The Girl from Summer Hill (31 page)

There was a naked man on Casey's back porch.

It was five
A.M
., her alarm had just gone off, and she'd staggered down to the kitchen to start making lunch.

Last night she'd stayed up late because she'd watched three Tate Landers movies in a row. When the first one ended, her heart was pounding and her fingertips were tingling—as was every other part of her body.

The plots of the movies were absolutely absurd. Pretty girl in a jam gets saved by the reluctant hero. Ho-hum. Nothing new there.

But Tate made the pictures so very watchable. His dark good looks were intensified on the screen. When he scowled in annoyance at the heroine, Casey found her own heart beating faster. She'd set down her knife and stared at the screen.

Had Tate ever looked at
her
like that? she wondered. Maybe he had, at first, but she hadn't realized what he was doing. She'd been so angry at him that nothing he did made a good impression on her.

When the first movie ended, all she knew for sure was that she wanted
more
. She searched until she found movies she could stream, and she purchased—not rented—two of them.

By the middle of the second one, she gave up cooking, moved to the bigger TV in the living room, turned out the lights, and watched.

When that was over, she put on the pajamas Tate liked so much and watched the third movie on her iPad while in bed. It was as close as she could get to snuggling with him.

If it hadn't been for the huge lunch she had to cater the next day, she would have stayed up and watched a fourth film. Reluctantly, she turned the iPad off and went to sleep.

When the alarm went off at five, she could hardly get out of bed. She fumbled her way down the stairs, yawning, filled the electric teakettle, and put the leaves in the strainer. A sound made her turn. The back-porch light was on, but she often left it on.

Standing on the stone path was Tate, and as she watched, he took off his T-shirt and sweatpants and let them fall to the ground. Totally nude and facing her, he walked up the three steps, his full male glory in clear view.

He forgave her! That's what went through her mind.

The second thing was lust. His movie! Him on the screen! How much she'd missed him!

She took a step toward the door, her only thought of jumping on him. Ravishing him. Lips and tongues, bodies together. She reached for the buttons on her pajama top, but then she stopped.

No, this was a fantasy. It was being replayed for her, and she wasn't going to ruin it with reality.

Without taking her eyes from Tate's beautiful naked body, she stepped back and fumbled for the electric kettle. As she poured boiling water over the loose tea leaves in the silver strainer, quite a bit missed the mug, went onto the granite countertop, and ran down to the tile floor, but she didn't notice.

She sat down on the stool and studied his body from the toes up. Slowly, taking in every inch of him. But this time, she knew what was to come.

When she got to his face, she looked at his dark eyes under the heavy brows, his lips that she'd grown to know so well. She could remember the feel of his hair when she buried her face in it.

When he got to her door, she drew in her breath. Was he coming inside? But no, he reached out to turn on the water, and his body flexed. Since she'd first seen him, he'd put on more muscle, had trimmed down even more. Casey could feel sweat breaking out on her.

Picking up her mug of tea, she sipped it while she watched him lather himself. He soaped his legs, between them, then moved upward. When he had trouble reaching the entire width of his back, as before, Casey thought of slipping out of her pajamas and joining him.

But she didn't. She wanted this delicious, divine fantasy to play out for as long as possible.

He reached up to the showerhead on the wall, pulled it down, and sprayed water over his entire gorgeous body. Casey was beginning to smile now. Just thinking of what was coming was making her vibrate. Would the electricity between them be in full force? Make all the hair on her body stand on end?

When he turned off the water and looked around for a towel, Casey's smile broadened. This time, would he come inside and keep searching? In one of his movies he'd grabbed a woman's dress and torn it open. Buttons flew everywhere.

Since Casey didn't want the pajamas her mother had given her torn, she unbuttoned the top. Saves time, she thought practically.

When Tate stepped toward the house as though he meant to enter, her heart seemed to stop. He put his hand on the door handle, and her breath halted. She couldn't move. But he dropped his hand and went back down the steps, and she let out her breath. And frowned.

No. This isn't the way it was supposed to go. Tate was to come inside. Didn't he know she was there? Watching him?

Still nude, he picked up his sweatpants. He was about to put them on when Casey flung the door open and ran. Dropping the pants, he opened his arms to her. When she reached him, he held her to him, the two of them clinging together so closely they were like one person.

For minutes they were content to do nothing but feel. Electricity went through them, a soft hum of what was almost peace.

It was Tate who moved first. His lips came down on hers, at first sweetly, but at the touch, the charge that went through them ignited. His kiss became deeper.

Casey's top was already unbuttoned, so her breasts were against the bare skin of his chest.

He backed her against a tree, and as much as she wanted him there and then, she was aware of where they were. She managed to get out one word. “Emmie.”

It didn't take more than that to remind Tate that his niece had a way of appearing where she wasn't expected.

To Casey's delight, Tate swept her into his arms and carried her up the steps to her house. With what she knew was a rehearsed gesture—it was in movie number two—he opened the door and carried her inside.

