Never Too Hot (10 page)

She turned and looked over her shoulder toward the kitchen. It was quiet back there now as he redid the wires, and she supposed she could pretend that things were back to normal, that she was alone and content in the lakefront cabin. But Connor’s presence was so big, so overwhelming, her thoughts kept shifting back to him.

Maybe she should pack up her things and head out of the cabin to paint, find even ground to stand on and get back into her groove. But she couldn’t run from him all summer. If that was her plan, she might as well move out.

Closing her eyes, she was trying to relax by taking several deep breaths when she heard Connor kick the stove and mutter a curse. Opening her eyes, a smile on her lips, she picked up her paintbrush and it started moving, almost on its own accord, great wide strokes of vibrant color across the canvas.

Connor’s stomach growled, but he wanted to finish rewiring the kitchen’s electrical panel before quitting for the day. Tomorrow, he’d junk the old stove and go into town to pick up a new one. Every thirty minutes or so, when he stood up to stretch his legs and back, his eyes were drawn to the porch.

To Ginger.

Her hands moved quickly as she painted, deft strokes of color. She was incredibly talented, anyone could see that, even a guy like him who didn’t know the first thing about art.

He watched her pile her curls up on top of her head as the late afternoon heat kicked in and rays of sun moved across the porch. He couldn’t bring himself to step away before she noticed him standing in the doorway behind her.

She tried to cover the canvas with her arms as if to hide it from him. “It isn’t done. I’m not sure it’s any good yet.”

“It’s good.”

Color rushed to her cheeks at his compliment. “Thanks.”

Staring at her painting, he realized he finally saw the stillness he’d been looking for out on the dock that first night.

“How’d you do it?”

“Do what?”

He looked away from the painting, caught Ginger’s bewildered gaze, realized he’d spoken out loud.

“Never mind.”

“No,” she said, “you were going to say something about my painting.”

He held up his hands. “I don’t know anything about art.”

“Just spit it out already,” she said, clearly frustrated. “What were you going to say?”

“The lake. The mountains.” He hated this, feeling like an idiot. Every time he was with her, something happened. His hands went numb. He said too much. “I didn’t know anyone else saw them like that.”

“Like what?” she pressed.

Why couldn’t she just leave well enough alone?

“Alive,” he ground out. “They look alive.”

Her eyes went wide as she moved one hand over her heart. “You can see it? What I’m painting?”

“I told you. I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

His breath caught in his throat as she smiled back at him; her cheeks were a rosy pink, her hair piled on her head exposing her long, slender neck.

“No. I mean, yes, you do. You’re right. I’m painting the lake. The energy that’s within it and around it every single day. And no one has ever really seen—” She shook her head. “With abstract art, most people think it’s just a bunch of random colors.”

Oh shit. This conversation, these smiles, were the opposite of what he should be doing. “I’ll clean up my tools and get out of your hair for a while.”

She blinked at the abrupt switch, before saying, “Don’t go.” Looking flustered, she added, “I’m going to make some ground-turkey tacos. Are you hungry?”

“Starved,” he admitted, “but I can grab something in town.”

She was already moving past him into the kitchen, pulling out peppers and salsa and black olives. “It’s not a problem. I’d end up with leftovers anyway.”

Thinking of how Tim had said Kelsey would be insulted if he didn’t eat the breakfast she’d made, Connor told himself he didn’t have any choice but to accept.

He banged his knuckles against the stove. “You probably need this, right?”

“A stove would certainly be handy.”

Sweet Lord, the kitchen was so small that they were practically right on top of each other. Clamping his fingers around the edge of the stove hard enough to turn his knuckles white, he shoved the stove back into place against the wall.

“I’ll go clean up and come back down to help.”

Turning the water on, he stepped into the ice-cold spray before the old pipes had a chance to heat up and decided to leave it cold. This dinner was going to be a lesson in self-control. Or purgatory.

The green farmhouse dining table on the porch was set and full of food by the time he made it back downstairs, a beer in front of each plate. Sitting down on opposite sides of the narrow table, neither of them spoke as they concentrated on assembling their tacos.

After taking a bite, Connor had to tell her, “This is great, Ginger.”

Waving away his praise she said, “It’s nothing. Just tacos.”

He finished the first taco, started another. “You should be in the kitchen, not waiting tables.”

“Waiting tables is just for money. I’d rather paint.”

