Incidental Contact (Those Devilish De Marco Men) (5 page)

He managed to cross the road, but a woman bumped into him. He looked away to mutter an apology. The stranger smiled and cooed. Goddammit, was it a full moon? Eric stepped around her, annoyed by the delay.

Scanning the busy parking lot, he felt a trickle of concern.
Where the fuck could she go? I have her keys.
Relief swamped him when he spied her dark head, popping up between her car and the vehicle next to the Honda. “Amy, dammit, what’s wrong? I’m sorry if you’re upset because I kissed you.”

“Duh. I figured out why. The hairdresser, right? We had this talk already. Don’t bullshit me, Eric. I know I’m not sexy.” She swallowed hard. “I mean, lying was sweet and all, but I know I’m not your type. I’m not any man’s type.”

He skidded to a halt at her bumper. Shame warmed his chest at the way he’d used her. She wasn’t unsexy so much as unkempt. “What’s wrong, Amy?”

She tipped her head back. The way she kept swallowing set alarms off in his brain.
Don’t fucking cry.
Her voice cracked. “I said I know I’m not sexy. But right now, I’m wondering if Drew ever thought so. I mean, we just broke up three weeks ago. How the hell is he already engaged?”

Oh, shit
. No matter how boyishly she dressed, he feared she was warming up to throw a good hissy-fit. Those ridiculous sleeves slipped past her hands again. Eric felt no wind. The sun had gone down, but the neon fabric was so bright, he could see her shaking.

She dropped her head and scrubbed one sleeve past her nose. The glinting trails of her tears were all he could see, thanks to her bangs. He had to listen closely to make out her words. “When he s-started talking about m-marriage, I knew I wasn’t ready. He b-believes things I can’t accept. So I moved out. I thought he’d miss me enough to ch-change.”

“Listen, Amy. Here’s a secret. Men don’t really change for women. We just make y’all think we do so we get la—” He shut his mouth, but it really bugged him to see Amy so upset over a guy who’d talk marriage to two women inside two months.

He didn’t do commitment, but he knew when the concept was being done wrong.

Could he show Amy how to feel sexy?
Hell, yes.
She needed someone to boost her confidence and well, feminize her a bit. He needed... he wasn’t sure what he needed, besides to keep the vultures at bay, but there didn’t seem to be a downside to Amy. She didn’t yap about the kind of girl shit that made his eyes glaze over. She wasn’t mean, she sure wasn’t dumb, and the rest of his family liked her. Hadn’t she just said she wasn’t ready to get married?

So, fuck it, rebounds were his specialty. Some things a man couldn’t outrun.

“Listen, Amy. Sexy is in your mind. I like to think in terms of cars, so bear with me, okay?” Getting a small nod, he soldiered on. “You’re a Jeep Wrangler. Sporty. Not a delicate piece of machinery that’s gonna break down if it happens to hit some rough road. Some guys want cars they have to baby and beg to start. Not me. I like reliable cars, ones you can count on, day in and day out.”

Please, God, stop crying over that asshole.
“You are sexy, or you could be if you tried a little. But the thing stopping people from seeing that isn’t your looks or even the clothes you wear.
You
don’t think you’re sexy. A woman who knows to the bone she’s sexy gives off a vibe that makes men turn around to look twice, no matter what size or shape she is. Sex appeal is all attitude, babe. We just gotta show you how to drop the top on that Jeep and let ‘er rip.”

Goddammit, he didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him tonight. He was acting like Dee, going from interested male to big brother in one breath. She just stood there, looking so fucking lost, his heart ached. He needed a topic change, before he talked himself into a corner. Yeah, Colton, especially, wasn’t gonna like what he was thinking. Anything that might upset Lila set his baby brother off.

“Why can’t you stay at your parents’ place?” Her dad worked in town, so it wasn’t like she was an out-of-state student who got evicted from her dorm for partying too hard. She didn’t seem like the partying type. Hell, her branch of the state university didn’t even have dorms. He began inching along the side of her car.

Letting her suffer alone felt wrong.

“I can if I have to. But after I moved in with Drew, they downsized to a tiny condo. My parents love each other, but their normal means of communication is sniping. I’d have to sleep on the couch, listening to them squabble like four-year-olds.” Her voice became a wail. “I need a place I can study. And when I referee, I like to get paid.”