He set her down in the living room. She could see that he was ready for her, but before she could touch him, he had her against the wall, the pajama bottoms off, and entered her quickly.

Passion. That feeling of being desired, wanted,
needed
by a beautiful man was as glorious as the actual sex.

It was as though Tate would die if he didn't have her—and she felt the same way.

She put her head back against the wall, her throat exposed to his lips, as his strokes became harder and more urgent.

When they at last came together, it was a release, but it was also a relief that their separation was over. Anger, misunderstanding, lack of trust, went away. Withholding of secrets and deeper feelings were released.

They clung together, skin to skin. Casey's legs were wrapped around Tate's waist, locking him to her, and his arms held her just as tightly.

When he fell out of her, she felt his smile against her neck. He didn't say anything but carried her up the stairs to her bed.

For a moment he looked down at her in her open nursery pajama top.

Casey had seen the expression he wore in his movies, and for a second it was exciting to think of. But then she saw the man. She had shared a lot with him, from their lonely childhoods to being entangled with a man who plagued his family. In a short time Casey had become enmeshed with Tate's friends, his family, his very
life
.

The movie-star image fell away and she saw the man she'd come to care for deeply. She lifted her arms to him.

The smile he gave her seemed to show that he understood. He stretched out on the bed beside her and pulled her into his arms, her head on his shoulder.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I was wrong.”

“Shhhh,” he said. “It's all right.” He stroked her hair.

“I thought you hated me.”

“I could never do that.”

She pulled away to look at him. “But you were so angry at me!”

Tate gave a little laugh. “I was. I haven't had a lot of women tell me no. It was a shock to me.” She put her head back down on his shoulder. “I've committed to this play and I have to honor that. But the second our performances are done, I'll be going back to L.A.”

“Oh. I see,” Casey said. “L.A. Want me to close up the house here for you?”

“No. Don't take my head off again, but I want you to go with me. But if you don't like that idea, I will come here as often as I can.”

Casey let out her breath. “You really meant what you said.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “Of course I did! What is it about Haines that makes perfectly sane women like you and Nina believe him?”

She knew it was a rhetorical question, but she answered anyway. “Probably his faked displays of emotion. He says everything with tears and angst, like it's coming from the very depths of his soul. You say, ‘Baby, my jet's running. Wanna go with me?' ”

Tate laughed. “I think I've been in L.A. too long, because those words are guaranteed to get any other woman there.”

Putting his hand under her chin, he tipped her face up to look at him. He was serious. “Acacia, I like you very much. I like the way you see through the outside of me to what's underneath. I like that I can be myself with you, that you have no preconceived ideas of what I should be. I like your enthusiasm for life. I especially love our bodies together.”

He took a breath. “I want you to go to L.A. with me to see if you can tolerate my odd life. I made up my mind about you at the first, maybe on that day when you yelled at me about the pie. I've had to wait for you to decide what
you
want.” He paused for a moment. “Will you go with me?”

“Yes,” she said. “I will.” Her head went back to his shoulder.

“Good, but we have to keep it quiet. I'm afraid Haines will take his anger out on Emmie and Nina.”

“Can't something be done to stop him? Can't lawyers help?”

“What he does is immoral but not illegal. You can't imprison a man for using words to ruin lives. Not even for lying constantly. It's not illegal to give a pretty girl a gift and tell her it came from his grandmother.” Tate sighed. “Why is it that women fall for bad boys, then get angry when they turn out to be bad boys?”

Casey listened more to his tone than to his words. “You're really worried, aren't you?”

“Yes. He's getting worse. He's obsessed with the idea that
I
have ruined his life. I'm going to stop paying him soon, which means that he's either going to have to get a job or figure out a way to get someone else to support him. I dread whatever he's going to do.” Tate took a breath. “I don't want to stir him up while Emmie and Nina are here. And you. What he did with that girl…”

“Rachael Wells.”

“Right. Her. That was defamation of character. When I get back to L.A., and Nina and Emmie are safe on the other side of the country, I'm going to get some legal advice. There has to be something I can do to stop this man's vendetta against my family.”

“Does he do this to
all
your girlfriends?”

“No, but he knew I didn't really like any of them.”

For all the horror of what Tate was saying, she couldn't stop her smile. She ran her leg between his thighs. “I'll keep us a secret. In the last weeks, my acting ability has improved so much that now I'll be able to make people believe that I can't bear the sight of you.”

Tate made a sound that was half laugh, half groan.

She rolled on top of him, her face scrunched into a deep frown. “Are you saying I'm not a good actor?”

“Jack said that yesterday you delivered your lines like you were a robot.”

Casey's eyes began to tear, but she blinked them away. “Oh,” she said sadly, and started to roll off him.

He grabbed her to him and held her head on his chest. “I'm sorry! I'm sure you were—”

Casey's giggle was muffled by his chest.

He pulled her head away and saw that she'd been teasing. “You brat!” He began kissing her neck.