Too Hot to Handle: A Loveswept Classic Romance (5 page)

“Is this your idea of an apology for last week, you contemptible, smelly little bastard?” Matt asked William. “Has anyone ever told you that in some parts of this state the Jaycees hold goat barbecues?”

William’s retort was something between the whinny of a horse and the traditional baa of the black sheep. His mouth moved as if he were chewing with great boredom. He ambled away. Callie walked slowly up to the Corvette.

“Matt. Oh, Matt. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with William. He’s ornery, but he’s never taken on anybody’s car before.”

Callie wished she hadn’t been working all morning in the spring heat. She knew she was hot and sweaty and disheveled-looking in khaki shorts and a loose T-shirt. Matt eyed her speculatively, a muscle working in his jaw. Then he leaped gracefully out of the Corvette and grabbed her in a hug. She gasped out loud.

“Callie Carmichael, only you could make me forget what that hooved little cuss just did to my car.” His voice caressed her senses long before his lips found hers.

“Why?” she whispered throatily against his mouth.

“Why what?” He moved his lips lightly over hers. He tasted of musky male allure and spring air. The smell of his fine cologne filled her, and little tremors rippled beneath her skin as her mouth opened beneath his touch.

Callie tried to protest. Her legs began to tremble as her bones seemed to melt into the earth in a warm puddle of jelly. She reached out to support herself and caught the edge of his sleek belt, which only had the effect of pulling him against her.

The sound of a horn stopped her from winding her arms around him. She felt Matt’s reluctance to let her go, and she lowered her gaze from the raw need she read in his face as she stepped away. Grabbing the fence behind her, she held on, breathing deeply for a moment as the ground steadied beneath her feet. A pickup truck drove by, and Callie waved weakly at the grinning woman behind the wheel, a friend of hers from the valley.

“City men. I’d forgotten how impulsive and unpredictable you all are,” she quipped. “Why did you do that, Matt?”

“Because I’m impulsive and unpredictable. And you enjoyed it.” He’d planned to flirt with her, to build up the passion to a sensual level so he could get even with her for all the torment she’d caused him the week before. But when he’d seen her standing by the car, looking up at him with huge, sorrowful eyes, his plan had deserted him. “It definitely wasn’t what I meant to do,” he added. “There’s something about you and that goat and this place that make me crazy.”

He stopped and simply looked at her, and she felt the melting process begin again. Between the heat of the sun and Matt Holland’s gaze, she felt a little light-headed.

“Come on the porch, Matt, out of the sun. I’ll get us something cold to drink.”

“Good idea. I think we both need cooling off.”

“You need to tell me why you won’t take no for an answer, sir. I thought I’d seen the end of you last week.”

“I think you’ll give in. That’s why, ma’am.” He emphasized “ma’am” in the same way she’d emphasized “sir.”

She laughed lightly. “I hardly know you. And I won’t sell Ruby, no matter what.”

She left him sitting in a swing on the porch as she went straight for the refrigerator, opened the door, and leaned into its delicious coolness. She rested her forehead against the top of the refrigerator and closed her eyes.

Matt was wealthy, and she knew what that kind of wealth meant. It meant family obligations and expectations. It also meant superficiality and arrogance, no matter how carefully concealed beneath a pleasing exterior.

Her father was wealthy, and her mother was dead because of it. Even her ex-husband, sweet, gentle Tyler, had eventually been swayed by corporate interests and greed. It had destroyed their marriage.

“Callie? Need any help?” Matt called.

Heavens, yes, she mouthed, but against you—not from you.

“I’m very sorry about William,” she began as she
pushed open the screen door with her rear and backed onto the porch. She placed a tray with two glasses of iced tea on a wicker table. “I’ll pay for the repairs to the Corvette.”

“How?” he asked, a little coldly.

Callie looked up at him solemnly as he continued.

“You don’t believe in making money, as I recall,” he said.

“I’ll pay you back, Matt. Even if it takes years.”

He grimaced in self-rebuke at his mean streak. Her lack of interest in money was one of the most intriguing things about her.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. She couldn’t begin to afford the repairs. Parts for a 1963 Corvette were expensive, and the skilled labor required to install them was even more costly.

“I’ll pay you back,” she said again.

