Stranger in Paradise (3 page)

“As a heart attack.”

She heard a few muffled curses from the other side of the door and soon the paddle appeared. “You’re not going to jab that fucking thing at me again, are you?”

“Only if necessary,” she stated bravely.

“Then I guess I’ll have to defend myself with my gun.”

Kacey’s eyes widened.

“Good lord, woman. I’m kidding. Now would you please let me in? I don’t care what they say about these damn yellow lights, but they do jack squat at keeping away bugs.” She heard a smack of flesh on flesh. “Jesus, was that a mosquito?”

That made her smile. And maybe trust him a bit more. What harm would it do to introduce themselves, set the parameters, and then move on with her retreat?

She closed the door, unhooked the chain, and, holding the oar like a tribal spear, opened the door. He was much taller than he had appeared through the peephole.

***

Zack stepped in still batting at the bugs he was certain had landed in his hair. He dropped his green army duffel, and it hit the floor with a thud. Blocked by the scrappy woman with a glint in her pretty blue eyes and a grip on her oar, he scanned what he could of the cabin from his vantage point.

“You haven’t checked in yet?” she asked as she handed him his belongings, her grasp still firm on the oar.

He stuffed the wallet in his front pocket and slipped his phone in his back pocket. “I tried, but they were full.”

The oar slipped through her hand and landed with a decided thunk on the hardwood floor. “No, that’s impossible. They can’t be full.”

He shrugged. “Some Grandma’s Marathon. Not sure. Must be kind of a big deal.”

Kacey shook her head. “No. No. No. You’re going to have to work something else out.”

He was genuinely puzzled. “Lady, you’re renting out the biggest cabin on the property. What is it…like, six bedrooms? Really? Do you need
all
of them?”

He pushed past her, leaving her mouth hanging open.

“I need a drink.”

I think you should think about this,
her muse interjected sullenly.

“That’s not the point.” She followed him, oar in hand, to the kitchen where he was busy rummaging through her refrigerator.

“Not a beer drinker, I see.” He glanced at her. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“Excuse me, there is water in the tap.”

He sighed, took one last look at her stocked-for-one-person-not-uninvited-guests-groceries, swiped a bag of baby carrots, and shut the door.

“Maybe there’s a room in the next lodge up the road?” she offered as she watched him move about her kitchen, checking cabinets until he found a glass.

“Sorry, contract states I have to be within two hundred yards from you at all times.”

“It. Does. Not.” Her blue-eyed gaze narrowed.

He raised an impervious brow. “You didn’t read it very carefully.” He had to smirk as he unfolded the agreement and handed it to her. “Surprising since you’re an author and all. But I guess your agent takes care of the fine print.”

Kacey leaned against the oar and began to rub her forehead as she read.

“You can put that away,” he said, gesturing toward the oar. “I’m not going to attack you.”

She sighed and returned the oar to its respective nails on the wall. “What the hell am I supposed to do? It’s past midnight in New York. I don’t want to wake Harold, even though he deserves it.”

Zack wondered if she was talking to him or to herself. He’d heard writers could be pretty eccentric—this one certainly had a head start in that department. He followed her down the hall and she turned abruptly, smacking into his chest.

“Nice place.” He snapped off a carrot between his teeth. It didn’t help matters that up close she smelled fantastic and that mouth, sassy as it was, looked ripe for the kissing.

“You cannot stay here.” She put her hands up and walked around him, yanking open every kitchen drawer and then turning to him in triumph, holding up a tattered phonebook. “We’ll see if there’s somewhere near that you can stay for the night. Tomorrow, I’ll call Harold and clear this whole thing up.”

He rolled his eyes to the ceiling and made himself at home, settling into an
overstuffed chair. With a sigh, he hauled his feet to the ottoman and dropped the bag of carrots into his lap. His eyes drifted toward the thirty-six-inch flat screen. “The Cubs play St. Louis tonight. I don’t suppose….”

“No.” She ran her finger down every page it, seemed, and he sensed that she’d rather vaporize him more than anything. The thanks that came with this type of work, he thought sarcastically. Stuck in a secluded cabin resort for weeks with a beautiful woman, and she turns out to be cold as ice.

“Something puzzles me,” he asked casually.

She kept her nose to the task, refusing to engage in the conversation, much less look at him. “Stop distracting me,” she admonished quietly.

