Highly Charged! (4 page)

While Nikki would make sure Chloe's wishes were honored, Chloe wouldn't want her to sacrifice her personal safety to fulfill that promise.

Brad Riddock would keep her safe. He was a one-man protective detail.

She trusted
that
completely. She just hoped she could trust herself around those sexy stares of his that came out of nowhere and lit up her insides like a Christmas tree. Between the postvandalism adrenaline, the physical exhaustion from all the work of the last week and the memories of what she'd seen of Brad through the branches of her locust tree five nights ago, Nikki didn't know how she'd begin to scavenge any distance from a man who'd slid past her barriers faster than anyone she'd ever known.

A
N HOUR LATER, FIST RAPPING
on Nikki's back door, Brad reminded himself that his reasons for sleeping over had been semi-altruistic. He genuinely wanted to keep her safe because he hated the idea of some redneck yahoo four-wheeling through her yard and destroying the property she'd been working so hard to restore. Someone obviously hoped to scare her, and Brad had a real problem with intimidation tactics deployed on single women in old, secluded houses.

So, damn it,
that's
why he was here tonight and not because his mouth watered at the sound of her bare feet padding along the hardwood to answer the door. Not because being with her overloaded his senses so much he wouldn't have room to replay worn-out nightmares.

The bolt slid free on the other side of the door and she opened it wide to admit him.

“Come on in.” She still wore the low-slung cotton shorts and white tank top she'd had on during dinner.

Of course. Duh. Could he help it if male fantasies had her answering the door in a lace negligee and high
heeled slippers? Or maybe dark stockings on her long legs and nothing else?

He really needed to get a grip.

“Thanks.” He edged past her into the kitchen where the only illumination came from a glass-front china cabinet with a lamp inside. “I would have been over sooner, but I had a few calls to return. My buddies are trying to talk me into a big beach shindig tomorrow night.”

But he'd already ear-marked that time for Nikki. He'd be here for as long—and as much—as she wanted him over the next two weeks.

Setting his bag on the floor near the cabinet, he noticed the books displayed inside.
Bedroom Lessons. Secret Games. Lies from the Backseat.
The covers were suggestive without being lewd. He'd read a couple of Chloe's novels shortly after he'd met his neighbor, just out of curiosity.

The rest of the house wasn't as well packaged as the books, though. The old farmhouse didn't have much furniture, and the pieces that were sitting in corners were covered with books and papers, boxes and piles of correspondence. But underneath the clutter, a fine structure lurked. The paneled wainscoting and polished, exposed ceiling beams were carefully crafted, still beautiful a hundred years after someone had taken the time to carve them.

“It's generous of you to do this in the first place. I'm sure you have other ways you'd rather be spending your downtime.” Nikki closed the door behind him, sealing them in the dark house. From a few rooms away, he could hear soft music playing—something with a jazz blues vibe. A shelf full of Russian nesting dolls hovered
precariously over old road signs proclaiming Farm Fresh Eggs and U-Pick. The sound of the dishwasher hummed nearby and Killer's nails clicked along the worn hardwood as the dog approached to greet him.

Had she even noticed she'd been dog-sitting all the time he'd been gone? The animal seemed right at home circling Nikki's feet and she'd already laid out bowls of food and water for him. She seemed to like taking care of people and creatures alike. Damn but he hoped she wasn't just being nice to him because he looked about as desperate as Killer had when the dog showed up on his doorstep last week.

“Not really. I'm supposed to be in physical therapy for my leg a few times a week, but mostly I'm just counting down the days until I can go back to work.”

Days he'd rather fill getting to know the sexy professor…who wanted to keep her distance. He bent to scratch the dog's ears while she waved him forward into a dim hallway.

“I put some sheets on a futon in the den.” She paused outside an archway across from the living room. Her eyes dipped south of the belt, and for a moment, he enjoyed a rush of pure male pride. Until her gaze kept going lower. Lower. “I noticed the bandages earlier. What exactly happened to your leg?”

So much for male pride.

The remembered sound of an explosion echoed between his ears. Light flashed behind his eyelids as he blinked away crap memories.

“Occupational hazard.”

Eyes wide, she reached forward as if to touch him and then pulled back fast.

