Crazy Love (7 page)

“Thanks for looking after him last night, Belle…” Sierra trailed off as she caught sight of him and Marc leaned back on the couch and crossed his ankles, enjoying the view.

She had long, lean, showgirl legs on full display in the oversized sweatshirt she’d worn to bed. If he’d thought she looked stunning in that black dress last night it had nothing on the form fitting raggedy cotton with ‘Angel’ emblazoned on her chest.
Angel indeed
…

She appeared shocked to see him but surely she would’ve been listening out last night? What surprised him more was she hadn’t come downstairs and booted his ass out the door the minute he’d nodded off. No way would he have trusted some stranger sleeping on his couch, yet she obviously took the local hospitality thing to extremes.

From the sagging bed he’d glimpsed in his room at the Love Inn when he’d showered before dinner he was eternally grateful.

That didn’t stop him from baiting her a little. It was about time he had her on the back foot rather than the other way around.

“Good morning to you, too. Did you sleep well,
darling
?”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

She rubbed one foot on top of the other, every bit the recalcitrant school child caught doing something she shouldn’t.

Oh yeah, this would be fun.

“Don’t go all coy on me now.” He patted the space on the couch next to him and flashed a smug smile.

“Why don’t you come sit down? You must be exhausted after last night.”

Her mouth fell open and he glanced across at Belle, chuckling at her goggle-eyed expression as her head swiveled between them as if watching the US Open final.

He lowered his voice to an intimate murmur. “Surely you remember
everything
?”

“Ripley, attack.”

For a split second he braced for an incoming assault. However, rather than a set of monstrous fangs sinking into his arm, the dog—obvious hers and not busty Belle’s—bounded across the room and started licking him to death. Again.

Sierra shook her head and stalked towards the kitchen. “Traitor.”

“Was it something I said?” he called out to her retreating back. She flipped him the bird.

“Ripley normally hates strangers,” Belle added, “though I guess you’re no stranger now?”

Torn between wanting to follow Sierra into the kitchen to tease her more or sit here and let her stew, the urge to follow won out.

“Nice to meet you, Belle. I’m Marc Fairley and if you’ll excuse me, I think someone wants to warm up her frying pan on my head?”

Belle laughed and stood in one, smooth movement. What was it with this town and stunning women?

“Give her heaps.”

“I intend to.”

He headed for the kitchen, wishing he’d spent the night in bed upstairs with the woman who got his juices flowing more with every passing second.

“Later, babe,” Belle called out. “You too, Gorgeous. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Sure thing.”

He followed the smell of brewing coffee into the kitchen, strangely buoyed at the thought of sharing more time, even only a few minutes over a cup of coffee, with the prickly redhead.

“You still here?” Sierra glared at him as she added milk and sugar to two cups, her eyes chary.

“After last night the least you could offer me is a coffee.”

“Nothing happened last night so quit hassling me.”

She turned her back to pour him a steaming mug of the aromatic brew, giving him opportunity to ogle her legs again. He’d half expected her to dash upstairs and cover up but she had more sass than that. Probably wanted to make him drool, which he was in definite danger of doing if she didn’t turn around shortly.

“How do you know?”

She handed him his coffee, the twitch of a smile tugging at the corners of her lush mouth.

“Because you’re still here. If something had happened between us you would’ve bolted like a fugitive into the night.”

He sipped at the coffee, needing the caffeine hit to sharpen his wits. He needed every advantage when it came to this woman and despite the kiss they’d shared last night she seemed determined to push him away today. She’d been the one to instigate it and now treated him like a leper? Interesting.

“Maybe I wanted to stick around and remind you how good it was?”

The corners of her lush mouth twitched. “Just good? With all the shit you’re shoveling the least you could do is embroider your prowess to magnificent.”

Despite the bite to her words she looked strangely uncomfortable, as if discussing their fictitious sexual encounter had her on edge. “Why are you still here anyway?”

“Fell asleep on the couch last night. Sorry.” He rubbed the crick in his neck, knowing he would’ve been a lot more comfortable sharing the
Angel
’s bed overnight and wondering what it was about her that had him so wound up.

