Out of the Blue (2 page)

"Yep to both, especially since I've only one week left on my first vacation in ten years." He grinned again, and it quite simply took her breath.

It was all coming back to her, the horribly humiliating teenage infatuation—which had absolutely
not
been reciprocated. He'd been kind to her, yes, and as she was a friend of his baby sister, he'd also been indulgent and protective.

But other than that, Zach had been far, far out of her reach; too wild, too gorgeous, too everything.
Avila
had smothered him, he'd hated the tight confines, the lack of adventure. Which had been everything she loved about the peaceful, sedate town.

Then he'd left her world to become a cop of all things, and they hadn't seen each other since.

Why should they?

He lived the wild, exciting life he'd always wanted and she … she lived hers the way she'd always wanted, with a few exceptions. Okay, one exception—her lack of a love life, which of course brought all sorts of erotic images to mind, images best not thought about at the moment.

Why? Because Zach was standing right in front of her looking a bit wicked, definitely gorgeous, and just a tad dangerous. He was back and her tummy had gone all tight, her toes were still curled and all sorts of currents were racing through erogenous zones she hadn't even known existed.

Because of one simple smile.

Damn Alexi and Tara for putting thoughts of wild sex in her mind.

Toilets,
she reminded herself. Eleven of them in the inn. They were hers.

"Who knows when I'll have a whole week to myself again," he said, leaning back against the doorjamb and studying her in an openly assessing way. "I've been promising Alexi I'd come ever since the three of you opened this place."

And he'd finally come.

Right now, tonight. Just as she'd decided maybe she should lose her virginity once and for all. At the thought of losing it with this tall, leanly muscled, rugged man she'd once known, she nearly slid to the floor in a boneless mass of jelly.

"It's nice to be here," he said, still smiling, still gorgeous.

Darn him.

"Well, it's nice to have you," she said, meaning it more than he could know. Alexi had been so worried about him, they'd all been. He'd nearly died, yet it seemed so surreal to think of that when he was standing there in the flesh, looking so … so alive. "Are you really okay?" she asked softly.

"Yeah, I'm really okay … or I will be after I sleep for a week." He shook his head as he studied her. "It's hard to believe how long it's been. You've…" His gaze dipped downward slowly, past the ever-so-lovely apron she wore—not!—all the way to her sandals, then slowly back up again. "You've gone and grown up on me, Hannah."

Oh boy. So had he.

He was still big, still powerfully built, standing there with the casualness of someone totally at ease anywhere. There was a toughness to him that reminded her of what he did for a living, an edge that hadn't been there before, a dangerous one, tempered with restraint.

But it was just Zach. She knew him. Or she had. He dressed the same, in a simple polo shirt and faded, soft-looking jeans.

Nothing else looked soft though, not those long, powerful legs or—

A warm flush stole over her and she guiltily jerked her gaze up to meet his, and found herself just as fascinated by what she found there.

His mouth might still be curved in that sexy, slow, lazy smile, but he wasn't amused, not really. In fact, Hannah would have bet her next paycheck that those fine lines fanning out from his baby blues were from exhaustion, maybe even pain. So was the slight slump to his mile-wide shoulders. His dark, silky-looking hair was on the wrong side of long, curling over his collar, and disheveled, as if he'd run his fingers through it often.

But it was the faint shadows beneath his eyes that grabbed her, and the tense way he held himself in spite of his smile, as if he were close to keeling over. He didn't look like the decorated cop she knew he was. He looked tired, almost brooding, and unsettled.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Confirming her suspicions, he yawned. "I'm just really beat," he said simply, rubbing a hand over his face. "Long drive, long day. Six weeks out of commission and I'm out of shape."

He didn't look out of shape to her, not then, and not now when he stretched, the movement slow and unconsciously sensual. Hannah found her gaze glued to all those long limbs and fabulous muscles, her mouth suddenly dry.

"I really need a bed," he told her.

Unbidden images flashed through her mind; silk sheets, bare, hot skin pressed against more bare, hot skin; long, drugging kisses… Oh my.

Could she really do it? Could she really make love with him?

As he stretched again, he let out a low, rough sound from deep in his throat.

Oh yeah. She could. Definitely. "Um… Does Alexi know you're here?" An idea stirred, formed. "Never mind," she said. "Just sit." Gently, she pressed him into a chair, her hands burning from just touching his broad, exhausted shoulders, her mind racing with the possibilities. "I'll go get you a room."

"Sounds good."

She hoped he still felt that way in a few moments, because no matter whose brother he was, there wasn't a room to be had.

Which brought her to her plan. Her crazy plan.

Her how-to-get-un-virginal plan.

Chapter 2

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S
o bone-weary he could hardly climb the stairs, Zach shouldered his duffel bag and headed toward the room Hannah had just given him.

Hannah.

It'd been ten years since he'd set sight on her, a very long time given she'd been fourteen when he'd left. Fourteen and gangly and awkward, terribly self-conscious in a way that to his own nineteen years had seemed … well, very young.

Still, whenever he'd thought of
Avila
, a small part of him had always wondered if she'd kept that sweet smile, if she still had freckles dancing across her nose, if she'd ever grown into her long, skinny legs.