“Didn't you say you work with explosives?” She kept her hand—the one that had been bold enough to reach for him—in a tight grip.

Had there been a lockdown on touching that he didn't know about? And didn't it suck that the only time she'd been tempted to reach out was when she saw him as another wounded cause? Frustration gnawed the back of his neck until he had to roll his shoulders to shove it aside.

“Not a big deal.” His injuries didn't compare to the rest of the damage done that day. Skin would grow back. “But I'm not at liberty to discuss the details.”

That wasn't one hundred percent accurate, but it gave him the ability to opt out of the discussion. He strode past her toward the room she'd pointed out.

A sturdy armoire stood sentinel in one corner, surrounded by stacks of old travelogues and picture books of Italy. An antique roll-top desk was likewise hidden by paperwork piled on the floor. It was tough to weed through the belongings to tell what was Nikki's and what would have been Chloe's. He kept an eye out for clues to the lady professor's personality, curious about what made her tick.

“It sounds like a dangerous line of work.” She remained in the archway, keeping her distance. “Is that why I haven't seen you around before now? Were you deployed?”

“I'm on the second leg of back-to-back tours in Iraq. I've got four months left once I return.” He dropped into a chair near the armoire—a straight-back that looked as if it came from a dining room set. Two others that matched it were strewn around the room amid the books
and a hodgepodge of furnishings. “A buddy of mine— Joe Staley—checks on my house every couple of weeks, but other than that, you wouldn't see anyone around. How long have you been here?”

“Back when Chloe was alive, I visited during the summers and at the holidays. Since her death, I received keys to the property from the probate court six weeks ago, but between selling my condo and moving in stages, I've only been here for the last two.”

“That's how long I've been home.” He stood up again to pull one of the other chairs closer. They were the only seating options in the room besides the futon that was made up like a bed. “Have a seat. You must be exhausted after everything you did today.”

She looked from him to the chair. He'd seen people eyeball IEDs with less trepidation. How could a woman who dismantled buildings with such zest turn so damn cautious when it came to him?

“Maybe for a minute.” She strode into the den, taking the route that would keep her farthest from the makeshift bed as she made her way toward the sturdy ladder-back with its blue velvet cushion. “I don't want to keep you from sleeping.”

“I don't need much sack time.” Strike that. He would gladly submit to an abundance of sack time if it involved sharing his bed. It was
sleep
he didn't need. But he felt pretty sure she would only get flustered by the distinction. “I'm a night owl by nature.”

“Me, too. Even tonight when I'm tired, I'll stay up and think about all I have to do tomorrow.” She settled into the chair across from him and he wished he'd placed it closer to his.

He had no idea when or how he'd make his first move with her, but now that he sat near her in this big, echoing house he realized more than ever that he wanted her. The scent of her shampoo teased his nose, clean and floral.

“The curse of ambition.”

“More like obsession.” She seemed to relax a little now that they were seated across from one another. Her shoulders sagged against the heavy ladder-back. “I'm determined to restore the house to honor Chloe's memory. She really helped inspire women, writing openly and honestly about her passions, not omitting any of the messy parts. It's difficult for writers to be so personally vulnerable. Her fans love her for the risks she took, both with the erotica and with her journals.”

“So she inspired you, too. Are you writing a memoir?” He refrained from mentioning how amenable he'd be to helping her write erotica. He had at least twenty scene ideas in mind. Most involved rolling around with her on that futon so close he could practically touch it. But any scenario that put her naked and under him would be worth commemorating in print.

“No. At least, not yet. I just want to pay her back for the help she gave me as a struggling graduate student. I would have never published my dissertation or even finished the degree program if it wasn't for Chloe's help. I was really floundering when I found her. I owe her my whole teaching career.”

He waited for a moment, in case she decided to add in a confidential whisper that she was working on an erotica project when she wasn't busy overhauling the old house.

No such admission seemed forthcoming.

“So you've spent the last couple of weeks making plans for renovating the house and turning it into something that her fans will enjoy,” he said finally.

