All Fired Up (Stardust) (3 page)

Wow, was that cute, or what?

Slo’s breath snagged on the intake. He felt a suspicious warm flutter deep down inside – deep and low – very unexpected, but not exactly unwelcome. Maybe some wolfish devil had possessed him, the hungry spirit of a Don Juan or Casanova – or maybe it was just the surprisingly enticing sight of her standing there all sweet and quivery like a freshly steamed plum pudding waiting for the hard sauce – but he had an incorrigible urge to move closer and touch her. Young and innocent suddenly seemed kind of…well, interesting.

“Um, no, I haven’t had that pleasure yet,” he answered Sam. With a provocative, predatory stride, he advanced on the quarry.

“Slo Larkin, this is Roxanne Sinclair. Roxy, meet Slo,” Sam said with a merciless grin at them both.

Slo never saw the grin. He was too busy giving one of his own to Roxanne – one of his best, the grin that curled toes, melted underwear, and flattened feminine resistance like a steamroller.

“Always nice to see a new face in town. Especially a face as nice as yours.” He offered her his hand.

She refused to take it.

Undaunted, Slo took her hand instead.

Then dropped it. Quickly.

Whoa, she was trembling. And hot – you could fry eggs on her. Either the poor kid had a bad case of malaria, or he had carried his little tease a little too far. She wasn’t just nervous, she was terrified. Of him. Great, just great. Boy, was he ever proud of himself.
This
was why he didn’t mess with virgins.

“Roxy’s minding the shop while Jil’s away. Did you hear Jil got married?… Yeah, and Evangeline Allen, too. That was something, wasn’t it?… Husband’s name is Harper Rourke…” Sam’s voice droned on and on, making small talk, filling the air of the shop – air that pulsed with undercurrents of electrical tension.

Slo listened no closer than politeness required, answered the questions with as few words as possible. He was far more aware of the one who was
not
speaking – the blue-eyed baby doll who stood backed against the old-fashioned counter. Her gaze kept darting to his, then away, as though the mere sight of him scorched her. She was quivering and sizzling like a lit fuse.

What a waste, all that energy squandered on stress.

There was dynamite in that baby doll. Someone someday was going to have one hell of a hot time lighting it. Some lucky guy was going to get himself an armful of fiery delight.

Too bad that guy couldn’t be him.

Enough, Larkin! You’ve come, you’ve seen, you’ve conquered. Now quit playing Big Bad Wolf. Leave Little Red Riding Hood alone and go bother Grandma.

“Well, um, I guess I’d better be gettin’ back to the house.” Slo turned toward the exit.

Sam stopped him. “So soon? You just got here, man.”

“Yeah, sorry. I wasn’t planning on staying. Gran’s got dinner waiting.” Smashed green tomatoes, with cantaloupe pulp for dessert – Slo could hardly wait. “I just thought I’d drop by for a minute to say hi and, um, meet your cousin.” He gave Roxanne an apologetic nod. “Newcomers are kind of an attraction in this town, in case you hadn’t noticed yet.”

But then you’d be an attraction anywhere, wouldn’t you, baby?

Slo knew he hadn’t spoken the thought aloud – but to see Roxanne, you might almost have guessed he had. Flushed and flustered, she turned her back on him, snatched up a rag, and began frantically dusting the counter, working her way down its length, wiping and polishing with a vengeance.

Damn, but it
was
cute how easily she blushed. There was something irresistible about this kid, something naive and seductive in the same breath. Sweet heat. A dangerous temptation. He was starting to imagine other things he could do to make her blush. Sultry, steamy, intimate things…

With effort, Slo shoved the lewd images out of his head. Roxanne had just reached the counter’s end, which sat opposite the door to the studio, and would probably be bolting through that open door any moment now. And he had better take himself and his evil mind out the other door before he disgraced himself. This little girl was getting to him – and she was too damn young. Too shy, too sensitive, too—

He stiffened and stared as his gaze fell through the doorway behind her and landed on a large canvas propped against two easels in the center of the studio. An incredible painting of an incredible figure.

