Sleepless in Savannah (25 page)

Maybe she'd even make up a new one to help Sophie fall in love with that guy George or that hunky football player, Rory, or maybe when she came to Vegas, Lucy could set her up with someone there.

She skimmed the charms and spells, but didn't find anything about releasing someone from an infatuation.
Hmm.
She'd noticed a voodoo-magic shop on the corner before they'd arrived at the hotel. Peter was safe inside; he would be fine. She'd hop over to that shop and pick up a few things she needed to help Sophie...

* * *

As the day wore on, Lance grew more and more nervous about Sophie's reactions to his balloon idea. Twice he'd already taken the silly-looking display to his truck; then he'd imagine Sophie with that black-leather milksop or that football player, and he'd drag it back inside. On the third trip back and forth he'd dropped it, one of the aluminum cans had exploded, spraying all the balloons, and he'd had to redo the entire contraption.

He wiped at a bead of sweat on his forehead.

Who'd ever thought the idea of asking a woman out would make him so damn jittery?

I wouldn't go out with you if you were the last man on earth.

What would he do if Sophie rejected him?

His cell phone rang, and Lance laid down the paintbrush and checked it, wishing it were McDaniels. The Savannah Sleep Clinic's name appeared instead.

He clicked the on button. "Hello, Lance Summers here."

"Mr. Summers, this is Dr. Settleton at the Savannah Sleep Clinic. We have your test results back."

Settleton's tone sounded serious. Worried. Like a man preparing to deliver bad news.

Good grief, what if Lance had some kind of brain tumor pressing on his brain that caused his sleeplessness? Maybe a blood clot...

"Yeah?" he asked, hating the way his own voice wobbled over the word.

"Other than the occasional jump in blood pressure, our tests show that there is nothing physically wrong with you."

"That's good news, right?"

"Well, yes. Of course, it still doesn't explain why you're suffering from insomnia." His breath wheezed over the line. "But in my opinion, after our conversations, I'd speculate that your condition is triggered by stress."

Lance dropped his head forward and rubbed his neck. He'd paid God knew how much money for this doctor to tell him he was stressed. "Of course I'm stressed. I have a company to run."
And McDaniels to win over.

"Work can create tension, but you might consider seeing a counselor to talk about any unresolved problems, issues from childhood...."

Christ, not that psychobabble about childhood repressions. "I didn't hate my mother or father, if that's what you're getting at. I loved my parents, and my brother and sister."

Settleton chuckled. "I wasn't going to suggest you hated your family, but often a loss, a sudden death in a family such as the one you experienced in your teens, can add pressure on a child that the child suppresses until later years. Given that you were left to be the sole caretaker, you probably experienced feelings of abandonment, fear of loss..." He hesitated. "Those unresolved issues might also affect your relationships today, or lack of relationships."

He'd never really examined his feelings. Hell, he hadn't had time. Maddie had been so vulnerable and erratic herself, and Reid had been headed for juvenile.... Begrudgingly, he admitted Settleton was making sense. But what did that have to do with Sophie?

He glanced across the counter, anything to distract himself, and noticed an envelope with the name Deseree written on it. Deseree, the woman who ran the charity Sophie supported.

"Think about it," the doctor continued, cutting off his thoughts. "Face your inner demons, whatever they are, and then you can move on."

"Eliminate the stress?"

"If possible. If not, learn to deal with it, and your fears."

He wasn't a cowardly man, was he?

The back door opened, and Lance froze. The source of his stress had just walked inside, dressed in a slinky black sundress that hugged her curves and showcased that spiky black hair. She was so damn beautiful. Not only beautiful, but intelligent, a celebrity, and a generous one; no telling how much money she gave to this charity.

Had he been afraid to get involved with her? Afraid he'd love someone and then lose again?

His gaze flew to the balloons, nervous tension rippling through him. No, he refused to let fear rule his life. He'd face his issues and deal with them—starting tonight.

* * *

Sophie was so worried about Peter and the talent scout and whether or not to return Rory's and George's calls that she'd barely had time to think about Lance still being at her house when she arrived home. But as soon as she saw his face, the familiar tingle rippled through her to her toes, and heat charged up her body.

