Twelve times by the age of twenty-seven seemed sad as hell. But she hadn’t been able to trust anyone—not at first, not for a long time. Not at, say, sixteen or seventeen, when the few friends she had were engaging in clandestine activities shewantedto engage in.
Her father had never touched her in that way, but he’d nonetheless messed her up.
The expression on Campbell’s face in the storage shed replayed in full color. It wasn’t the first time a man had looked at her like that and walked away. Sex was just sex. Feelings, emotions, thepast—those were the baggage most men didn’t want to handle. They just wanted to get laid.
So, she'd been alone. Mostly.
Daydreaming for the fourth time in an hour, she was caught off guard by the laughter. She realized she was falling when Campbell and Kit stepped into the room, wide smiles stretching across two remarkably similar faces. As the ladder tilted, every seductive, whispered story Fontana had ever heardabout Promise’s whiz-kid photographer rushed through her mind.
Instead of worrying about cement floors and broken bones, all she could think was:Were they true?
A muscular arm slipped around her waist, palm flattening over her stomach. Jerked against a solid chest, she didn’t have time to complain about the camera lenses digging into her hip. A masculine scent hit her nostrils; a hot breath streaked past her ear. Fontana glanced back, Campbell glanced down. Their gazes collided in reluctant awareness.
The memory of his mouth covering hers exploded like a flashbulb, a bright, white light of memory between them.
She wondered if she was lost, and she wondered if he knew.
“What the hell are you doing?” He pushed her away with a gentle, two-handed shove. “Standing on this piece of junk?”
“A donation.” She wrapped her fingers around a paint-chipped rung, more to steady herself than to defend the shoddiest ladder she’d ever seen. “From Mr. Bekins, I think. We had a garage clean-up party last month. Guess that’s where it came from.”
“That old fool.” Campbell reached for the camera bag he’d dropped, his gaze never once leaving her as he gestured to Kit with a dip of his chin. “Can you haul this thing out of here? Put it wherever the garbage pile is. Watch out for splinters. And be careful not to pinch your fingers when you close it.”
“Don’t worry.” Kit jumped into action, flashing a crooked smile as his braces gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the window. “I can handle it.”
Fontana threw up her arm. “Now wait a minute.”
Kit skidded to a halt, rising onto the tips of his high-tops. Glancing between them, he groaned, “Aw, man.”
Campbell crossed to the battered yellow phone on the wall, furiously punching in numbers. When he saw Kit stillstanding there, he flicked his wrist in a sharp gesture of command, then added a wink to seal the deal.
It worked as well as a swift kick to the boy’s hindquarters.
“Sorry, Tana,” Kit said, unwinding her fingers from the wooden slat before dragging the shuddering ladder out the door.
“South Carolina. Promise.” Campbell wedged the phone between his shoulder and cheek, pulled a toothpick from his pocket, and stuck it between his even, white teeth. “Casey’s Feed and Hardware. Thanks. Yes, connect.”
Fontana strode over and poked him in the shoulder as hard as she could. He waved her away with the same autocratic wrist command he'd used on Kit.Of all the damned nerve,she fumed, her temper rising.
“Hello. Is Mr. Casey in the store?” Campbell shifted the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other, his gorgeous lips clenching. Oh, how she wanted to ignore him. Instead her traitorous belly got hot and tight. “Retired, huh? Hilton Head? Good for him. Hmm, it is nice. I did a shoot there, about four years ago.” He hummed a reply. “Listen, I need a delivery today, if you can manage it. One—no, make it two—ladders brought over to the children’s center. You know, the old dentist’s office on First and Elm? Charge it to the True account.”
Fontana moved to the window, fighting the urge to rip the phone from his hand. His sugary, I’m-talking-to-a-female tone reminded her that he seduced women as effortlessly as he sliced a loaf of bread.
And with just as little thought.
Constantly thinking about their kiss over the past week—dreaming about it, if she were being honest—had to make her the world’s biggest idiot.
“Oh, you were? Sorry I missed you. So many faces in the crowd.” Campbell paused, exhaling sharply, his flirtatioustone fading into the dust and sunlight. “Yeah, it was a good hit. Been a long time. Hmm? I’m sure I’ll see you at Timmy’s soon.” He frowned, pressing his lips together. “Tonight? Maybe. Alright. Thanks, we’ll be expecting them.”
He hung up the phone and untangled the cord, the camera around his neck bouncing against his hip with the movement. A minute, maybe two, passed, irritation and an absurd sense of possessiveness pulsing just behind Fontana’s temples. She ran a hand over her eyes.Boy, a fierce headache was coming on strong.
She tilted her head just enough to see him. Leaning against the wall, toothpick dangling, jeans riding low, he looked the part.Anypart. Sweetening the deal, his cool regard drifted the length of her, lazy but thorough. His hands couldn’t have created more heat.
“Any thanks, Quinn,” he finally murmured, “for saving your tight little bottom from a bruising?”
“Thanks?” She snorted, scraping a piece of dried caulk from the windowpane with more force than necessary. “When I made it possible for you to sniff out another eager sexual partner? Seems to me I should be getting the thanks. Or a tip. Like a pimp.”
His rough burst of laughter echoed in the empty space. “Fine, Hellcat, I’m game. Got any ideas?” he asked, placing his camera into the leather satchel and shrugging off his jacket.
