Love Unlocked (4 page)

“WWOOFing. World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms. You work for room and board, learn a little about farming. After I left there, I ended up at a farm in NorCal before I met my partner, Jess. That’s short for Jessica, not Jesse, if you were wondering, and she found this place selling in a short sale, so we scraped together the down payment. She’s a vet tech.”

Eve was startled when the flow of words stopped.

Rue was taking a sip of the cappuccino and moaning. “Damn, that’s good. I haven’t had espresso that fine since Paris.”

“Thanks.”

“So, what’s your story?”

Eve was both unsettled and refreshed by the directness of the question. “I’m new to the area.”

“No kidding. You look like a French model and you talk like you’ve watched one too many episodes of
Downton Abbey
.”

“Um, thanks?” Did everyone think she was that exotic, and was that a bad thing? “Well, I did spend a number of years in Europe. I helped run art galleries in London, Paris, and Vienna. But I grew up in San Francisco.”

“So you decided to move to backwoods Central California?”

“It’s not turning out to be as backwoods as I imagined,” she said, thinking of Hudson.

“I blame Coppola. One movie director thinking he’s a winemaker and now you’ve got scads of Hollywood types buying up wineries right and left. The ones that can’t afford Sonoma buy here.”

Eve laughed again. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so light. “You’ve got more than the Hollywood types. Did you know you have a world-famous artist living right here in Chelsea? Hudson Cleary.”

“Sure, I know Hudson,” Rue said. “We both volunteer at the community garden behind City Hall. Nice guy.”

Eve couldn’t decide if she was more surprised by the way the two knew one another, or the characterization of Hudson as a nice guy. Nice was an entirely inadequate word.

“How do you know him? I know there’s a story there; I have a sixth sense for gossip,” Rue asked.

Eve wanted to share. It had been so long since she’d talked to a woman without having a hidden agenda. She described being locked out of her house on her first day in town, and Hudson being her locksmith’s brother.

“Imagine my surprise to find out that the man unlocking my front door painted an abstract I sold for seven figures last year.”

“Seven figures?” Rue whistled. “For that kind of money, I wonder why he stopped painting.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everyone in town knows he has that big Craftsman house on the edge of town, with a gorgeous studio that he built, but he never works in it. His cleaning lady told me it’s practically empty. It’s been that way for a couple of years,” Rue said, helping herself to one of the biscotti Eve had set out along with the cappuccinos.

“That can’t be right. Maybe he works someplace else.” She couldn’t imagine someone as talented and successful as Hudson giving it all up to go work in a community garden, and he’d also asked her to sit for him. “He even asked me....” Was it too personal to share?

“Asked you what? Spill.”

“He asked me to sit for him. The other day when he came back to take some measurements for his brother.”

“You mean, like, model?” Rue laughed. “What a great line. Not that you couldn’t be a model. Jess is going to hate you when she meets you,” she said cheerfully. “But as far as I know, he’s retired. I’ve never seen him with paint on his hands or anything.”

“Huh.” Eve needed some time to process that information. “So what does he do? He told me he fills in as a locksmith from time to time.”

“He doesn’t have a regular job, as far as I know, but he volunteers pretty much anywhere that’ll take him in town. The garden is one of his projects.”

“Really? That’s...perplexing.”

Rue shrugged. “Maybe he likes giving back. He’s not sanctimonious about it or anything. I’ve had him over a few times for Sunday Supper, but he usually doesn’t talk much about himself. He’ll talk your ear off about these old people he’s friends with down at the convalescent home, though.”

Eve was getting more confused by the second. “Talk your ear off?”

“Well, in relative terms. He’s not exactly a chatty guy.”

“No. Well, I guess we all have unexpected sides.”

“And he doesn’t have a bad one.” At Eve’s stare, Rue grinned. “What? I’m not blind. He’s a very attractive male specimen, if you like that sort of thing.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“Sounds like you’ve already made up your mind. You wouldn’t mind ‘sitting’ for him at all.” Innuendo laced her words.

“No! Well, the thought had crossed my mind, to be honest. I thought he was genuine. He’s a brilliant artist.”

