Blazing Midsummer Nights (Harlequin Blaze) (9 page)

A bird landed on a feeder nearby, and a lawn mower started up down the street. But Xander couldn’t tear his attention off her face. He found himself trying to figure out whether her eyes were more blue or purple, wondering if he’d ever seen such a vivid shade before and sure he hadn’t.

Finally, she looked at her beer bottle, as if the stare had grown too intense. “Speaking of Dimitri, I know he came across as rude at the party. I’m sorry about that name crack.”

“You don’t need to apologize for him.”

“I think he felt some kind of vibe between you and me. I guess I was feeling embarrassed over you walking in on me like you did, and he sensed it. So he was being a little protective.”

“Like a kindergartener guarding the last Fruit Roll-Up in the box.”

She offered him a cheeky grin. “Fruit Roll-Ups
can
be on the same page as macaroni-and-cheese, by the way.”

He smiled, but didn’t let her get away with changing the subject again. “You know you don’t belong with him.”

His bluntness seemed to take her by surprise. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Absolutely nothing. That’s the problem.”

Her brow scrunched in confusion.

“I mean, he’s too perfect.”

Hearing her tiny gasp, he wondered if that was something she’d been wondering about herself.

“Guys like that usually end up with Barbie dolls on their arms.” He cast a quick, rakish look over her body. “And I’m not saying you don’t fit the bill in terms of being one hell of a beautiful woman, but you sure aren’t made of plastic.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again, as if not sure what to say. Finally, she whispered, “Thanks.”

“Dimitri’s in over his head with you, and I suspect he knows it. Because as much as you want to make peace with Daddy, I already know there’s a lot more to you than the grocery-store sales-circular queen.”

“He’s not a bad guy,” she insisted.

“Maybe not. But he has no idea what to do with
you.
”

“Do with me? You make me sound like I’m some kind of troublesome teenager.”

“You’re trouble all right,” he said with a wry grin. “But you’re not the problem. He is. He doesn’t know what you want or how to give it to you.”

She gasped, and Xander suddenly remembered the second prediction from her fortune cookie the other night. He hadn’t meant to echo them, but now that he’d said the words, he couldn’t deny he believed them.

“And I’m not adding the words
between the sheets
here,” he said, not wanting her to think he was being salacious. “I mean, I would lay cash money Dimitri has no idea how badly you want your father’s job, or how much it hurts you that your old man’s resisting.”

“Well, I…”

“I also bet he isn’t happy about you living here and hasn’t got a clue why you do.”

The tightening of her mouth confirmed that theory.

“And does he have the slightest idea that you go all Katy Perry when you’re in the shower?”

Her jaw fell open.

“Thin walls, babe,” he told her with a wicked grin.

“Note to self—no more singing ‘Last Friday Night’ in the shower,” she mumbled.

“Don’t stop on my account. Did you know you actually got a little louder on the ménage-à-trois line?”

“Shut up,” she said, laughing.

He went back to this point. “Anyway, nope, the walking Ken doll doesn’t know the real you at all.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

He shrugged. “Because he let you walk into that house
alone
to try on fancy underwear Friday night. Meaning he has no idea how badly you need to be…”

“Whoa, there, hold on.”

He held up both hands, palms out. “Sorry. I meant, he has no idea how badly you wanted to have sex. Hot, wild, steamy sex. The guy’s got no clue.”

Her lips parted and she took a long, slow breath. He could practically see the thoughts churning behind her violet eyes and knew he’d been pretty outspoken about something that didn’t concern him. Still, he had been thinking about this since Friday night, and now that he’d said something, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

Of course, he didn’t go on. He didn’t tell her he suspected that, after their hot kiss, she had been thinking about having hot steamy sex with someone else. As had he.

And considering she’d already admitted she had not started sleeping with another man, he had begun to wonder if he still had a shot with her after all.

Finally, she managed to say, “My relationship with Dimitri is really…”

“None of my business. Yeah, yeah. I know.” He leaned back in his chair, kicking his legs out and crossing his feet at the ankle. “Of course, considering you were half-naked and kissing me a few minutes after trying on seduction lingerie meant for him, maybe it is my business.”

Her jaw dropped. “You kissed me.”

“I didn’t feel you resisting.” Far,
far
from it.

“You caught me off guard, that’s all.”

“For five solid minutes?”

“It wasn’t five minutes.”

“It was at least five minutes. Maybe ten.”

“Ten
seconds,
at most.”

She looked like she was about to continue, probably to insist his watch was broken and the clock moved backward, and up was down, but he snorted. “Keep telling yourself those lies.”

She sputtered, obviously not used to not getting the last word. Finally she went for the third-grader response. “You…you jerk.”

