Man Trouble, page 1
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New Concepts Publishing
www.newconceptspublishing.com
Copyright ©2009 by Sabine Ferruci
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
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MAN TROUBLE
By
Sabine Ferucci
© copyright by Sabine Ferucci, March 2009
Cover Art by Kat Richards, March 2009
ISBN 978-1-60394-290-4
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Chapter One
"I think he's going to ask you to dance,” Merilee shouted over the loud Western band. “He's been checking you out for the past ten minutes."
"Fifteen.” After they'd found a table, Beth's artistic eye had zoned in on a pair of jeans in the line of males at the bar, only to discover that the occupant of those jeans had observed her in the process. And had given her a slow, lazy smile.
Beth tried to tell herself it was his unique attire that had caught her eye. After all, his clothing was similar to her own faded work shirt and jeans and his practical boots were made for anything but dancing. But deep down, her hormones forced her to be honest. You were checking out his ass...?
"Mmmm-mmm good,” Merilee sighed, adjusting her cowgirl hat.
"Why is it,” Beth asked during a merciful break in the music, “that you're enjoying this much more than me, and you're the one that's happily married?"
"Because, sugar, I can look all I want at how those jeans are filled. I don't need to do a damned thing about it."
"I vaguely remember that feeling."
"Elizabeth Nash-Swenson. It's been two years since Tim died.” Merilee leaned further across the table on her forearms. “I'm not tiptoeing around you anymore. You need to start living again.” Her blue eyes narrowed. “You need to start painting again."
Beth ignored the goad about the dry spell in her work. “This,” she said as she scanned the dance hall, “is not my idea of real living."
"No, darlin', it's not. But these people are just out for a good time. To experience something you don't remember. It's called fun."
Beth spotted Merilee's husband, Pete, as he worked his way back toward them through the crowd. Two bottles of beer and a glass of cola were trapped between his hands. “Success,” he shouted as he distributed the drinks.
"My hero,” Merilee murmured. She tipped her blonde head forward to give him an enthusiastic kiss.
Pete grinned at Beth with satisfaction. He was a hulk of a man, well over six feet tall. He'd lost half his hair and even Merilee would have never called him handsome. What she did call him was ‘hers,’ and she'd done so for the past eight years.
"Next two-step is mine, Beth.” Pete drank from his bottle of beer and put his arm around Merilee.
"But I don't want to impose on..."
"I'll claim the lady for the next dance.” The voice behind her was male and vaguely familiar.
Beth pushed her short, auburn curls aside and turned. The loner had left his perch by the bar. Though his voice sounded familiar, she was certain she'd never met the man. His clear, blue eyes were set in a lean face, accentuated by a buzz cut of sandy hair tinged with grey at the temples.
He wasn't quite as tall as Pete's six-plus feet, yet he seemed to take up more space. Keeping his hand around the neck of a green bottle, he placed it on the next table and calmly invited her scrutiny. Beth obliged him and studied his eyes. The lines around his calm gaze did not look as if they were acquired from constant good humor. She opened her mouth to decline. “I don't..."
"...know how you can refuse?” he finished for her. “I don't either. One of my favorites."
The music had changed to a waltz. He held out his hand. Merilee, the traitor, cooperated with him by lifting the glass of cola from Beth's hand as he coaxed her from her stool. His large hand held hers firmly as if he knew she would bolt given a chance.
Before she could object, he grasped her waist and led her in a slow circle around the wooden floor, just like all the other couples. It felt good. Too good. The heat of his hand at the small of her back burned through her spine and made her stomach muscles tighten. His wide chest brushed against her shirt on a sharp turn and managed to zap current right through her show-no-nipples mom-bra.
When she worked up the courage to finally look up at him, his vivid eyes pierced her with such intensity that Beth stepped on the man's toes, not that he seemed to notice. That kind of focus was a bit unnerving, but just because her pulse was skipping along double-time to the music, it didn't mean she had to leap into this man's lap. So when the song ended, she nodded and walked away. And he sauntered right behind her.
"Thank you,” she said with a tone of dismissal.
For the first time, he actually smiled. It did nothing to bring levity to his eyes or to his angular face. He picked up his bottle of non-alcoholic beer and drank, then leaned with an elbow on the tall table where she sat. “Your friends are on the dance floor. Why don't I hang out here so that no one bothers you?"
She smiled sweetly. “I'm capable of taking care of myself."
"Most women are,” he replied.
"Then why don't you just return to your outpost by the bar?"
He cocked his head. “Am I that bad of a dancer?"
"You know you're not.” She decided to switch tactics. “What if the person that bothers me is you?"
He choked on his drink. “You're not exactly buttering up to me, are you?"
"I like a man who doesn't need things spelled out for him."
"Yeah. I'm a real perceptive guy."