“I’m imagining you’d show up to his studio and he’d be there, Burt Reynolds-style, buck naked on a bear skin rug.”

“Please, give me a little more credit than that.”

“I’m sure you’ve had your share of bad come-ons before. Beautiful American in a classy gallery?”

“No, well, maybe. It’s been a while since I’ve wanted to take someone up on it.”

“Well, as I said, he’s a nice guy, as far as I know. But everyone has secrets.”

“Don’t I know it,” Eve said.

“I’ve got to get back to work. Thanks for the caffeine and the sugar.”

Eve showed her to the door. “Thanks for being neighborly. And for the honey.”

“You should stop by for our Sunday Supper. Nice people, fresh food, lots of wine.”

“I’d love to.”

She waved as Rue walked back down the hill. Getting close to her neighbors could be a mistake. It felt wonderful, being accepted into a community, but it made her cautious. So many things could go so very wrong.

Hudson woke with a headache that the bright white California sunlight had only worsened. He never over-indulged in alcohol, so he wasn’t hung over, and he didn’t suffer from allergies. He blamed the ache in his skull on his poor night of sleep, caused by an over-preoccupation with the brunette who lived at the top of Oak Grove Hill.

He’d resisted her pull all week, the way he might resist stopping in at the doughnut shop when he was trying to curb his coffee and maple bar habit for a while. Just as he was always drawn back into the caffeine and sugar thrall, so would he turn up on Eve Caplin’s doorstep.

He took two pain relievers and stomped around the house for a while. He thought about going to the studio, but the half-finished sketches on his worktable mocked him even from afar. He hadn’t been able to recapture the first burst of creative energy, and wished he’d never had it in the first place.

He was desperate to relieve some of this pressure, and if the only way was by making a fool of himself with Eve yet again, then so be it.

The drive to her house was disconcertingly short. He barely had time to rehearse what he was going to say. All he could think about was how much she intrigued him, and how much he either needed her in his bed or in his studio so he could unlock some of the tension that had been building since he met her.

She was home. He drove onto the driveway, knowing she’d hear his tires on the gravel, giving himself no out.

A contractor’s truck was parked to the side of the house, and a couple of men with tool belts around their hips walked from the vehicle to the rear of the house, carrying lumber and bags of cement.

Hudson revised his approach. Trying to abide by the usual channels with Eve would result in one blocked move after another. Instead, he went around the back, to find a small crew blocking out what appeared to be a generously sized deck. The wind had picked up here on the top of the hill, and Eve’s long hair whipped around her face as she consulted with a small mountain of a man who was probably the foreman. She was talking and he was nodding. No doubt she was detailing exactly what she wanted, in no uncertain terms.

When she saw him standing on the edge of the yard, her eyebrows jerked up, but there was a flicker of a smile before her mouth turned neutral. Enough to give him hope. He waited until she was done speaking with the foreman, then sauntered up, offering her a casual grin, letting her draw her own conclusions about his presence there.

“Hello,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

He wanted to answer with something more provocative, but first things first. “A cup of coffee would do, for now.”

“All right,” she said, and led the way through the French doors.

“You’re building a deck,” he observed. “Good for property value.”

“And for looking at my view,” she said as she started the espresso machine. “Americano?”

“Why don’t you give me a straight shot?”

Her movements were economical as she went about tamping freshly ground beans into the filter. He was impressed that she had a full-fledged espresso machine, not a pre-done cup one.

“Have you thought about putting up a fence at your property line? A woman as security conscious as you must hate anyone being able to walk around your entire house.”

“J.J. is already working some numbers up for me. I’ll have to see how his crew does with the deck, but so far they seem dependable.”

“You’re one step ahead of me.”

Eve smiled but let the comment slide. “I met one of my neighbors the other day. A beekeeper named Rue. She says she knows you.”

“That’s right. She and her girlfriend own that piece of land down the hill from you.” He eyed the jar of honey on the counter. “Their honey is pricey, but delicious.”

“Would you like a taste?”

He moved his gaze from the honey to her lips. “Sure.”

She turned away quickly, busying herself pouring out his espresso and then rummaging in a drawer for a spoon that she then dipped in the jar. A golden thread of honey streamed from the spoon to the glass container. Eve broke it with a finger that she brought to her mouth.