“Sell me the Fiesta and we’ll call it even.”

“I’ll give you William,” she said fiendishly.

“Let’s discuss this later, Callie. Maybe in the next century.”

Chuckling, Callie poured the tea and handed a glass to him, allowing herself really to look at him for the first time. He sat very straight and dignified in the creaking old swing. The jeans hugged his slim hips and muscular legs, and the buttercup-yellow shirt emphasized the gold of his hair. Spotless white running shoes completed his outfit. He looked expensive and casual, she noted.

“Something wrong?” Matt caught her slight frown instantly.

“Uh, no. I just haven’t recovered from the shock of seeing you here today. I thought you’d given up on me.”

“I brought something to show you. Look here.”

He was holding something she hadn’t noticed before. She hadn’t noticed anything since he’d kissed her. Now, balancing the glass and some sort of brochure, he jerked his head slightly and smiled.

“Come here and sit beside me in the swing, unless you’re afraid of me.”

Callie held back for a moment. She didn’t want to get close to him. Every time she got close to Matt Holland something happened. But she couldn’t stand there stupidly. She shrugged and gave him a taunting smile.

“I have William to protect me. I’m not afraid.”

He groaned in mock horror at the thought of William as she sat down. Callie tried unsuccessfully not to come in contact with his body. “What is this?” she asked, pointing to the pamphlet in his large hand.

“This is an original sales piece on the Fiesta, sent out by one of the Oldsmobile dealers. See, here’s one exactly like Ruby, except the color is blue.” He motioned excitedly to a picture.

Callie was intrigued, and bent forward for a closer look. She saw a car very much like Ruby, only shiny and new and very elegant. She had heard the tremor of excitement in Matt’s voice, and had to admit that the thought of Ruby being restored to resemble the marvelous car in the photograph was thrilling. Sitting beside Matt was even more thrilling.

“Isn’t she a beauty?” he whispered. Callie glanced up and found him staring at her instead of the brochure. She looked away quickly. He cleared his throat and shuffled the brochure. “This Fiesta’s surf
blue in front with teal blue on the back,” he continued doggedly. “Ruby’s color is called raven red and super white.”

“I expected to see scantily clad, beautiful women in this brochure,” Callie said teasingly. “Draped over the Fiesta like cats on a warm ledge. Didn’t sex sell products back then?”

“After the act you pulled on me the other day, you’re asking me if sex sells?” Matt shook his head and grinned.

Callie frowned at him. “Do you think I’m wanton?” she asked primly. Before he could answer she added, “I’m not. Believe me, you were the recipient of a one-time-only act.”

“I’m disappointed,” he said jokingly. “I wanted you to be wanton.”

Callie couldn’t resist his impish teasing, and she smiled. He smiled back. “Everyone isn’t as poor a salesman, pardon me, saleswoman as me,” she told him. “On the other hand, I’m sure there aren’t many men with the sales resistance you have.”

His brown eyes grew somber. “My resistance was motivated by conservative morals,” he assured her. “But even a conservative man like me can only stand so much.” His voice dropped. “I want to get to know you, Callie. I want to get to know you very, very well, and then I won’t put up any resistance at all.”

She could barely breathe. “Maybe once you know the facts about me, you’ll have no trouble resisting.”

He cocked one brow in defiance. “I’m a very good judge of character. I can always tell the quality of a paint at first glance—”

“And what am I … a nice rosewood exterior oil base?” she asked lightly.

Matt felt uncomfortable as he realized how silly his analogy had sounded. “I meant,” he replied emphatically, “that I look beneath the surface of everything—paint, people, material goods. I look for quality, for old-fashioned values, for durability. I saw all those things in you.”

“I don’t peel and I won’t crack, even in cold weather.”

“Callie, I’m trying to be serious!” He was clearly exasperated with her, and she patted his arm in a gesture of apology.

“Thank you for the compliment,” she murmured. “As you can tell, I have trouble taking your attention seriously. Why would a man like you find a carefree bum like me interesting? To you I must seem like some sort of … hippie.”

He laughed. “That term went out of vogue a few years ago.”

“Not in this part of Georgia, it didn’t,” she told him. “Every time I run off to take part in a protest or work on a political campaign or whatever, John Henry says I’m just a ‘dadgum flower-child punk hippie.’ ”

“Do you do that often?” he asked. “Run off?”