“I just have a question.”

She blinked, pinning him with a furrowed brow that seemed a tad on the hostile side—maybe she was fighting her attraction.

“What? Dammit. Can’t you just sleep in your car or something? Aren’t you people used to that kind of thing?”

“You’ve seen too many movies.” He chuckled, shrugging when it seemed she didn’t share his humor. “You know, for a creative type, you seem awfully tightly wrapped.”

That seemed to have snapped her rubber band.

She slapped her palms on the countertop and glared—real and truly—glared at him.

He smiled back.
Oh yeah, she’s definitely attracted.

“I come here every year anticipating the solitude so I can write
without
interruption and instead I wind up with
you
in the middle of the night.”

“It could be worse.” He bit into a carrot.

“Really, how?”

“I could be the nut who sent you those letters.”

That seemed to put the kibosh on whatever wrath she’d been about to unleash on him.

“Help to put things into perspective?” he asked, crossing his ankles.

Kacey eyed him. “Are you really packing?” Her expression turned from homicidal to curiosity on the flip of a dime. Strange woman.

“Did you just say
packing
?” His response was droll.

“I meant carrying.” She dismissed her creative vernacular with a wave of her hand.

“You said…”

“I
know
what I said. Where do you keep your damn gun?”

“In my duffel. Locked in a case, for now.” He held her gaze. “Why do you ask?” he challenged.

“Because, well, look at you. In a T-shirt and jeans. Where on your person, I mean, would you possibly carry--” She shook her head and held up her palms. “Never mind.”

God, this was too fun watching her squirm.

She cleared her throat. “So, about your question?”

He grinned, watching her gaze slip over his body, wondering if that was a gun in his pocket or if he was just glad to see her.

“Where do you intend to sleep tonight?” She was quick at changing topics.

“Right here is fine by me. If I could maybe trouble you for a blanket?”

“You’re going to sleep in a chair,” she scoffed.

“I’m open to suggestions.”

Her beautiful eyes widened.

“But you still haven’t answered my question.”

Ignoring him, she snapped off a couple of paper towels and started to clean the pie mess on the floor. “What’s your question?” she asked, scrubbing the tile with great fervor.

He leaned forward in his chair so he’d be able to see her reaction. God, being an ass was difficult work, but the entertainment value was priceless. “How do you research the stuff you write about?” he asked calmly. “I mean, man. Some of the stuff you’ve written made me blush and I thought I knew just about all there was to know.”

Kacey glanced up from her position on all fours, a wad of paper towels and bumbleberry guts in one hand. He clasped his hands over his knees, unable to hide his anticipatory grin.

“Did you
really
just ask me that?”

He shrugged. “I know. You probably get that a lot.”

“I can’t believe you really asked that.”

“It’s puzzling to me. Here you’re this famous erotica writer--”

“Erotic romance,” she corrected, hauling herself up off the floor.

“Same thing,” he responded.

She opened her mouth and he could hear guns being loaded. He couldn’t resist nudging her a little to see if she was as naive as she appeared. “I mean, look at you. You’re the last woman on earth I’d expect to write the scenes in your books.”

He noticed her fist tightening around the toweling. Juice dripped through her fingers. He smiled. It was all good, clean fun. Better to add a little humor to the situation. Defuse some of the tension. Though admittedly he knew a surefire way of relieving pent-up tension.

“Do you have someone else write those scenes? Like one of those ghostwriters? They say a lot of the big authors have them.”

Kacey pressed her lips tightly together. She tossed the towels in the trash, washed her hands, and turned to him, her gaze steady. “Do you think that those who write murder mysteries go out and commit murder?”

“Good point. Probably not.” He waved off her deadly glare. “Look, I’m kidding you. We’re going to be here for a few weeks, so I didn’t think a little humor would be so bad.”

“Yeah, you’re a real funny guy.” She picked up the afghan over the back of the sofa and tossed it at his head. “Goodnight.”

“Did you lock the front door?” he asked.

She glanced at him, then the door. “Yes.”

He looked at her and pulled the blanket over his shoulders, offering her a shit-eating grin. “Read me a bedtime story?”

“Are you always this annoying?”

He winked. “Part of my charm.”

“No doubt.”

