in the catalog. So what’s the point in getting in touch?” She dropped her hands. “No, I’ll just have to count on finding some other men who will pose for me.”

“It’s a tough job…” Bettina laughed. “By the way, how do you find out how your models look in a thong?” she asked curiously.

“Simple. I have all my candidates strip.”

JESSE WAS TIRED and he was later than he’d planned.

Clouds were building into swirling black shapes across the murky light of the October moon. The breeze was strong. A storm was brewing.

As Jesse picked up speed and let the wind whip past him, he thought about why he loved his motorcycle—it was controlled power. No arguing, just compliance. But driving through a Texas rainstorm changed the rules. The elements didn’t abide by the rules. Without order, came chaos. He needed to be careful.

The Katy Highway between Houston and San Antonio alternated from busy clusters of strip malls and fast-food outlets to long flat areas of nothing. He’d been summoned for an appointment in San Antonio with the chief the next morning and Jesse James Dane would never be late. A little caffeine would help; he’d pull into the next truck stop.

In the darkness ahead he caught sight of the tail-lights of an eighteen-wheeler running side by side with a smaller truck.

As he came closer, the commercial rig started to weave and the trucker jerked the vehicle back into his lane. After several “near misses” that forced the pickup to either speed up or slow down, Jesse decided he might be driving into trouble.

Jesse hadn’t witnessed a traffic offense in a long time, but it looked as if he was about to. Matters worsened when a light rain began to fall. As Jesse approached, the big rig picked up speed and moved into the passing lane in front of the pickup.

To avoid rear-ending the eighteen-wheeler, the pickup whipped into the inside lane in front of Jesse, forcing him to use his brakes. Normally the bike would have responded but a little sand on a barely wet road caught it and the bike began to slide to the outside lane. For a moment, Jesse thought he had it under control, then the back tire lost traction and the bike skidded into a sudden sideways motion. Jesse swore. He was going to have to lay the bike down. As the eighteen-wheeler that had started the trouble sped out of sight, Jesse’s machine slid across the highway and landed in the ditch with a crunch.

Jesse swore again and pulled himself to a limping stand. Taking a deep breath, he dragged off his helmet, dropped it next to the bike and glanced up to see the pickup driver now backing along the shoulder of the empty highway. He didn’t know why the two vehicles had been playing tag and he couldn’t assume the driver of the pickup was stopping to be a Good Samaritan. He’d been a ranger long enough to know that even the most innocent action could have disastrous consequences. He stepped back, pulled his cell phone from his backpack, and punched in 9-1-1. No service. Damn. The driver was almost at the crash site. Casually, Jesse reached down and picked up one of the rear view mirrors that had snapped off in the skid.

The vehicle coming to a stop in front of him was no simple pickup. Even in the dark he could see that it was a classic Ford El Camino with some kind of custom-designed toolbox built across the cab’s outer wall. As the door opened, the clouds parted and a shaft of moonlight cut through the black rain clouds, hitting the driver like a spotlight and revealing a pair of long, jeans-clad legs, an open stretch of bare midriff and a denim jacket.

“A woman.” She peeled off a baseball cap and, with the shake of her head, her mass of blond hair was caught by the whipping wind.

No, not just a woman, a vision. The Cameron Diaz look-alike strode toward him. She was almost as tall as he was—something he didn’t like in a woman. He preferred them tiny and temporary.

“Hello,” she called. “Are you okay?” For a moment he didn’t answer. He was struck by an awareness of something very physical between them, an energy that started in his fingertips and vibrated up his arms and into the back of his neck. He could only think it was some kind of atmospheric anomaly caused by the impending storm. He felt as if he was about to be struck by lightning. As a ranger, he’d earned the reputation as Ice Man when he encountered trouble. It kept situations from becoming personal. This time that control seemed totally elusive.

“I’m okay but I might not have been,” he blurted, taking his uncertainty out on a woman who didn’t deserve it. He couldn’t see any lightning but he sure as hell felt electricity in the air. If he’d been standing in water, he’d be fried. It was the kind of feeling he imagined a law officer might experience if he were forced to kill a man.