“However long it lasted, you’ve got to admit, that was a hell of a kiss.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, keeping her mouth closed, not daring to deny it. Her quivering lips and out-thrust chin looked more adorable than determined.

Adorable…like everything else about Mimi Burdette. She was gorgeous, funny, smart. And oh, so damn stubborn.

He couldn’t resist teasing her a bit more. “I’m assuming your housewarming gift for your new neighbors don’t always include tongue?”

Fire snapped in her eyes. No more silent treatment. He almost regretted baiting her. “I wasn’t your Welcome Wagon. How many times do we have to go over this—you were in
my
apartment. I could have had you arrested as a prowler.”

“I bet the cops would have enjoyed the view as much as I did.”

The vocabulary went from third-grade to middle-school level.

“You ass!”

When she launched up from the table, he reached out a hand, putting it on hers and entwining their fingers. “Stay.”

“Why should I?”

With a simple shrug, he explained, “Because you’re not really mad, and you’re having fun. Even though you’re ready to find a vase to break over my head, you like me.”

She hesitated.

“Come on,” he cajoled, “when’s the last time anybody ever gave you shit and made you laugh at yourself? I suspect you’re always serious at work, subduing the real you, wanting to stay on Dad’s good side for a change and fit into that world even though you don’t always like it. And your un-boyfriend sure didn’t look like the life of the party. So hell, Hermione, finish your beer, let your hair down and just enjoy the sunset, why don’t you?”

“Don’t call me Hermione,” she insisted, looking like she couldn’t decide whether to slap him or laugh at the entire conversation.

Then she fell silent, standing there, gazing down at him, their hands together. He saw indecision cross her face and knew she was tempted. He also knew he was right—it was a rare thing for this woman to just let herself be silly and relax. She’d made the decision to thrust the free-spirited part of herself away and focus on being the kind of daughter her father wanted.

It was shameful. As far as Xander was concerned, both her father and this Dimitri douche had a lot of explaining to do. Especially for things as simple as the fact that this amazing woman didn’t even remember how to unwind on a beautiful evening like this one.

Unable to resist, now that he knew she was technically still single, he pulled her hand closer, lifting it to his lips. He had kissed her mouth Friday night, but hadn’t had a chance to explore all that soft, fragrant, feminine skin.

And he wanted to. Badly. Her hand would do for a start.

He pressed a kiss in the fleshy part of her hand, between her thumb and index finger. Hearing her tiny sigh, he kissed again, this time flicking out his tongue to taste her. Her fingers went limp in his, and he freed them to turn her hand over. That gave him her palm to explore, and he began to do it, kissing his way to the life lines in the center.

It was the simplest of kisses, seemingly innocent, but still somehow incredibly personal. Because all he could think about as he tasted her hand was moving on to her wrist, and her arm, and her shoulder and her throat. On, and on and on. There were miles of Mimi to explore, vast, feminine spaces, and doing it out here in the sunshine sounded like his idea of heaven.

“Oh, are we having a B.Y.O.M. cookout?” a voice called, interrupting the moment.

Xander immediately dropped her hand and sat straight up. Obi-Wan was coming out of the house, accompanied by a thin, pale guy Xander had met at the party. He was a tenant on the second floor, a writer, Will…Sherman? Shaker? Something like that.

Mimi walked to them quickly, and he couldn’t tell if she was glad for the interruption or was simply embarrassed. “That sounds great,” she said. Then she looked back over her shoulder. “Every once in a while everybody raids their fridge and brings out stuff for a community cookout. Bring Your Own Meat.” She nibbled her bottom lip, as if undecided, then quickly added, “Why don’t you join us?”

It was a house event, so he probably hadn’t required the invitation. But he was glad she’d extended it anyway. Very glad. Whatever she’d felt about the things he’d said, or the way he’d kissed her hand, she was willing to keep exploring whatever was happening between them.

Something was happening between them, of that he had no doubt. He couldn’t put a name on it, and had no idea where it was going. The only thing he did know was that he and Mimi had been like water put in a pot on a warm burner. Things were heating up. When or if they would come to a boil, he honestly didn’t know.

But he sure planned to stick around to find out.

“I’d love to.”

5

M
IMI HAD ALWAYS
enjoyed the impromptu backyard cookouts with her neighbors, and this weekend’s was no exception. At first, she’d worried about Xander’s presence, considering she simply couldn’t decide how she felt about the man. In the end, though, she was glad he’d stayed. Very glad.

He was, in truth, incredibly charming. Friendly, funny, easy to talk to. By the end of the night, he’d made her completely forget she was mad at him for taunting her about the way they’d met, and about her relationship with Dimitri. She’d also forgotten she’d promised herself she wasn’t going to let herself enjoy being with him.

