Stranger in Paradise (4 page)

Chapter Four

The man was infuriating. Sexy as hell, which was
not
the point. But a pain in the—well, he was intercepting her
chi
at every turn. How in the world was she supposed to write with the likes of him underfoot? Days of lounging in her pj’s--sans bra, eating gelato at will, and daydreaming about her favorite scenes--were slowly dissolving into a wisp of smoke. She was afraid her muse was about to pack her bags and head out the door. Problem being that she had a bestseller on her hands with the first book in this series and her agent, her publisher—nay, the world, it seemed—were all waiting with bated breath for her to knock the next book out of the park. And she had a drop-dead gorgeous man sleeping in her house.

Not in her bed.

Which was probably a good thing. Though just for an instant, she swore she heard her muse whisper,
“Hell, yeah.”

She plopped down in the overstuffed easy chair near the window offering a full view of the short stretch of rocky beach and the endless lake beyond. She stared at the stormy sky, its colors casting an eerie green into the water below. The sound of rain tapped against the pane. The birds were still. All was silent except for the drip, drip, drip of the rain from the eaves of the cabin.

She wrapped her arms around her and stared out at the desolate shore. No families, no reunions with bonfires on the beach tonight. No being lulled as she went to sleep by the distant sound of laughter wafting up from friends sharing a beer until the wee hours of the morning.

Just silence.

It was hard to judge the exact time. The clouds, thickening since breakfast, had grown dark, giving a sense of dusk for the number of hours that she’d tried to tap out a few words on her laptop. The creak of a floorboard above grabbed her attention and she pondered whether her roommate was awake. The truth was that she’d spent most of the day thinking, and the rest re-reading the emails sent to her by her alleged stalker. She believed in facing challenges head on, and she told herself that was why she opened the folder. Maybe she could find a connection, or maybe there would be something there she could use in her writing.

That was just sick.

The floor creaked again and though she’d never admit it to his face, as annoying as he was, part of her was secretly glad that Zack was there. Especially on a day that looked tailor-made for a murder mystery in the mind of a writer. She needed a distraction. Inspiration for her muse.

Plenty of inspiration upstairs.

No,
logic responded with crossed arms. A movie would be better, a sappy movie with great characters, angst, and a happily ever after. That’s all she needed to get her creative juices flowing.

Awww,
her muse pouted, and maybe some of her girl parts did, as well. Kacey was well aware of how long it’d been since she’d…well, enjoyed real-life inspiration. But she wasn’t going to dwell on that. After all, if there’d been no stalker fiasco, she wouldn’t even have a hunky detective sleeping upstairs…possibly in the boxer briefs that she’d seen him in this morning. Tingles skirted through her lower belly.

Her muse did a happy dance.

Stop that,
Kacey mentally chided herself as her gaze landed on the duffel bag that held her favorite movies—the “go-to” flicks in times of emergency writer’s block. There was nothing, she found, like a good movie to bring her out of a slump, especially on a rainy day.

Her muse tapped her on the shoulder and she looked toward the ceiling as another floorboard creaked. Okay, maybe there were other things probably as good, maybe better, but that wasn’t the point. Mr. hunky green-eyed detective notwithstanding, a movie was a far safer choice.

Scaredy cat,
her muse mocked.

Kacey went through the bag, stacking each movie on the cabinet. What did she want? Maybe a light, romantic comedy? A lush, Victorian-set romance? Maybe a gritty medieval where the men were manly and the women succumbed…she paused as she came across the Karma Sutra video she’d forgotten she’d added.

That one!
That one!
Her muse nudged.

“
Somewhere in Time
it is,” Kacey said loud enough for her muse to hear. With any hope, that would stop the pestering.

Aww.
You’ve no sense of adventure.

“I’m plenty adventurous,” she muttered as she snapped in the DVD. Grabbing the afghan used earlier by her unexpected-yet-pleasing-to-the–eyes roomie, she wrapped it around her and curled up on the couch, snuggling under its soft warmth. The storm had brought a chill to the air and she considered whether to light a fire in the fireplace, but decided to try to focus on being inspired. A faint male, musky scent in the blanket’s fibers tickled her nose, causing those damn tingles to flair and smolder a flame of their own. She shoved the blanket around her waist, distancing herself from whatever fabulous scent the man wore. He was annoying, rude, arrogant, cocky….

Sexy.

“I didn’t say sexy.”

You said cocky.

“It’s not the same thing.”

I knew what direction you were heading.

Kacey squeezed her eyes shut. She had to get a grip. This was going to be a proverbial nightmare if she didn’t get a handle on her hormones.

She pointed the remote at the screen and increased the volume, hoping to drown out her muse and squelch the tingles.

She was so engrossed in the movie with its magnificent scenery on Mackinac Island and the determination of Christopher Reeve to return to his true love that she’d been unaware until now that the afternoon had slipped away and that, except for the credits running on the screen, she was sitting in darkness. She glanced away from the flickering screen and looked outside. It was pitch black. Only the tiny lights from cabins across the bay gave any indication that she wasn’t completely alone on the forested lodge property. An uncomfortable feeling skittered over her shoulders as she realized all of the blinds were open. Someone could be watching her from the dark shadows outside, and she would be none the wiser. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she inched toward the end of the couch, stretching to reach the lamp on the end table. A scream tore from her throat as she stared at the startled ghostly face looking back at her.

Dishes clattered to the floor, followed by a man’s curse as she swerved to look over her shoulder, realizing it was Zack’s face she’d seen in the reflection.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” He stared at her with all the respect of a raving lunatic. Okay, maybe she’d overreacted a bit. Imagination is a good thing in a writer…most days.