“Should I have hit him?” she asked, a hint of anger in her voice. He wondered if she felt the tension between them. “I don’t think so. My pickup was no match for that big wheeler.”

He took another look at the El Camino with the Georgia tag. “Pickup? Not too many normal people drive a restored vehicle like that on the highway.”

“I do.”

“I can see that.” He made a disparaging sound, not so much directed at her as an attempt to disconnect himself from his rescuer. “What’s a woman from Georgia doing out here alone at this time of night?”

“You have a curfew in Texas for women from other states?”

She couldn’t see his face. He was a silhouette: a lean, dark figure holding a bike mirror as if it were the head of a staff. The Grim Reaper. All he needed was a cloak and a black horse, Cat mused, shivering. Every nerve in her body responded to him in a way she couldn’t understand.

A circle of light split the clouds and fell across the man. She gasped. His five o’clock shadow gave him the sinister look of an old Western outlaw. Dark eyes seemed to look right through her. In response, her teeth began to chatter. She felt as if she were in the eye of a storm. As long as she didn’t move, she was safe.

Bettina had asked her who she was waiting for. She’d quipped that she’d know when she found him. One look at the man in the moonlight and she knew he would be at the top of her list. It had been too long since she’d felt such desire and never this intense. She wanted this man naked, in her bed, inside her—and the sooner the better.

The wind picked up, flinging a wet sheen across her face, and she pulled her cap back on, barely aware she was doing it. “I stopped to help you,” she said.

“Thanks, but I can manage,” he said gruffly.

She took a step back, holding up both hands as a shield. “Okay. Sorry I stopped,” she said, annoyed and puzzled at his mood.

He shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. This isn’t your fault.” If it had been anybody else, he’d have forced himself to be more pleasant, but something he couldn’t explain was affecting his breathing. The very air between them was hot.

She asked again, “Are you sure you’re all right?”

Those words echoed in his head as he lost himself in thought….

All right? When he was a child, long after his father had gone, he’d asked his mother that. His older brother Mitchell had been forced into becoming the head of the household and making the rules.

Mitchell and Ran, the middle brother, had established a conspiracy of silence that had closed Jesse out, and he’d never understood why. Rule number one was that Mama was sick and Jesse shouldn’t go into her room.

Yet, he’d slip into Mama’s room when they were away and she would loop her thin arms around him and cry against his chest. “Are you all right?” he’d ask. She’d only cry and say she loved him.

Then came the bad days when she no longer knew him as her youngest son. She’d cried then because she was in pain. He’d continued to break Mitchell’s rules—because she’d needed him—until she’d been sent to the nursing home. Then, out of pain and anger, he’d broken some of Mitchell’s other rules. On probation from his second DUI charge, Jesse had finished high school one day and joined the marines the next. But he’d never gotten over the feeling that he’d let Mama down.

He’d determined long ago that he’d never let anyone need him again and he’d never break any more rules.

“Listen. I feel bad about what happened,” the woman facing him said. “It’s starting to rain. If you’ll put your bike in the back of my truck I’ll drive you wherever you like.”

With her hands still extended, his skin tingled with the crazy sensation that she was pushing against him, as though her long fingers were pressed against his bare skin. Damn. When he’d fallen, he must have hit his midsection. The feeling intensified. Hell, he must have hit his head, too.

“No thanks.”

“Fine.” She dropped her hands and started to turn away, then stopped. “Since you don’t want my help, I’ll just go.”

“Where are you heading?” His question stopped her. He’d surprised himself by asking. Asking made the connection stronger. As the rumble of thunder in the distance grew louder, the physical responses in his body seemed to intensify, fed by the wind and the rain.

“I’m headed for San Antonio. If I read the last road sign right, it’s just ahead.”

“You’re about twenty miles out,” Jesse agreed, switching to ranger mode. “It is none of my business, but you shouldn’t give out information. In fact, you shouldn’t have stopped to help me. Suppose I’m an ax murderer?”