"Then why is it that you won't..."
"...ask you to dance again?” He grabbed her hand and led her to the floor. “I didn't realize you liked to two-step."
Beth struggled not to trip over her own feet or his practical work boots. This time when she glanced at him, the corner of his mouth twitched. “Are you going to stop counting now?"
Her face flushed. “Maybe. Like riding a bicycle, I guess.” Too bad that her passion for painting wasn't as easily reacquired.
"Been a while?"
"Um hmm. So. Do you think I'm ready for one of those turns?"
He lifted her arms and pushed her shoulder in the correct direction. “You mean like this?"
She was now dancing forward along side of him with both hands in his. “I actually did it."
"You're a natural, all right.” Some of the tension in his face relaxed as he gave her a brief grin.
Beth wondered how he'd look if he were happy. Stepping to the quick music, though, she let herself be carried away and was amazed to discover that she was having fun. She threw back her head and laughed.
He frowned. “What is it?"
"Thank you,” she said softly, and in spite of his pushiness, she meant it. “I forgot how good this feels."
His frown deepened. “What else have you forgotten?"
She skidded to a stop. He nearly tripped over her, along with the couple behind them. “Damn.” As he quickly steered them out of the way of the oncoming traffic to the middle of the dance floor, she heard him mutter to her. “Do you always act before you think?"
Usually. She folded her arms. “After careful thought and deliberation, I have decided to take a break."
He didn't move. “From dancing? Or from me?"
It was odd. As she peered up into his serious gaze, she couldn't quite bring herself to bluntly tell him to leave her alone. The man made her feel something inside, even though it scared the hell out of her.
"Why don't we sit down?” she managed.
He nodded curtly, and then touched his fingers to her back as he escorted her through the crowd to their table. Beth took her seat with relief and lifted her glass of watered down cola.
"So,” he said at her side, “are you going to explain how it is that it's been so long since you danced?"
"No. You, by the way, don't exactly seem like a Dancing-With-the-Stars kind of guy."
He shrugged a large shoulder and stepped a fraction closer. “Survival skills."
"Aren't you supposed to volunteer to get me a new drink?"
He slowly shook his head. “You wouldn't be here when I got back."
Relentless and smart. She could feel him trying to figure her out. He intrigued her, but he also caused the same scary thrill she remembered from a slow chug up the peak of a roller coaster. Nervously, she chewed on a piece of ice and fervently wished that Merilee and Pete would return. She scanned the room in vain.
"I don't think they're coming back anytime soon."
She turned her head back slowly. “Why do you say that?"
"They've clearly been waiting for you to meet someone all night. Now that you have, I doubt they'll intrude. In fact, now that they've unloaded you, they just might sneak out the back door."
Her jaw dropped. “For the record, I don't need to be unloaded on anybody."
Still leaning on one elbow, he turned more toward her. “I wouldn't mind the burden."
"Are you always this arrogant?"
His eyebrows were a shade darker than his sandy hair. At the moment, they were lowered to the point of touching his upper eyelashes. “Not arrogant. I just know how this works and why an unattached woman comes to a place like this."
His hand reached out and moved one of the curls that had flipped down near her hazel eyes. “I'm more than willing to oblige you. I just refuse to go through all that hogwash about astrological signs, what I think of the latest Broncos’ game, or pretend that I know you from somewhere. If you're looking for mindless yakking, lady, you've got the wrong man."
"I'm not looking for anything,” she said testily, “except to be left alone.” She discovered the words that had escaped her on the dance floor. “Why don't you just get lost?” He didn't receive the full force of her anger because something he'd said tickled at the back of her mind.
He plunged ahead. “Look, lady, even I could tell that there was a certain tingle along your spine when we were dancing."
Look, lady. The penny dropped. Beth's fury at him suddenly doubled. “What,” she asked very softly, “is your name?"
"Why?” he asked with suspicion.
Unable to stop herself, she grabbed the front of his faded blue shirt with both fists and pulled him closer. “Because,” she seethed, “I think I know you."
His eyes widened. “Damn. Just my luck."
She nudged his chest with her fisted knuckles and then pulled back on his shirt again, trying to shake the name out of him. When the faded blue cloth in her hands ripped, she didn't even blink.
"It's generally considered good form to wait until you get into my truck before you rip my shirt off.” He raised his large hands to loosely grasp her fists.
His face was so close to hers that she could feel his breath as he spoke. “All right,” she said, “I'll tell you who I am.” She stood on her toes so that she could look right into his eyes. “I'm Beth Nash."
His eyes flashed with recognition. All humor died. “The lady with the bathroom and bedroom addition who won't pay her bills."
"No. The lady with the incomplete addition who refuses to pay your construction firm until the work is repaired. I recognize your surly voice, Jack O'Brien. It doesn't surprise me one bit that your face matches your disposition."