“I didn’t hear you sneak down the stairs.”

He frowned. “I didn’t
sneak
.” There was definite irritation attached to the last word.

“Then why didn’t you turn on a light?” She jabbed her finger at him as she stood to confront him.

“You were so into your movie, I didn’t want to disturb you. I concluded that you liked watching movies in the dark. I”--he tapped his chest, --“was only trying to be considerate.”

She snorted loudly to prove that she didn’t buy his attempt at being considerate for one minute.

Anger is attraction in reverse,
her muse whispered.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Kacey muttered and took a step, realizing too late that her feet were tangled in the afghan. She fell forward and smacked her cheek on the edge of the table just before she face-planted onto the rustic braided rug. In an instant, she was on her feet, Zack’s hands set firmly around her waist.

“Are you okay? Let me see.” He gently batted her hand away.

She swayed a little, telling herself that this wasn’t swooning--she was simply light-headed.

“You look a little pale. Have you eaten anything all day?” His large hands cupped her face as he studied her.

She felt foolish, awkward, but she couldn’t deny his chivalry was impressive. Short of dropping her arm over her forehead in Victorian fashion, she took advantage of her situation--albeit mildly--and leaned against his solid chest. Two seconds, what could it hurt?

His arm slid around her waist, holding her close. It was an idyllic moment, really, until she pressed her cheek against the rock-hard plane of his pecs.

Kacey pushed against him and stepped back, holding her face. “I think I’ve broken my jaw.”

“You’ve haven’t,” he replied, his demeanor calm, his tone equally so. It was unsettling. “Here, let me take a closer look.” His eyes all but twinkled as he lifted her chin to look at him. His thumb and forefinger ever-so-gently slid over her cheek. She watched his studious pursuit, her lips puckered under his intense scrutiny.

“It needs ice,” she mumbled, trying to maintain her decorum, glad that at least her muse was not currently bugging her.

Sorry. Busy.  In full swoon mode.

“Hush. I’ve had a few classes in emergency medicine.” It wasn’t fair that his voice was like melting butter over a hot biscuit.

He inspected her face for what seemed an eternity. “Are you about finished?” It was bad enough to have to stare into those deep forest-green eyes at close range

Speak for yourself,
her muse sighed.

“Looks like it needs ice.” He eased his hand away, but didn’t move.

Like the rest of me does,
her muse countered.

Kacey sighed and stepped around him, taking a few deep breaths to calm her wayward emotions. Her imagination wouldn’t let go so easily. The heat of his hand still warmed her skin; the touch of his hard body sent her muse into overdrive. She opened the freezer door and her heart sank. Reality sucked.

No ice cube trays. Therefore, no ice. “I need to call the restaurant and see if they have extra ice.”

“Why not go ahead and order dinner while we’re at it.” He stooped down to pick up the sandwich and plate that had scattered across the floor. He then leaned against the cabinet, crossing his arms over his great--make that his
really
great--chest.

“What a thoughtful idea.” Kacey found the number, wrote down her food choice, and handed him the list while she rummaged for something cold to put on her swelling jaw.

“That’s it? You sure you don’t want a salad or something?” he asked.

“I’m good, thanks.”

He shrugged, dialed, and placed the order to go, ordering whitefish chowder for her, and for him, steak, potato, salad, and a slice of fudge chocolate cake, which he offered to share. “They said about twenty-five minutes.” He glanced over his shoulder at the stack of her DVD’s. “What other movies have you got?” He meandered over and started sifting through them. She guessed his displeasure with each grunt or groan. “Is this all you have?”

“They’re for inspiration.” Kacey held a package of chilled lunchmeat against her cheek.

That’s sexy, Eau de bologna,
her muse scoffed.

She watched with interest as he flipped over a few more titles, perusing the descriptions and checking ratings, no doubt.

“Inspiration? Given what you write I was thinking more along the lines of—yes ma’am.” He held up a Karma Sutra instructional video. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

Promising night.

She smacked her muse upside the head--mentally, of course.

Hey, don’t hurt the messenger.

He held the DVD in his hand and gave her a wicked grin. “Do I dare ask if…?”

“No.”

His perfect eyes held hers. “Private collection?”

“Not part of my normal collection. It’s not plot-driven. It’s…” She lost track of her thoughts. Processed meat was beginning to permeate her brain.

He chuckled. “Yup, not plot-driven maybe, but definitely
driven.”

She tossed the bologna back in the fridge and leaned on the counter. “What did you hope to find,
Debbie Does Dallas
?”

His gaze snapped to hers, those green eyes fairly sparking.

“Forget it, and before you ask, you won’t find
X-Men
or
Jurassic Park
in there, either.”

“Then I’m stumped. How can you consider any of these—
Pride and Prejudice
,
Somewhere in Time
,
Legends of the Fall
….” He looked up, holding one up as an example. “Really?
Sabrina
? You call this inspiration for writing erotica?”

A knock on the front door saved her from throwing a nearby vase at his head. She started down the hall.

“I’ll answer that.” His big hands--amazing hands, really--fell on her shoulders and gently pushed her aside as he stepped around her and opened the door.

“Good evening, room service.”

Zack focused on the rolling cart of covered dishes and pulled out his wallet, ready to tip the young waiter.

“Excuse me, sir. I’ll just set this up inside.”

Surprise registered on his face, but Zack stepped aside. He wasn’t the only one surprised. Even if Zack hadn’t noticed, Kacey caught the hesitancy in the young man’s reaction to Zack answering the door. It was Andrew, the same young man who had put her groceries away the day before.