Knees buckling, Fontana slid down the wall. Face mashed into the pillow, she registered the sound of a ticking clock, a bird chirping outside her window, the slam of her front door.
A steady inhalation held to a count of seven. Release. Repeat.
The dizziness would pass. The nausea, too. This exercise had served her well in childhood, hiding in a darkened closet. Only, her father wasn’t looking for her with liquor on his breath and bible scriptures on his tongue.
This time her fear stemmed from wondering if she’d let someone wonderful walk away.
chapter
twelve
Jeremy–Pearl Jam
HANNAH
Consideringthe gossip floating around town, Hannah Quinn was prepared for just about anything—except the sight of the guy who had her sister’s steel-lined panties in a twist peering into a steaming pot on the stove, a daisy dishtowel tucked into the back of his faded Levi’s.
Leaning in the doorway, she dug a stick of Juicy Fruit from her pocket and eyed him.
Well-preserved for a thirty-something, gigolo photographer, she decided, chewing. No gross bald spot on top of his head or rolls of fat creeping over the sides of his pants. The ass cheek not covered by the ratty towel? Pretty tight.
If he had all his teeth, she’d use her limited influence to convince Tana to keep him.
Trying to sort the local buzz from the meager scraps of info her sister had tossed her way, Hannah forgot about her gum and, according to her dorm roommates and Art Historyprofessor, her most annoying habit. The sharp crack had Campbell True spinning around, ladle extended like a sword.
With a gusty exhalation, his arm dropped to his side as a rusty-red drop hit the floor between his bare feet.
“Hot damn,” she breathed, her gum slipping to the back of her throat. Either her sister was blind, or she was lying through her teeth. Okay-looking, herMama. He washot. Dark hair on the shaggy side, a shade past six feet, killer brown eyes, and cheekbones she’d sell her sweet little soul for. And, to push cute to the extreme, he had a dab of pasta sauce on his nose.
Why the heck was her sister dicking around withthisliving next door? If Hannah hadn’t pleaded a headache when Tana invited her to go to the library, her sister would have shipped her back to school without a glimpse of Mr. Wonderful.
Forcing a weak smile, Campbell yanked the dishtowel from his waistband and slapped it on the counter. Hannah wasn’t a mindreader, but the jelly had clearly been sucked from his donut. She’d seen the split-second flash of pleasure whip across his face. She grinned, popping her gum to the front of her mouth for a satisfying smack.Interesting.
“You thought I was Fontana, didn’t you? I’m Hannah, her sister, in case she failed to mention she has one. We look alike. Same hair, same nose.” She plopped into a chair at the kitchen table—a mint-green horror Celia bought last year—and propped her feet on the rung. “Lucky her, she got my mother’s build. Metabolism of a teenage boy, legs for days. Me? I glance at a milkshake, and my jeans cry.”
“Um...you seem”—he made a lazy circle with the ladle—“thin to me.”
She stretched out her legs and inspected her toenails. More orange than red. Not great, but it would do. “I appreciate the effort. I know discussing a woman’s weight is basically surgery without anesthesia for guys.”
Campbell glanced helplessly at his ladle, as if it might have answers.
Hannah folded her legs beneath her, wishing Celia’s fancy chairs were more comfortable. “Go ahead, finish cooking. I have to be home before Tana gets back. She’d lock me up studying day and night if she could. I know, I know—gotta keep the scholarship. But once she realizes I’m really, truly going to be an artist and not some money-grubbing accountant or whatever, she’ll freak. An easel leads straight to the poorhouse, she says.”
Her sister’s potential infatuation blinked. Opened his mouth. Closed it. Then finally said, “I think I blacked out somewhere between ‘scholarship’ and ‘money-grubbing accountant’.”
Hannah laughed, delighted. Funnyandhot, a dangerous combination. “I just wanted to meet the neighbor. Chat a little. Kit’s long-lost brother. Local celeb.”
“I’m not actually a celeb?—”
“Best Promise’s got, so enjoy it.” She waved away his protest. “Anyway, if you have pictures of stars in compromising situations, I’d love a peek. Mr. Palmer, the dry-cleaning guy, said you and Naomi Campbell had a fling last winter in Aspen, which is, like, the most exciting gossip I’ve ever heard in person. In mylife.”
Campbell stilled and glanced over his shoulder. Steam-curled the glossy hair curling over his brow and swirling around his ear. Hooking the ladle on the edge of the pot, he turned, leaning against the counter. He had cat-colored eyes, now that she’d had a second to look. Tawny gold and brown. She’d try to recreate the exact hue on canvas later. This guy could go on the cover of a romance novel or something.
“That the kind of garbage they’re spreading in town? I don’t even know her.” He frowned, somehow making grumpy look good. “I shoot landscapes mostly, not people.”
Popping her gum, Hannah drummed her fingers on the table. “There areloadsof stories. A hot weekend with Madonna after she dumped Sean Penn. Jane Fonda sneaking into your apartment in Atlanta—if you know what I mean. Which, personally, I don’t, because she’s old enough to be your mother.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, and that chick who dates Hugh Grant? Heard you almost married her.”
He smiled, dimples pinging both cheeks, finally finding the fun in the situation. “Liz Hurley.”
