He gave his head a pointed tilt. “I wouldn’t go
that
far.”
His words made her remember the whole outlaw rumor. Maybe an outlaw biker dude took that kind of statement a lot more literally than she did. And did this mean she should be scared? She’d been a
little
scared even
before
remembering that part.
And yet . . . even as her muscles stayed tensed, she felt a response to him in other places, too. In her breasts. Between her thighs. Good Lord—what was
that
about? Or—wait. Maybe it was all just nerves, her whole body getting into the act because he was so freaking intimidating. Hopefully. She couldn’t tell.
So she dropped her gaze briefly and bit her lip, her heart still pounding too hard, before forcing her eyes back to his one last time. “Well, I better get him into the house before he tries to make another break for it.”
Mr. Unresponsive didn’t reply, so with cat in hand, she turned to go.
That’s when he said, “See ya later . . . hot stuff.”
The last words halted Tessa in place. What had he just called her? Looking over her shoulder, she raised her gaze back to his—to find another tiny hint of amusement there as he said, “Your shirt.”
Glancing down, Tessa wanted to die. She’d completely forgotten she wore a snug white tank with the words
Hot Stuff
written in script across it, actually half of a pajama set Rachel had given her for her birthday; the matching pants had little smiling hot peppers all over them. But the worst part was—she wasn’t wearing a bra, a fact that was scandalously apparent. She even caught a hint of color through the thin cotton. Dear God in heaven.
Any portion of the lump in her throat that had receded now swelled once more, and an intense heat climbed her cheeks. “Um, see ya,” she said. But she couldn’t meet his eyes again—no way—so she just hightailed it briskly back down the hill through the cool carpet of grass.
With lightly clenched teeth, she glared down at the cat in her arms. “You are in
so
much trouble, mister.”
T
essa had spent the evening still taken aback by the whole encounter. Not only had she found out her neighbor was the mysterious Lucky Romo—he’d seen her nipples through her shirt, too. But she’d been at home, dressed for comfort. Clearly, she wasn’t yet used to having someone next door.
She’d called Rachel right after the event—eager to share the news about her fiancé’s long-lost brother—yet she’d gotten voice mail. Her once Blackberry-addicted friend now frequently left her phone behind, and Tessa later remembered that Rachel and Mike had been traveling home from Florida yesterday anyway and were probably in transit at the time.
Well, now it was Monday and she was meeting Rachel and Amy for lunch, so she could fill Rachel in there. And other than some lingering embarrassment about practically having flashed the biker next door, she was in a good mood. For one thing, she felt a lot better than she had yesterday. And for another, Mr. Knightley was going home today—she was dropping him at Amy’s on the way to lunch. “In you go,” she told the cat as she lowered him into his deluxe cat carrier. Knightley’s other belongings were already in a box in her car—although Tessa planned on telling Amy she should buy the cat a suitcase if he couldn’t travel more lightly.
As she locked the cabin door and walked to her midsize sedan, she couldn’t help glancing upward toward the house on the hill. All was still, no one about. She let out a sigh, wishing it would stay that way. She missed her peace and quiet.
But a glimpse down at the long, colorful skirt she wore brightened her spirits again. It had made her feel alive and energetic to put on something she enjoyed wearing, and she’d learned not to take even the smallest bit of happiness for granted over the last few years. Sometimes it was the little things in life.
Only, as her Nissan reached the end of her driveway, she caught sight of the lovely sign she’d erected above her mailbox:
Interiors by Tessa.
Oh brother.
Yeah
,
clever of you withholding your name that way. Very slick. He’ll never figure it out.
She bit her lip, thinking of him again. Lucky Romo. A year ahead of her in high school, he’d been the bad kid, the rough and tumble type. He’d gotten into fights, skipped school, driven a fast car, and sported long hair even then. He drank and smoked. She’d heard he did drugs.
Then, as soon as he’d graduated, he’d just . . . disappeared.
Maybe, when she added it all up, the most shocking thing about him now was that he’d actually been nice enough to help her find the cat.
And maybe the real question was . . .
Why do I start sweating a little every time I remember seeing him yesterday?
