Flirtation. Samantha Hunter
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actually. This one is almost fifteen years old, and we have to make sure we don’t let it take over the yard.”
“Oh. We?” she asked vaguely, still looking into his handsome face. His mouth was firm and straight—he had nice, manly lips, not too full, but a perfect complement to his slightly sharpened cheekbones, tanned skin and sandy hair. Spontaneously combusting from the inside out, she wondered what he would taste like.
“Well, it’s just me now. I used to work out here with my mother quite a bit, but she moved shortly after my father died.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear you lost your father.”
“Thanks, but it’s been years. Mom’s seeing someone new, even.”
“Oh.” He was so close his scent permeated her space—ginger, moss and earthy, delicious man—and she closed her eyes, letting it envelop her.
“Are you okay?”
Her eyes flew open quickly—she’d completely forgotten herself. My God, the man had her in a swoon! She almost giggled, feeling uncharacteristically light, excited, and buzzing like one of the bees on the flowers.
“I’m fine. I was just getting a good vibe, is all.”
“You’re from New England.”
“Yes, New Hampshire.”
“It’s beautiful there. I like your accent.”
She laughed then, forgetting how different she sounded here until someone mentioned it. “Thanks. New England is great, but I like it much better here. I like the sun and the warmth.”
As if on cue, her face flushed once more when he stroked a thumb absently—or purposefully—over her palm before letting her fingers go. His eyes had darkened a shade to the most stunning jade she’d ever seen. None of this seemed real, including EJ.
“Let me wash up and we can get to know each other a little. You did bring your cards?”
“Oh, yes, they’re in my bag.”
“Let’s go inside. I’m looking forward to this.”
Charlotte thought, following behind as he led the way, that saying she felt the same way would be a radical understatement.
EJ HAD RARELY been rendered speechless in his lifetime, but he was just glad he’d been able to get his wits about him as quickly as he did. When he’d heard the soft female voice speak to him and turned to find her standing there, he’d almost fallen from the ladder.
He wasn’t expecting her early, and he wasn’t expecting…he wasn’t sure. To feel so bowled over, maybe. But the real Charlotte was very different than the pictures in her file. She packed a wallop up close.
The image of her standing, looking up at him on the ladder, was burnt into his mind. If he’d known how beautiful she was, their online chat would have brought him to his knees. Baby-soft looking blond curls flew everywhere in charming disarray, framing what could only be described as an angelic face, with a petite nose, doe-brown eyes, and petal-pink lips that had him sweating with the effort to stem his body’s visceral response.
But it was too late—he could imagine that sweet, moist mouth wrapped around him, sending him skyrocketing into pleasure. He adjusted his gardening belt to hide the result of that momentary flight of fancy.
Charlotte was petite, the top of her head only coming to his mid-chest, but she wasn’t slight or dainty—supple and lush were probably better terms. She wore no makeup that he could see, no stockings, and just a simple silver chain around her wrist. He wondered what she wore under that dress, if anything.
The light yellow shift didn’t accentuate her curves, but hugged her breasts and butt enticingly as he slowed down and let her move ahead of him. Those huge brown eyes took in everything, thanking him quietly when he held the door for her and let her in the back door, to the kitchen. She wore thick, chunky sandals, and her toenails were painted with clear polish. She looked…earthy. Sensual, but innocent.
But EJ knew she wasn’t. Even if she wasn’t a thief, she was connected to the scam somehow. And how she’d talked to him about his sex life indicated she was far from inexperienced and pure—though that didn’t make it easier to calm his reactions. It would be to her benefit to look innocent, seductive—he had to remember she was on the make. And he was fighting the urge to be a willing victim. Hell, she hadn’t needed to rob people online—if she’d met those men in person, they probably would gladly give her anything she wanted.
Which made him wonder what she wanted, what she liked.
Trying to sound casual, he poured her a glass of lemonade and excused himself to change. He hoped to find some shred of self-control in the process.
“I’ll just be a minute,” he said, smiling as he handed her the glass. “Make yourself comfortable, feel free to look around.”
Leaving before she could even acknowledge him, he took a deep breath and hopped the stairs two at a time to his room. Ducking into a quick, rinsing shower, he dried off and found a clean pair of pants and a decent shirt. He hoped Charlotte did show herself around.
He wanted to make himself an irresistible target, to sweeten the pot so that she couldn’t resist. He’d even left a checkbook—not his real one, of course—sitting innocuously on the counter, waiting for inquiring eyes to investigate and perhaps memorize his account number. Baiting the trap.
When he hit the bottom of the stairs, his stomach clenched nonetheless when he saw her holding his grandmother’s music box.
“It’s an antique from the 1800s. My grandfather had it made for my grandmother for their wedding, and it is passed on when each son or daughter marries. It will go to my sister, Grace, if she ever decides to marry, and if not, to my wife. Should I ever marry, as well.”
She smiled, setting it down carefully. “It’s gorgeous. It must be so nice to have that kind of family history, things that are passed down from one person to another.”
“Doesn’t your family pass things down?”
He felt a little stab of guilt saying that, knowing what he knew about her past—there’d been no family, let alone family heirlooms for Charlotte Gerard—but he wasn’t supposed to know that. After a slight shadow passed over her face, she brightened again.
“No, not before. I didn’t know my parents. But for me, maybe in the future there will be children, if the situation is right. And I’d love to have things to pass along, though nothing this beautiful, I’m sure.”
He stepped closer, reaching down to touch the smooth mahogany box and looking at her reassuringly. “It’s not about the price of the item. It’s about who had it before. That’s what makes heirlooms important. Every time I play this, I think of my grandmother. And I remember how my grandfather loved her.”
Charlotte was gazing up at him with every hopeful thought shining in her eyes, and she looked like the least likely thief he’d ever met. Clearing his throat, a bit unsettled at the open adoration in her expression, he gestured to the table.
“Do you still want to do a reading for me?”
“Absolutely.”
Was that light in her eyes due to the undeniable sexual attraction between them or excitement over finding such easy pickings? EJ smiled, walking closely by her side and trying to remember she was a suspect, even though her sexy scent was criminal in an entirely different way.
“Do you have any preference where you read?”
She shrugged. “Not really. A table is nice, and if I can get a north-facing chair, even better, but I read cards just about anywhere.”
EJ opted not to ask about the north-facing chair issue but showed her to the sunny kitchen table and watched her sit, leaning over to retrieve the cards from her bag, and he couldn’t stop himself from admiring the generous cleavage the move