Tempting the One (Meadowview Heat 4; The Meadowview 4) Page 5

  Actually, it was more sickly yellow and green than black. Definitely not appealing.

  He really, truly looked like crap.

  No wonder he hadn’t had much response to his verbal come-ons with the nurse this morning. Yesterday, too, he realized. In fact, the last time any of the nurses had actually flirted with him had been on that first day he was at the hospital. He’d probably looked rakish and daring then, all cut up and broken and bloody from his skirmish with a tree. But that night, when Chessie had come by to visit, he must have simply looked like shit on toast.

  As he leaned back, realization hit him upside the head. In the span of twenty-four hours, he’d asked Chessie for sex, suggested a blow-job, bitten her head off for trying to help him dress, and had arrived at her house as an unwanted and inconvenient house-guest. And he smelled and looked like he’d crawled out from under a cardboard box under a bridge.

  He’d been an ass. And Chessie had put up with every one of his sexual innuendos, had stuck around last night and kept him company, and had even taken him in.

  He owed her. Big time.

  The loud and incessant sound of crowing woke Chessie from a deep sleep. The neighbor’s chickens were at it again. Or, more specifically, their idiotic rooster was at it again.

  Sir Crowsalot, oh-so-appropriately named by her neighbor’s six-year-old son, had come with a flock of hens and had taken to announcing his dominance at the top of his chicken lungs. Since their neighborhood was on the outskirts of town, zoning allowed farm animals. So, despite repeated complaints by neighbors, the rooster had stayed.

  It had taken a month or two for her to get used to the sound, but being awakened at dawn on a daily basis, whether she wanted to or not, had proven beneficial. She’d gotten in the habit of jumping out of bed, putting on a pot of coffee, and getting an hour or two of gardening in before she started her work day, mixing batches of soaps and lotions in her kitchen.

  She stretched, expecting to feel the warm comfort of her flannel sheets against her legs. When the cool sensation of sateen sheets met her skin, her eyes flew open.

  She was not in her bed.

  What the heck? She pushed her way to a sitting position. For a moment, her mind seemed as blurred as her vision. Instead of the brushed nickel footboard of her bed, she saw only a white wall in front of her. Not her bed. Not even her bedroom.

  In an instant, the events of the evening before came tumbling back. Oh, hell. Theo Courant was staying with her for six weeks.

  She groaned and shoved a hand into the mass of hair that dangled in front of her face. The dim early morning light peeked through the well-washed red and cream gingham curtains, morning light that once again triggered the rooster to crow.

  Fine. It was time to get up and face the day. And face Theo.

  At least last night he’d made a concerted effort to be a good patient. He’d apologized repeatedly for his sister’s histrionics, apologies Chessie had brushed off. To keep Sadie from exacerbating her condition, they both had to make the best of the situation. And that meant Theo had to accept her help…and she had to accept him into her home.

  And into her life.

  At least for the next month and a half. Although, last night had been nice, what with hanging out with him in her living room, but it would grow old soon, especially when Theo’s incessant demands continued.

  Last night, after she’d settled him down to bed, he’d asked for water three times. She finally gave up and placed a pitcher of water by his bed, which he promptly dropped and broke, realizing he for certain couldn’t get a good enough grip on the handle because of his casts. Yep, Theo was gonna be one hell of a high-maintenance patient.

  The rooster crowed again, this time louder, and for a longer duration.

  “Chessie!” Theo’s bellow came from down the hall.

  Lovely. She squeezed her eyes shut and threw herself back down on the bed, willing the morning light, the rooster, and, most of all, Theo, to go away.

  “Chessie!” A banging on the wall sounded, followed by a quiet, “Ow.”

  Unable to help it, she laughed.

  * * *

  Oh good god, why didn’t Chessie hurry up? Theo jiggled his leg, attempting to ignore the pressing message from his bladder. He needed the bathroom, a drink of water, his cell phone, and his laptop. And a latte. And breakfast.

  In short, he needed Chessie.