She thought back to it, trying to recall everything she’d felt. A strange nervousness, certainly, that had bordered on fear. He was so . . . big now. She’d never have guessed Lucky Romo would end up so broad-shouldered and muscular. Plus, she’d never known any biker dudes before . . . or potential outlaws, either—a thought which made her shiver a little. She’d also suffered a certain sense of . . . naïveté with him that she’d never before experienced. Odd, because she wasn’t particularly naïve. She was thirty-three years old, after all—but somehow she’d felt . . . too innocent in his presence. Like he must think she was silly for the way she’d talked to Mr. Knightley. Like she’d seemed stupid for letting him get away.
So all of that was enough to explain things like lumps in her throat and a little sweating. Except that . . . there was more. If she was completely honest with herself, she’d suffered . . . a stark, rather
brutal
attraction to him. Completely unbidden. And unwanted. Because he
did
frighten her a little. There was that whole outlaw-biker question hanging over him. And all those tattoos. Just being
around
him had felt a bit hazardous, even when he’d relaxed some and helped her lure Mr. K. back.
And ugh—again that view of her nipples came to mind. Upon getting Mr. Knightley back into the house, she’d stood in front of a mirror and—yikes.
Note to self
:
Now that you have a neighbor
,
always wear a bra. Always.
And now . . . stop obsessing over this.
Yes, that sounded like a good idea. After all, there was plenty to celebrate—the sun was shining, she was on her way to lunch with friends, and she was unloading this persnickety kitty. Conveniently, Amy lived in an apartment above her bookstore, Under the Covers, where Tessa worked part-time, so she could easily drop him off on the way to lunch.
Half an hour later, cat and cat owner had been happily reunited, and Tessa and Amy found Rachel already at a table at Dolly’s Main Street Café, looking as stylish as ever in high-heeled boots, a red print scarf draped about her neck, and her shoulder-length blond hair in a chic new cut. She’d moved back to Destiny last fall to help run her grandma’s apple orchard, but giving up a jet-set life in Chicago hadn’t dampened her fashion sense. And a lovely tan glow from her Florida jaunt to visit Mike’s parents only made her look all the more fabulous.
“Okay,” Tessa said pointedly as she took a seat, “I’m not going to ask either one of you how your trips were, because I have news. Big, big news.”
Rachel blinked, appearing surprised, likely because it was seldom these days that Tessa
had
news—big or otherwise. Yet Amy stopped her from sharing it by wagging a finger in her face, her strawberry blond locks bouncing with the natural curl Tessa envied. “First, I want to know how you’re feeling. I felt awful making you kitty-sit, but I couldn’t think of anybody else, especially with Rachel away, too.”
“I’m fine now,” Tessa said. “And my news is more important than that.” Which was saying a lot. After several years of a mysterious digestive illness, Tessa had recently been diagnosed with Crohn’s disease. The ailment had taken a huge toll on her and forced her to make major changes in her life, but she tried to be tougher than the condition—
plus
she was near to bursting with wanting to tell them about yesterday.
“Wow,” Amy said, green eyes widening. “This must be
some
news.”
Tessa just looked back and forth between them. “Remember I told you about my new neighbor?”
They both nodded as Amy said, “And all the motorcycles.”
“Right. Well, yesterday I met him.” She didn’t plan to tell Amy exactly
why
she’d met him—no need to alarm her—and that wasn’t the significant part anyway.
“And?” Rachel said.
Tessa let out a breath. “He’s Lucky Romo.”
Amy gasped and Rachel’s jaw dropped. Though it was Rachel she kept her eyes on, because while Amy loved good Destiny gossip, it was Rachel’s connection to Lucky that made this so relevant. Mike had suffered a lot over Lucky leaving home. To find out he was alive would be . . . enormous.
Rachel appeared too stunned to speak for a moment, but finally managed, “Are you sure?”
“Mostly,” Tessa said. “I thought he looked familiar, and like a Romo—and then he turned around and his T-shirt said Lucky’s Custom . . . something-or-other on it. Even before that, I was thinking it could be him, so
after
that . . . well, how could it
not
be him?”
Rachel simply shook her head, clearly still trying to absorb it. “What did he say? Why is he back? Why hasn’t he contacted his family?”
