The silent grandeur of the forest worked magic on her jangled nerves as they padded along. It was beauty that sobered her, calmed her. Luminous, magic. The pattering rain, the feathery delicacy of pine boughs, the paler green festoons of moss, and tiny star-shaped white flowers floating ethereally in shiny green clumps of ground cover. It was so beautiful, she forgot her stinging hand, slimed shoes, and outraged sensibilities.
About a half hour later, he led her through a waist-high tangle of blooming wild roses. And then she saw the house.
He watched as she caught sight of the house, and felt ridiculously gratified at the smile that lit up her face. Yeah, of course she likes it, Kendrick. What wasn’t to like? He’d worked his ass off on that place.
Still, it pleased him that she appreciated the grace of the old-fashioned house under the enormous pines. The comfortable porch. The huge flower and herb garden that he’d meticulously landscaped. He was proud of it. After all that work, she damn well ought to appreciate it.
That, however, did not mean that he would let some wandering wild child whose body made him break out in a fever sweat park her lurid van in his driveway and disrupt his peace of mind. He hadn’t signed up for that.
He’d known, in his bones, that something was up. The tone in Duncan’s voice, that hidden smile. He knew that sneaky bastard. He’d been keeping something back, and there it was, in the flesh. His job was to babysit a doe-eyed, wet-T-shirt-clad mini-sex-bomblet and keep her out of trouble. Served him right, for letting Duncan jerk him around. It was true that he owed Dunc, but, God. This kind of trouble he did not need.
Duncan had said that the chick was in danger. Some muddled, improbable tale about evil Nazis, treasure maps, lost art. Christ on a crutch. He’d given up on drama. He wanted peace and quiet. Simplicity.
Still, he disliked the idea of Vivi D’Onofrio in danger. She was so small and delicate. Her skin, so pale against that red hair. He wondered if the color was fake. Its brilliance seemed exaggerated.
There was one quick, surefire way to find out, he thought suddenly, and he tried to squelch the thought in his mind before his dick could swell to maximum capacity again. Thank God for the rain poncho. Every detail of her figure had been visible in the damp tie-dye T-shirt. Those high, perfect tits, the kind that fit into a champagne cup. The classic, tender mouthful. He cursed under his breath.
“You said something?” she asked.
He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.
“Did you build this yourself?” she persisted, waiting for his nod.
“Wow.” Vivi’s voice was reverent. They passed through riotous array of spring flowers, blooming lilac bushes, lush borders of aromatic herbs, flowers of every type and color. “Is, ah, someone in your family a gardener?” she asked delicately.
“I’m the only one who lives here,” he said. “The barn is around the back.” He led her around the building, beyond which stood a large, freshly remodeled and painted barn. The apartment was on the top.
He’d lived in it himself for the time it took him to build his house. He’d been using the bottom floor for a garage and the apartment above it for storage lately, but last week, after Duncan’s bullying sessions, he’d dutifully moved his boxes out and into the attic to make room for Duncan’s future sister-in-law. He’d pictured some uptight New York artistic type, all in black. Hah. He’d never seen anyone as colorful as Vivi D’Onofrio. The chick glowed, like neon. He needed fucking sunglasses.
He led her up the stairs, which were on the outside of the building, and onto the deck. He slid open the sliding glass doors and stood back to let her enter first. The place was plain, but freshly painted and nicely finished. She gazed at the living room that opened onto the deck, with the view of the river and the house.
She slowly walked into the big bedroom that looked out over the garden. She strode into the bathroom, surveyed the deep sink, the old claw-foot Victorian tub that he’d found at an auction years ago. It had a transparent shower curtain with old-style botanical illustrations of flowers, complete with their Latin names, splashed all over it.
She sidled out the bathroom door past him, careful not to touch him, and walked into the spacious kitchen. She opened the freezer, sighing when she saw the automatic ice maker. She pushed the lever, grabbed a handful of ice, held it to her pink cheek. “It’s perfect,” she announced.
She folded her arms in front of her chest, and waited for him to contradict her. Her face was battle ready. There was a streak of mud across one high cheekbone.
“Well?” she asked impatiently. “Spit it out, Kendrick.”
“Well, what?” he snapped back. “Spit what out?”
Her hair was drying, fluffing up into a fiery mane. “The bottom line,” she said. “Have we got a deal? You sounded like you weren’t sure, back there. Sounded like my tattoos and nose ring scared you. Have you dug your courage back out from under that rock it was shivering under?”
Jack refused to rise to the bait. “I have to talk to Duncan,” he temporized. “He gave me a false impression.”
“No, maybe you just made some stupid assumptions. And you’re still making them.” She smiled brightly. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m cold, and I really need a shower. Thanks for carrying my stuff. Buh-bye.”
She gestured toward the door with a dismissive smile.
Once back in his own kitchen, Jack tried not to visualize Vivi’s body naked in the tub, hot water streaming down her legs, her high breasts. Tried and failed. He felt flustered, sweaty. Stupid. He hadn’t felt so unsure of himself since he was a teenager.
He was usually good at dealing with the unexpected. Being flex, turning surprises to his advantage. The trick was to stay calm in his center. That had helped him during those years on the task force with Dunc in Afghanistan. And before, in the military, in Iraq, in Africa. It had helped him negotiate his childhood and manage the characters who had peopled it. It had helped him those bleak months that he’d spent on the streets of North Portland, as a teenager.
He knew nothing lasted forever. That some people couldn’t stay in one place for long. No need to blame or judge, it was just a fact. Getting upset or uptight about it was like blaming a leaf for being green.
He put on a pot of coffee, just to do something with his hands. People like Vivi D’Onofrio were liable to climb into their truck, or motorcycle, or van and disappear in a cloud of dust. No hard feelings.
That was not the kind of woman he wanted to be attracted to. He knew how that story ended before it began. He was not going to do that to himself. He would not be so blind, so stupid. No fucking way.
He did not feel calm in his center when he looked at her. He wouldn’t be able to stay cool, detached. He’d get wound up, tied in knots. He’d fuck himself up. Royally. He knew it. For a goddamn fact.
But still, he pictured water streaming down over her body, and wondered. Curly ringlets, or straight swatches? Red pubic hair, or dark? Tightly furled, involuted, secretive pale pink pussy lips, or did she have a bright crimson one that burst proudly out of her slit like some sort of exotic flower? Shaved? Pierced, even? And her flavor?
Whoa. That gave him a head rush. He dangled his head between his knees. Trying not to imagine her flavor.
Chapter
2
Vivi tried to relax in the shower. She was so angry at herself for not stopping to bathe and dress before meeting Kendrick. How freaking irresponsible of her. First impressions were so hard to shake. And getting all snotty in his face—what had possessed her? Idiot. She’d always been impulsive, hotheaded. Lucia had lectured and scolded for years, trying to turn her into a lady.