He was already hard when he took the spoonful of honey she offered him and licked the sticky sweetness. It tasted like sunshine and sage blossoms and he wanted to spread it over Eve’s lips and nibble away the afternoon.

“Sweet,” he murmured.

“Isn’t it? Rue was very kind to stop by. I didn’t know neighbors still did that,” she said, a girlish smile on her face. She seemed young and happy, like a Degas pastel come to life.

“It must be hard to move to a new place without knowing anyone.”

“Yes,” she said. “Though now I know Rue. And you, I suppose.” She said the last part grudgingly.

“I’d like to know you better,” he said, venturing into the subject that stood like a brick wall between them.

She stared at him, tucked her hair behind her ears.

“If you start with that cold-as-ice thanks-for-your-interest bull, I won’t be responsible for my actions,” he said reasonably. He took a sip of espresso. The bitter chased away the sweet. He wanted that sweet back.

She sighed. Her shoulders dropped and her mouth softened. “I’d like to know you better, too.”

That was all the invitation he needed. He rose off the bar stool and was at her side in two strides. He waited, smelling the brewed coffee mingled with her scent, fresh and subtle, and then when he couldn’t stand it anymore, he slid one hand up the back of her neck and cupped the nape, the gentle pressure of his fingers pushing her lips closer to his.

Eve was transfixed.

She couldn’t look anywhere but at those gorgeously molded lips. The fact that they parted for her made her feel like someone had flipped a switch that sent hot, pulsing currents of electricity through her belly, her legs, her breasts. Her heart beat fast and hard, and when lips met lips, it might have stopped and stumbled for a moment before resuming its clattering against her ribs. He was soft, the kiss light, as if he were afraid to deepen it. Eve was aware of nothing but the spark that was going to light a bonfire between them as surely as she breathed. It didn’t matter if the kiss was as chaste as a schoolgirl kissing the back of her own hand. They were headed someplace hot and heavy, and they both knew it.

She was drowning in the overwhelming pleasure of being near him. She couldn’t think, couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe. There was only him. His arms held her close while his hands, those clever painter’s hands, touched and probed, teased her skin, her hair, wriggled their way under her clothes to touch places on her body that no one but she had touched in a very long time.

The sensations came at her both too fast and not fast enough. She leaned into the embrace, kissing him back as though he alone carried the oxygen she needed to survive. She was terrified as she threw herself against him, more afraid to look back, to stop, to live life without this exquisite intensity.

A noise came from some distant place. Hudson moved slightly away, and Eve recognized the sound of someone pointedly clearing his throat.

“Wow,” she breathed, before coming fully back into the present.

J.J., the foreman, stood in the doorway. “We’re going to start pouring the foundation now, Ms. Caplin. You asked me to let you know.”

“Oh, right. Thanks.”

When they were alone again, she allowed herself to look at Hudson’s face. He was smiling, satisfied as if she’d given him the right answer to a question.

“Well,” she said a little more briskly. “That was nice.”

“Mmm. Very nice,” he agreed, his eyes crinkling.

Eve was suddenly annoyed by how very handsome he was, by his calm. She stepped back. “Your espresso’s getting cold.”

“So are you.”

She lifted her chin and regarded him, her spine stiffening. “Now that you’ve gotten what you came for, maybe you should leave.”

“All right,” he said easily.

He was infuriating.

He rose and went to door they’d entered from. “But I haven’t had nearly enough.”

Huffing, she turned away, refusing to watch him leave. She poured the rest of his coffee down the drain with relish. She’d been knocked for a loop, as they say, by one kiss, and she didn’t like it one bit. Hudson had made her see stars, then smiled like he’d crossed some item off his to-do list.

And she’d forgotten to ask him about his work. She was interested from a purely professional standpoint, of course, that one of the most successful painters of the day was not painting. And if he wasn’t, she wanted to know why he’d asked her to sit for him in the first place. It hadn’t felt like a line, but now that he’d managed to get his hands on her without any of that folderol, she couldn’t trust her instincts. She pushed the thought away, and went outside to watch concrete pouring into some holes.