Yeah, maybe he’d taken the teasing a bit too far, too fast. Maybe she had no sense of humor. It was a defense mechanism for him. It had helped him get through some nightmarish times in his life. He hauled himself out of the chair and followed her to the front door. Clearly, she was more rattled about this stalker than she let on. When she turned toward him, he noticed the dark shadows beneath her gray-blue eyes. “Listen, I should apologize. My comedic timing isn’t always the best.”

“No kidding.” She looked him, then sighed. “And for the record, my name is Kacey.”

“Right. K.C. Winters, I know.”

“No, it’s really Kacey. K.A.C.E.Y.”

Okay, she didn’t acknowledge his apology, but it was all good. “Got it, Kacey. Why don’t you go on upstairs, relax, process everything, and tomorrow we’ll get this all straightened out. Go on, I’ll check everything down here.”

She started to protest, but he placed his finger on her lips to silence her.

Damn. I shouldn’t have done that.
“It’s part of my job. I was just trying to lighten you up.”

She stepped around him, quick to distance herself. He knew he could be brash, annoying, and, at times, unthoughtful. But he wasn’t there to be her friend--he was there to protect her. The sooner he got that wedged into his brain, the better.

“Hey, Kacey?” he called out, and she turned to look at him from the stairs. “It’s going to be okay.”

She held his gaze a moment, nodded, and then disappeared upstairs.

Zack blew out a sigh. His memory catapulted to another place, another woman–one who used to give back his teasing. He missed that. Pain squeezed his chest. That seemed a lifetime ago.

He picked up the afghan and settled into the chair, his thoughts of the woman upstairs drifting softly into his dreams.

Chapter Three

Zack peeled open one eye to the sound of an incessant tapping. His first inclination was to find the damn woodpecker and shoot it. The second inclination was to shoot whomever was pounding a computer keyboard like their life depended on it. Then his brain clicked on and he remembered his new client/not-so-willing roomie. Hopefully, they’d get that cleared up today. He could use his own bed since she hadn’t offered one of her many empty bedrooms, much less her own.

“Good morning. Coffee’s on. I’ve put in a call to Harold. Hopefully, we can get this all cleared up and have you settled in your own place by lunchtime. The view of the water is spectacular this morning. The air is exhilarating!”

Zack held up his hand in protest of her enthusiasm, pressing his fingers to his lips. “Sssh.” Good God, the woman hadn’t taken a breath. He licked his dry lips and produced a weak cough, enough to clear the cobwebs in his throat. “How many cups of coffee have you had?” he mumbled as he fought his way from the tangled blanket. Feeling stiff, he stretched his arms above his head and felt his spine snap back into place. Blessed relief. He also noticed that the tapping had stopped. A quick glance at his charge found her perched sideways on her chair, her wide-eyed gaze drawn below his waist. It dawned on him that he’d slipped off his jeans and T-shirt in the middle of the night and wore only his boxer briefs. “Guess that’s a wake-up call.” He grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around his waist. “Bathroom?”

She jabbed her thumb over her shoulder, her eyes still glued below his waist. He should probably be flattered, her being an author and all, but the truth of it was he felt a bit creeped out by her sudden zombie-like reaction to his semi-nakedness.

In the privacy of the bathroom, he dressed and splashed water on his face and rinsed his mouth with one of those sampler bottles of mouthwash sitting in a cute basket. Fresh breath should be a priority, especially when waking up in his skivvies in the presence of an erotic romance author.

He pondered the shadowy stubble on his jaw, debating whether this was the time and place to let it grow. Go with the whole Northwood’s lumberjack vibe.

A knock sounded on the door.

“You almost ready?”

“Uh, yeah. Give me a minute.” Damn. Given that look she’d given him moments ago, he’d hoped she might offer to cook breakfast. A few moments later, he tried to sip his coffee and keep up with her determined stride. Zack adjusted the large duffel containing nearly everything he owned only to succeed in spilling half his coffee.

“I bet you run, don’t you?” he asked, stopping to swallow the rest of his lukewarm coffee in one fast gulp. He made a face and tossed her a smile when she looked over her shoulder at him.

“Treadmill. Daily,” she responded in a business-like tone. “It helps me think.”

“Daily?” He chuckled. “You must have a helluva lot to think about.”

She grabbed the heavy wood door of the main lodge and hauled it open. Pretty rugged for a woman her size. Not that he’d noticed, except maybe when she was bent over cleaning up that pie mess on the floor. She ushered him in ahead of her.

