He couldnt figure her out.
She was awfully bright for a batty woman.
She cooked better than a professional chef. Had more business pots going-the land, the house, the greenhouses, her herb and flower business-than any one person could normally take care of. She seemed to be emotionally and financially thriving on all that chaos, even if she did choose to dress like an old-fashioned spinster. She also seemed to make a point of acting as if she were witless, goofy, one of those fragile women whod swoon if life put any stress on them.
As far as he could tell, she loved stress.
Most confusing of all, though, those soft eyes were studying him-then shying away-as if she were a young girl unfamiliar with the chemical pull between the sexes. Shed been married, for heavens sakes. Shed surely had a hundred men react to her before. Besides which, he knew perfectly well when he sent off interested signals to a woman.
He was interested. Hell, she was sensual to her fingertips, complicated in personality and character, and hed always liked complicated woman. But he needed to seriously work with her, and the instant they met, he picked up her wariness of him. So hed sent out no signals, no vibes. He knew he hadnt. And he sure as hell wouldnt go near a woman when she made it clear she wasnt in the market for attention-at least not from him.
But damn. She was a handful of fascination.
Another raindrop plopped on his forehead. Then another.
From one breath to the next, a meandering drizzle suddenly turned into a noisy deluge. Skinny needles pelted down, warm and wet. He climbed to his feet quickly enough, but before he could scoop up the sleeping bag, he heard a warning growl of thunderfollowed by a breathtaking crack of lightning that seemed to split open the sky.
Abruptly her back screen door slammed open. Damn it! Get in here!
For a second he had to grin, lightning or no lightning. Unquestionably the screech came from his delicate flower of a hostess. The one with the vintage clothes and the fluttery hands who made out as if stringing a whole thought in a single sentence was a difficult challenge for her.
A yard light slapped on. Ms. Violet-harridan- Campbell showed up on the porch steps, barefoot, her tank and boxer shorts looking distinctly unvintage-like. In fact, her boobs looked poured into that tank, making him pause for another moment in sheer respectful appreciation.
Have you lost your mind? Thats lightning, for Gods sake! Didnt you hear the storm coming? I kept waiting and waiting for you to come inside, but obviously youve been living in France too long. In America, we know enough to get out of the rain.
Im coming-
By the time you get around to coming in, well both be electrocuted. Look. I may not have welcomed the idea of your sleeping in the house-for Gods sake, I dont know you. But a storm is a storm, for Petes sake.
Petes sake, Gods sake Im getting confused whose sake is involved here-
Lachlan! Move your butt!
Well, hed been planning on it, but while she was screaming at him, she was also getting rained on. Which meant that tank and boxers were getting wet. And so was that long silvery curtain of blond hair.
Maybe he was thirty-seven, but he hoped to hell he never got so mature he failed to appreciate a beautiful woman. Particularly a beautiful woman whose attributes were outlined delectably between the yard light and the rain and the lightning.
On the other hand, being electrocuted posed a threat to his long-term ability to appreciate much of anything, so he hustled to the door just behind her. The instant she opened the screen, four cats seemed to leap from nowhere, determined to cut inline. And then, in the blink of a second, her yard light went out.
There goes the power, she muttered.
It was his instinct to take charge, especially when a woman was in trouble. He couldnt help it. It was how hed been raised-not by his absentee father, but by his mom, whod expected even small kids to step up when there was a problem. Hed never minded. He liked stepping up. But in this case, the image Violet projected of being scatterbrained and helpless was-he was coming to understand-totally misleading.
She moved around in the dark, apparently gathering up candles-not the pretty decorative candles she had strewn all over the place but the practical, no-drippers she apparently stashed for no-power circumstances like this.
The back door opened off her kitchen, where she lit two and put them on the oak table, then kept going. She put one lit candle into a hurricane lamp, placing it in the bathroom off the kitchen, then carried more into the living room.
The living room, hed noticed before, seemed to be part of the original farmhouse. In the dark, a guy could kill himself on all the stuff, but basically it was one of those long narrow rooms, with long narrow windows, requiring a long narrow couch. Shed done it all in roses and pinks-in case anyone could conceivably doubt she was female to the bone. Wade past the estrogen, though, and there was a massive old-fashioned brick hearth-big enough to roast a boar or two-where she lit four more candles.
Better? she asked.
Better? she asked.