“Yes.” She folded her arms, the action drawing his attention to high, round breasts that deserved a whole chapter, if and when they got around to penning a joint sexy memoir that chronicled their soon-to-be affair. “I've been working on the house plans and starting on the grounds—”

Her mouth snapped shut suddenly. Strangely. As if she'd said too much and wanted to stop herself. Of course, that was ridiculous since they'd been in the middle of an innocuous conversation about how she'd spent the last couple of weeks working around the property.

“So what else have you been doing in the yard?” It wasn't just small talk. He wanted to know. Big changes were in order here, and he was curious about the end results.

More than that, he was curious about her. He'd never talk her into that affair if he didn't get to know her better.

“Um.” She straightened, the veneer of relaxation gone. “Just pulling up some weeds and mowing down the brush.” She jumped up out of her chair. “Can I get you a drink?”

“No, thank you.” He rose as well, wondering why she'd turned edgy all of the sudden. Had he allowed his explicit thoughts about her to show in his expression? “Is everything okay?”

“Sure—yes,” she blurted awkwardly. “Fine. Perhaps I'll get a drink for me.”

He steadied her shoulders, just to keep her in place a moment longer.

“Does it make you nervous, having me here?” he asked. His heart thudded low and hard at the feel of her against his fingertips.

He meant to release her—and he would in a moment—but he had the distinct impression she'd bolt the second he let go.

It seemed an odd reaction when they'd already been together most of the day. She hadn't been this jumpy when they'd sat across the dinner table from each other.

“Not at all.” She seemed to realize how ridiculous that sounded when she was poised for flight, because she took a deep breath and quit edging toward the kitchen. “Okay, maybe a little nervous.”

His hands fell away. Maybe it would be tougher than he'd bargained to work his way into her favor anytime soon.

“I must have really read this wrong.” He took a step back, not wanting to intimidate her. “Because even though I only offered to come here tonight to keep you safe, I have to admit I thought there was a connection between us earlier today.”

Speechless, she shook her head, dark hair dusting her shoulders. Was she mute with horror at the prospect? Or simply denying she'd felt any such thing? This was going downhill in a hurry.

“When we shook hands this morning,” he continued, hating that he had to explain it to her when it had been plain as day to him, “I could have sworn there was a moment—”

“I know.” She backed up a step, as well, and he felt like crap for making her feel that was necessary. “I felt it, too.”

Her words eased some of the sting, at least.

“So you know what I'm talking about?”

“Yes. But that's what makes me nervous. I'm not in a position to indulge those feelings right now. And if anything, I felt it all the more this morning because—technically—it wasn't the first time I'd seen you.”

She held herself very still, yet Brad could have sworn she shook. Rattled, really. Her whole body seemed to vibrate with a kind of nervous energy as she held herself rigidly away from him. He went from worried to angry. He hadn't done anything inappropriate. Had given her no reason to appear so damn anxious.

“What do you mean?”

“I have something to confess, and I'm not proud of it.”

When he said nothing, she cleared her throat.

“I was clipping the hedges between our houses earlier this week and I saw you then.”

“That's not much of a confession.” He was missing something here.

Two bright spots of color burned on her cheeks.

“I saw you mostly naked.”

 

M
AYBE SHE SHOULDN'T HAVE
admitted it.

The temperature in the room rose from chilly to tropical in about a second and a half. It was as if someone had suddenly cranked the thermostat. The atmosphere between them crackled with awareness.

It was lucky he was trained to deal with explosives
since she felt like the tension was going to detonate inside her any moment.

“Brad?” She sounded uncertain to her own ears.

“Where did you see me
mostly
naked?” His voice was throaty and low. Dangerous.

Sexual?

She wasn't sure. Her heart fluttered nervously in her chest. Being with him alone had been a bad idea. He was too much of a test of her restraint. And after a long, trying year of being at Chloe's side to the end, then fighting the relatives to ensure Chloe's wishes were honored, she just didn't have the emotional resources to hold strong in the face of such blatant temptation.

She'd always wanted to test out her wild and impulsive side—a side buried so damn deep she wouldn't think she even had one except that she'd been drawn to the beautiful erotica she'd written her dissertation on even before she'd met Chloe and formed a friendship with her. But once she and Chloe had grown close, Chloe liked to tease her that she just hadn't found the right guy to explore her erotic side with… And why did those conversations come roaring back to her right now when she needed to address Brad's question?