She couldn’t help enjoying his company; nobody could. He was just the kind of man everyone wanted to be around. He helped Obi-Wan with the grill, ran out for ice to fill the cooler for Anna, spent a half hour talking firefighter stuff with Will, who swore he intended to write a character just like Xander in one of his plays.

And he kept murmuring under-the-breath jests to Mimi. Mostly innocent, but occasionally he’d say something that reminded her of the way they’d met, and she’d laugh against her own better judgment, even while she quietly threatened him with bodily harm if he dared to tell anyone else what had happened Friday night.

There was more than flirtation, though. More than that bad-boy grin, or the knowing smirk. At one point, when she’d been busy helping Anna bring out side dishes and condiments, she realized Xander had gone back to the magnolia tree and finished what she’d started this afternoon. She’d found a half dozen magnolia blooms piled up on the table in front of her vacant chair. They were in full, creamy-colored bloom. Fragrant, soft, exquisite.

When she raised a curious brow, he shrugged. “I didn’t want you to risk any more raging dragonfly attacks,” he told her. “I might not be around to catch you next time.”

The gesture made her melt a little, deep inside. “I’m not the type of woman who waits around for a man to catch me.”

“That’s okay, I won’t make you wait.”

They stared at one another for a long moment, then she lifted the blooms in her arms, bringing the entire bunch to her face and inhaling deeply. Rubbing the petals against her face, she smiled in contentment as the lovely fragrance filled her nose.

Looking over the armful of flowers, she saw Xander was still watching her closely. He lifted a hand and rubbed his jaw, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. She saw his throat move as he swallowed hard and realized he was affected by her sensual delight in the flowers—their scent, their beauty, their softness. After a moment’s hesitation, she drew the bouquet close again, brushing the petals of one across her lips.

She heard his tiny, almost inaudible groan. He shifted a little closer and inhaled, as if wanting to share the moment, and the warmth of his tall, rock-hard body radiated toward her.

“I’d never even seen real magnolias before I moved to Georgia,” he murmured, reaching up and scraping the tip of his index finger against one big blossom.

“They’re my…”

“Favorite flower,” he concluded. “I know.”

Of course he did, she’d told him earlier. But she suspected that even if she hadn’t, he’d have realized it. He was intuitive; he noticed things.

She suddenly had the strangest thought—did Dimitri know her favorite flower?

All the things Xander had said about how little Dimitri knew her had stuck in her brain, gnawing at her.

Did Dimitri know how badly she sometimes just needed to let her hair down and laugh? Did he realize how much of her real self she subdued every day in order to fit in to the world she wasn’t even sure she liked? Did he know what she wanted, and how she wanted it…which sounded like an incredibly sexual question but could really be applied to every part of her life?

Did he even know her real name?

Honestly, in all the time they’d known each other, he’d never made the perceptive comments Xander had made to her today. And he’d never asked her what Mimi stood for.

That was the moment when she realized she might have made a big mistake. Because, up until then, being around a sexy, flirtatious guy was just a little dangerous. Now she realized she was spending time with a very perceptive and very nice one, too. Nice. Sexy. Smart. Charming.

And, uh,
not
the guy she was dating. Not the one who had been handpicked by her father. Not the one who fit into her neatly ordered future. Not the one who was low-risk, who wouldn’t hurt her.

Oh, she was in serious trouble here.

“You know,” she said, suddenly lowering the flowers and turning away from Xander, “it’s getting late and it’s a work night. I think I’m going to head in.”

“Thanks for your help, honey,” said Anna. “Let’s do this again next Saturday to welcome my daughter and grandson, okay?”

“
Our
daughter and grandson,” Obi-Wan interjected.

Anna ignored him. “Helen and Tuck will be arriving from Atlanta late Saturday afternoon.”

“I know you must be very happy about that,” Mimi said.

“We are,” said Obi-Wan. “Our daughter needs us.
Both
of us.”

He and his wife exchanged a look, and Anna slowly nodded in agreement. Here, at least, they would always be united. Maybe having Helen and Tuck around would be good for them…if they had a joint cause, perhaps they wouldn’t allow petty misunderstandings to keep them apart. Of course, even if Anna gave up her Shakespearean “boy-toy,” something else would happen to set off Obi-Wan’s jealous streak again in a few months. Still, a few months’ peace would be good for everyone.

Saying good-night again, and ignoring Xander’s curious—somewhat accusing—stare, she went inside.

While she hadn’t been kidding about needing to head in because it was a work night, she had a problem. She wasn’t tired. Not at all. She couldn’t stop thinking about the day, the way Xander had plucked her out of the air like some kind of swashbuckling hero. That sounded familiar to her, for some reason—probably from some romantic movie she’d seen. Nor could she stop replaying their conversations, both personal and not, both serious and light.