"Look. I've told you on the phone. My men have assured me that the job's done."
"And I've told you, they're either lying or incompetent.” The music stopped, which made it easier to yell at him. “I can't believe that no one else has complained about the slipshod work your company does."
His lips thinned as he tried to casually dislodge her bunched fists from his torn shirt. “You're making a scene."
"Good.” Her fingers held tight. “It's apparently the only way to get your attention."
"You had my attention just fine when you were snuggled up to me on the dance floor.” He dropped his hands from her immovable fists, kept his eyes on her face, and jerked her hips intimately to his own. She swallowed. He was rock hard.
The heat that infused her face was nothing compared with the warmth that oozed into her lower body. Shaken by her response to him, she angrily pushed away and sat back down on her stool in a huff.
Leaning his elbows on the table next to her, he raised the bottle to his lips once more, and then turned to her. “Anger becomes you."
"Get used to the look."
He actually grinned at her. “It just might be worth the trouble."
Trying to get a grip, she gulped down her weak cola, and when that didn't work, she put her elbows on the table and leaned her head into her hands. This entire evening had been a terrible mistake. It would be another two years before she would let Merilee and Pete talk her in to going out on the town.
"I've been in business for ten years in this area,” he explained calmly. “I have a good reputation. You are one of the few people to ever complain."
"How did you handle the other people who complained?” She risked a quick glance at him. “Did you ignore them, too?"
"We figured out the problem. And settled it.” His voice was still even, but a small muscle in his cheek began to twitch. “There's usually just a communication problem."
"Then why can't we do the same?"
"Maybe we can.” He suddenly looked very tired. “My days will be tied up for the next week or so, but how about if I swing by some evening after work and look things over?"
"Really?” The thought of having a second bathroom that her family could actually use seemed too good to be true. The mere thought made her consider being civil to Jack O'Brien.
"Yeah. Really."
"If you could get everything working,” she blew out her breath at the possibilities, “it would be wonderful."
"If something's not working, I doubt it's my company's fault,” he warned.
"You don't know what you're talking about,” she said with confidence. “Come out to the house. Then we'll talk. Even on the off-chance that it's not their fault, I still need to get the addition operational before winter."
Jack nodded absently as he rolled the green bottle between the palms of his hands. His voice shifted down a few decibels. “Now that we've settled that, what about tonight?"
"What do you mean?” she asked.
"Are you going to leave with me?"
"Why do I get the feeling that you're not inviting me for a cup of coffee?"
"Well?"
"Of course not,” she hissed. “Have you lost your mind?"
His shoulders sagged with defeat. “Apparently."
"You dance once with a woman...” Beth asked with rising indignation. “Twice,” he pointed out.
"...and then she follows you out to your truck..."
"Keep your voice down.” His neck had turned beet red.
"...and rips your clothes off? No holding hands at the movies? No smoldering looks over dinner? No lingering goodnight kisses?"
"Would you be quiet?” Jack said between his teeth as he glanced around him uncomfortably. The vicinity of their table no longer rang with clinking glasses, laughter and background conversation.
"Are you telling me,” she screeched, “that you just slam the door on the pickup and let those windows fog up while you..."
His mouth cut off her words. Beth was tipped precariously back off of her stool with the onslaught. His hold on her back was so tenuous, her only choice was to put her arms around his neck or fall to the ground. When she chose to hold onto his strong shoulders, his lips softened, and he began to kiss her in earnest.
Though she fought it, Jack O'Brien's touch called to a part of her she'd thought dead. In mere seconds, the icy walls that had maintained her sanity were no more than a steaming puddle. Her lips sampled the man with near greed.
"Whoa, Beth girl,” Merilee's voice intruded. “What did Pete have them put in that diet cola?"
When Beth opened her eyes, her lips were still occupied and most of her body was still upside down. Merilee was standing at the top of her head looking down at her with a frown over her blue eyes. Beth's gaze slid to the other set of blue eyes that were two inches from hers. They gleamed with triumph.
"Let me up,” she murmured against his lips.
"Are you going to continue to embarrass me?” he muttered into her mouth.
Her brain was in a fog. “What do you mean?"
His lips still didn't pull away, but she felt them spread into a grin. “No more ranting and raving about my construction company.” He gave her another brief kiss. “Or my truck,” his deep voice rumbled across her mouth, “and what I choose to do inside of it."
Maybe being upside down was muddling her mind, but as she stared into his brilliant eyes, she felt ready to agree to just about anything. Her shaky voice was a mere whisper. “No more."
He slowly pulled away, watching her lips for the first sign she was going to resume her tirade. She sat up and held her head. As the roar of blood cleared from her brain, good sense and horrified disbelief returned. “God,” she groaned, “I'm further out of the loop than I thought."