“Love a woman who takes charge,” he offered with a crooked grin.

Without comment, she let the door slam behind her and marched around him, straight to the front desk.

“My name is Kacey Winters.”

“Yes, Miss Winters Welcome back. How may we help you?”

Zack leaned against the registration desk, eyeing a maple-shaped dish filled with wrapped homemade caramels.

“There seems to be a mix-up. My agent was to have called ahead—over three days ago—to reserve a room for Mr. Elliott.” She shot him a cursory look. “Mr. Zack Elliot.”

Nice that she remembered his name after eyeing his junk. Zack winked at the clerk, producing a shy smile as she ducked her head.

“Are these complimentary?” His stomach growled plaintively. Clearly, the bag of baby carrots hadn’t been enough.

The clerk, who’d been busily tapping away and studying the screen, glanced at him. “The caramels? Oh, yes, it’s my grandmother’s recipe. We use it here every fall. Please try one and tell me what you think.”

“I believe I will. Thank you.” He unwrapped one of the delicate wax papers and popped it into his mouth, letting the sweet, buttery goodness all but melt on his tongue. He groaned with satisfaction.

“Well?” the clerk had stopped typing altogether, waiting for his response.

“Excuse me?” Kacey interjected.

Zack smiled, still working on the chewy goodness, and popped his thumb up, signaling his approval to the woman. She pushed her hands together with a joyful grin.

Kacey tapped her fingernails on the counter.  “If you’re not too busy, could we please try to find out why Mr. Elliot doesn’t have a room?”

The smell of fresh coffee touched his nose, followed by the mouth-watering scent of pancakes and smoky bacon. “I’m going to step in here and grab something to eat while you work on kicking me out of your house.”

Kacey’s face registered shock, then something between a blush and anger—could’ve been the same thing.

‘I’m not kicking you out on purpose,” she sputtered indignantly.

“I sure wouldn’t,” the sweet-faced clerk muttered.

She offered him a quick smile, as if to say she was sorry for what he had to deal with.

“Either way, that bag of carrots you fed me last night just isn’t kickin’ it.”

The clerk’s attention swung toward his veering-on-irate housemate—at least, his housemate for the time being.

“Fine. I’ll be in shortly with your room number.”

“Thanks, Mom.” He grinned as he heard the clerk ask with hushed astonishment, “That’s
your
son?”

He didn’t have to look back to know who groaned.

Nearly an hour passed, though he’d been fairly preoccupied with the lodge special. It came on a large turkey-sized platter, heaped with three mammoth pancakes, scrambled eggs, four strips of bacon, three sausage patties, toast, fresh fruit, and a side of hash browns. He’d died and gone to heaven and was about to ask for a glass of tomato juice when a shadow blocked out the morning sun.

“You’re going to kill yourself before I have a chance to.”

He gave Kacey a wide grin and invited her to sit across from him in the private booth. “You hungry?” He perused the carousel of delectable syrups, sticking with rich, warm maple. They were in Minnesota, after all.

“Not anymore.”

The waitress appeared at the table, her disposition bright. “And what can I set you up with this fine morning?”

“Sanity?” Kacey offered, resting her forehead on her hand.

“She’ll start with coffee.”

Kacey glanced through her fingers at the man across from her. Probably ate like a beast continuously and still maintained those washboard abs. She hated him.

“I understand.” The waitress nodded, sending a conspiratorial wink toward Zack. “I’ll be right back while you think on that menu in front of you.”

“Do you have that effect on all women?”

“What do you mean?” He stuffed a forkful of pancakes in his mouth, catching a drop of syrup with the tip of his tongue.

Kacey watched in mesmerizing wonder. He really had no idea that he was like walking candy on a damn stick?

“You should try these, they are…for lack of a better term, fantastic. No…orgasmic.”

She blinked, wondering when, exactly, it was that she’d lost control of her life.

“Orgasmic. You know what that is, right?” He had the decency to swallow before he smiled.

She narrowed her gaze on him. “I’m beginning to think I’ll take my chances with the crazed stalker.”

“Aw, now. Come on. You’re here. You obviously love the place. It has a unique sort of rustic charm, I admit. You come every year. Why not enjoy it?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I’ve got Mr. Yuk-it-up as the guy who’s supposed to be protecting me.”

