Head Over Heels (8 page)

She grinned at him over her shoulder and peered at the screen, which clouded and then cleared, and two more words appeared:

Chloe laughed out loud with what Sawyer thought was a rather nasty glee. “Same question,” she told it. “For me this time. Will
I
be getting laid anytime soon?”

Sawyer didn’t know what he wanted the answer to be, but before he could decide, the screen came into focus, and two crisp words floated:

Chloe burst out laughing again, bending at the waist with amusement, which thrust her ass directly into his groin.

As that part of his anatomy was still cocked and loaded from their kiss, it was also now aimed. His hands went to her hips to step back, but somehow his brain mixed up the signal, and he held her still instead.

In the heavy silence, all he could hear was her suddenly accelerated breathing. “Well,” she said straightening. “The Magic Eight app has never paid off quite so fast before.”

Sawyer was dizzy. He was certain it had to do with the fact that he no longer had any blood in his brain.

“Sex stirs up my asthma.”

Sawyer blinked. “What?”

“Yeah. I probably should have told you that sooner.”

He shook his head, trying to catch up. He couldn’t.

Turning to face him, Chloe grimaced. “Every time. And then I end up overusing my inhaler. But they’re expensive, and I have this really crappy catastrophic insurance, and the inhaler isn’t covered at all.” She drew in a breath. “So I have this thing I do before sex. A test. An ‘Is He Inhaler Worthy?’ test.”

He just stared at her. “There’s a test. Before sex.”

“Yes. And I should tell you, not many pass.”

Somehow they’d ended up tangled in each other again, and she rocked against him, her actions at odds with her words. “There’s a test,” he said inanely.

“A guy has to pass it before I’ll—”

“Have sex with him.”

She nodded, her gaze locked on his mouth. He could tell she wanted it on hers, and for once, they were perfectly in sync. Having no idea what he was doing, he kissed her again, another no-holds-barred, tongues tangling, rock-his-fucking-world kiss that left him staggered and her apparently unable to speak as they tore apart for air and waited for the world to right itself.

Didn’t happen.

She was breathing hard but not wheezing. Good sign, he thought. He stared at
her
mouth now, still wet from his, and just barely managed not to take a bite out of that full lower lip. It took a hell of a lot more control than he thought possible. Her hands were gripping his shirt, and also a little bit of his skin and some chest hair to boot, but he didn’t say anything. Mostly because he wasn’t sure if she meant to push him away or pull him closer, and if it was the former, he didn’t want to remind her. “Chloe?”

“Yeah?”

“I’d be worth the inhaler,” he said, then forced himself to walk away into the night.

Chloe busied herself with work, which wasn’t hard to do. It was early, and she sat in the inn’s kitchen with her sisters preparing for their day.

The B&B was thriving. More and more, their weekends were booking up, and people were beginning to schedule during the week as well. Maddie continued to run the inn with supreme efficiency, handling the books, the staffing, the supplies, and the equipment. Tara, as always, handled the kitchen.

And Chloe did her best to pick up the slack. But the restlessness within her was still building, and cleaning and filing and answering phones weren’t doing it for her. She had a talent, dammit, and it was time to bring it up. “I’ve been thinking about a way to get the B&B some publicity.”

“Oh, good Lord,” Tara said. “Don’t tell me you’re in the paper again. I mean, your motives with the homeless thing was sweet, but they always refer to you as some sort of troubled rebel. And who the hell is going to want to stay here with a troubled rebel, Chloe?”

“It’s okay, I didn’t get in the papers again.”

Tara let out a sigh of relief and turned back to Maddie. The two of them had spent the past ten minutes arguing over towels. Towels. “Blue,” Tara drawled to Maddie. “Blue’s soothing as right rain.”

Maddie shook her head. “Pale green. Soothing
and
on sale.” She turned her laptop to reveal the site that she was looking at. If Maddie gave the place its heart, then Tara added the practical logic. Tara’s practical soul was big…and cheap. The word
sale
was one of her favorite words, and she nodded her agreement.

Soothing on-sale green it would be.

“Hey,” Chloe said. “About my idea…”

“If you suggest red towels,” Tara said, her south showing, “I’m going to hurt you.”

“It’s not about the towels.” Chloe stood up. “And it’s more a plan than an idea.”

Tara frowned. “The last time you said that, you were calling me collect from Tijuana, needing me to wire you money.”

“Okay, first of all,” Chloe said, “that was a
long
time ago. And second, this is an actual
good
idea.” She drew in some air and held it. “A day spa. Here.”

“You already do day spa stuff here,” Tara said.

“Yes, I
prepare
here. And sometimes I do freebies for the guests,” Chloe agreed. “But I’m talking about making it official and charging for the services.”

Tara had turned away from the computer to her island. She was whipping eggs in a bowl now, her whisk moving at the speed of light. “As in a schedule where you set up appointments for our guests?”