For a guy who couldn’t wait to leave town he was spending way too much time thinking about how they could burn up the sheets together given half a chance.

Only one solution for it. He needed to get laid. Like yesterday. Yet another reason to high tail it back to LA.

She shrugged and ran her mug under the tap before stacking it on the sideboard. “I figured as much when I didn’t hear you leave last night.”

“You could’ve covered me with a blanket.”

“I could’ve but my hands might’ve slipped and ended up smothering you instead.”

“Vicious.”

He decided to push his luck. He hadn’t had this much fun the morning-after, even if nothing had happened the night before.

“Does breakfast come with this coffee?”

“If you want to cook it. Though I wouldn’t hang around too long.”

Her eyes gleamed with mischief and he had a sudden urge to cross the kitchen, haul her into his arms and pick up where that kiss left off last night.

“Flo has a habit of dropping in on Saturday mornings and if she finds you here…well, there’s no telling what she might do.”

The thought of another bone rattling backslap from the gargantuan waitress quelled his libido quicker than if she’d doused him in cold water.

“On second thoughts I’m not hungry. Thanks for letting me use your computer and for letting me crash on the couch.”

“No problems. Let yourself out. I need to shower.”

So much for distracting his libido. As soon as she mentioned shower his mind drifted into the gutter again, his imagination conjuring up visions of him joining her under the warm spray, soaping up and getting it on.

“Marc?”

“Huh?”

He wrenched his mind back to the present with difficulty. In his fantasy, he’d had her pinned against the shower screen and was about to—

“If you ever need my services, don’t hesitate to holler.”

She leaned against the doorjamb, the hem of the cotton T skimming her bare thighs, her naughty expression enough to tempt a saint. By her cheeky grin she knew exactly what he’d been thinking.

“Services?” Was all he managed to say, most of the blood draining from his brain to his other organ that seemed to do all the thinking around her, rendering even the simplest of activities like speaking difficult.

“Yeah, if you need to find your perfect match, drop by the office some time. I’m sure Love Byte can provide
exactly
what you’re looking for.”

She wiggled her fingers in a saucy wave, blew him a kiss and strutted out of the kitchen.

Flo flipped the top of her cigarette packet and rummaged through the gold foil, futilely wishing her morning fix would appear. It didn’t and she crushed the empty packet, cursing under her breath.

“Damn habit,” she muttered, picking up her purse and car keys from the floor where she’d dropped them in utter exhaustion as she trudged in the door last night.

I’m too old for this shite
, she thought, knowing six straight night shifts were too much for her ageing body yet doing it anyway. At fifty-eight she felt seventy and if her no-good lump of a husband hadn’t upped and died, leaving a mountain of debts she was still trying to clear after four years, she would’ve been living on easy street by now.

Not that she would ever leave Love but it was nice to dream about returning to Sydney, her home city she’d left all those years ago after being stupid enough to fall for Charlie and his empty promises.

“Need to find a rich bloke next time,” she said to no one in particular as she slammed the back door and threaded her way through the overgrown path to her rusty Ford, rubbing her lower back as she slid onto the threadbare seat.

Though who’d have her? She stared at her reflection in the rear vision mirror, running a hand through her tangled greying curls standing on end, poking at the road map of lines crisscrossing her eyes.

Yeah, you’re a real catch, Flo Patterson. Better let young Sierra and her computer work its magic on you
.

Cackling loudly, she started the engine, revved it and reversed out of the driveway at breakneck speed. If there were two things she did well in life, it was wait tables and drive. She might be no oil painting but she had life skills. Perhaps all she needed was to find a mechanic with a hankering for some good old-fashioned servin’ and she’d be right.

As she reached the end of the drive she checked over her shoulder and almost hit the accelerator rather than the brake.

“I’ll be blowed,” she said, as Liv Fairley’s handsome son left Sierra’s house, looking like he hadn’t slept a wink all night.

In all the years she’d lived next to the Kent’s, first Dolores and now her daughter Sierra grown up, she’d never seen a bloke spend the night. Or if they had she’d never seen them sauntering out the front door and down the garden path as if they owned the place.