He told himself his voice wasn’t tight because of the overwhelming tension that arced between them—he was simply reprimanding her. A smart woman would get out of here. He’d bet she was smart. And gutsy. Whatever she was feeling, she certainly wasn’t afraid of him. In fact, he sensed what might be called cynical amusement.

She stood her ground. “I’m just curious. Are you an ax murderer or do you club your victims with rearview mirrors?”

He glanced down. He was holding the broken mirror with no recollection of picking it up. “I improvise. What about you?” The words came out as though someone else was speaking. Maybe he really had hit his head.

“Normally, I’d already be gone, but since I did contribute to your accident, I felt compelled to help. It’s your call, Motorcycle Man. We can put your bike in the back of the El Camino and get out of the elements or I’ll send someone from the next open garage.” She jutted her chin forward and waited.

He shook his head. “If I thought the two of us could lift a five-hundred-pound machine into the bed of your truck, I might agree.” He didn’t have a choice. He’d have to take his chances and let her help. “Just send a wrecker when you get to the next garage.”

“Well, I could, but it happens that I have ramps, a tarp and a tool chest in the back. I travel alone so I’m always prepared. By the way, I believe your motorcycle is a Road King and they weigh closer to seven hundred and twenty-five pounds.”

Jesse was amazed. She was right about the bike. It was a Harley Road King and it weighed seven hundred and twenty-three pounds. Before he realized what he was doing, he heard himself saying, “I accept your offer. You carry ramps around?”

“They’re useful in moving things in and out of the truck. Never know what I’ll need when I start a new assignment.”

Because of her tool chest, getting the bike into the truckbed wasn’t easy. By the time they’d done it and picked up the broken pieces of metal along the roadside, both were soaking wet. He was still curious about the ramps as he watched the woman pull off her jacket and wet cap, open the passenger side door and lean inside the cab. Moments later she straightened again. “Okay, get in, unless you’d rather ride in the back with the bike. Be careful of my gear on the floor.”

Jesse crawled in, carefully planting his feet around the bulky backpacks and wondering how he’d gotten himself into such a situation. The seat shifted as she got in on her side. He turned to thank her and heard a sharp intake of breath, not certain whether it had come from him or her. At this close proximity, they had their first clear view of each other. If tension could be measured by a thermometer, it would have hit the top of the gauge.

With the moonlight behind her, he’d only gotten a general impression of his angel of mercy. Up close, she was straight out of a fantasy comic book. Blond hair streaming in wet ropes and a T-shirt plastered against full breasts, she could have ridden a wild stallion with Zena or been an agent in the next episode of “Silk Stalkings.” If she stepped on a stage with Madonna or Brittany Spears, they’d fade away.

As they continued to eye each other, he took a deep breath and let it out. “Something wrong?” Wrong? If he asked himself that question, he’d have to answer yes. Something was wrong. The woman. The night. The storm.

She simply stared at him, the silence heavy between them. Her voice was tight when she answered. “Maybe. Maybe not. I think I’m just a little shaky. The accident was a shock.”

“That surprises me. I’d expect the average woman to be shaken up, but the average woman doesn’t drive a truck carrying tools and equipment.”

“Women have toys. They just aren’t always what you expect,” she said, and closed her door. Mercifully, the light went out. Moments later the engine came to life and she pulled back onto the highway. “It isn’t the accident that bothered me. It’s you.”

“I bother you? Why is that?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Men are my business. I’ve seen all kinds and I’ve learned to read them. Everything about you says danger.”

He didn’t know which comment bothered him the most, her reference to danger or that men were her business. He shifted his feet, wondering what she carried in her cases. With a taste for classic vehicles and motorcycles, she had to have money. Or maybe she was the ax murderer and she carried her weapons in her cases. Either way, this woman was trouble and trouble was something he didn’t need. He was going to find enough of that in the morning at the meeting scheduled with his boss.

“You’re very direct for a woman,” he finally said. “Or a man, for that matter.”

“I believe in confronting a situation head-on, yes.” She glanced at him. “I’m curious. You don’t seem to be the kind of man who would willingly ask for help, especially from a woman. And I’m definitely not myself around you, either. Can you say there isn’t something strange happening here?”