Zack set down his fork. “Listen, rest assured that if it’s warranted, I’d protect you with my life if necessary.”

Her gaze met his and he saw the desire to believe him flash in those eyes the color of a Minnesota summer day.

The waitress returned with the coffee, effectively ending the moment--or what he’d perceived as a “moment.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sure you’re very good at what you do. It’s just the whole thing—it’s thrown a kink into my plans.” Kacey sighed after taking a sip of her coffee.

“Hey, I draw the line at kink, unless you ask nicely, of course.”

“Not funny.” She rolled her eyes and drank more coffee. At least the java was helping to ease the tension on her face, if only for a nanosecond. She clutched the mug between her hands. Her death grip alerted him to the level of her stress. Nothing that a little wild monkey sex she wrote about wouldn’t cure. Though the offer was on the tip of his tongue, he decided that he wanted to live through breakfast.

“Sorry. Listen, did you find a way to get me out of your bed…er…house?” He attacked his previous thoughts with greater determination.

She sighed. “Unfortunately, no.”

His lip curled that she’d not caught his slip. Or maybe she had and just chose to ignore it? He decided evasion was more her style.

“Seems there was a mix-up, and indeed they are booked solid through the end of the month.” She glanced at him over the rim of her cup. He’d just as soon she stop looking at him altogether. He had a soft spot for women with beautiful eyes and hers were spectacular--the kind you find yourself staring into after making love.

“And I did catch your asinine remark, by the way.” She cocked her head and studied him. “What is it about people--and by people, I mean,
men--
that gives them the idea that just because a woman writes erotic fiction, she has uncontrollable sexual urges twenty-four-seven?”

Wishful thinking?
Zack shrugged. “What is it they say? Write what you know?”

Her cold hard gaze held his as she lowered her cup. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief when she released it. “Do you assume that thriller writers go out and kill people?”

Yeah, they’d already touched on that. “I’ve never met a thriller writer.”

“It’s fantasy.” Her expression indicated she thought he was an idiot and maybe he was, because right now he wanted to head back to the cabin and start researching. No, that wasn’t at all what he wanted to do. That thought just very cleverly entered his mind as he found himself mesmerized by her eyes. He cleared his throat and dropped his focus to her hands. Safer view. Her nails were trimmed short, so as not to require frequent manicures, he’d bet. She wore a plain silver band on her left thumb, some Celtic–looking rings on the left hand. No wedding band. No telltale signs there’d ever been one. Damn. As much as he wanted to delve deeper into this conversation just for the sheer entertainment value, an elderly couple at the next table were giving them the hairy eyeball.

“Well, if you’re finished, maybe we should get back to the house. According to the weather radar and the good word of Hazel--”

“Who’s Hazel?” Kacey asked.

“The waitress. She says the storms can blow up very fast on the lakes and can get wicked. Oh, thank you, Hazel,” he acknowledged the pleasant woman who placed his ticket on the table and began to clear the dishes. He glanced at the ticket and then stood. “Part of the contract.”

Kacey blinked as though it took a moment to register that she was to pick up the tab. “Let me just get this.” She wrote her name on the receipt. “Ready?”

Her smile resembled a dog baring his teeth before he bites.

“After you.” He ushered her through the restaurant, past the lobby where he gave a jaunty wave to the clerk as he grabbed another caramel and hurried to open the door for his housemate. He sensed another storm brewing and not just via weather radar. “Hey, come on, don’t look so sour. Who knows, this might even be fun.”

She shot him a look designed to kill.

“Or not.”

***

If she paced in front of him once more he couldn’t be held responsible for tripping her, could he? He tossed aside his game controller and sighed. He’d already died three times since starting the game. No thanks to Miss Restless. “You’ve been pacing around here for the past two hours like a caged animal. Why aren’t you writing?”

Her expression was drawn. She paused, staring out beyond the picture window with her arms folded protectively over her chest.

“I can’t concentrate.”

“Because of me?”

She acknowledged him with a wry look. “Give the man a prize.”

“Hey, no problem. I’ll just go upstairs and play my game. Take a nap, maybe catch up on my reading. Are we dining in or eating out tonight?”

Her eyes formed into icy slits.

“We can decide later,” he said with a shrug.  He grabbed his game and a magazine he’d found in her mailbox, then tromped up the stairs. “Holler if you need any research assistance.” He grinned, not bothering to look back.