Blazing Midsummer Nights. Leslie Kelly
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people at the party, many of them milling around outside the back door, and he was going to have to go through all of them. Great. Wonderful. Note to self—don’t go out shirtless and shoeless unless you know you can get back in.
He reached for the key, but before he could take it, something caught his attention. Or, rather, someone.
He whistled. “Who is she?” he mumbled, not even realizing he’d said it out loud.
There were a lot of women here. Attractive women. The South definitely had its share of them. But this one actually made him forget where he was and what he was saying. He could only stand there, staring, as she walked toward the screened-in porch.
With her back to the decorated lawn and woods, she was almost haloed by the thousands of tiny lights. She looked like some kind of magical creature stepping out of a storybook, and he had to blink a few times to rid his mind of the imagery.
He could shake off the magic, but no amount of blinking could change the fact that she was stunning. Or that she looked like she belonged to the night—to nature and the woods and everything mystical.
The woman was tall. Her silky dress was long and shimmery, the color of soft, springy moss, and it clung to a curvy body that would make a man drop to his knees and howl. Her thick hair fell down her back in a tumble of waves and was a mixture of earthy colors—mostly red, but with some gold and brown strewn in there as well. He couldn’t make out her features in this lighting and from this distance, but he saw a mouth curved up into a smile.
He’d thought earlier how hot it was for a summer night. But he hadn’t even understood the meaning of the word until he’d spied her across the party. Because a blast of heat had hit him square in the chest just watching her cross the lawn.
“That’s Mimi Burdette.” His landlady smiled, her gaze shifting back and forth between him and the redhead, who’d disappeared into the screened porch. “Would you like me to introduce you when you come back?”
Oh, hell to the yeah. But something made him ask, “Is she here alone?”
“She’s single,” the woman replied without hesitation. “Totally available.”
Hard to believe, but everybody had a down spell now and then. “Interesting,” he said, more to himself than to Anna.
He hadn’t even been thinking about meeting a woman; the idea of romance was so far down on his list it wasn’t on the first page. New job, new home, new state, fresh start—yeah, that was his focus. Having nothing left in Chicago, he’d moved south, determined to make sure he did what he’d promised his parents he’d do before they’d both died last year—go out and start over somewhere new. Find a life for himself. One that didn’t include sadness and loss and family responsibilities that had kept him close to home for nearly all of his thirty years.
Hell, maybe a woman could be part of that new life. Just because he hadn’t been looking didn’t mean he should walk the other way if an interesting one crossed his path. And an interesting one had most definitely just crossed his path.
“Mimi, huh?” The name was too cute for such a sensual-looking woman and he had to wonder if it was a nickname.
“She’s fabulous,” Anna gushed. “Daughter to a grocery store magnate. Very wealthy and successful.”
Oh, great. Just the type of woman he did not need. He stiffened, unable to help it.
It wasn’t that he didn’t like rich people. He made it a point to never judge anyone based on their checkbook balance, be it written in red ink or in black. It was just that, working as a Chicago firefighter, he had met more than a few wealthy women who wanted to walk on the wild side with somebody who had a dangerous job. He’d once participated in a bachelor auction to benefit a kids’ charity. The Junior League set had treated all the men like meat in a butcher shop. The sixtyish cougar who’d bought a date with him hadn’t quite reached the level of sexual assault, but she’d come close, and he’d sworn he’d never date a woman with money. Rich, spoiled and young probably wasn’t too much different from rich, spoiled and old. So forget her.
“Thanks, but I don’t think so,” he said, disappointment flooding him. Anna’s brow shot up, and confusion creased her brow. Not wanting to explain, Xander added, “And thanks for the key. I’ll return it soon.”
“Okay, see you in a little while.” Then, clearing her throat, Anna added, “Remember, through the screen porch, to the small, old-fashioned door in the far left corner.”
Left? Yeesh. Good thing she’d repeated herself— he’d been thinking right. Or, more accurately, he hadn’t been thinking right … not since he’d spied that stunning figure in green.
Xander nodded, then headed for the porch. There were at least a dozen people inside. He didn’t see a reddish head, but he probably would once he stepped into the shadowy alcove. Despite having decided that some rich Southern belle whose looks clawed at his guts wasn’t on his shortlist of people to meet, he couldn’t deny he wanted to see her close up. Mainly he wanted to see her eyes. Were they green, the same mossy shade as her dress? Or a rich amber-brown?
Or maybe they’re pinched, cold, bloodshot.
That would probably be a good thing. Because then he would see she wasn’t as attractive as he imagined, but just a normal, rich, bored, jaded young woman. Not some magical fantasy creature spun out of summer moonlight.
As it turned out, though, he didn’t get the chance to see her up close. Because, as he made his way across the screened porch, he realized she wasn’t inside. She must have slipped back out when he wasn’t looking.
Smiling and nodding at the several people who said hello, he headed for the back left corner. The door was tiny, as Anna had warned, and was nearly hidden by a large, potted plant. Sliding the key into the old-fashioned lock, he entered, seeing a small, dark passage before him.
Inside, clothes hung in front of his face—more felt than seen, since it was so dark. He must have hung up more things than he’d remembered, because the closet was more full than he’d expected. Of course, it could just seem that way because he was coming in from this side angle.
He pushed past his things, noting the soft, delicate scent in the air. Whoever had rented this place before him must have left behind some sachet or air freshener—his clothes sure didn’t smell like the flowery stuff that filled his every breath.
Reaching the doors that led to his new bedroom, he saw one was slightly ajar, and that the room beyond was well-lit. Strange. He didn’t remember putting a bulb in the new lamp he’d picked up for his bedside table.
He had just put up his hand to push the door the rest of the way open, when he heard a voice.
“Soft and pretty, sultry and sexy or hot and raunchy?”
He froze. That voice had come from his bedroom, and he knew damn well he hadn’t even hooked up a TV or radio, much less left it turned on.
“What’s it going to take to turn you on?”
Sexy voices of strange women standing in my bedroom would be his first answer. Though, why said strange woman would be in his bedroom, he had no idea. Had a pair of guests crept inside, thinking to slip into what had been an empty unit until earlier today, to grab a midparty quickie?
“Do you like what you see?” she purred.
He waited for a male voice to answer, but heard nothing. Miss Purrs-A-Lot was either talking to herself, or the guy she was with had been struck mute while he tried to decide between pretty, sexy or raunchy.
Frankly, so had Xander. All he could wonder was if there was an option D, for “all of the above.”
Well, he’d also been struck mute by the realization that he was playing the role of voyeur in this sexy drama.
“I somehow suspect you’ll like pretty and soft, not sexy,” she said, her voice a little