Brazen & Burning. Julie Leto
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she knew she couldn’t, “when women go wrong, men go right after them.”
Sydney raised her nightshirt over her head as she headed toward her shower, reveling in the cool blast of air tingling over her suddenly heated skin. “I hope you’re right, Mae. I sure as hell hope you’re right.”
2
ADAM BRODY STRETCHED his arms over his head, working the kinks out of the muscles in his shoulders. He twisted his neck side to side, comforted by the resounding snap, crackle and pop. Damn, it felt good to move like this. Even the tug of the long scar that stretched from his lower back to his skull didn’t stab like a razor anymore. Only mild discomfort. A small price to pay.
After one last glance at the raging noon sun sizzling his skin wherever the rays broke through the canopy of camphor trees and water oaks, Adam returned his attention to the plans laid out on his ramshackle workbench—an old back door balanced on wooden saw-horses. He grabbed a nail and his hammer, then squinted at the pencil drawings, concentrating on the next step in his creation. He did his best to ignore the anger that surged whenever he had to use the majority of his brain power do something so basic as mark the next step in building a child’s custom playhouse.
“Adam!”
His sister’s call from the back porch effectively destroyed his tenuous concentration. He looked up, fighting his annoyance for one reason only. If not for Renée, he wouldn’t be here, working in the sun, making himself useful. He’d probably still be in rehab, fighting his physical therapists and doctors, raging against the broken bones and ripped muscles that refused to obey his commands. He owed her so much.
So why did he still harbor resentment?
He had no idea, and his brain still hurt too much to work it out.
“Yeah?” he answered.
“Someone just came through the front gate. Do you see a car?” Renée lifted her hands, caked with something white. Could be either flour or paint, but whatever it was, she didn’t want any visitors seeing her in such a mess.
Adam grinned. Women.
He walked a few paces to the side of the old log cabin his father had built with his own hands forty years ago and had left to them both after his death. Before Adam’s accident, Renée had used the property during the weekdays, mainly for her business, while he had commandeered the place on weekends for fishing excursions with his buddies. After the accident, Renée had insisted they both live there full-time, certain the serene setting would aid his recovery. Off the beaten path in a still-undeveloped section of Florida’s Hernando County, Adam and Renée didn’t receive many unexpected visitors. The occasional developer came by, looking to purchase the thirty acres they owned on Lake Simpson, fed by the tributaries of Homosassa Springs. A fisherman might wander in, looking for a place to lower his johnboat into the water and catch some large-mouthed bass. A stray tourist occasionally got lost on the winding dirt roads that led to this untouched paradise.
But this visitor looked completely out of place. Developers knew to drive a truck or four-wheel-drive vehicle when maneuvering through the spongy terrain in this part of the wilderness. And while tourists might make an error in judgment by taking their minivans and station wagons off the paved roads, no fisherman he knew pulled a johnboat with a shiny, candy-apple-red Corvette convertible.
And no fisherman he knew had long flaming red hair that caught the sunlight and reflected back copper fire. When the driver, distinctly female, stopped in front of the cabin, a swirling cloud of dry Florida dirt shielded his view of her. Adam dropped his hammer on the workbench and grabbed the dark blue bandanna he’d shoved into his back pocket.
By the time he’d marched to the front of the house, the dust had settled. The driver checked her face in the vanity mirror, though why, Adam had no clue. Even from twenty feet, he could tell she was perfect. Creamy skin. Glossy red lips. Dangling gold earrings that, like her auburn hair, captured and reflected the light from the sun. This woman was beautiful—and totally out of her element in the Florida boonies.
When she spotted him, she grinned. Adam stopped. Did she know him? The smile was too small to tell. He immediately glanced down at his shirtless chest and low-slung jeans. The woman’s expression might have been subtle, but he recognized predatory when he saw it.
She got out of the car and walked around the front end wearing a slim pair of white-washed jeans, a tiny, ribbed tank top beneath a fluttery, sheer blouse and death-defying high-heeled sandals. No doubt the look of the hunter now darkened his face, as well.
Grrrr.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“Well, that depends,” the woman said. She leaned against the hood of her car just over the right front wheel, her hips moving just enough to draw his attention to the gentle flare of her lower body, encased in denim, but begging for the exploration of his hands. Her eyes, green as the pine trees swaying in the gentle lake breeze, grabbed the fire from her hair and sparked her irises with intentions he couldn’t yet read. But he knew she was up to no good. This woman had bad girl written all over her. And by the tilt of her grin, she knew it.
He wiped the sweat off his palms. “You lost?”
A flash of confusion, clear from a quick downturn of her lips, dimmed her potent sensuality, but only momentarily. Whatever she thought she didn’t understand, she obviously decided to ignore it. “No, actually, I’m found. Well, you’re found. You aren’t an easy man to track down, you know.”
A string of curses shot through Adam’s brain, but he’d at least learned to keep the frustration contained. She knew him, likely from his former life in Tampa, but he didn’t know her. The situation happened less and less often now that he’d accepted that his old life didn’t fit him so well anymore.
Out here near Homosassa Springs, he had a few visitors from time to time, mainly friends and neighbors he’d known since childhood. They were people whose relationship with him had hardly been touched by the accident, who could hang out for an entire afternoon playing football without mentioning the tragedy one single time. People he trusted.
And even in the ninety-degree afternoon sun, this woman looked cool as ice. Sure, a little perspiration moistened her skin from her upper lip to the concave of flesh between her breasts, but everything else about her shouted “cool operator.”
Any minute now, he expected a protective barrier to rise around him, to provide quick immunity to the woman’s undeniable appeal. He waited, but no such wall emerged. Maybe he was done gating himself off from the unknown. Maybe he’d become more his old self than he had wanted to see before today.
She smiled.
He smiled back.
“I didn’t know anyone was looking for me,” he said.
She bounced off the hood and closed the distance between them in several long, purposeful strides. She wasn’t tall by any means—the top of her head barely reached his chin—but her slender build and go-get-’em attitude nearly made him take a step back.
Nearly, but not quite.
When she slid her fingertips over the ridge of his collarbone, he nearly bolted out of his skin.
Nearly, but not quite.
Holding still while she stroked his flesh proved tougher than some of the exercises he’d done in rehab. A new layer of perspiration coated his skin. And a certain part of his anatomy didn’t cooperate in his quest to remain unaffected by her bold, exploratory touch. He glanced down, hoping his loose jeans would keep that telltale sign of his attraction from her view.
When he looked up, he watched her brazenly retrace the path of his gaze. His hardness sparked a flare in her smile.
“Oh, so you are happy to see me. I shouldn’t have taken so long to track you down.”
He could tell she was trying to hide the regret in her voice with her loaded innuendo and her naughty glimpse of his crotch. She might have