Highly Charged! Page 4

  The effect of those eyes probing hers was unnerving. Or, if she was honest with herself, exciting. Swallowing hard, she reached for her iced tea before she answered.

  “I think they fear the unexpurgated version of her diaries for some reason.” Them and half the county. “I’ve been waiting to read them all as a set once I find the two that are missing. But supposition says they’ll be as racy as the fictional erotica.”

  His eyes glowed a warmer shade of blue at the mention of the sexual content.

  “Unexpurgated?”

  “Unabridged. You know, the original version before the author and the publisher scrub out parts that could be libelous. It’s common knowledge that Chloe gave her permission for all the original, unedited diaries to be published after her death.”

  “And how would vandalizing the house prevent that? Are you in charge of those diaries?” The methodical mind was at work again, she could hear it in his tone.

  She should be relieved he wasn’t thinking about the heat that lurked between them, but she missed the warmth of that knowing gaze of his. She was playing with fire to have him here, close enough to touch, all the while knowing she shouldn’t get involved.

  “Some of them. But even I don’t know the location of the two that went missing long ago. Chloe hid them at some point, then apparently forgot their location as dementia set in.” She gestured toward the dilapidated house with a sweeping arm. “She asked me to do everything possible to be sure all the diaries are found and released as she promised her fans. I mean to do everything in my power to make sure that happens.”

  A cool breeze chilled her skin as the torches died down.

  “So maybe your vandal doesn’t want you to find those diaries.” He reached across the table and laid a warm hand on her arm. “Are you cold?”

  From anyone else, the gesture would have been harmless enough. But she’d been attracted from the first moment she’d seen him half-naked. The tug of sensual interest had been confirmed in no uncertain terms this morning when he’d introduced himself. And any defense against the attraction had been sandblasted away by his help and thoughtfulness throughout this draining day.

  She wanted Lieutenant Brad Riddock. Badly.

  “I’m okay,” she managed, her voice cracking on a dry note while his palm made her heartbeat flutter like a sixteen-year-old girl’s.

  She would have eased out from under that touch if she could have, but her body scoffed at the very idea. Besides, he would move his hand of his own accord any second now. Right?

  But the moment drew out. They sat motionless, touching without speaking, until it became a grown-up game of chicken. Who would draw away first?

  “I want you to feel safe here,” he said finally, sliding his palm down her forearm toward her hand.

  Stroking her? Or taking the scenic route away from her body?

  She tracked his progress with hyperawareness, unsure how to draw a boundary and not quite recalling why she should.

  “I’ll be fine,” she assured him, though it was probably easier to feel invincible with those strong fingers resting on her skin.

  “I’d like to make sure of that.” Beneath the table, his knee brushed hers briefly, distracting her. “How about I sleep downstairs tonight to keep an eye on things?”

  Everything inside her stilled.

  “You want to stay here?” In the same house as her?

  Her pulse raced even though she knew that was a bad, bad idea. And—curse him—his thumb rested on a place along her wrist where he’d probably feel the manic rush of blood through her veins.

  “I could pitch a tent out front if you’d rather.” Relinquishing her arm, his easy reform of the original suggestion made her feel like a heel for not agreeing in the first place. “That would send a message that someone’s looking out for you if anyone decides to come back tonight.”

  The warmth inside her chilled at the thought. Did she really want to be here alone while someone bold enough to tear up the lawn and break her windows still lurked free?

  “I hadn’t thought about that,” she admitted, looking at Brad’s prominent muscles with new eyes. They weren’t just for show. Who would dare to mess with him? Besides, she had the animals to think about. She’d feel better with help to watch over the place. “Actually, the house has plenty of rooms to spare if you really don’t mind—”

  “Honestly, I’ll sleep better knowing I’m already on site if anything happens.” Standing, he blocked one of the torches from view, his big, imposing body backlit like an action-movie poster. “If I go home tonight, I’d only be lying there with one eye open anyhow.”

  “That’s really kind of you.” She couldn’t imagine why he’d gone to so much trouble on her account today. “Thank you.”

  “Not a problem.” With a nod, he turned on his heel. “I’ll just go grab a few things.”

  In no time, he was jogging across the lawn toward his house, his little brown dog wagging its tail but not following, almost as if the scruffy furball knew his owner would be right back.

  Nikki forced herself to pick up the plates instead of staring after him like his adoring mutt. What was she thinking to have a man she hardly knew stay in the house with her tonight?

  A man she’d drooled over when he’d thought no one was looking.

  If he’d flirted with her more, she might have been more guarded about letting him stay. But how could she argue with a man who’d done nothing but help her out today? Besides, she was genuinely worried about the troublemakers returning.

  While Nikki would make sure Chloe’s wishes were honored, Chloe wouldn’t want her to sacrifice her personal safety to fulfill that promise.

  Brad Riddock would keep her safe. He was a one-man protective detail.

  She trusted that completely. She just hoped she could trust herself around those sexy stares of his that came out of nowhere and lit up her insides like a Christmas tree. Between the postvandalism adrenaline, the physical exhaustion from all the work of the last week and the memories of what she’d seen of Brad through the branches of her locust tree five nights ago, Nikki didn’t know how she’d begin to scavenge any distance from a man who’d slid past her barriers faster than anyone she’d ever known.