He looked different. She couldn't quite pinpoint
how,
but his expression, though guarded, definitely held an underlying note of hunger as well as mystery.

"Sophie," he said in a husky voice. "What do you think of the kitchen so far?"

Were they in the kitchen?

"It's hot," she said, then caught her lip between her teeth when he grinned.

"Yes, it is."

Twisting her hands together, she fought a nervous smile and tried to focus on the renovation. "The paint looks wonderful. I love the yellow."

"It does open the room up," Lance admitted.

"And the molding looks so much brighter."

"I need to apply another coat, and then touch up, but it's definitely coming along."

"Oh, yeah." He was watching her so intently, she turned to check the messages on the phone, but saw the light blinking and changed her mind. Sunlight flickered through the window, though, and the stained-glass window caught her eye. Hand-painted purple and yellow tulips danced in between blades of tall green grass.

"Oh, my gosh." Tears blurred her eyes.

"It's the one you wanted, right?"

She whirled around, blinking rapidly. "Lance, how... how did you know? I thought Maddie said it was too expensive—"

"We worked it out," he said. "I have arrangements with a few of the suppliers in town. We cut each other breaks."

"I can't believe you did that. I... I love it." She reached out to hug him, then restrained herself. "Thank you."

"It belongs here." A slow smile curved his mouth. "Your table will come tomorrow."

Her gaze dropped to the old rickety one she'd been making do with, and she narrowed her eyes at the six-pack of diet Coke with the balloons bobbing in the air. "What's that?"

Lance rolled back on the balls of his feet, his look sheepish. "I apologized the other night. Now I want to make up for the 'Dating Game' fiasco."

"What?"

"Each balloon has an idea for a date inside. Pop one each day for the next six days; the note inside describes what our date will be."

She gazed up at him in awe. "You want six dates with me?"

He nodded, then laid his hands over her shoulders, turned her to face him, and gently brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. Her breath caught at the restless desire in his eyes.

"What changed your mind, Lance?"

His finger touched her lip. "Like I said, I can't sleep for thinking about you."

Sophie pressed a kiss to the tip of his finger. "Really? I didn't think you ever lost sleep over a woman."

"I never did before." His reply rolled out on a husky sigh.

Sophie's heart banged around in her chest, her emotions boomeranging between hope and fear of getting her hopes up. "If this is about the other night, what we almost did on the floor, well..." She couldn't believe she had the courage to say this, but she went on: "I don't want a one-nighter, Lance." She glanced at the balloons. "Or even just six."

He cupped her face in his hands. "I know. And I can't make any promises, Sophie," he said in a rough whisper, "but I would like to see where this takes us."

* * *

While Peter had finished his interview, Lucy had skimmed the contents of her new charm book and written up a spell to counteract whatever lovesick spell had trapped Sophie in Lance's clutches.

Then she dropped Peter at the hotel and indulged in a shopping spree, emerging from one of the stores braless, wearing a silky red halter top with low-slung white cotton pants that dipped below her navel and white high-heeled sandals that showed off her new pedicure. Her belly button ring glittered in the fading sunlight, and the tips of her fire engine-red toenails matched her top. Dotting perfume between her breasts added the final touch.

She stopped by a small bistro she'd discovered while shopping, ordered a picnic dinner, grabbed a bottle of wine and glasses to complement the shrimp cakes and freshly baked breads, cheeses and fruits, and headed to Skidaway. Reid should be finishing up for the day. Tonight she intended to knock his socks off—literally.

When she arrived at the construction site, Reid's crew was packing up supplies. He patted his men on the back, making jokes and doling out orders for the next day. He was obviously in charge. The boss.

She admired his drive and skill. And she had never seen anything as fabulous as the antebellum house they had built. It was fashioned after the Elizabeth Henry House near historic River Street, and reminded her of castles and days gone by. Normally she wasn't a nostalgic person, but for some reason the huge white columns and sleeping porches on the back overlooking the water brought visions of Scarlett and Rhett, along with her own childhood fantasies of sharing a steamy romance with her own Southern hero.

