Third Time's a Charm
Page 6Rose looked as if she couldn’t decide between crying some more or laughing. Possibly she was mulling over how to best kill him. “You did this so I could take a nap?”
“It was nothing,” he said with a quick shrug of his shoulders.
She nearly toppled him over with her hug. “Thank you,” she breathed, “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s done for me in the longest time.” Her hands wound tighter around his neck and he lifted his own to hug her back. To feel her sweet curves. To pull her closer , wanting to sweep her up into his arms. Into his bed.
Get a hold of yourself, man. She’s not for you. “You’re welcome.”
“I’m sorry I thought you took Ivy.”
“And I’m sorry I didn’t leave you a map with an ‘Ivy is here’ sticker on it.”
She giggled and sniffed, tightening her grip even more.
He gently pried her arms from around his neck. Or at least tried to. “You can let go of me now, Rose. I have a great affinity for oxygen.”
“Huh?”
“I can’t breathe,” he wheezed.
“Oh!” Cheeks pinkening, Rose stepped away and pulled him out of the room. “Close the door,” she whispered and he laughed. “What’s so funny?”
He closed the door gently and turned to face her. “You charge up here, screaming and carrying-on, and now you’re worried about being loud.” He shook his head, a smile playing on his lips.
Tonight, I’m going to fix you the nicest sup-dinner ever.” Rose felt so well rested that she wanted to sing and dance. Amazing what a few hours of good sleep did for a person who’d been living on adrenaline alone for over a month.
The sun shined brightly through the window near the stairs, highlighting the wall behind Sasha.
“Can’t,” he said, his eyes avoiding hers. “I have plans.”
Plans? Then it hit her. “Oh! You have a date.” She gave him her brightest smile. “I hope you have a great time. You should go to Wilmington. They have lots of great restaurants there, but you already know that. The one you took me to was really good. So was the view.” She clamped her mouth shut to stop babbling.
“It’s a business dinner,” he said. “I’m looking for a silent partner.”
“For what?” she asked, not really believing him. She had seen pictures on the internet of him at parties with very important people. People who controlled banks and industries, according to the articles beneath those pictures. So who in the world would he want to talk to in Holland Springs? And she still couldn’t figure out why he was here in the first place.
Sasha did have family living here, but it made no sense that a man like him would actually choose to be in a small town like hers.
“I do plan to have some old friends down, but in the meantime, I want to get some local support from the town’s leaders.”
Local support? Her stomach roiled. “Like who?”
He placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her down the hall. “Mayor Jackson for one, and Harrison Collins.”
She forced herself to keep walking at a reasonable pace. “You’re meeting with Harrison Collins tonight?”
“And the mayor. Extremely nice lady. Must be where Jemma Leigh gets it,” he said, not seeming to notice her extreme discomfort. “Aren’t you the least bit curious about what I’m going to do with Retro Dayz?” He paused at the top of the stairs and looked at her, expectation written on his face.
A wry grin appeared. “Don’t get too excited, Rosebud.”
She grabbed the cross at her throat and rubbed. His eyes narrowed in on her actions and she let go of it. It fell back into place, the heated gold warming her skin. “Skye said you were opening a bridal store.”
His eyebrows lifted, and then he laughed. “That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a long time.”
“I would think you’d love telling people what not to wear,” she muttered as they descended.
“Oh I do, but in this case, I’ll be telling people what to wear for a job interview,” he said.
“Job interviews?”
“It might come as a shock, but I plan to help out the people of Holland Springs. I want to open a store where women and men can come for appropriate business attire and get interview pointers.”
Flabbergasted, all she could do was ask, “Why?”
He gave her a flippant smile. “I’ve nothing better to do.”
So this was a hobby for him. Was she one of his charity cases? It didn’t matter; she needed the damn money.
Silently they walked to the kitchen. He followed her to the back porch. On the way out, she grabbed Ivy’s baby monitor and clipped it to her pocket. After scooping up the basket she always kept by the back door, she walked to the chicken coop to gather eggs.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
Turning to look at him, she swung the basket from side to side. “Getting eggs for the last time.”
He nodded at the chickens pecking at the ground. “Tonight’s dinner?”
She opened the chicken coop and began to gather the eggs. “No, I sold them.”
“Do you usually sell your chickens?”
No, she loved all the animals that lived at Strawberry Grove. Even the stinking chickens. She could see his very nice, very expensive boots as he paced. Her own Wal-Mart specials were faded and scuffed.“The Johnsons made it worthwhile,” she said, sidestepping his question.
“They have a farm?” he asked, unwilling it seemed to just let it go.
“Yes. It was their field I found you in that time.” The euphoria from having a well-deserved nap was wearing away. The reality that she was selling everything she owned just in case she couldn’t keep her home and land replacing it faster than she liked.
“One more question.”
Couldn’t he leave her the hell alone? “What?” she snapped, then immediately regretted it. She needed to be cool Rose. Reasonable Rose.
Silence greeted her and she stood up, searching for him. Maybe he’d left. Her shoe brushed against something soft and one of the chickens began to squawk. “Sorry, Colonel Sanders,” she said.
“Behind you.”
“I need to go into town. Can I borrow your Jeep since Ivy’s asleep?”
Taking the Jeep would leave her stranded. The only other vehicle on the property was an old Chevy truck parked in the barn. It had quit working ten years ago when Skye had poured grease in the gas tank in an attempt to make it environmentally friendly.
“I’m not sure...”
“I promise to return it.”
Something in his tone made her reconsider saying no. “Just replace the gas you use.”
He regarded her thoughtfully. The wind brushed at his hair, lifting the burnished gold strands.
“Please,” she added, slipping past him and making her way back to the house.