Help me, Lord…

She was gut-gripping glorious, that’s what she was!

His pulse pounded, his stomach did a back flip, his jeans suddenly shrank. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Roxanne snap upright and drop her dust cloth, but he had more immediate concerns. Blood was morphing into molten lava. Something volcanic was about to erupt. Him. He could swear he smelled smoke. Mumbling a hasty, haphazard goodbye, he turned and beat a rocky retreat out the street door and down the sidewalk.

A flurry of wild stamping sounded from the shop behind him, but he didn’t dare turn around to investigate. Maybe Sam had taken up flamenco dancing. Why not? It seemed like something Sam might do.

-------

Sam was dancing, in fact. But more along the lines of an energetic soft-shoe, or perhaps some Irish clogging. Sam was doing it to extinguish the genuine fire that erupted seconds before Slo made his escape. Roxanne’s dust cloth had burst into flames the instant it hit the floor.

Singing “There’ll Be a Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight,” Sam crossed the shop, maneuvered Roxanne aside, and executed a neat shuffle-step as he stomped out the blaze in rhythm to the old tune.

He flashed his shaky cousin an upbeat grin. “All things considered, I think that little meet-and-greet went pretty well. How about you?”

“I think that man better stay far away from me,” she said on a ragged breath. “He’d better keep his distance or this whole town could go up in smoke!”

Sam heaved a longsuffering sigh and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Roxy, that is the wrong attitude. Slo lives in Houston, and he
likes
it there. He hates Star and never sticks around for long, but while he’s here, he’s your neighbor. You need to view this as a learning experience, because you’re not going to be able to avoid him.”

“Yes, I can. I’ll go out to the ranch until he’s gone. I’ll stay with Harper and Evangeline.”

“I’m sure they’d love to have you, but it won’t solve anything. Slo always visits Evangeline when he’s home. She’s one of the few people in the area he actually enjoys talking to.”

“Then I…I’ll…”

“You will stay here and face this.” Sam gave her shoulders a squeeze. “There’s
nothing
wrong with you, hon. You’re an attractive, intelligent woman with a powerful ability. If you’ll stop being so frightened of that power, I think you can conquer it.”

“I
can’t
.” Her voice came out like the scratch of sandpaper. “I’ve
never
been able to control it. I’m a human flamethrower! That’s why my father locked me away in a nuthouse – because I am too
dangerous
to be allowed loose.”

Chapter 3

Bong, bong, bong…

Twelve times the church chimes struck, sounding hollow and reproachful, like a warning from heaven. But Slo ignored it.

Was he spying?

Nah, it couldn’t be spying if he just happened to be sitting in his grandmother’s recliner by the side window, and that window just happened to offer a panoramic view of the Jones’s place next door.

His grandmother herself had long since turned in. She hadn’t kept chickens in years, but still went to bed with them, figuratively speaking – rose and set with the sun, along with the rest of the town. Chalk up another black mark against Star, another annoying conflict of interest. Slo Larkin was a night owl.

So was Roxanne Sinclair apparently. Not too many people watered their garden at midnight – while soaking wet. Roxanne was wet because she was periodically turning the hose around and watering herself as well. Not that Slo was complaining. If she liked her clothes plastered against her like a second skin, who was he to argue? He just thought it was kind of curious is all. A definite attention grabber, but—

Aw shit, it was friggin’ weird.

Unless… Maybe she knew she had an audience – him – and was putting on a deliberate show? Maybe Miss Innocent wasn’t as innocent as he’d thought?

Slo angled the recliner back a notch and closed his eyes. He’d have to consider this very carefully for a minute – without any visual distractions. Like the winner of the wet T-shirt contest across the way. That was distraction with a capital D. Or a double D perhaps? Could you describe a female by her bra size if she wasn’t wearing one?