“Yes,” Chloe said, nodding, feeling the excitement flow just talking about it. “Facials, skin treatments, all the stuff I do for other spas all over the place. But here. Right here.”

“What if you’re gone on a trip when people want an appointment?” Maddie asked.

“I’d keep a schedule. Like we do for the inn. People would book in advance.”

“But you take off on a whim all the time,” Tara said. “I wouldn’t want to have appointments booked and you off for parts unknown.”

“I never take off on a whim anymore,” Chloe said, trying not to get defensive. “I go when I get bookings. And I wouldn’t leave if there was a booking here.”

Neither sister spoke. In fact, there was no sound except the eggs sizzling on the stove, and the heavy weight of Tara and Maddie’s misgivings. “Wow,” Chloe said, failing at not getting defensive after all, as a ball of hurt clogged her throat. “All I hear are the crickets and doubt.”

Tara flipped the eggs with the precision of a brain surgeon. Maddie was head down, forensically examining her fingernails as if they held the secret to the universe.

Chloe stared at them, then let out a mirthless laugh. “You know, all the faith you guys have in me is staggering.” She strode to the door with absolutely no idea where she was going.

“Chloe,” Maddie said softly, regretful, and Chloe stopped.

“There’s a track record to consider,” Tara said firmly, not caving to sentiment.

“You think I’d flake on you?” Chloe asked. “When have I ever flaked on you?”

“Well, let’s see.” Tara turned off her eggs. “Easter. July 4th. My birthday. Maddie’s birthday, Mom’s service—”

“Hey,” Chloe said defensively. “I came to the service.” A day late, but she’d had a good reason. She hadn’t been ready, not to say good-bye to her mom, nor to face the fact that with Phoebe gone, Chloe had been truly alone. If she’d gone to the funeral, she’d have completely lost it. And she didn’t “lose it” well. Truthfully, she didn’t do deep emotion well. And birthdays, holidays, and funerals were all about deep emotion. “I’ve never made an appointment and not shown up.”

Maddie, ever the peacemaker, got up and took Chloe’s hand. “Why don’t we all just think about it? Okay?”

No. No, it wasn’t okay. They didn’t believe in her. Angry words settled on her tongue, but her chest was too tight to voice them. “I can handle a schedule,” Chloe repeated. “I can make us some good money, too. I’d be contributing.”

“Honey, you’re contributing now,” Maddie assured her. “You’re a huge help. We couldn’t do this without you.”

“Yeah, all that taking out the garbage is invaluable,” Chloe said, heavy on the sarcasm. “Look, I can do this,” she said again, hating that she sounded vulnerable.

Hating that she
felt
vulnerable.

And because she knew that they wouldn’t give her what she wanted, the acceptance and the belief she needed, she grabbed her keys and cell phone. Her ever-present inhaler was already in her pocket.

“Chloe,” Tara said. “Where are you going?”

“Out. On a whim.”

Chapter 9

F
rustrated and mad at herself, Chloe rode the Vespa hard. Okay, so there was no riding any Vespa hard, and not for the first time, she wished she could afford a Duc. Or a Harley. Something fast and bad.

She was feeling the extreme need for both.

In substitution, food would work. She’d stop for breakfast, but she didn’t have any money on her. Note to self—next time you leave in a diva fit, bring money. Thankfully, it was warmer than it’d been in weeks, which was good, since along with her wallet, she’d also forgotten a jacket.

Okay, so buying food was out. Sex. Sex would be lovely. She didn’t need money or a jacket to jump someone’s bones.
Sawyer’s
very fine bones…

But he’d laid low for days. He’d given her that smoking-hot kiss—
kisses
—that had melted all resolve and reason, and then nothing. Maybe he’d simply had better sense than she. After all, he was a stable fixture around town. People had respect for him. Getting mixed up with her would undoubtedly put a check mark in his demerit column.

Whatever. She was better off on her own.

Always had been.

She sucked in a calming breath, annoyed with the jitter in her belly. Residual anger. No one could disappoint her quite like the sisters that she hadn’t meant to let into her heart. If she’d been thinking straight, she’d have told them about the offer that she’d had two weeks ago in San Diego. The owner of the spa at a luxurious boutique hotel there had asked Chloe to take a permanent space in her salon, where Chloe could work and sell her products on consignment. What would Tara and Maddie think of that? A business acquaintance had more faith in her than they had.

