Never Too Hot (2 page)

This was perhaps the only problem about settling into a small town as a single woman. The available men (who weren’t ordering from the senior menu) were pretty slim pickings.

She’d been set up by one of the local biddies with Sean Murphy, who co-owned the Inn with his younger brother, but there’d been no chemistry. Yes, he was a great-looking guy. Tall, dark, chiseled. But even though she’d enjoyed his company, she couldn’t shake how much he reminded her of her older brother.

One day in the not too distant future was she going to have to pull up stakes again, simply for the chance to start a family?

She sighed. Maybe it was time to get a refill on her iced tea. It was pretty darn hot after all. And she had only thirty minutes left to paint before she had to leave for her shift at the diner. No point in spinning off in her head with what-ifs and worries when she should be enjoying the time to herself.

But just as she was about to put down her brush, the screen door to her left abruptly swung open.

She spun around to see a large man standing in the doorway, his face tight and grim, his eyes narrowed. Fear hit her square across the chest.

How long had he been standing on the steps? Had he been watching her?

She’d never met him before. He wasn’t the kind of man she would have forgotten. So why was he looking at her like that, like he’d come to get revenge?

Oh God, her parents had told her this would happen, hadn’t they? They’d told her it was crazy to live out so far in the woods. Her nearest neighbors were nearly an acre away, far enough that they wouldn’t be able to hear her screams. Maybe, she thought wildly, the biggest problem about being a single woman in a small town wasn’t having trouble finding dates, it was being murdered.

Ginger gulped in air, swallowed hard, tried to remember how to breathe. She gripped the paintbrush like a weapon despite the fact that she knew it wouldn’t do a lick of good in beating back the wall of muscle staring her down.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

He moved all the way onto the porch, the door banging closed behind him. “What are you doing in my house?”

His house? What was he talking about?

Huge and nuts. Not a good a combination. She was in big trouble here. Too far from the phone to place an emergency call to a friend, or even the police. Was her only choice to try to bluff him with some tough-chick act?

She was toast.

Widening her stance, lifting the paintbrush as if it were a knife, she growled, “Get off my porch,” just as the sun moved out from behind a cloud and landed on his torso.

She sucked in a sharp breath. She hadn’t been able to see his arms and hands clearly at first, but now she couldn’t take her eyes off them. His skin was a mess, beneath the short sleeves of his T-shirt, raised and bumpy, covered with red lashes and lines. In the glimmering sunlight streaming in through the porch screen, it looked fresh and raw and terribly painful.

“Oh my God, what happened to you?” She dropped her paintbrush and moved toward him.

If anything, his expression became even more fierce. “I’m fine.”

She continued across the porch. He was obviously in shock. In denial about the pain he had to be in.

“You don’t need to pretend you’re okay. I can see your arms, they …”

By then she was only a handful of feet away from him, close enough to see the true damage. She swallowed the rest of her words as her eyes and brain finally made the connection.

She’d just made a terrible mistake. Yes, he’d been hurt. Badly. But it wasn’t recent. They were old wounds.

His words were low and hard. “I was burned two years ago. I’m fine now.”

She bit her lip. Nodded. “Oh. Yes. I can see that now. It’s just when the sun hit you, I thought—” She should stop talking now; the hole she’d dug was already big enough. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make such a big deal about your … your scars.”

The silence that followed her horrible words was long. Borderline painful. He must hate it when people freaked out over his scars and here she’d practically been wrapping gauze around them.

And of course, now she couldn’t stop wondering how he’d gotten so badly burned. Even though it was none of her business.

Finally, he said, “I’m Connor MacKenzie. And this is my house. I thought it was empty. I just flew all the way from California. It should be empty.”

His name registered quickly. At last, something that made sense. “Are you related to Helen and George MacKenzie?”

“They’re my grandparents.”

She breathed her first sigh of relief. He wasn’t a serial killer. He was related to the cabin’s owner.

“I’m Ginger. Why don’t you come in.” She tentatively smiled. “Maybe we can start over and I could offer you a glass of iced tea?”

He didn’t smile back. “How do you know my grandparents?”

Did he realize that every word out of his mouth sounded like an accusation? Like she’d screwed up all of his big plans when she didn’t know him from Adam.

“I’m renting this cabin from them. Didn’t they tell you?”

He stared at her for a long moment, and she got the uncomfortable feeling that he was trying to assess whether she was telling him the truth.

“No.”

There would have been a time when a big, strong man of few words like this would have had her trembling and weak-kneed. She would have assumed she was the one in the wrong even when she clearly had it all right. Fortunately, a lot had changed in this past year. And she, frankly, wasn’t in the mood to be pushed around.

“Wait here.” Sixty seconds later she was back with the signed lease. “Here it is.”

He took the document from her and as he read through it, she was able to take a good long look at him for the first time. Golden-brown hair, deeply tanned skin, thickly lashed eyes, a full yet masculine mouth and strong chin, presently covered with a half-day’s stubble.

Now that she was no longer worried that he was going to attack her, on an elemental level, her body suddenly recognized his beauty.

His innate power.

Up close, not only was he strikingly handsome, but he was even bigger than she’d first thought. Between the wide breadth of his chest and the muscles flexing beneath his T-shirt, from the size of his biceps and the way his chest tapered down to slim, tight hips, she could feel her breath slowly leaving her body, quickly being replaced with something that felt—uncomfortably—like desire.

It wasn’t until several long moments later that she realized he was staring back at her. His eyes were making a lazy path from her face to her partially covered breasts, then farther down to her hips and legs before slowly moving back up to her face.