A hand on her arm almost made her drop the basket, but then his hand moved to cover hers and kept the basket from falling.
“Is there any way I can help you, Rosebud?”
She couldn’t take her eyes off of his mouth. Or the small freckle at one corner that she wanted to lick. He also had some on his nose, light in color, but if one was close enough…If a woman was able to get past his very kissable mouth, she could find them. Count them. Tease him about them, before kissing each one.
Heat pooled in places she’d prayed were dormant when it came to him. Her body vibrated, throbbed. The woman that she’d buried deep inside of her wanted a man’s touch, a man’s kiss and demanded to be let out. No, not a man’s touch. Sasha’s. And that woman could think of a dozen ways he could help her. Although none of them were sane and some of them probably weren’t legal in North Carolina.
She licked her dry lips. “Paying me rent in advance is enough.” But it wasn’t. And she couldn’t ask him to loan her a hundred thousand dollars, could she?
“Have it your way, but if you need something, all you have to do is ask. I won’t think less of you.”
He sounded so sincere that she couldn’t stop herself from blurting, “Cheesecake.”
His brows drew together and his chin dropped. “Cheesecake?”
She almost told him to forget it, but the woman who wanted him also wanted a decadent dessert that she hadn’t been able to eat in what seemed like forever. “I would like some cheesecake.” She dug the keys out of her pocket and placed them in his free hand.
“Then cheesecake you shall have.”
They stood there, hand in hand, not moving, and yet Rose could feel gravity slipping away.
He leaned closer and she couldn’t stop staring at his sensual lips as they moved. “Anything else?”
Her heart pounded in her throat. “For you to be careful.” With her Jeep she wanted to add, but for some reason her teeth and tongue refused to cooperate. She made her focus widen to encompass his entire face.
Sasha blinked, as if he couldn’t quite discern the meaning of her words, and let her go.
Rose fled to the house.
Chapter Five
Actually, he could explain it all. He was out of his bleedin’ mind.
On the passenger side sat three different styles of cheesecake. He wasn’t sure if she wanted light and fluffy, dense and rich, or whatever the hell else the bakery shop owner, Daisy Barnes, had in her store. And what was it with these women and their flora and fauna names? Lily, Daisy, Iris…Petunia. Okay, so there hadn’t been a Petunia, but he had distinctly heard a mother shout, “Stop, Birch!” at a boy teasing his little sister.
Or perhaps that was the name of the tree she wanted to get a switch from to “paint his back porch red.” At least Sasha was able to indulge his sweet tooth and eat a cupcake topped with sprinkles while he was there.
He adjusted his mirrors and glimpsed a flash of blue lights in the reflection.
“Bloody great.” He pulled over and reached for the required documents. Taking another look in his side mirror, he muttered a second curse. Sheriff Turner was headed his way with a rather disgruntled look on his face.
A single touch of a button had the window automatically rolling down as the sheriff leaned over. “License and registration.”
Handing it over, Sasha kept his mouth shut and waited. He rather thought that asking what the problem was might end up with a ‘don’t-tase-me-bro’ moment.
“You know why I pulled you over?”
Sasha had a very good suspicion as to why. “To see if it really can parallel park by itself?”
Turner didn’t crack a smile. “I don’t appreciate being used in this little scheme y’all got going. Rose Holland is a nice girl. She and her sisters were sweet to Missy when everyone else talked about my Yankee of a wife.”
No surprise there. She’d helped him out, too, hadn’t she? Put her sweet hands on him and eased his troubles for a while. He gave the sheriff an arrogant glare. “I didn’t realize upholding the law was a scheme.”
Turner flung his license and registration back at him. “Men like you never get what they really deserve in the end.”
“Men like me keep doing what they’re doing because it works,” he said, checking his reflection in the rear view mirror and running his hand through his hair. Or because they have no other choice. No way out. But he wasn’t about to share that information. He fiddled with his cufflinks. “Now, are we finished?”
The sheriff looked like he wanted to say more. Hell, he looked like he wanted to arrest him. Instead Turner adjusted his hat. “You’re free to go. Watch your speed.”
Sasha gave him a smart-ass salute and was on his way. A minute later, his phone vibrated and he cut on the Bluetooth. “Hullo?”
“Found the spring?”
Couldn’t he be here longer than five seconds? “Uncle Vladimir, so nice to hear from you. I’m perfectly fit and living at the Hollands’ home. Thanks for asking.”
His uncle grunted. “Answer my question.”
“Sure you don’t want the one that’s already been found?” Sasha asked. It would be a hell of lot easier to buy that tiny slice of Holland land than to search the entire property for what was rumored to be the original spring that fed the second. For some reason known only to God, satellite images of Rose’s home and the surrounding property were inconclusive. So that left Sasha to do it the old-fashioned way.
“Too many impurities. We have two months, Alexander. Two. After that Nahalah Industries cuts funding.”
His uncle must be in a panic. Vladimir had uttered more than three words without insulting him. Sasha made a left at the stop sign and sped up. “I’m meeting with the mayor of Holland Springs and the president of the largest bank in town tonight.” It was the only bank in town, but it really didn’t matter. “They seem to be on board with the town acting as the U.S. headquarters of Nahalah. Only I have to convince them that jobs will be a part of the deal.”
“Tell them five hundred.”
Sasha’s stomach plummeted even as his car accelerated beyond the speed limit sign’s posted number. Five hundred jobs against one woman’s ancestral lands. Her home. One that despite the multiple offers she’d received, she’d refused to sell. Perhaps sending that jackass of a lawyer with the real estate agent had been a mistake. He gripped the steering wheel hard, hating this. Hating himself. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">