After taking a long shower, she tried watching TV, then reading. She was alert for sounds in the hall, and knew exactly when the house party broke up. Which meant she also knew when Xander was back in his apartment, alone. Probably getting ready for bed. She hoped he had a better night’s sleep than she was in store for, because she didn’t think she’d manage to close her eyes for hours.

Then, suddenly, she remembered something. “The tea!”

There was more of Obi-Wan’s wonderfully soothing tea in the small bag he’d given her Friday night. She couldn’t remember exactly how it tasted, she just knew it had helped her fall asleep almost immediately. She’d slept like the dead, hadn’t been conscious of a thing until the next morning and had awakened feeling refreshed and full of energy.

Heading into the kitchen, she brewed a cup. As she stirred it and carried it back to her room, the aroma tickled her nostrils and that familiar warmth hit her. But it wasn’t until she actually took her first sip that something else did.

Memories.

“That crazy dream,” she mumbled, suddenly remembering the strange adventure with the dragon and the flying man. “Weird.”

She didn’t imagine the tea had caused the dream, but it had apparently knocked her out enough to make her forget all about it until just now. It was potent stuff.

So potent that she was asleep again within minutes of finishing the cup.

Asleep…and dreaming…

* * *

I
T WAS EVENING.
Not yet dark—minutes before sunset, perhaps. The sky was a sherbet-swirl blend of pink, orange and purple. The day’s last golden sunbeams pierced the clear sky, sending warmth cascading down on the earth, a shower of sun drops, a heavy rain of dazzling heat. Mimi felt it sizzling on her skin, warming every inch of her.

Something had beckoned her outside—a scent. A musky, masculine smell filled her nostrils and intoxicated her, sending pulsing need flowing through her veins. She needed to follow it, breathe it in, let it fill her completely. She was drawn to its source as if pulled irrevocably forward by invisible strings that had latched around her body.

She was walking in the woods, surrounded by ancient trees, loops of vines, the greens and browns of nature’s forest palette. When she inhaled, the air tasted of pine, oaky bark and musky earth. And man. Oh, delightful, hot, spicy man.

Thick moss carpeted her toes. Despite the heat, and that perfect, cloudless sky, there was still a low mist hovering over the ground. She felt it swirling around her ankles, soft, warm, moist fingers of air caressing her skin, sliding up her calves, kissing her thighs.

She realized she was naked. But there was no embarrassment, no clasping of arms over bare breasts, or hand over the vulnerable thatch of curls concealing her sex. She was unashamed, untamed, free and natural. All that was elemental and earthy and right.

She was Eve.

And there, lying beside a bubbling brook, was her Adam.

Another man’s name flashed in her mind, though it really had no meaning. She couldn’t quite remember who that was, nor could she be sure the name belonged to the naked man lying before her, one arm flung out to his side, the other bent and draped over his face.

She breathed in, searching for the scent that had so attracted her, but must have been too far away, because she didn’t catch it.

So she just looked. Stared. It was impossible not to.

He was beautiful. Tall, lean and strong, with muscles flexing beneath his warm skin. He was unaware of her, merely warming himself in the sun, his sex flaccid, his mood languid and relaxed. Like a big cat lazing on a sunny rock.

She knew she should leave him, walk away, not interrupt his idyll. But instead, her feet moved forward. As she drew closer, she noted the light swirl of hair on his chest, which rose and fell with his steady breaths. The skin was glistening, a faint sheen of sweat visible on the rippling muscles of his stomach.

He shifted, arched up a little. Then he inhaled deeply, as if catching some scent in the air—as drawn to hers as she was to his. It must have been his, mustn’t it? She edged closer, needing her senses filled with it again, but still didn’t get what she sought.

He moved his arm away from his face and looked toward her, but the mist still obscured his face. When he murmured, “Come,” she thought she recalled the voice.

Dimitri.

But who was Dimitri? She couldn’t quite recall.

He waited, but she hesitated, the mist seeming to hold tight to her ankles. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? The moment she’d planned for, waited for? So why did she remain in the shadows, her feet heavy, her body tense?

She was quiet, waiting, thinking. And then, suddenly, she could smell it again. Her body reacted to the heat of man smell, the richness of sex and desire and passion. It called to her, aroused her, filled her with need and hunger, as if she were an animal reacting to the pheromones of her mate.

Her mind leaped forward and her feet wanted to follow, but she had the strangest feeling that something was behind her. A crush of leaf and twig hinted that someone was even closer to her than she was to the nude man lying on the ground. There was a faint stirring in the air, then the oddest sensation of warmth, like a slowly released breath, brushed her nape.