Suddenly, she remembered what she was wearing. Or, more to the point, wasn’t wearing.

She’d never go out in public without a bra, but here, in the privacy of her own house, she did as she wished. It was one of the things she enjoyed most about having her own place. The freedom to not only do whatever she wanted, but to wear whatever she wanted.

A tank top and cutoff jeans had never been part of her city vernacular. But here at the lake, especially when she was getting down and dirty with her paints, when the thermometer read eighty and the humidity was ratcheting up all day in preparation for a rainstorm, she liked the bohemian feel of cutoffs.

Not thrilled about flashing some stranger—even less thrilled about him taking any surreptitious pleasure from looking at her—she crossed her arms over her breasts to stop the peep show. But then she realized he hadn’t given her the lease back yet, so she had to unfold one arm and reach for it.

The corners of the papers crumpled in his fist. Damn it, he’d already cut into most of her dwindling painting time for the afternoon. She wasn’t in any mood for games.

Switching into a stern demeanor that had been known to make billionaires quiver in their Ferragamos when they “forgot” to give one of her charities the money they’d publicly promised, she said, “Now that you have your proof, I’d very much appreciate it if you’d give me back my lease.”

But this man didn’t quiver. He didn’t shake. Instead his eyes continued to hold hers and she was almost certain she saw a challenge in the blue depths.

And wouldn’t you know it, her heart started leaping around in her chest. She supposed it was some sort of instinctual response to the combination of his devastating looks and the threat that he clearly posed to her perfect summer on the lake.

“Lucky you,” he drawled. “Getting this place all to yourself this summer.”

She was caught off guard by the way his low, rough voice slipped and slid through her veins so seductively. How the hell had he managed to almost make her toes curl on the porch floors with nothing but a few words?

Up until now he’d been hard. Unyielding. Definitely not in a bargaining mood. But now that she’d not only staked but proved her claim, it looked like he’d decided to change tactics by stunning her with the full force of his sensual power.

Well, just because she liked what she saw (she’d have to be drained of all hormones not to), didn’t mean she had any intention of touching. Which meant she was immune.

Mostly, anyway.

“You’re right,” she agreed, and even though she wouldn’t normally feel the need to rub in her win over a virtual stranger, she couldn’t resist adding, “It’s breathtaking.”

He looked out at the lake. “Not many views this good, even on this lake. My grandfather used to call it the million-dollar beach.”

When he turned back to her his lips were curled up on one side in what might have been a half smile under other circumstances. But right at that moment it was colored more with a sneer than anything even remotely connected to happiness.

“I’m just wondering one thing. How did you know my grandparents were thinking of renting it when they didn’t even remember to tell their own family?”

It was a sucker punch. Oh no, he wasn’t going to get away with that. Because Ginger Sinclair was no longer afraid to call people on their shit. And this guy was fairly brimming over with it.

“Are you accusing me of something?”

The half-not-a-smile dropped. “Only if you’ve got something to be guilty about.”

Jesus. What was with good-looking guys? Were they so used to getting their own way all the time that they thought they could say and do whatever they wanted, whenever the mood struck? Someone should have taken this one down a peg a long time ago. Looked like the job was all hers.

Twisting her mouth into that same half smile, half sneer he’d just graced her with, she said, “Well, since I’ve already been living here for eight months without your knowledge, it’s clearly been a long while since you’ve had a chat with your grandparents. Seems to me I’m not the one who should have the guilty conscience.”

She braced herself for his next parry, but instead there was that flash in his eyes again, not angry now, more intrigued. The way her pulse jumped confused her, made her head feel like it was spinning. What was it about this guy that had her body turning traitor on her?

It had to be the muggy weather. All the dancing on the porch must have depleted her electrolytes. She was dehydrated. That’s all it was.

“You’re right,” he finally said. “I need to call them.”

Ginger couldn’t believe it. Was he actually agreeing with her? Well, that was that. Now that they’d cleared everything up, he’d go and leave her alone. Good.

She couldn’t wait.

But then, she noticed the large bag at his feet, presumably full of his clothes. Clearly, he’d been planning on staying in the cabin tonight. Because he’d thought it was vacant. Which meant he didn’t have any other place to stay.

Oh no.

She looked at his face again, immediately getting snared in his dark blue eyes.

Definitely no.

This log cabin was hers and hers alone. The cuckoo clock chimed four times over the fireplace in the living room and she was hit by a sudden rush of anger at her perfect day falling to shreds.

“Look, I’m sorry that you didn’t know someone was living in the house, but I’ve got a twelve-month agreement, so you’re going to have to find another place to stay.” Tonight and thereafter, thank you very much. “And I’m afraid I’m going to be late for work if I don’t leave soon, so …”

She looked at the door, making it perfectly clear that it was time for him to leave.

He nodded, picked up his bag and said, “Okay.”

She was midway through releasing the breath she’d been holding when he added, “I’ll come back tomorrow. So that we can figure out something that will work for both of us.”

What? He was coming back?

She should have known a guy like this wouldn’t back down so easily.

“I’ll say it one last time. I’ve got a lease through the summer. Good-bye.”

There. She couldn’t have been clearer.

But he still wasn’t leaving. Instead his eyes were scanning the cabin and then he was walking over to a log that held up the wall between the porch and the living room. Without warning, he slammed his fist into it.

She half screamed in surprise. “What the hell are you doing?”

Calm as anything, he used his fingertips to brush away the crumbled wood chips.