But she hadn’t told them, hadn’t told anyone, because a little part of her wanted to have a reason to stay here in Lucky Harbor. To be
needed
here…

Dammit. She drew as deep a breath as she could and rode. She rode between mountains smothered in forests so thick it was like being swallowed up by a green comforting throw. Above her, the sky was a rare brilliant blue, streaked with a few white, puffy clouds. About fifteen miles out of Lucky Harbor, on a narrow two-lane road that she wasn’t exactly sure of the name of, she caught sight of a sign for Yellow Ridge, and then another for some mud springs. She’d heard about the mud springs from Lucille, who knew everything about every square inch of the entire county. Years ago, beavers had created a meadow when they’d chewed their way through the surrounding forest and inadvertently flooded it. Early settlers had then discovered it and come to bathe nude in the mud for its healing effects.

Intrigued, Chloe turned off the highway, riding through a canyon lush with giant moss-draped trees. A mile or so up the road, she parked in the small clearing, in front of the trailhead to the mud springs. She pulled out her phone to text her sisters that she was alive, but she couldn’t send it because she had no cell service.

This didn’t stop her. It was a fairly easy climb, which was a good thing. Not anxious to have an asthma attack out here all alone, she didn’t push herself. The trail was wet, meaning there was no pesky dust rising as she walked, which helped. The trail branched off several times with no rhyme or reason, or further sign. Staying to the right so that she wouldn’t get lost going back, Chloe took it all in. The way was lined with wildflowers and offered up spectacular views of the peaks towering over her. Awe-inspiring, and very effective at clearing her head.

Twenty minutes in, the forest suddenly opened up, and she stood in the small meadow Lucille had told her about, filled with pockets of the promised mud springs.

She sure could use some healing effects right about now, she thought, slipping out of her shoes and socks. And hey, this was research. If the mud was good stuff, well, then she owed it to her clients to check it out before incorporating it into a product. Stepping to the edge, she dipped a toe into the mud.

It was warm.

And she wanted in. Taking a careful look around, she realized just how alone she was. “Crazy,” she said out loud. “This is crazy.” But she had to admit, she’d done far crazier. Her knit top was long, well past her butt so she stripped out of her jeans and told herself she was still decent if anyone happened upon her. Then she stepped into the mud up to her shins, and it oozed between her toes, toasty and oddly comforting. Wading in a little farther, she sighed in pleasure. The temperature of the mud gliding up her legs was so incredibly soothing that she went out even more, up to her thighs now.

All around her, the woods pulsed with life. Birds, insects, leaves dancing on the light breeze, and she felt…alive. If only she could bottle this feeling, with the sun on her face, the forbidden sense of being outside in her shirt and panties, with the mud soothing her skin in a way she hadn’t expected, she’d be a millionaire.

She bet her sisters would take notice then…

She wished she was better prepared, because she would’ve liked to strip down even more and treat herself to a good soak. But she didn’t have a towel or water to wash off with afterward, so she turned back to shore and…

Her foot slipped.

Chloe did a perfect imitation of a cat scrambling for purchase on linoleum, but it was no good. A second later, she was on her butt. She gasped but didn’t bother to scramble up. It was too late now; she was in up to her belly button. Never one to waste an opportunity, she took another look around, then carefully pulled off her half-muddy shirt and tossed it to the shore to join her jeans. Relaxing, she soaked in her bra and panties beneath the wide-open sky.

As the mud worked its magic, she finally admitted to herself that what she’d felt earlier was more hurt than anger. She’d honestly tried to fit in, to pick up the slack around the B&B. And just because her mother’s death and going into business with her sisters had forced her life into a one-eighty, it didn’t mean she could ignore her other responsibilities. Dammit, she’d been serious about the skincare line she’d been working on, and her client list hadn’t been developed overnight. Didn’t that alone prove she’d grown up some?

But with some distance—and warm mud—she could admit to herself that she understood her sisters’ concern. Renovating the sunroom would cost time and money. And yes, they were right, Chloe’s track record
was
spotty. But there had to be a compromise. She could promise to commit to a certain number of days a week where she’d stay in town, for instance. And they could promise to believe her. With a resigned sigh, she rose and walked out of the mud.

She looked around, then with a philosophical shrug, she stripped out of her bra and panties, rubbed the excess mud off the best she could, and put her clothes on.

Commando.

Then, with the mud drying on her skin, she moved gingerly back down the trail, telling herself she was merely amplifying the healing affects by keeping the mud on so long. Hell, she’d probably look like a movie star after this. By the time she got to her Vespa, she’d talked herself into believing it. Hard to do when she felt like she’d been wrapped in concrete, but she managed.

That’s when she discovered problem number two. Her Vespa wouldn’t start. Okay, this was more than a minor setback. With no cell service, she had little choice. She walked down the road to the highway. Unfortunately, by the time she got there, her lungs had had enough. The two long walks had tightened her chest uncomfortably. Her inhaler helped with that, but she still didn’t have cell service. She was going to have to flag someone down off the highway while looking like a swamp thing.

So much for being a grown-up.

In less than five minutes, a shiny black truck pulled off to the side of the road. Todd’s baby.