Can practically see well enough to read, he said mildly, although that wasnt exactly true. No matter how many fat white candles she lit, they didnt lighten the shadows. Mostly they lit up her. Eyes darker than secrets flashed up to his face, but he didnt think she really noticed him. She was too frazzled to think. Too frazzled to notice how that damp, stretchy red tank top was cupping her breasts.
I cant guarantee well have light or water before morning, she said unhappily.
Well, hell. I expected you to shut off that storm and restore the power immediately. Whats wrong with you?
Hed thought to lighten her up. It didnt seem to work. I meanIm not sure the toilets will work.
Inconvenient for sure, but more for you than me. If I have to step behind a tree before morning, I can probably cope.
Im afraid theres no phone.
Damn. There goes another opportunity to make friends by calling people after midnight.
Lachlan. Would you quit being so damn nice!
He didnt get it. She seemed to be chasing around, lighting more candles for no particular reason that he could fathom. It was the middle of the night. So there was a storm. It was a sturdy house, nothing threatened by a little thunder and lightning.
And accusing him of being nice was a low blow. No self-respecting male liked to think of himself as nice. Yeah, hed offered to sleep outside and made a point of communicating that he was a here-today-gone-tomorrow kind of guy, but that was just so she wouldnt be afraid of his coming on to her. It wasnt because he wanted her to think he was nice. Sheesh, how insulting could she get?
You want me to drive into town? Is that why youre upset, because you feel stuck with me under your roof? he asked. Theres just no reason to get your liver in an uproar. If Im a problem for you, Ill just take off, go find a hotel or motel-
Oh, dont be ridiculous, she said crossly. Youre not taking off cross-country in the middle of the night in a thunderstorm. I never heard of anything so stupid.
Well, hell. Somehow he had to find some way to communicate with her a hell of a lot better than they were doing so far. They hadnt even started to do serious business, yet he seemed to invoke some kind of strange response from her. She was running on froth and emotional fumes. He needed her straight and coherent.
So he snagged her arm when she tried to go flying by-God knew where she was sprinting off to this time, but apparently her goal was to find more candles, even though the living room already looked like a witchs lair. She went stark still the instant his hand closed on her wrist.
What are you doing? she asked. She didnt shout it. Or whisper. Onlyasked.
He felt her pulse gallop. Felt the warmth of her skin. Felt her gaze shoot to his face as if compelled by their sudden closeness. Im confused whats going on here. Are you afraid of storms?
No. Heavens. I grew up here. We get blizzards in winter, thunderstorms in summer. Vermonters are sturdy people. Actually, I love the rain.
Typical for her, she offered a lot of talk but very little information. So its just me, then? Im doing something to make you nervous?
Im not nervous. Im always goofy, she assured him. Ask anyone.
He struggled not to laugh. If hed laughed, of course, she would have diverted him from the problem. Which made him wonder if that was why she came across so scatterbrained-because it was such an effective defense for her. I dont want to ask anyone. Youre right here, Im asking you. If you want me out of here, Ill leave. Just say the word.
She still hadnt seemed to breathe, although his hand had immediately dropped from her wrist. Youre staying. As long as you dont mind staying with a batty woman.
Youre not batty.
You dont know me. I know me. And if I say Im batty, I should know.
God. It was like trying to reason with a cotton puff. Only she wasnt a cotton puff. In all that flickering candlelight her hair was drying, looking like silky silver. The pulse in her throat was beating hard. Her skin, her mouth, defined softness. And her eyesshe was still meeting his eyes. There was nothing goofy there, just the awareness between a man and a woman that carried enough heat to melt the Arctic.
He had no intention of kissing her. Maybe she was just figuring out the chemistry, but hed known it since he first laid eyes on her. There was no explaining what drew a man and woman together-particularly when the two people were as contrarily opposite as they seemed to be-but Cameron didnt sweat problems he couldnt solve. When there was heat, there was heat. You didnt lie about it. You didnt pretend. You just faced the truth, whatever it was.
And the truth was, he didnt care if there was a combustible furnace of chemistry between them, he wasnt going to kiss her.
Yet suddenly he was.
He wanted to blame it on the moonlightonly there was none. In the dark candlelit room, with the growl of thunder and hiss of rain just outside, there seemed nothing alive but her and him. Nothing he could smell but her soft skin, the flower scents drifting from her hair, her throat. Nothing he could hear but the pounding of his own heart, in anticipation.