At first she’d thought Sierra might be gay but if the rumor mills were correct, and they had to be for Essie had those foil thingies put in her hair at Rosa’s and the hairdresser knew everything about everybody in Love, Sierra had been seen leaving the Love Inn one morning hand in hand with a computer guy from the big smoke.

Having a meaningless fling was one thing, but inviting the guy back to her house? Could only mean Sierra liked this one.

Flo watched Liv’s son—what was his name? Matt? Mason? Marc, that was it—get into his fancy-shmancy car and drive away.

Ignoring her nicotine craving, Flo reversed into the street with a squeal of burning rubber and headed in the opposite direction from the Amor Corner Store.

She hadn’t seen Hank and Liv in a few days and it was definitely time for a visit.

Sierra rapped twice on Belle’s door, wondering what was keeping her. Belle would usually wait on her front porch, eager to get to the market and scout the best bargains before the Saturday morning crowd arrived.

Ripley pawed the screen and barked twice for good measure.

“Clever boy.”

She scratched behind the hound’s ears and received a sloppy slurp on the hand for her trouble. Though her faithful companion had been none too clever this morning when he’d been slobbering over Marc. Ripley usually hated strangers, particularly men, yet he’d taken to City Boy with a swiftness that staggered her.

Her mom always said kids and animals took an instant liking to those they trust but in this case Ripley’s astute judgment had gone haywire. Either that or the guy had hidden a steak in his pocket. Maybe he subscribed to Horse and Hounds—yeah, right—and had read the old adage “charm the dog, charm its owner.”

Not that she needed Ripley’s vote of confidence. If Marc had charmed the pants off her last night she wouldn’t have put up much of a fight.

As for trusting him, Marc Fairley was good to look at, fun to spar with, but trust the man? She’d sooner trust one of Hank’s low-bellied grass snakes than the guy who could undermine her with a single glance.

“Hey you.” Belle opened the front door with a sly grin. “This is a surprise.”

“Are you nuts? I’m on your doorstep this time every Saturday.”

“But this isn’t any old Saturday, is it?” Belle smirked, infuriatingly smug. “Thought you’d be too exhausted after all that nocturnal activity to want to spend a morning at the market with little ol’ me.”

“Nothing happened.”

Sierra shouldn’t feel so flat saying it. As much as she’d connected with City Boy, and for all the pre-date hype including the impulsive de-forestation down below, she’d chickened out when it came to the crunch.

As much as she fancied Marc she knew sleeping with him would’ve been a bad idea. Call it intuition, call it gut instinct, but acting on the attraction buzzing between them would’ve been a dumbass thing to do.

Over dinner last night and later at her place she’d expected him to probe for information, make small talk and hit the road as soon as he realized she was stringing him along. Instead, he’d proven to be an entertaining dinner companion and worse, looked sexy as all get-out lounging in her living room.

“No GOLF, huh?”

“Didn’t feel like playing.”

Instead, she’d stood over him while he slept, surprised by a surge of tenderness at how vulnerable he looked with his eyelashes fanning half-moon shadows on his cheeks and his mouth relaxed in a slack smile.

She should’ve woken him and sent him packing but didn’t have the heart. Besides, if she couldn’t keep her lips to herself fully clothed there was no way she could’ve risked waking him semi-naked.

Belle shook her head as she swung a large straw tote over her shoulder and shut the front door.

“I don’t get it. This is the first guy I’ve seen you get an emergency wax for, he spends the night at your place and
nothing
? What’s with that?”

“He’s Olivia Fairley’s son and she’s a client of mine. It’d be unprofessional.”

Belle gave Ripley an absentminded pat as he pawed at the hem of her Capri pants.

“The way I see it, Liv
was
your client. Now she’s engaged to Hank, why would she be on your books?”

“Stop splitting hairs. You know what I mean. Besides, technically she’s still a client. I’m organizing the wedding as a favor for Uncle Hank, remember?”

Belle fell into step next to her as they headed for the town square where the market was held on a weekly basis. “Uh-oh.”