No Strings Attached (9 page)

Bree was already seated when Jen arrived. She’d grabbed two comfortable leather chairs in the corner. She’d angled them to face each other for privacy. Their drinks sat on a side table. They took turns buying.

Bree was all smiles. “I booked the Abner-Jacobs wedding,” she said. “After a month of my sending faxes and proposals to the bride, Genevieve Jacobs picked Petals over Saunders’ Bouquets. I finally beat the competition.”

Jen raised her plastic cup and the women toasted. “That’s major money coming your way.”

“I’m going to hire extra help,” Bree said. “It’s a society wedding, very classic and sophisticated. The church theme is lavender and ivory. The reception will showcase a deeper plum and dove white.”

“Best news ever,” Jen said, then added tongue-in-cheek. “Looks like Flower School paid off.”

“I owe you a lot,” said Bree. “The Floral Design Institute was your idea. Knowing how much I enjoyed pruning plants and arranging cut flowers, you pushed me toward a degree. You even filled out my application. And, once I was accepted, you drove me to Miami in time for the start of classes.”

“And now look how successful you’ve become.”

“I love working at Petals, but someday I want my own shop.”

“Growth is good,” Jen agreed. “You’re going big-time.”

“Speaking of big-time,” Bree said, lowering her voice. “I heard Dune and Mac are in town.”

Jen nodded. “They arrived on Tuesday.” It was now Thursday. “Mac stopped in Three Shirts today. He was headed for
Tide One On
and bought a change of clothes.”

Bree took a long sip of her Frappuccino, then made a face when she got brain freeze. “How’s he doing?” she asked.

Jen shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

Bree shifted on her chair, looked uneasy. “I made a huge mistake with Mac,” she slowly admitted.

“How so?” from Jen.

“We went out twice and, by our second date, I got ahead of myself. Three orgasms in an hour, and I told him I loved him.”

“That was lust talking.”

“It freaked Mac out. He was dressed and gone in under a minute.”

“You were angry afterward.”

“I regretted my actions,” said Bree. “I went ballistic on the man and said some pretty mean things.”

That she had. Words such as
irresponsible, unpredictable,
and
egotistical
crossed Jen’s mind.

Bree finished her drink and said, “Every woman should experience a Mac James in her lifetime. Looking back, I can honestly say he’s likeable, fun, and looks amazing naked.”

Looks amazing naked
. More than Jen needed to know.

“Henry’s my world now,” said Bree.

Henry was her man and soon-to-be fiancé. They’d dated a year and were comfortable, compatible, and inseparable. He’d be picking Bree up shortly. They’d have dinner together.

Jen would go home to her cats.

“I found a dress for the Sneaker Ball,” Bree said. “It’s pale blue, low cut with a swing skirt. My tennis shoes are bright orange.”

Jen nodded, turned quiet, not wanting to discuss the Ball further. She had nothing to contribute.

Bree picked up on her mood. “You and Shaye put the event together. Tickets are nearly sold out. Where’s your excitement?”

She couldn’t hide much from her friend, so she came clean. “Stan broke up with me this morning. No date.”

Bree’s eyes went wide. “No way.”

“Mac James was in the shop when it all went down.”

Bree scrunched her nose. “How embarrassing.”

“Definitely humiliating,” Jen agreed. “He felt sorry for me and extended a pity invite.”

“I hope you accepted.”

Jen
almost
wished she had. She now had second thoughts. “I can have a good time without a date.”

“Ah, sweetie, it just won’t be the same.”

Which Jen knew. She’d be alone, greeting the partygoers with a pasted-on smile. Men would be charitable and offer her a courtesy fast dance. It was the slow songs that made a woman want to press her body against the right man. The night was very romantic. There’d be no romance for her this year.

“Can you contact Mac and tell him you’ve changed your mind?” Bree asked.

“He’s already moved on,” Jen said. “He met Kami on the booze cruise. She’s more his type.”

Bree wasn’t giving up. “What about Bill Landers, the new lifeguard?”

Jen shook her head. “He’s into Violet. She packs him a sack lunch from the diner each day.”

Bree went down a long list of men and Jen dismissed each one. She ended with, “How about Chase Wallace?”

“He’s a senior in high school and madly in love with my assistant Jamie.”

Bree had run out of options. “Looks like it’s you and the man in the moon then.”