“I don’t know,” Tessa explained, “because he didn’t say
much
. And I wasn’t sure I should ask him or even let him know I recognized him. I mean . . . there’s that whole outlaw-motorcycle-gang issue to think about.”
Now Rachel gasped, too. “Oh, you’re right.” Then she gritted her teeth. “God, if this is really him, should you be living next door to him? Out there in the middle of nowhere? Where no one can hear you scream?”
Tessa cast a dry look. “Thanks for giving me visions of ax murderers.”
“Sorry, but . . .” Rachel appeared deadly serious. “Mike has reason to think he turned out to be a really bad guy.”
“Yes, I know that. Don’t remind me. Because it’s not like I can just pack up and move. I bought the house.
And
I’m broke.” After having to leave a lucrative career in interior design behind in Cincinnati due to her illness, she’d come home to the promise of a new, more low-key job in interiors—which had then promptly fallen through. And since then, she’d been trying to build her own small decorating business, but so far it was a failure. She’d sunk much of her savings into buying the cabin, thinking it would be smarter than renting, and she was living off the rest, supplemented only by what she made at the bookstore.
Across the table, Amy tilted her head. “Did he
seem
. . . you know . . .
bad
?”
Tessa bit her lip. It was a complicated question. “Well, he has a lot of tattoos. Of things like chains and flames. So he
looks
kind of scary. And I felt pretty mousy when I was trying to talk to him. But . . . he was also sort of nice. In a quiet way.” Then she bit her lip, remembering the worst part. “Oh, and he saw my boobs.”
As Amy cringed in revulsion, Rachel made a bewildered face. “How the hell did
that
happen?”
“Well, he didn’t see them
completely
. Just through the ‘Hot Stuff’ pajama top you gave me. But that’s practically as bad. Very thin cotton. And white. And clingy.”
“Nice gift, Rach,” Amy scolded.
But Rachel just rolled her eyes. “I didn’t intend for her to socialize in it.” In fact, Tessa remembered, it had actually been meant as amusing encouragement. Tessa had felt . . . well, considerably less than hot the last few years.
“I was wearing it around the house because it’s comfy, and I went outside, not expecting to meet the new neighbor. A mistake I will not make again, believe me.”
Just then, their favorite blue-haired waitress, Mabel, finally arrived with menus, and they all ordered drinks. Only after she’d gone did Amy say, low and cautious, “So . . . was he, like, openly staring? At your breasts?” Amy was fairly prudish about sex, yet she always wanted to hear about it, too.
“Actually,” Tessa recalled, “I had no idea he’d noticed them at all, because I’d completely forgotten what I was wearing. Until he called me ‘hot stuff.’ ”
“So he flirted with you,” Rachel said, looking none too happy. “Mike’s bad-seed-biker-brother flirted with you.”
Unfortunately, Tessa’s more sensitive body parts chose this particular moment to flutter a bit at the reminder—but she tried to play it off. No way could she tell her friends she’d experienced an unwanted attraction to the bad seed. “I think he was just . . . trying to make a joke or something. But when I glanced down and saw . . . well, you know . . .” She stopped, shaking her head at the indignity of the memory. “I wanted to dig a hole and crawl into the ground.” It wasn’t so much having accidentally been seen in a too-thin top; it was being seen that way by someone she’d have to face over and over again.
After they’d placed their lunch orders, Rachel still looked glum. “I don’t know how Mike’s gonna take this. He has a real love-hate thing about Lucky.”
Tessa nodded. “Now you see why I said it was big news.”
“You have to be really careful, Tessa,” Amy said, her expression fearful.
Tessa turned the warning over in her head. Despite her own unease about the situation, she’d figured the shocking fact that Lucky Romo was home would be what her friends focused on. Now, their worry made her wonder if she should be even
more
wary of him than she already was. But she tried to look on the bright side. “Well, he’s been there for a couple of weeks, and other than some loud motorcycle noise, I haven’t heard a peep out of him.”
“Even so,” Rachel said, “we don’t know just how scary a guy Lucky really is.”
T
hat afternoon, Tessa returned home ready to relax and clear her head. It was still unseasonably gorgeous out—sunny and seventy-five degrees—and her deck, located at the creekside end of the cabin, was calling to her. A book, some sunbathing—it sounded like exactly what she needed.