Dusk was settling over the Skidaway River, a halo of orange sitting on top of the water. The air was filled with the sound of the river rushing over rocks and birds twittering in the tall trees bordering the riverbank. Reid's eyes lit up in surprise as she teetered toward him, but a black cat suddenly skittered in front of her, jarring her nerves. The black cat was a bad sign.

She silently recited one of her charms to ward off any bad luck.

Reid met her halfway. "What are you doing here?"

"I brought a picnic dinner, thought we might share it by the water." She tried to blink coyly while scanning the area for possible dangers. "That is, if you don't already have plans."

"Sugar, if I did have plans, I'd change them." His gaze skimmed down her top, making her nipples stiffen beneath the slinky fabric, then lingered on her navel. "And you have perfect timing; the last of the work crew just left."

So they were all alone. And no dangers, except for Reid. "I'll get the wine if you want to bring the basket."

He followed her and grabbed the basket while she removed a blanket from the backseat and tucked the wine under her arm. Her heels dug into the plush grass as they made their way around to the back of the house. Soon it would be sold, Lucy thought, a family moving in to occupy its massive rooms and fill it with memories. But tonight she intended to make her own memories with Reid to take back with her to Vegas.

"You look fabulous, Lucy," Reid said with a gleam in his eyes.

"Thanks, you look hot yourself." Lucy raked her eyes over his muscular torso in unadulterated appreciation. He wore a khaki shirt that had hints of dirt and sweat clinging to it, all a testament to the fact that he was a hardworking man who made a living with his hands.

Those big hands...

She spread the blanket onto the thick carpet of grass, imagining the pleasure they would bring her. Then she twined his fingers between her own and led him to sit down. His gaze locked with hers, fire breathing between the two of them as they sank down onto the blanket.

She reached for the corkscrew. "You can take out the food if you want," Lucy said. "I hope you like shrimp cakes."

Reid's stomach growled in reply, and they both laughed. "It looks delicious." Reid glanced down at his clothes for the first time. "I should probably clean up first, though."

Lucy's heart fluttered when he began to unbutton his shirt. Inch by inch the fabric fell away, revealing a solid wall of sculpted muscles dusted with light brown hair. She swallowed hard, nearly spilling the wine as she poured them each a glass.

"I'll be right back."

Lucy's fingers traced up and down the stem of the wineglass as he stood and strode toward the river. In a masculine gesture that robbed her breath, he knelt and rinsed his hands, then splashed water on his face and ran his hands over his chest to wipe away the dirt and sweat.

Mercy.
She wanted to run her hands over him.

As he strode back to her, she recognized the devilish glint to his eyes. The damn man knew he was turning her on, and he loved it.

Well, two could play that game.

She licked her lips, then ran her tongue around the rim of the wineglass. His gaze followed the movement.

"Are you hungry?"

"Starved."

"Ready to eat?"

"Oh, yeah."

Lucy laughed, enjoying their wordplay. But she wanted to prolong the pleasure, so she opened the cartons of potato salad and fruit and the plate of shrimp cakes, and gestured for him to partake. For several heat-filled minutes they nibbled on the food, enjoying the lull of the river rushing over the rocks and the sounds of nature in the woods beyond. Shadows danced from the trees, and the fresh scents of grass and wildflowers and the spicy shrimp filled the balmy spring air, while thunderclouds rolled in from a distance.

"I have to leave Sunday," Lucy said.

Reid sipped his wine. "It seems like you just arrived."

"I know. It's been a terrific week."

"You did a great job on Sophie's show."

"You watched?"

Reid licked his fingers, causing Lucy's stomach to tighten. "Lunchtime."

Lucy stuffed her plate in the garbage bag, frowning as the sky darkened with the onset of a spring thunderstorm. "Liar. You were curious about my Sleepover products, weren't you?"

Reid pushed his plate away and cupped his hand at the back of her neck. "Sugar, you don't need any of that fake stuff with me." He dipped his mouth to kiss her. "Don't you know the real thing's better?"

"Really?" Lucy traced a finger along his jaw. "Maybe you'd better show me."