The recliner snapped upright with a jolt. This wasn’t working. He couldn’t make a clear decision just sitting here and thinking. Hell, he couldn’t think clearly anyway – hadn’t been able to think, period, since he’d left the shop. There was only one way to get to the bottom of this.

Her
bottom, Slo was seriously hoping as he stood up and headed for the door. It was an indecent, animalistic hope, and he knew it. Pure lust and nothing to be proud of. But nothing he could avoid either. Maybe it was this town that brought out the worst in him. He’d been a near juvenile delinquent when he’d lived here – a wild, angry kid on a motorcycle – Star’s bad boy, Slo Larkin. He’d carried the title “rebel without a cause” to new heights. Or lows, depending on your perspective.

But whatever the reason, the Bad Boy had it big and bad now. He had it hot and heavy. He was burning alive. He
had
to know if the one who’d started the blaze felt its heat, too.

He mapped out a game plan en route through the door. He’d make plenty of noise on his way over, give her plenty of warning. If she bolted at his approach – if she truly was just a flustered kid – he’d have to leave her alone. He wasn’t
that
bad. But if she didn’t…

Well, that would imply Foxy Roxy didn’t really
want
to be left alone.

-------

All Roxanne had wanted was to sleep in the bathtub, to spend the night surrounded by nice, cool,
uninflammable
water. But the house had only one tub, and it had been commandeered for historical research.

Kneeling by the tub with their sleeves rolled up, supposedly, and armed with an impressive array of bath toys (including a rubber ducky that went “squawk” when you squeezed it), Admiral Nelson and Admiral Byrd were studiously trying to recreate the sinking of the Spanish Armada. However, since neither gentleman had actually participated in that famous event, there was a good deal of bickering going on over the details. Aunt Lydia had taken a chair into the bathroom to watch them and referee the debate.

It had to be Aunt Lydia, of course, because Lydia was the only one who could see and hear Admirals Nelson and Byrd in the first place. They were two of her ever-expanding entourage of invisible visitors.

Dainty and agelessly lovely, Lydia Jones was an adorable woman, but certifiably crazy. Everyone knew this, but no one cared because she was always so sweet and cheerful, always the life of the party – as opposed to her guests, who were usually dead or those who’d never lived at all. In her younger years, Lydia had been a popular novelist and a devoted mother – raising seven children while writing dozens of romances – all of which may have helped push her over the edge. Now she lived in a fantasy world peopled by characters from the pages of history and classic literature. She was quite wacky, but also quite harmless.

Which is more than anyone can say about
me
, Roxanne thought morbidly. The night’s naval battle had left her with no options save the downstairs’ shower stall, the kitchen sink, or the garden hose. And the latter allowed the most freedom of movement.

Granted, the yard was a bit public, but at this late hour she figured it would be safe enough from prying eyes. There was rarely any traffic on the street after midnight; all the neighbors went to bed long before then. Mrs. Dixon definitely did, and since her grandson had been raised in Star, he was probably on the same schedule. A person’s internal biorhythm clock wouldn’t change just because they’d moved to the city, would it? It was like that old adage Faye Goodman had quoted the other day: “You can take the boy out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the boy.”

Not that there seemed to be anything “country” about Slo Larkin. Come to think of it, there wasn’t anything boyish about him either. Which was why Roxanne was standing in the yard, hosing herself down – because he was a dangerously attractive Man, and she couldn’t
stop
thinking about him. He aroused needs she had repressed for years. Normal needs for a normal woman – romance, love, someone to build a life with – but she wasn’t normal and couldn’t have a romantic relationship with anyone. Least of all him. She wanted a quiet life in a quiet town, and Slo didn’t. He was bad news any way you sliced him.

She glanced at the small gray house next door. All quiet. All dark. If he wasn’t asleep, at least the uncanny connection between them had finally fizzled out. Short-circuited from overload? A fire that hot couldn’t burn forever.