If he wasn't so tired, he might have acknowledged that he now had the answers to those burning questions.

Yes, she still had that sweet, contagious smile, the one that made her green eyes shine like jade.

Yes, she still had a scattering of freckles dancing across her nose.

And most definitely yes, she'd grown into those long, long legs—legs that now could be registered as a lethal weapon, for she'd nearly stopped him in his tracks when he'd stumbled across her in the kitchen.

If he hadn't been about to fall asleep on his feet, he might have been able to fully appreciate those unexpected, and delightful, changes.

He might have even enjoyed the décor of the lodge, knowing his sister and her friends were far more talented than he could have imagined. He might have wondered who Hannah had kicked out of the clearly full lodge in order to give him a place to crash.

But his mind had gone fuzzy, and amazing as it seemed for a man who hadn't been with a woman for far too long, he couldn't even think about it.

He needed sleep.

Beyond that, he probably needed some good food, too, and some serious brain rest, but if he didn't take care of the sleep first, he was going to fall down on the spot.

Again, his job's fault. Portraying someone else for an entire year on the undercover sting, then living on the edge for that long, always on guard and never being able to relax, was incredibly hard on the body.

Oh yes, and being shot.

That hadn't helped, either.

He'd assumed he'd fully recuperate, but suddenly he had his doubts, and it scared him.

His job was his life. He hadn't set out for it to be so, but he'd always wanted to be the best, and to do that, sacrifices had been made. His personal life, for one. He'd been so busy being a cop, being a
good
cop, he'd lost a part of himself. Strange how he'd been perfectly happy that way, until he couldn't do his job.

Now, that life seemed … empty. No, that wasn't right.

Maybe it was just exhaustion.

On the second-floor landing he came to a small sitting area. There was a fireplace, and several couches were nicely arranged for easy gathering.

 
Seated there was an older couple sharing a pot of tea.
Mr. and Mrs. Schwartz,
they were all too happy to tell him, when he made the mistake of pausing one second too long and they introduced themselves.

Mr. Schwartz gave him a sly smile. "You're here to pick up babes, I bet. Saw a bunch on the beach today."

Mrs. Schwartz turned on him. "You said you didn't notice!"

"Only helping out the young man, dear."

"Did he ask you for help? No!" Mrs. Schwartz took her husband's cup of tea right out of his hands and placed it on the tray in front of them. "Always butting in, you are. I'm sure this nice young man doesn't need any help finding a woman to keep his bed warm at night, especially from you. Isn't that right?"

She looked at Zach questioningly, and under different circumstances, such as when he wasn't literally ready to fall on his face, he might have laughed. "I'm just here to rest," he said, earning a smirk from the older man.

"Well, just 'rest' on the east end," Mr. Schwartz suggested. "That beach is a hot spot. A regular babe magnet."

Mrs. Schwartz smacked her husband.

"Uh … thanks." Zach backed away just in time to see the older man lay the charm on his wife, who cackled her surrender and kissed him.

Shaking his head at the mysteries of a relationship that old, yet still together no matter how rocky, Zach kept walking. His room was at the very far end, down a hallway and away from any activity.

A Good Thing.

He let himself in. Without bothering to turn on the lights, he dropped his bag to the floor and kicked off his shoes. Hannah had told him there was one bedroom, a bathroom and a small sitting room. All he needed at the moment was the bed, so that's where he headed.

The bedroom windows were open to the night air and moon. He'd showered in his condo in
Los Angeles
before he'd started the drive, so he simply pulled off his shirt, kicked off his jeans, sighed deeply, and slid under the covers.

Before his head settled on the pillow—which held an oddly arousing scent of some sort of flower he couldn't quite place—he was fast and deeply asleep.

* * *

Hannah couldn't concentrate on work, and was it any wonder? Zach was here.
Here.

It had to be Fate.

Now all she had to do was get him to want to sleep with her. Maybe not a problem for most women, but Hannah knew it would be a task. Never in her life had she been able to make a man want to sleep with her, so she had no idea what made her think she could do it now, but she was up for the challenge.

She had to be. The timing was right, she could feel it. It would help if she knew exactly how to do it, but if she knew what she was doing, then she wouldn't be in this situation in the first place. Seduce him. That's all.

Zach didn't have to know all her problems. That she scared men off more quickly than she could blink. That she wanted,
needed,
to know what she was missing. No, he could remain oblivious.

It was all perfect, Zach was perfect.
Yes,
he'd been a wild rebel in his day, but he'd turned out okay. He was a cop, for God's sake. She knew beneath his tough exterior that he was kind. Sensitive.

And as for the passionate part, one look in his eyes and her knees had trembled. That was passion, right? She was fairly certain.

Just do it.
The slogan worked for running shoes and it would work here. Which was why she'd taken such drastic measures. She'd actually put him in
her
room for the night.

Oh, and one minor detail—she hadn't told him. How else to get him into her bed? How she'd gotten the nerve, she'd never know, but the wheels were in motion now. Zach was in her room, her bed, hopefully exhausted enough to not question it.