Amy’s dad was the Athletic Director for Parks and Recreation. He’d been instrumental in getting Jonah on a baseball team last spring, after Eric’s sister Sarah had been killed in an L.A. carjacking and her thirteen-year-old son had come to live with Colton. Her dad must make decent money, so there was only one reason Eric could think of to buy a cracker-box home. The place had to be in a high-class neighborhood. His instincts about Amy had been right. She was the poster child for middle-class respectability.

Still, living so close to his brothers, he could relate to her need to get away from her family. He’d had the same craving at her age.
Don’t say it. Don’t fucking say it. Turn around. Get in your truck. Go home.

Instead, he thought about all the time she’d spent helping Jonah and cheering up Lila. She was a nice person. He couldn’t let her sleep in her car.
Yes, I can. Let her go home to Mommy and Daddy. No skin off my ass where she sleeps.
But something kept his feet moving in her direction.

He reached her side. The shining trails on her cheeks eroded his willpower like battery acid. She had cute cheeks, round and full, the sort of cheeks that should be pink from laughter, not red from crying in the cold over some jerk. “There’s a bed in my loft nobody’s using. Full bath up there, too. You’re welcome to the space for as long as you need.”

She’s over twenty-one and I don’t answer to Dan or Colton. I sure as hell don’t answer to Lila.
He took a deep breath. “And if you’ll let me, I’ll teach you to feel sexy, goddammit.”

Her expression was as bleak as the weather. “Yeah? Then you’re a better teacher than I’ll ever be.”

D
espite the long drive from town, Amy’s thoughts were still reeling when she pulled into Eric’s driveway. She’d never been this far down the private lane his family lived on. They were easily a quarter-mile past Lila’s driveway.

Unsure whether to turn off her car and get out, or find reverse and leave, she watched him swing one long leg out of his truck. The white flakes swirling in the beam of her headlights made her decision more urgent. If the snow amounted to more than flurries, she could be stranded here. 

She’d had ample opportunity to turn in some other direction.

So, why am I here?

Because I really, really need to feel... wanted.

Lights on the porch flared to life. The black sconces lit amber logs, interspersed with creamy plaster. The porch spanned the front of the cabin. She couldn’t see through the windows, but both ends of the home had rock chimneys.

She’d never lived anywhere with a fireplace.

Eric made an about-face, jogging down the stairs. Her heartbeat ricocheted inside her chest. His long legs covered the distance from the porch to her car so quickly, she didn’t have time to think up an excuse to leave. Besides, where could she go but to the oversized closet her parents called home?

She stared through her windshield, watching Eric round the front of her car. Pulling her door wide, he held out a hand, stooping to peer inside. “Looks like the weatherman missed. Snow came early. Let’s get you inside.” His smile made her tummy flip, but when he touched her shoulder, she jumped. “Relax, Amy. You look like you think I’m gonna rip your clothes off and throw you over my shoulder.”

Yeah, right. Okay, this is Eric. I know him. He doesn’t attack women. Apparently, all he has to do is kiss them twice and they follow him anywhere.
She turned off the ignition.

“Do you have a bag or do you let all your clothes run loose in the back?”

This time her laugh was more genuine. “I have a duffle with the essentials.” She hefted the rucksack out of the passenger-side floorboard and handed her burden to him, so she could grab the bag holding her books and laptop. Putting one foot on the asphalt drive took courage she hadn’t thought she possessed, but Eric reached for her hand again, helping her from the car. He didn’t let go of her hand. His gesture was almost funny. Did he think she might bolt into the woods? Two steps up the stone path, he gave her fingers a comforting squeeze.

She’d expected a college-boy-gone-wild look, at best. The place was hardly what she’d call ‘decorated’, but the meager furnishings surprised her. A massive leather couch, deep enough for two people to lie side-by-side, faced an adorable, red-enameled wood stove seated on a tall hearth. There wasn’t a recliner in sight. The tables were utilitarian boxes, filled with small drawers, like cabinets out of an old print shop. Not a single beer can rested on the thick, metal-clad slabs serving as tops. The space beneath the stairs was filled with built-in drawers and cubbyholes. Matching doors leaned against the nearby wall, waiting to be installed.