  3

  AN HOUR LATER, FIST RAPPING on Nikki’s back door, Brad reminded himself that his reasons for sleeping over had been semi-altruistic. He genuinely wanted to keep her safe because he hated the idea of some redneck yahoo four-wheeling through her yard and destroying the property she’d been working so hard to restore. Someone obviously hoped to scare her, and Brad had a real problem with intimidation tactics deployed on single women in old, secluded houses.

  So, damn it, that’s why he was here tonight and not because his mouth watered at the sound of her bare feet padding along the hardwood to answer the door. Not because being with her overloaded his senses so much he wouldn’t have room to replay worn-out nightmares.

  The bolt slid free on the other side of the door and she opened it wide to admit him.

  “Come on in.” She still wore the low-slung cotton shorts and white tank top she’d had on during dinner.

  Of course. Duh. Could he help it if male fantasies had her answering the door in a lace negligee and high heeled slippers? Or maybe dark stockings on her long legs and nothing else?

  He really needed to get a grip.

  “Thanks.” He edged past her into the kitchen where the only illumination came from a glass-front china cabinet with a lamp inside. “I would have been over sooner, but I had a few calls to return. My buddies are trying to talk me into a big beach shindig tomorrow night.”

  But he’d already ear-marked that time for Nikki. He’d be here for as long—and as much—as she wanted him over the next two weeks.

  Setting his bag on the floor near the cabinet, he noticed the books displayed inside. Bedroom Lessons. Secret Games. Lies from the Backseat. The covers were suggestive without being lewd. He’d read a couple of Chloe’s novels shortly after
he’d met his neighbor, just out of curiosity.

  The rest of the house wasn’t as well packaged as the books, though. The old farmhouse didn’t have much furniture, and the pieces that were sitting in corners were covered with books and papers, boxes and piles of correspondence. But underneath the clutter, a fine structure lurked. The paneled wainscoting and polished, exposed ceiling beams were carefully crafted, still beautiful a hundred years after someone had taken the time to carve them.

  “It’s generous of you to do this in the first place. I’m sure you have other ways you’d rather be spending your downtime.” Nikki closed the door behind him, sealing them in the dark house. From a few rooms away, he could hear soft music playing—something with a jazz blues vibe. A shelf full of Russian nesting dolls hovered precariously over old road signs proclaiming Farm Fresh Eggs and U-Pick. The sound of the dishwasher hummed nearby and Killer’s nails clicked along the worn hardwood as the dog approached to greet him.

  Had she even noticed she’d been dog-sitting all the time he’d been gone? The animal seemed right at home circling Nikki’s feet and she’d already laid out bowls of food and water for him. She seemed to like taking care of people and creatures alike. Damn but he hoped she wasn’t just being nice to him because he looked about as desperate as Killer had when the dog showed up on his doorstep last week.

  “Not really. I’m supposed to be in physical therapy for my leg a few times a week, but mostly I’m just counting down the days until I can go back to work.”

  Days he’d rather fill getting to know the sexy professor…who wanted to keep her distance. He bent to scratch the dog’s ears while she waved him forward into a dim hallway.

  “I put some sheets on a futon in the den.” She paused outside an archway across from the living room. Her eyes dipped south of the belt, and for a moment, he enjoyed a rush of pure male pride. Until her gaze kept going lower. Lower. “I noticed the bandages earlier. What exactly happened to your leg?”

  So much for male pride.

  The remembered sound of an explosion echoed between his ears. Light flashed behind his eyelids as he blinked away crap memories.

  “Occupational hazard.”

  Eyes wide, she reached forward as if to touch him and then pulled back fast.

  “Didn’t you say you work with explosives?” She kept her hand—the one that had been bold enough to reach for him—in a tight grip.

  Had there been a lockdown on touching that he didn’t know about? And didn’t it suck that the only time she’d been tempted to reach out was when she saw him as another wounded cause? Frustration gnawed the back of his neck until he had to roll his shoulders to shove it aside.

  “Not a big deal.” His injuries didn’t compare to the rest of the damage done that day. Skin would grow back. “But I’m not at liberty to discuss the details.”

  That wasn’t one hundred percent accurate, but it gave him the ability to opt out of the discussion. He strode past her toward the room she’d pointed out.

  A sturdy armoire stood sentinel in one corner, surrounded by stacks of old travelogues and picture books of Italy. An antique roll-top desk was likewise hidden by paperwork piled on the floor. It was tough to weed through the belongings to tell what was Nikki’s and what would have been Chloe’s. He kept an eye out for clues to the lady professor’s personality, curious about what made her tick.

  “It sounds like a dangerous line of work.” She remained in the archway, keeping her distance. “Is that why I haven’t seen you around before now? Were you deployed?”

  “I’m on the second leg of back-to-back tours in Iraq. I’ve got four months left once I return.” He dropped into a chair near the armoire—a straight-back that looked as if it came from a dining room set. Two others that matched it were strewn around the room amid the books and a hodgepodge of furnishings. “A buddy of mine— Joe Staley—checks on my house every couple of weeks, but other than that, you wouldn’t see anyone around. How long have you been here?”