To combat the nerves, and to give herself some time to relax, she threw herself into work. She decided to take the late evening shift at the ice-cream and gift shop, and if she was distracted, it was no wonder.

There was a man in her bed.

"Hey, Boss," Karrie called out when she walked in.

Karrie was one of their four part-time employees. She had green hair, green eye shadow and matching green fingernails. She had a silver tongue stud and a pierced eyebrow. And she was absolutely great with the guests.

"I came to help with the crowd," Hannah told her, moving behind the counter.

Karrie looked around her at the nearly empty shop—there was only one young couple in a booth sharing pie—tucked her tongue in her cheek and nodded gamely. "Yeah, I'm pretty overwhelmed here."

Hannah ignored her and used the excuse of being there to devour a triple-decker chocolate cone.

"Ah, you've got
man
trouble." Karrie, all of nineteen, nodded again, as if she knew all about such things.

"I do not have man trouble. This…" Hannah gestured to her nearly eaten cone. "This has nothing to do with a man."
Not much anyway.
She helped herself to another scoop.

"Whatever you say, boss."

"It really doesn't."

"Uh-huh." Karrie calmly sponged down the counter. "Is he at least cute?"

Gorgeous.
"I
don't know what you're talking about."

"That means yes."

Hannah stopped eating and looked at Karrie with renewed interest. Desperate times, desperate measures, she thought. "Do you … know a lot about men?"

That got a good laugh.
"I
know about as much as it's possible to know about an alien species."

"So … you know how to…" Oh, this was ridiculous. Embarrassing. Stupid. "Never mind."

"You can't stop there! Do I know how to … what? Snag a guy?"

"No. Um, seduce one."

Karrie grinned. "That's simple."

"It is?"

"Sure. All men are really just one big walking hormone. If they even so much as sense they're going to get lucky, your job is as good as done."

It had never worked that way for Hannah before, but then again, maybe she'd never made a man feel lucky. "It can't be that simple."

At the giggle behind her, Hannah turned around. The young couple sharing pie were listening with avid curiosity. They were in their midtwenties and were both so pretty they could have walked right out of the pages of
Cosmopolitan.

"It's really that simple," the young woman said to Hannah.

The young man blushed from chin to roots, and that had his girlfriend giggling again. "Honest."

Hannah shook her head. "Maybe for you. But I've never turned a man into a … hormone before."

"No, it isn't about beauty," the young woman insisted. "It's about how you make
them
feel."

"I
can't believe it's that simple."

Karrie looked at her pityingly. "Trust me, it is. Look, flash some skin. Then kiss him, anywhere. Mouth, neck, ear, you pick."

"Then what?"

"Then flash some more skin. It's as good as done, guarantee it."

Hannah turned to the young woman. "Really?"

She nodded emphatically while her boyfriend blushed all the more.

Hmm. It was worth a shot. She grabbed a tablet from the counter and started writing.

Step one: flash skin.

Step two: kiss him. Anywhere.

Step three: more skin.

Sounded easy.

Contemplating her strategy, Hannah spent the rest of the shift working on their stock, even getting her replacement order ready for the following week. She scrubbed the floors. She dusted.
Dusted,
for God's sake.

But she drew the line at cleaning the bathroom. It was
Tara
's turn. If she failed at this unsingle thing, it would be her turn soon enough.

Flash skin. Kiss. More skin.

How difficult was that? From beneath her nerves came something else, something more base. Her insides tingled, heated. The shock wasn't her excitement, but that she felt it at all. For years she'd made sure she was too busy for this romance stuff, mostly to save her pride, but also out of a fear of the unknown. She'd stifled and ignored her own sexuality.

She couldn't any longer. Fact was, Zach Thomas had turned out pretty darned amazing. And he was in her bed, maybe not waiting for her exactly, but he was there nevertheless.

Studying her notes, she went back to the lodge and climbed the stairs. Anticipation raced through her as each footstep brought her closer.
Men are all one big walking hormone.

She could only hope that was true, though the mental image of that nearly made her laugh out loud.

She let herself into her little suite. No lights. Good. Not being able to see might help her nerves.

Zach was there, in her bed, fast asleep if his even, deep breathing was any indication. In the dark, she moved closer, peering at him. She could see his head, and one bare shoulder as it gleamed in the moonlight.

Her heart raced, and she promptly forgot everything she was supposed to do.

What first? Squinting in the dark, she reread her notes.

Flash some skin.

Okay, easy enough.

She stripped, trying not to think about the actual technicalities of what she was about to do. Blessing the dark, she dropped shoes, pants, blouse … oh darn. She paused, her hands ready to remove the thin camisole she'd worn beneath her blouse.

Laundry.

She'd forgotten to do it—again.

Knowing she had no nightie in her drawer, not even a clean T-shirt thanks to her forgetfulness, she left on the little silk camisole and hoped it looked sexy enough. To ensure that, she removed the bra she'd worn beneath it. Then she drew a deep, very shaky breath and glanced through the dark at her faint reflection in the mirror over her dresser.

She'd never been one to sleep in the nude, she'd never even slept in just a little chemise and panties before. She felt … sexy. She even
looked
sexy, if the hardly-there reflection told the truth.