“Hey, cutie,” Todd said with his good-old-boy smile as he leaned over and opened the passenger door. He wore a Mariner’s cap on backward, a ratty T-shirt, equally ratty jeans, and steel-toed boots, none of which took away from his easy good looks and tough build. A roofer by trade when he chose to work, he was clearly on his way to or from a job. “Problem?” he asked.

He didn’t blink at the mud. This was probably because he wasn’t looking at her limbs. Nope, that honor went to her braless breasts, now outlined with extra-special clarity thanks to the mud acting like an adhesive. “My Vespa’s battery is dead,” Chloe said. “And I don’t have cell service.”

“No one does right here.” He didn’t say a word about the fact that her Vespa was nowhere in sight. “You know what this means, right?” he asked. “You’re at my mercy.” He grinned, and she sighed. One hundred thousand sperm and
he’d
been the fastest.

“Come on,” he said. “That was funny.”

“Why are you out here?”

He shrugged. “On my way home from work.”

“Isn’t this way out of the way?”

Another shrug, and he stared out his windshield. “Sometimes I like to be alone, to hear myself think.”

More like he’d gone somewhere remote to get high. But he didn’t look buzzed.

“You getting in?” he asked. “Us outcasts need to stick together.”

“Outcasts?” She shook her head. “You’re not an outcast.”

“Misfits, then.” Something came and went in his eyes when he said this, but she couldn’t read him. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” she said, softening. Because she did know. Exactly.

He had a duffle bag on the passenger seat, which he took and stuffed behind them instead. Then he patted the passenger seat.

He was Jamie’s brother. And Jamie was Tucker’s friend, and Tucker was Lance’s brother—but six degrees from trouble was still trouble, and she’d been trying so damn hard to stay
out
of trouble. But she was cold now, and getting even colder. Sawyer would hate this, but she couldn’t help the extenuating circumstances.

“Come on, sweet thing. I’ve got somewhere I’ve gotta be.”

Guilt didn’t begin to cover how she felt about getting into his truck, but she did it anyway. She glanced over her shoulder and saw his open duffle bag.

She thought she caught sight of ziplock baggies stuffed with—

Todd reached back and shoved the duffle bag farther down so she couldn’t see into it. “You’re going to owe me,” he said, shoving the truck into gear and speeding back onto the highway, flashing her a grin. “Big.”

She straightened and looked at him. Was he carrying drugs? She hadn’t gotten a close enough look, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to ask him while they were out in the middle of nowhere. Besides, she could admit that she hadn’t gotten a good enough look to accuse him of anything. “I’ll pay for gas.”

“Not the kind of payment I was banking on.”

“Shut up and drive, Todd.”

He grinned again. Ignoring him, she huddled into herself for warmth, staring out the window. Clouds sifted through the trees like wood smoke, distracting her for a while. Out here, the growth was extravagantly thick with spruce and hemlock. Moist air rode in from off the coast, something her lungs liked but made her even more cold.

Twenty minutes later, she sat up straight. “Pull over.”

“Yeah, baby,” Todd said, and braked.

“Not for that! Lucille has a flat.”

“Hell no,” Todd said. “I’m not helping that old bat. She’s always calling the damn cops on me.”

“We can’t just leave her there.”

“Hell, yeah, we can.”

“Todd, goddammit, pull over!”

Todd shook his head and slammed on the brakes as he pulled onto the shoulder. Dirt rose. “I’m not changing her tire. She told Kelly Armstrong I was a menace to society, and her husband, Manny, fired me. Cost me three weeks of work.”

“We can’t just leave her out here. It’s chilly, and she looks cold. I’ll help her myself.” Chloe swung out of the truck.

“I’m not waiting,” Todd warned, revving his truck. “I’m late.”

“Then don’t wait.” She slammed the door, not surprised when he peeled out and was gone, leaving her literally in his dust. “Idiot.”

Just as she walked toward Lucille, another truck pulled up.

Sawyer Thompson ambled out of his truck, then stood there in low-slung Levi’s and a soft-looking, thin black sweater over a black T-shirt, eyes hidden behind dark, reflective sunglasses.

Off duty, Chloe thought as a violent shiver racked her.

“My white knight,” Lucille said, dusting off her hands. “I called him a few minutes ago.”

When Sawyer walked up to Lucille’s little Prius, the older woman was giving the flat a kick. He glanced at Chloe, who was very busy studying the highway. “Hey,” he said, taking in the mud all over her. “You okay?”

“Perfect.”

Okaaaaay. He watched her shiver and handed her his keys. “Go wait in my truck; crank the heat.” He headed toward Lucille, not all that surprised when he heard Chloe follow him. “Nice job on listening,” he said.

“Maybe I’d listen if you ever asked.”

“I ask.”

She snorted.

Lucille had stopped kicking her tire and had picked up a lug wrench.