Jen could do worse. “I’ll survive.”

Four

T
welve-thirteen Saunders Way. Sophie had survived the motorcycle ride. Dune Cates had given her a real opportunity to experience his customized Harley Sportster, taking the long way home. They’d ridden for three hours and covered Barefoot William and the surrounding county. She’d wrapped her arms about his waist and leaned into him. He liked the womanly press of her body. Her breasts were round and firm and her thighs had hugged his hips. She’d held on for dear life.

She hadn’t screamed or jerked. She’d trusted him.

He set the kickstand on the driveway of crushed pale pink seashells. He removed his helmet and hung it on the handlebar risers, then dismounted and said, “You can get off now.”

She twisted slightly toward him and winced. “No . . . I can’t.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

Dune understood. Her muscles ached from the big bike’s vibration along with the jarring speed bumps and potholes. She’d been afraid to shift even the slightest bit, concerned that she would throw him off balance. She was probably too stiff to move.

He watched as she blinked the dryness from her eyes, then shook out her hands and rotated each ankle. He figured her fingers and feet had fallen asleep and now tingled as they wakened. Her helmet slanted over one eye. Her reading glasses were askew. The top two buttons on her blouse were undone. The curve of her breast and the lace on her bra were visible. He stared a little too long.

“Your Harley is fast,” Sophie said in awe.

“I drove forty-five.”

Her eyes went wide. “It seemed like seventy or eighty. The scenery just swept by. Cars looked like they were in slow motion and people were a total blur.”

“Motorcycles have that effect,” he said. Riders felt like they were flying when riding a Harley. It was a rush.

“I’m stuck,” she finally admitted.

“Just swing your leg over the seat.”

“I have no swing.”

He helped her sit sideways. “Can you stand?” he asked.

“No feeling in my body,” she said. “Even my bottom’s numb.”

Dune kicked himself. He hated the fact he’d caused her pain. He was used to cruising hours at a stretch. This was Sophie’s first ride. He should’ve driven her straight home. “Wiggle your feet and get the blood circulating again,” he suggested.

She did so and winced. “Prickles.”

He dropped to one knee and began to massage her right calf, then moved to her left. She was small-boned. Delicate. He found he liked touching her, which left him wary. Sophie made him want to protect her. He prided himself on no strings attached. Ever.

He went on to rub both her knees and worked halfway up her thigh. He had long fingers and stopped himself before he touched her any higher. He was close to the danger zone. “Try standing,” he said.

She stood, but was still shaky. He gripped her elbow and steadied her, then went on to unsnap her helmet and remove it. After brushing back her bangs and straightening her glasses, he tipped up her chin. “First time on a bike can leave you sore,” he said. “You’re clenching muscles you’ve never clenched before. Same with”—he was about to say sex, but changed his mind—“horseback riding.”

She nodded. “Horseback riding left me tender.”

“You’ve ridden?” That surprised him.

“I took lessons when I was seven, but I quickly gave up. I bounced and bruised a lot.”

He felt her pain.

She next flexed her fingers and attempted to button her blouse. She was all thumbs. Another button popped open in the process. Her bra flashed. All gray, lacy and sheer. Her chest was flushed and her nipples puckered.

He stood over her and asked, “Need help?” He didn’t want her flashing the gardener planting flowers near the front door.

She nodded. “Assistance would be nice.”

He was on her in a heartbeat and focused fully on the task. She held her breath as he worked the buttons. The callused tips of his fingers skimmed the lace on her bra and brushed her breasts. He took his time with the button over her cleavage. His own breathing deepened.

“There’s no need to fasten the top button,” she choked a moment later. “I don’t need the collar under my chin.”

He let his hands drop. Still, his gaze held on her breasts for a considerable time. “Nice blouse,” he said.

“Even with the stain?” she asked.

“It adds color.”

“That’s what I thought,” she said, smiling.

She was being gracious, Dune thought. The busboy had lucked out. Most women would’ve flinched or berated the kid for his clumsiness. Not Sophie. She’d been quick to forgive Chuck, then taken Dune’s suggestion and offered him a job.

Dune was impressed by her kindness.

A breeze picked up and the towering Florida pines cast shadows across the driveway. The scent of gardenias lay heavy on the air. “I appreciate the ride home,” she said in a polite manner.