  And he needed that insane bird to shut up. What was it with country life, anyway? The antique Seth Thomas clock on Chessie’s bedside table showed it was only about six-thirty in the morning. Way too early for him.

  Apparently it wasn’t too early for his bladder, however, which was now filled to capacity and letting him know with no uncertain terms that it needed relief. Could he possibly hop on one foot to the bathroom on his own?

  He looked around the room, hoping to find pieces of furniture to lean on. Besides the bedside table and a built-in bookcase lining one wall, there weren’t any pieces of furniture he could use to support his weight. Chessie’s bedroom suite had been decorated in a sparse modern style, incongruent with the rest of the house.

  He shifted, trying to squirm his way to a sitting position against the brushed nickel headboard, using his elbows to gain leverage. Once upright, he realized something: The bed was so expansive, so high, that he wouldn’t be able to ease his way to the floor without help. What was this woman doing with such a gigantic bed?

  He yelled her name again, but still heard no response. No way could she still be fast asleep after that insane sound outside his window. He’d grown up here in Meadowview, but couldn’t recall hearing roosters before—at least, not this close to town. The Courant’s family home, The Cottage, a rather opulent home built in the late 1800s by his ancestors who’d made a fortune off California’s once plethora of gold, was somewhat distanced from the town center and on an expansive estate—no neighbors to deal with. Living in San Francisco he’d grown accustomed to early noises, but those were normal noises, like police sirens or morning news helicopters or garbage trucks. Not shrieking birds.

  Where the heck had Chessie found a rooster, anyway? Why would she need one? She hadn’t added chickens and goats and crap like that since the last time he stopped by, had she?

  He tried to remember the last time he’d been to Chessie’s house. There’d been her housewarming party, of course, but that had to have been years ago, when she first started her business, Sweet Meadow Scents, and had bought this place. And it had to have been before the major remodeling she mentioned last night.

  He searched his mind, thinking that surely he must have swung by her place more often than that, but truthfully, the only visit he could remember was that day she’d moved in and had that fantastic party. The excitement pouring through her when she took him for a tour of her future lavender garden had made her nearly glow.

  He felt like a heel. Although he and Chessie had never been too close and they had, at best, experienced a slightly antagonistic relationship—well, one in which he’d antagonized her—she’d always been there, in the background of his world. And he’d only come to visit her once since she moved back from college?

  Yep, he was a heel.

  A sudden movement in the open doorway startled him. Chessie.

  She padded her way into his room on bare feet, folds of yellow striped flannel peeking out from behind the flowered quilt she clasped tight under her neck.

  “What are you wearing, granny jammies?” he asked, the words flying out of his mouth before he could stop them.

  She shot him one of her looks—cheeks sucked in, red lips pulled into a firm line—Chessie’s don’t-fuck-with-me expression. “How badly do you want to use the facilities?” she asked, placing a hand firmly on her hip and cocking an eyebrow in an exaggerated form.

  “Sorry, really,” he quickly groveled, and was relieved when she granted him a quick smile. He followed her with his gaze as she dropped to her knees at the edge of the bed and stuck her arm and shoulder
underneath. She messed around under the bed for a moment, puzzling him, until she finally sat up, her hair an adorable mess around her face. She blew a breath upward and a strand of her hair obeyed, lifting off her face momentarily, only to flop back down over her eyes.

  “You look cute.” The words flew out of his mouth before he realized what he’d been thinking.

  She leaned back on her heels, a bunny slipper in each hand, and a quizzical expression on her face. “You think I look like someone’s grandmother. Hardly counts as cute.”

  But she was. Cute, that is, with her hair all messy and in her face, and that old-fashioned granny nightgown.

  Fashion and Chessie had never quite mixed. The modern styles his sister and all the women he’d ever dated spent loads of money on never found their way into Chessie’s wardrobe. Funny, though, how antique junk suited her.

  Iconoclastic, but hey, that was Chessie, always marching to the beat of her own drummer.

  Adorable, actually. Sexy.