  “Back when Chloe was alive, I visited during the summers and at the holidays. Since her death, I received keys to the property from the probate court six weeks ago, but between selling my condo and moving in stages, I’ve only been here for the last two.”

  “That’s how long I’ve been home.” He stood up again to pull one of the other chairs closer. They were the only seating options in the room besides the futon that was made up like a bed. “Have a seat. You must be exhausted after everything you did today.”

  She looked from him to the chair. He’d seen people eyeball IEDs with less trepidation. How could a woman who dismantled buildings with such zest turn so damn cautious when it came to him?

  “Maybe for a minute.” She strode into the den, taking the route that would keep her farthest from the makeshift bed as she made her way toward the sturdy ladder-back with its blue velvet cushion. “I don’t want to keep you from sleeping.”

  “I don’t need much sack time.” Strike that. He would gladly submit to an abundance of sack time if it involved sharing his bed. It was sleep he didn’t need. But he felt pretty sure she would only get flustered by the distinction. “I’m a night owl by nature.”

  “Me, too. Even tonight when I’m tired, I’ll stay up and think about all I have to do tomorrow.” She settled into the chair across from him and he wished he’d placed it closer to his.

  He had no idea when or how he’d make his first move with her, but now that he sat near her in this big, echoing house he realized more than ever that he wanted her. The scent of her shampoo teased his nose, clean and floral.

  “The curse of ambition.”

  “More like obsession.” She seemed to relax a little now that they were seated across from one another. Her shoulders sagged against the heavy ladder-back. “I’m determined to restore the house to honor Chloe’s memory. She really helped inspire women, writing openly and honestly about her passions, not omitting any of the messy parts. It’s difficult for writers to be so personally vulnerable. Her fans love her for the risks she took, both with the erotica and with her journals.”

  “So she inspired you, too. Are you writing a memoir?” He refrained from mentioning how amenable he’d be to helping her write erotica. He had at least twenty scene ideas in mind. Most involved rolling around with her on that futon so close he could practically touch it. But any scenario that put her naked and under him would be worth commemorating in print.

  “No. At least, not yet. I just want to pay her back for the help she gave me as a struggling graduate student. I would have never published my dissertation or even finished the degree program if it wasn’t for Chloe’s help. I was really floundering when I found her. I owe her my whole teaching career.”

  He waited for a moment, in case she decided to add in a confidential whisper that she was working on an erotica project when she wasn’t busy overhauling the old house.

  No such admission seemed forthcoming.

  “So you’ve spent the last couple of weeks making plans for renovating the house and turning it into something that her fans will enjoy,” he said finally.

  “Yes.” She folded her arms, the action drawing his attention to high, round breasts that deserved a whole chapter, if and when they got around to penning a joint sexy memoir that chronicled their soon-to-be affair. “I’ve been working on the house plans and starting on the grounds—”

  Her mouth snapped shut suddenly. Strangely. As if she’d said too much and wanted to stop herself. Of course, that was ridiculous since they’d been in the middle of an innocuous conversation about how she’d spent the last couple of weeks working around the property.

  “So what else have you been doing in the yard?” It wasn’t just small talk. He wanted to know. Big changes were in order here, and he was curious about the end results.

  More than that, he was curious about her. He’d never talk her into that affair if he didn’t get to know her better.

  “Um.” She straightened, the veneer of relaxation gone. �
��Just pulling up some weeds and mowing down the brush.” She jumped up out of her chair. “Can I get you a drink?”

  “No, thank you.” He rose as well, wondering why she’d turned edgy all of the sudden. Had he allowed his explicit thoughts about her to show in his expression? “Is everything okay?”

  “Sure—yes,” she blurted awkwardly. “Fine. Perhaps I’ll get a drink for me.”

  He steadied her shoulders, just to keep her in place a moment longer.

  “Does it make you nervous, having me here?” he asked. His heart thudded low and hard at the feel of her against his fingertips.

  He meant to release her—and he would in a moment—but he had the distinct impression she’d bolt the second he let go.

  It seemed an odd reaction when they’d already been together most of the day. She hadn’t been this jumpy when they’d sat across the dinner table from each other.

  “Not at all.” She seemed to realize how ridiculous that sounded when she was poised for flight, because she took a deep breath and quit edging toward the kitchen. “Okay, maybe a little nervous.”

  His hands fell away. Maybe it would be tougher than he’d bargained to work his way into her favor anytime soon.

  “I must have really read this wrong.” He took a step back, not wanting to intimidate her. “Because even though I only offered to come here tonight to keep you safe, I have to admit I thought there was a connection between us earlier today.”

  Speechless, she shook her head, dark hair dusting her shoulders. Was she mute with horror at the prospect? Or simply denying she’d felt any such thing? This was going downhill in a hurry.

  “When we shook hands this morning,” he continued, hating that he had to explain it to her when it had been plain as day to him, “I could have sworn there was a moment—”

  “I know.” She backed up a step, as well, and he felt like crap for making her feel that was necessary. “I felt it, too.”

  Her words eased some of the sting, at least.