“No, I guess I can’t,” he admitted. He’d accused her of being direct and he liked that about her. Although if anyone had asked, he would have said it was what he’d always thought he’d wanted in a woman. But now he wasn’t so sure. “I don’t understand this, either,” he said. “Let’s just say, there was an accident and it shook us up, and leave it at that.”

The windows had fogged, giving the illusion of a gauzy cocoon isolating them from the rest of the world. The air felt warm and unstable.

“Whatever you say.” She reached for the windshield defroster. He was right. They were tuned into each other in a way she hadn’t experienced before. She attributed her reaction to the fact that he was absolutely perfect for her catalog, but this personal…connection was volatile and disturbing. She felt like the woman who knew there was an ax murderer in the basement. Everything about her said, Don’t go down there. And she was heading for the basement as fast as she could.

Cat shrugged her shoulders, trying to break out of what felt like a physical force field. “I prefer to think we’re two ships that pass in the night. From the looks of this weather, we could use a ship.”

Rain was blowing everywhere now, making it difficult to see. In addition to the weather, her windshield wipers were behaving erratically. Her passenger leaned back, not speaking. If he was worried about her ability to drive in the storm, he didn’t say it. Either he was the rare man who could relax with a woman at the wheel or he was scared speechless. She took a quick look. He didn’t look scared.

“You can just drop me off anywhere,” he finally said.

“If I’d been going to drop you off anywhere, you might just as well have stayed where you were. You’re soaking wet. I’m soaking wet. And your bike is wrecked. I’ll take you home. I suppose it’s too much to hope that you live on the River Walk.”

“You live on the River Walk?” he asked.

She laughed. “Live? Not likely. Home for me is wherever my work is. For the next few weeks, home is the Palace Hotel, compliments of my employer—that is, if he’s satisfied with my work when we meet.”

Satisfied? The Palace Hotel? That was the most expensive hotel on the Walk. Whatever she was, she was being very well paid. “Slow down. We’re almost there. Turn left at the next road and be careful as you cross the bridge—there’s a low spot on the other side. I live behind the church.”

She turned off the highway and drove over the bridge. Her headlights flashed on the church ahead. “Well, I’ve been with a lot of men, but this is a first.”

“Been with a lot of men? Are you always so candid?”

“In my business, I have to be.” She shook her head. “Here I am picturing you in your underwear and I find out you’re a priest.”

Picturing him in his underwear? Satisfied a lot of men? That’s when it hit him. She was a hooker, a high-priced call girl. And she thought he was a priest. He couldn’t hold back a laugh. “A priest? Not me. I just rent the little house in back. I like the solitude.”

“You already told me you weren’t an ax murderer so I guess I’ll trust you on that.” She looked him up and down without seeming conscious of the gesture. “Although I don’t know if trusting you is a smart idea.”

She returned her eyes to the road. With every bump, the tension grew.

He could smell the rain, the leather of his pants, the hint of flowers that seemed to come from her hair.

As they reached the church, lightning suddenly split the sky, revealing a very old adobe structure with a tiny steeple and a fenced yard. She jumped at the flash of light and laughed self-consciously. “I’ve seen a lot of chapels like this in my travels,” she said, “though seldom illuminated by the hand of God himself! Are we being warned, do you think?”

He was beginning to wonder the same thing. In spite of the defroster, the windshield was still fogging and the wipers had slowed to a jerky crawl. The El Camino and the wipers hesitated at the same time lightning struck again. His nerve endings were vibrating like danger flags caught in the wind.

The engine died and the headlights went out.

“Damn!” his driver swore. “I can’t believe this. First your bike wrecks and now my wheels have died. What’s next?” She gestured to the sky. “And who knows how long this storm will last.”

“As far as I know, we aren’t expecting a hurricane, so I’d say it’ll blow itself out pretty quick. We can call your…friend at the Palace. I’m sure he can send someone after you, or I’ll be glad to drive you when the storm stops. I don’t want to hold you up.”

She took a deep breath. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll manage. I truly am sorry if I caused you to go off the road. But you aren’t responsible for me. Once the engine cools down, it’ll run fine.”