  Not that she knew it. Or maybe she did, and simply didn’t acknowledge the fact that she was a modern equivalent of a 1940s pin-up girl.

  Chessie stood and hopped on one foot then the other as she shoved her feet into the bunny slippers. “Here, let’s see about getting you out of bed.” She tossed off the quilt that had been around her shoulders. When she did so, the early morning light shone through her nightgown, illuminating rounded curves on an hourglass figure. He cocked his head sideways.

  Luscious.

  “Focus,” she said. “I can see you’re drooling over my boobs. Stop it.” She grabbed the bent edge of his elbows and eased him to a standing position. The scent of lavender wafted from her hair, invading his nostrils.

  “You smell good.” He leaned forward and stuck his face in her hair, searching for her scent. “Familiar. Like you did when you were a kid.”

  “Um, Theo,” Chessie said, pulling back.

  “Um, Chessie,” he mimicked her, amused at the flicker of annoyance that crossed her face.

  “I swear to god, if you want me to help you for six weeks, you have to stop smelling my hair.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s just weird, that’s why. Now walk.”

  Cute, how she’d freaked out over him smelling her hair but not him checking out her breasts. He knew men checked her out—they’d been together in public enough times for him to have seen it in action—but he had to wonder if she ever allowed any man to get close enough to know what her hair always smelled like.

  He snuggled up to her warm heat when she eased his arm over her shoulder. Bearing his weight, she helped him hop the few steps to the master bath. He reached for the marble countertop, steadied himself with the casted heels of his hands. Last night, he and Chessie had discovered that if he steadied himself by using the countertop, he could maneuver his way around the bathroom without help, which salvaged a little bit of his manhood. Thank god for the bidet.

  He waited patiently as she laid out the appropriate dosage of medication and filled a cup of water.

  She motioned to the pills. “Pain meds and antibiotics. I’m going to go make us some coffee. I’ll be back for you in a few minutes. We’ll get you cleaned up then.” She pulled away from him and backed out the door.

  “Leaving me already?”

  He waited to hear her response but none came. Had she left? He caught a hint of motion in the mirror, and looked closely. Reflected in the mirror, Chessie stood in the doorway, staring silently at him. She didn’t realize he could see her, though. A flash of a smile played about her lips as she stared at him.

  Aha. Chessie was spying on him.

  And she seemed to like what she saw, given how she let her gaze slowly drop from his shoulders down to his waist, and then lower still…

  Good. Then he’d give her a show. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers and shoved them down. Awkward as it was to drop boxers with two casts covering his hands, the effect was worth it. When she saw his butt, Chessie’s eyes widened. When he waggled his hips from side to side, causing the boxers to fall completely to the floor, her mouth opened and her eyes glazed over. Desire blazed in her eyes.

  Holy hell, Chessie Gibson thought he was hot.

  He’d spent his teen and adult years teasing the heck out of her, joking with her that she wanted him, even pretending to grab her ass on occasion, all to get a jolt out of her. She took the ribbing good-natured, and would joke back, but always made it clear he didn’t do it for her. That he wasn’t her “type.” By making the flirtation a joke, they’d stayed safely in the Friend Zone.

  But if she actually did have an attraction to him, was the Friend Zone where he wanted to stay?

  Not a question he wanted to answer now—not with six weeks of living with Chessie looming before him. “Like the show?” he asked, trying to get a rise out of her.

  Crimson shot up her neck and to her cheeks in a flash, and she snapped her gaze upward, catching his eyes in the mirror. Was that embarrassment or anger that had her blushing?

  “You’ll never make it into Chippendales, that’s all I can say,” she shot back. Then she whirled around and tromped off.

  * * *

  Chessie grabbed a pink cashmere sweater and a black wool circle skirt out of her closet, and then stormed off to the kitchen. She didn’t trust herself to change in her bedroom with Theo only a few paces away. She’d always mentally found him sexy, but she’d never had her body respond to his like this before.

  Down, girl.

  Theo was due for a bath and she needed to be in control of her budding libido before dealing with Theo’s sexy naked body, a bathtub, and foamy water.