He glanced toward her three-car garage. “You don’t drive. How do you get around?”

“I call our driver Roger.”

“You chose my Harley over the family limo?”

“Roger is rather stoic,” she said.

“So was the guard at the gate.” The uniformed man had looked down his nose at Dune, his expression disapproving as hell.

“The family compound doesn’t get much traffic,” she said. “Gerald doesn’t see many motorcycles.”

“I’ve had my Harley since high school,” he told her. She didn’t look surprised. “It’s the only way to travel.”

She glanced at her watch. “I’ve taken up your entire afternoon,” she said, alarmed. “What about the repairs to your grandfather’s porch?”

“Schedules can be broken,” he said easily.

She was visibly relieved.

Silence stood between them. Dune shifted his stance.
Now what?
he mused. He wasn’t ready to leave. He liked Sophie’s company, but there wasn’t much more for them to do or say at that moment. He’d never struggled with inviting himself into a woman’s home. Yet Sophie was different. He didn’t want to intrude.

His words sounded stilted and unnatural when he asked, “Can I get a glass of water before I go?”

“How about red raspberry sun tea?” she offered.

“Sounds good.”

Dune liked sun tea. He made it often at his home in California. All he had to do was fill a large glass jar with cold water, then add four to six tea bags of his choice. After adding a lid, he’d set the jar on the railing of his back deck. The tea brewed in the warmth of the sun. It was worth the hour wait.

He retrieved her purse from his saddlebag and handed it to her. The broken seashells crunched beneath their feet as they walked toward her house. Sophie’s steps were tentative. Her legs barely carried her to the front door. He settled one arm about her shoulders to keep her close. Their sides brushed and she stepped on his toes twice.

They made it to the columned entry. Her home was contemporary in an old-Florida setting; the stucco was painted antique white with a terra-cotta barrel roof. Trees and shrubs grew naturally around the grounds. The gardener worked on his hands and knees beneath the big bay window.

“What are you planting, Luis?” Sophie called to him.

“Mrs. Saunders wanted white roses across the front,” said the older man with the weathered face and blue bandana wrapped about his forehead. “I went with your choices, Miss Sophie. Kaleidoscope and Firecrackers.”

Sophie smiled. “Reds and yellows. The colors will come alive.”

“I trimmed the Calusa Grape on the bamboo arbor and breezeway,” Luis told her. “The vines were running wild.”

“You have a lot to do,” she said. “Would you mind if I hired a young boy to work with you? His name is Chuck Cates. He’s twelve. He has lots of energy, but he won’t cause you any trouble.”

Luis was thoughtful. “I fertilize tomorrow. Should he make it through the day, we’ll keep him.”

“I appreciate all you do,” Sophie told him.

“You like me because I listen to you and not your mother.” The man was wise.

“You know me well,” Sophie said as she fished her door key out of her purse. “I’m turning twenty-five soon. I don’t need my family doing all my thinking for me.”

So her birthday was coming up. Dune stored the information. He’d get the exact date from Shaye. If he wasn’t in town, he’d send her a card, maybe even flowers.

The lock clicked and Sophie walked inside. Dune followed, only to stop in the entry to take it all in. Elegance met history in a fascinating amalgamation of past and present. The foyer was wide, long, and guarded by two medieval knights encased in glass. The sets of armor stood tall and polished, from the helmets and chain mail down to their boots.

A wicked-looking flail—a blackened steel ball with spikes—hung from one knight’s gauntlet. The other held a battle-ax with a curved steel head pinned to a hardwood shaft. The knights looked ready for battle.

Sophie stood back and allowed him to look around. The overhead skylight splashed sunlight across aqua marble. The flooring appeared so pale and fluid, Dune felt he was walking on water.

Expansive arches opened to spacious rooms showcasing Italian leather furniture, oil paintings, and crystal vases with freshly cut flowers. He was quick to learn that her fascination ran to weaponry throughout the ages.

Sweet, innocent Sophie had bloodlust.

He entered the living room and slowly turned in a full circle. Her home was an exhibit. He read the plaques beneath the weapons. A medieval sword gallery fought for wall space with a Viking ax and a Hundred Years’ War dagger. A samurai sword was mounted next to a seventeenth-century musket. A two-handed Danish sword looked sharp and dangerous.