Damn. Even wielding a baseball bat, the man made a rumpled t-shirt and sweatpants sexy.
Eyes wild, he stepped onto the back porch, barefoot. “You,” he hissed.
“Put down the bat.”
“You and a rock? Are you crazy or a liar?”
“Shhh. Want to wake the neighborhood?
“No. Yes. I caught you red-handed you—you vandal.”
“Not me.”
“But you...what are you doing here?”
“Trying to get your attention?” Now that she thought about it, perhaps she should have called first. He wore a lack of sleep worse than she did and seemed a bit deranged.
“No. You’re harassing me! The flaming dog poop, the toilet paper and the forks, my God, the forks!”
“They forked your lawn?” She stifled a giggle. “Always a classic.”
“Not to me! If you think that’s funny, you’re crazy.”
“Shhh.” With a shrug, she dropped the rock. Under normal circumstances, she would have been offended by his words. But he seemed so vulnerable, even more than when he came to her store. He began shuffling his feet. Her toes were toasty warm in her wool socks, but he was uncomfortable in his bare feet. “I come in peace.”
“No one comes here in peace.”
“I do. I’ve only ever come here in peace. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
“So you can trash the inside of my house?”
She rolled her eyes. “Believe it or not, I came by as... not a friend exactly, but not a hostile either. You came to me not too long ago and asked for my help and here I am.” She brushed past his arm as she walked to the door and let herself in. Even through her coat, her skin tingled at the contact. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t deny their connection. But she had to. She refused to inherit her mother’s crown as the queen of bad decisions.
HE RUBBED THE LACK of sleep from his eyes and drew a few deep breaths of cold air. Exhaust-fume free air was nice; it helped clear the brain for a brief moment. He went back inside, and reality pushed down on him.
Claire sat at the kitchen table, with a glass of water raised to her lips. She had shed her coat and the sight of her tight black short sleeve shirt made him think back to a few short weeks ago when he nearly made love to her on that same table. He thought of her every time he looked at it, which further twisted his gut and diminished his appetite for food. He ate in front of the TV a lot lately. The commercials made him hungry enough for too many chips, but even Mylanta chasers didn’t help his unease.
She disarmed him with her guileless green eyes.
“I’ll wash the glass and you’ll never know I was here.”
He’d know. Her scent would linger as before, driving him wild with desire. He moved toward the light switch.
“No!”
He hesitated at her sharp tone.
“If you turn on the lights someone might see in.”
“It’s two-thirty in the morning.”
“Then your pranksters should be in bed, but I don’t want to take any chances.”
“Of being seen with me.”
“Cavorting with the enemy wouldn’t help my cause, although Miss Jones thinks I should manipulate you with my feminine wiles.” She batted her eyelashes, and raised her hands demurely in front of her, a mockery of flirtation, but not.
“Really?” That Miss Jones made the suggestion surprised him, but perhaps his elderly neighbor was on to something. “I wouldn’t object if you tried.” He sat, scooting his chair close to her. His desire for her clouded his judgement. She backed away.
“But I would. It’s a respect thing.”
“Ouch. I resp— “
“Self-respect.”
He swallowed and looked at the floor. How could he compete with that? He admired her confidence and dignity above her warmth and her beauty. His shoulder blades bumped into the seatback. He jolted upright. “I’m getting a drink.” A water prop might help him fake what he didn’t feel.
He walked to the cabinet and removed one of the glasses he’d bought new after moving in. A white film covered the bottom and threatened to creep up the sides. He filled it with tap water anyway. He’d grown used to the taste. Claire stretched her arms above her head. By the time he reached the table, she had turned her chair slightly to the side and sat with her left ankle propped up on right leg. Her slight smirk reminded him of that first time she called him City Boy. He sank into his chair, pulled down by the heaviness of knowing he wouldn’t hear those words cross her lips again.
“So, Mister Fordham, have you had any trouble with the police lately?”
“Not exactly, but they haven’t been able to find the kids messing with my yard, and please drop the formality.”
A soft hmmm escaped her throat as she rolled her eyes and sighed. The action went straight to his groin. “How about parking tickets, Mister Fordham?” Her eyes narrowed.
He wouldn’t take the bait. “Yeah, I’ve had a few.”
“I thought so.” Pausing, she took a sip of water, her mouth sensuously closing on the glass.
She met his gaze and held it long enough that her pupils dilated, and her body betrayed her disinterest. The room was so quiet, the deep breath she inhaled was as loud as Union Square. The exhalation was Grand Central Station. Determination flashed in her eyes as the muscles around them tightened. She slammed the glass on the table before standing.
“You’re being targeted.”
“Duh.”
“The police are dragging their feet finding whoever keeps decorating your yard. Have you been ticketed or warned as a result?”
“There’ve been complaints about the toilet paper blowing into other yards. I’m getting better at cleaning it up before I go to work,