The only item in the room she could’ve guessed correctly was the massive, flat-panel television. No neon beer signs glared at her. Not a single, greasy car part obstructed the tawny ceramic floor tiles. Pendulum lights in the kitchen looked like something reclaimed from an old factory. The thick glass covers had turn-of-the-century charm.

“Wow, this is nice.” Worried she sounded like she expected him to live in a ratty trailer, she added, “Cozy, I mean. Look at all the drawers.”

“Yeah, I like to tinker, so I collect lots of small parts. I’m afraid there aren’t any drawers upstairs. I was gonna put a pool table up there. I can rustle you up some trunks for your stuff tomorrow. We’ve got some real oldies, the kind with hanging space and drawers. It’ll just take a minute to get the fire going. I heat with wood. You wanna go upstairs and drop your stuff?”

He brushed aside her bangs. His touch sent that disconcerting jolt through her again, causing her to take a step back.

Being here made having sex a possibility. But, being rejected was the more likely possibility, one she didn’t think she could handle. She wasn’t sure what “sexy lessons” might entail. Maybe he had a rubric.

“I need to dig some clothes out of my trunk,” she admitted, squeezing the words past a tight throat.

“Flashlights are in the top drawer.” He gestured toward the staircase. She could tell from his smile she wouldn’t be able to reach the drawer he meant. “I might have a step stool you can use.” His grin made the buzz in her core crank up a notch.

All this sexual tension had to go. Besides, she was likely the only one experiencing these jagged little thrills. He was just trying to boost her confidence because she’d broken down and whined. She had to dial back, or risk being humiliated later, when he’d say there was no lab to go along with his lessons. “Fuck you, Honey Bee. Can’t you just hand me one with working batteries?”

He looked injured. “They all have working batteries, thank you very much. Here,”—he slung her duffle over her shoulder—“put your stuff in the loft. Let me start the fire.”

See, he’s just acting like a big brother.

He let his hand slide down her arm. “Then, we’ll see about your first demand.”

Okay, not like a big brother.
Confused as hell, she skirted the sofa. Running up the stairs, she prayed the loft wasn’t where he stored those greasy car parts.

On the top step, Amy froze, gazing around. A single bed was tucked into an alcove. A quilt made from dark blue and white calico, tufted with thick red twine, covered the mattress. Shelves had been set into the wall on both ends of the bed. A pair of cone-shaped light fixtures mounted over the bed flared to life when she flipped the switch, casting a bright glow.
What a great place to curl up and study.
The charming nook appeared so serene and restful, her doubts began to recede.

Though the lack of walls was disconcerting, she didn’t think it was possible to see into the loft from the ground floor. Worn out from weeks spent sleeping on an uncomfortable sofa, she resolved to make this work.

She tossed her bags on the bed and tiptoed to peer over the railing. Eric knelt before the hearth, chunking lengths of split wood into the stove. With the touch of a long lighter, he lit the fire before looking up. “I put a chicken pie in the oven. Is that okay?”

“Did Cynda make it?” She wrinkled her nose. “Lila puts mushrooms in hers.”

He smiled like someone handed him beaters dripping with chocolate icing. “Hell, no. Grams made it.”

Grams was Cynda’s grandmother. Her chicken pie was worthy of a medal. Amy nearly salivated. Her tummy gave a growl. “How long till that’s ready?” She was torn between starting her studies and going downstairs to be sociable.
Ha! Sociable.

Temperatures had been below thirty all week. If those pretty white flakes kept falling, businesses and schools—especially schools—would close till the weather improved. Her tummy seemed to jackknife over the railing.

He straightened. “Maybe twenty more minutes. My microwave died. I haven’t gotten around to buying a new one yet. The floors down here have radiant heat. In case you get hungry at night and the fire’s gone out, your feet won’t freeze. Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll have the chill knocked off the place.” He moved to the staircase. She could hear him rummage in a drawer while she plugged her laptop and phone in to charge. She set her alarm clock on the shelf and tossed her toothbrush, toothpaste, and comb onto the shelf below.

Unpacked, there was nothing left to do, other than go downstairs. Besides, she needed to dig clothes for the next day out of her trunk. What could she wear to talk to the mall guy? Her referee’s uniform would work. She didn’t need a damn dress for that.

He waved a flashlight when she reached the ground floor. “Here ya go.”