He’d turned her down when she’d first offered her help. He should have insisted that she go. He hadn’t. Now he had a woman on his hands he’d like nothing more than to get his hands on. “You may know your cars but you don’t understand about Texas. This is flat-land out here. A hard rain and the low areas flood. I think you’re stuck for a while.”

A crack of thunder emphasized the danger of the storm.

She shivered and he had an almost overwhelming urge to slide his arms around her narrow waist. “You’re probably right. My Ellie has a mind of her own.”

“Ellie?”

“That’s what I call the El Camino. When something isn’t right, she just stops until it is. Which is pretty much what I do. Tell you what, if you have any coffee, I’d love a cup—particularly if you have a little brandy to spike it with,” she said, running her tongue over her lips.

“No brandy,” he said, trying to adjust his lower body, which had started to take on a life of its own. If he sat here, his thigh touching hers any longer, he would incinerate. “Only beer or coffee. But just sit tight a minute. I’ll unload the bike before we go inside.”

“I’ll help,” she said as she opened her door, which was immediately caught by the wind.

If there had been any dry spots left on their clothing, there were none by the time they got the bike into his shed.

Finally he replaced her ramps inside the truckbed and started toward his small adobe house. The woman hesitated.

“Come on in, dry off and wait for the rain to stop.” Jesse unlocked his door and stood aside. His guardian angel eyed him uncertainly, then moved past him. A sharp pang ran through him as she entered. It was a cardinal rule: when he spent time with a woman it was at her house or on neutral ground and he always went home before morning. Now, he’d let a stranger inside.

But this was different, he told himself. She didn’t know his name. And he didn’t know hers.

“I don’t have a clothes dryer,” Jesse said, “but I’ll build a fire and you can get warm.”

Warm? If she felt the way he did, she’d be better off if he turned on the air conditioner. As he walked over to the corner and crouched in front of an adobe fire-place, Cat sat on a stool and removed her boots.

Moments later flames were licking at the wood. Satisfied that the fire was burning, he stood. “I’m going to get out of this wet shirt and make the coffee,” he said. “The bathroom is through that door. There are towels on the shelf.”

Cat let out a sigh of relief and headed for the door. The bathroom made her smile. A large claw-footed tub filled almost the entire room. On one wall were shelves filled with towels and…rocks. She supposed he must collect them. Her host was obviously a man of the earth. At least he wasn’t a man of the cloth—which was good, considering the way she was feeling. She lifted a towel and turned to go back out to the fire when she spotted a blue flannel shirt hanging on the back of the door. It was soft and dry and smelled like sage, the same smell she’d been so conscious of in the truck. She took in the scent and felt it fuel the fire crackling inside her skin. Moments later, after shedding all her wet clothes, she was snuggled inside the flannel shirt that almost reached her knees.

“Did you find what you needed?” her mystery man asked, rounding the corner into the bathroom and coming to an abrupt stop only inches away from her. At her inadvertent yelp, he apologized. “Sorry. I see you found something to wear.”

“If you need your shirt, I’ll take it off,” she offered, reaching for the top button, then stopped. She’d be completely nude.

“No, that’s okay. It looks much better on you.”

“It’s very soft,” she said, sliding her fingers up and down the flannel fabric. “It feels…good.”

Jesse let out a deep, hot breath. She seemed to be sending him an invitation, but he couldn’t be sure. He desperately tried to hold on to his last thread of control. Then he saw the top of her breasts peeking out the vee of the shirt. She was every man’s wet dream. The thread snapped.

He groaned and reached for her.

“Don’t,” she said, her voice low and tight.

He kissed her.

Silently, hungrily, she responded with such passion that it scared him. She kept her eyes open as he slid his hands beneath the shirt. He started for a moment when he touched her bare hips, then moved slowly upward and cupped her breasts. He felt the pounding of her heart as she slid her arms around his neck and melted against him. He tore his lips away for a moment. “Are you sure about this?”

“That I want you? Absolutely! That it’s smart? Not at all. Now, stop talking and make love to me.”

He lifted her in his arms.