She nodded. “Last week I spent two days in Atlanta, picketing in front of the IsoTech corporate headquarters to protest their involvement in South Africa.”

His eyes widened. “You were in Atlanta? I wish I’d known.”

“Why? Would you have come down and joined in the protest?” she asked with a sardonic smile.

He raised both brows in an expression of reproach. “You protest your way, I’ll protest in mine.”

“And what way is that?” she asked, her chin up.

“I’ve sold all my Krugerrands and every piece of stock I owned in companies with South African interests. I donated the receipts to an organization dedicated to a peaceful, productive settlement of the problems there.”

Callie stared at him with sudden respect. She had misjudged him, at least in some ways. “I’m very impressed,” she said softly.

He shrugged. “All us rich folks aren’t ogres, you know. I donate a lot of money to good causes. Probably some of the same ones you work for.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Like ‘Save the Pink-Tipped Gumpwhupper,’ or whatever it was you mentioned the other day?”

Matt nodded, laughing.

She looked away, idly studying her fingers as she traced patterns in the moisture on her tea glass. Matt Holland was one very interesting fellow.

“About the car, Matt,” she said quietly. “Tell me what you know about Fiestas. I’m interested.”

“In just the Fiesta?” he asked with a devilish tone.

She studied him with a rueful smile. “Yes. The Fiesta.”

He sighed in comical defeat, and abruptly took her hand in his. He held it on his knee.

“I’ll talk only if you let me hold your hand,” he said firmly.

Callie laughed. “You’ve got about one minute; then I take my hand back.”

He nodded. “As far as I know there were only three or four pieces of literature ever printed on the Fiesta. Oldsmobile only manufactured the car for five months.”

He went into an excited description of the various options and color schemes listed for the automobile, while Callie’s mind went into a different kind of rapture. Her hand was still on his thigh. She could feel the tightness of his leg muscles play beneath her hand, while his thumb circled her palm seductively.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I know I get carried away. Of all the cars in my collection, this one will be the most special.”

“Matt,” Callie began seriously, drawing her hand out of his grip, “I don’t want you to get your hopes up. I have no intention of selling my car. You see, it’s very special to me too. It belonged to someone I cared deeply about.”

Something in her voice caught at him, and he saw the pain that flashed across her face. “I’m sorry. I get carried away. I’m being insensitive,” he murmured. Matt closed the brochure and turned to look at Callie. “And pushy. I thought if I could make you understand how special the car is, you’d understand how important it is to me. My collection will be complete once I acquire it. I’ll give it the best of care.”

“I’m sorry, Matt. I can’t let you have Ruby. I’m sorry she’s valuable. I wish she weren’t, but that doesn’t matter. You see, the car belonged to my mother. It’s the only thing I have left that belonged to her, and I’m not going to sell it, no matter what you offer me.”

“Your mother?” He was embarrassed. Worse than that, he felt like some kind of con man trying to swindle a little old lady’s life savings away from her. “Your mother drove this car?”

“Yes. At least I was told she did, for a while.”

“I don’t understand. I thought it had been stored for about thirty years. The odometer shows less than sixteen thousand miles.”

“And I’ve put most of those miles on Ruby in the year I’ve been driving her. My mother … my mother didn’t drive her for long.”

“Tell me about your mother, Callie. Why is this car the only thing you have of hers?”

“Because it was the only thing that money didn’t destroy. She left it behind when she married my father. She left it for a white Cadillac and a twenty-room house on Riverside Drive, and plastic surgery to make her beautiful enough to match her surroundings.” Callie hugged herself hard and looked toward the mountains as if seeking solace. “Finish your tea, Matt, and I’ll call John Henry to come up and look at your car.”

“Who are you, Callie?” he asked softly. “Tell me how you ended up here, and what you did before you came here.”

She looked at him shrewdly for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was low and without emotion. “I have a master’s in English from Emory University, in Atlanta. In between semesters at Emory I married my first real sweetheart, Tyler. He was nineteen; I was eighteen.” She smiled grimly. “We planned to save the Pink-Tipped Gumpwhuppers and everything else that needed saving.”