  Besides, there was no way she’d ever allow him to know she found him sexy. They were friends—and they’d stay that way.

  In front of the wide window over the kitchen sink, she shoved her hands through the soft sweater and tugged it over her bare breasts, then winced as a spasm of pain hit her shoulder. Last night, after clumsily hauling Theo into the master suite, she had managed to help him strip to boxers and a T-shirt and propel him into bed—not an easy task. Without being able to put his weight on both legs, and unable to use crutches for as long as his wrists were healing, the man was practically helpless.

  Her shoulder spazzed out again, Stress. Being Theo’s babysitter wasn’t proving to be easy, and her tension over the circumstances was already taking a toll. “This is for Sadie,” she said aloud. In six weeks, this would all be over. Theo would be fully healed and out of his casts.

  In six weeks, Theo would be out of her life, too.

  The thought took the edge off her frazzled nerves, but didn’t erase them completely. Silverware clattered as she searched for a measuring spoon for the coffee. She measured, poured, and waited. Soon, the aroma of freshly brewed organic coffee wafted through the air and her stomach unclenched.

  Once the pot filled, she poured two cups of coffee and added sugar and cream to both. She’d left Theo in the bathroom long enough. Time to help him start his day. Time to get him out of her hair. With less than a month to go before Sweet Meadow Scents went national, she needed several hours of uninterrupted work as she measured, weighed, melted, and mixed the expensive ingredients. All she wanted was a full day of uninterrupted work, which meant she desperately needed Theo to leave her alone.

  Right. Like that was going to happen. “A girl can dream,” she muttered, then grabbed both steaming cups and padded quietly to the bathroom.

  “Coffee?” she asked, startling Theo, who was still leaning against the bathroom countertop, his casted hands resting lightly on the light gray and white marble. Sometime between when she’d left and come back, he must have used the facilities because he’d pulled his boxers back on.

  Too bad, she thought, but quickly caught herself. She set a cup down before him. “How’s the pain?”

  “Pills work like a dream every time. Can’t feel a thing.”

  “Good, because before we get you in the bath, we need to s
hampoo your hair. It’s disgusting.”

  “I am a mess, aren’t I?” He grinned at her.

  A soft smile formed on Chessie’s face. She shook her head, sending waves of hair swishing about her shoulders. She grabbed a hairband from a drawer and pulled the mass back into a ponytail. “Pretty pitiful, that’s all.”

  She stepped over to the shower. In a second, she was back at the sink, a container of shampoo in her hand. “Let’s get your shirt off and have you bend over the sink. I’ll shampoo you first. We’ll talk about how to get you bathed after that.”

  Fortunately, Theo didn’t choose this moment to argue. After tugging at his T-shirt, she managed to pull it off him, and then let out an inadvertent gasp. He was beautiful.

  Good god, was he ever beautiful.

  Yeah, she’d seen his naked chest—and more—and plenty of times. Theo had no problem with going skinny dipping when they all went to the river, and she’d had the occasion to check him out before, so what was different this time? She took in the pale honey color of his smooth skin, how his pectorals and abs seemed chiseled, as if made of stone. Must be because she’d never been this physically close to him before, right? Didn’t matter—she wasn’t supposed to be checking out her houseguest. She wrenched her eyes from his chest and took a step back, seeking control.

  “Like my chest?” he asked, his voice holding a hint of laughter.

  “You’re healthy, I’ll give you that,” she answered, struggling for nonchalance.

  “Wanna see my man-boob wink?” Theo clenched one of his pectoral muscles, causing it to jump.

  Chessie fought to keep from laughing. “Turn around and bend over.”

  “Hey, I’m usually not that kinda guy. But for you, well…” Theo’s eyes twinkled.

  Oh, god. Did everything trigger this man to think of sex? “You’re making me late to work. So be quiet and do what I tell you to do. Or you’ll stay looking like something the creature from the Black Lagoon pulled out of the sludge.”

  “Sludge, huh?”

  “It’s a word.”