Watching as she sucked her lower lip beneath her upper teeth made not only Connor’s groin react, but also something in his chest. And even though he’d told himself over and over to keep his distance, he found that he wanted to know more about her, wanted to try to solve the mystery of her.

Maybe then she’d stop being so damn intriguing.

“Why are you here?”

She blinked, clearly thrown off by his abrupt question. “Most people have never heard of Blue Mountain Lake.”

She put down her half-eaten taco. “I got a divorce. And just to be clear, I’m the one who wanted out. But once it was all done I knew I couldn’t stay there anymore.”

“Where’s there?”

“New York City.”

The picture was growing clearer. “You didn’t wait tables in the city, did you?”

“No. I did a lot of fund-raising.” She raised her eyebrows. “More than you’d think was humanly possible, actually.”

Another puzzle piece slid into place. She didn’t dress like a rich girl, but there was a sophistication in the way she moved.

“Most people don’t walk away from money.”

She took a long drink from her bottle of beer, then said, “I know this is going to sound like I’m a poor little rich girl, but I love how different Blue Mountain Lake is from my previous life. My parents think I’m crazy to want to be out here, can’t believe I’m waiting tables for nothing, but it’s my decision. I waited thirty-three years for this, for something all my own, to use my own hands and brain rather than have everything handed to me on a silver platter.” She paused, looked him straight in the eye. “I came here to finally get it right.”

Any other time, any other person, he would have let it be. But the way Ginger had pushed him to talk last night about the fire, about his hands, still grated. He’d call it retribution, and work like hell to believe that’s all it was.

Rather than out-and-out fascination.

“Why’d your marriage fall apart?”

Instead of flinching at his pointed question, she came right back at him. “What is this, twenty questions?”

“Last night you got to ask the questions. Now it’s my turn.”

She seemed to consider it before nodding once in agreement. “Fine. But I’m not going to spare you the gory details.”

Jesus, he’d already felt that she’d understood him last night, but now it seemed that she’d almost been in his head too.

“I’d get them out of you anyway.”

Loaded tension swung back around to heat, back to the sensual chemistry they couldn’t push down.

“It was lust at first sight. Jeremy and I met at a dinner party given by a family friend. We left early to have sex at his frat house.”

Lust? Jealous sparks shot through him.

Looked like she was right. He didn’t want the gory details after all.

“I was twenty-two. A virgin in her senior year of college, the good girl who’d been saving herself for Mr. Perfect. So naive you wouldn’t believe it. Within weeks his ring was on my finger. My parents fought it, told me to slow down, but I just thought they were being their usual rich, cautious selves, that they were snobs because he didn’t have a huge bank account. So I ripped up the prenup they wanted him to sign and when he wanted money to start a company I gave it to him without doing any due diligence. I was so blindly, stupidly in love.” Her mouth twisted. “And then one day I realized it hadn’t been love at all. Just pretty good sex that left as quickly as it had come.”

Pretty good grated, but not as much as great or fantastic would have. Connor did the math.

“You must have been with him ten years.”

“Don’t remind me. What a waste. Ten years I spent trying to pretend everything was fine, trying to convince myself that I hadn’t made the wrong choice, that I hadn’t failed.”

“Why did you finally leave?”

Her eyes closed tight. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

A nice guy would have dropped it. But he’d lost that guy in the fire. “I talked last night. Fair is fair.”

Without opening her eyes, she said, “We were at one of the auctions I’d organized. Jeremy liked to be the auctioneer, was pretty good at it actually. Except that night, he’d been drinking. And when he drank he got sort of … mean.”

Connor’s fists clenched. “Did he hurt you?”

Her eyes flew open. “No.” She shook her head. “Yes. It was one of those ‘buy a date’ auctions and I was one of the last women to be auctioned off. He made a joke.”

“A joke.”

“About a cow.” Two bright spots of color spread across her cheeks. “About how if we lived in India I would be the prize for the night. That there must be some guy out there who liked,” she lifted her hands to make quote marks around the words, “big girls like me. And then he grimaced to show just how disgusting he thought I was.”

Connor had never met the guy, but he wanted to rip him apart with his bare hands.

“My father yanked him off the stage. I don’t remember exactly how I got to him through all the tables and chairs.” She smiled then, a bitter twist of her lips. “But I’ll never forget how good it felt to slap him. The sound it made when my palm hit his jaw. And then he swung at me with both fists, would have hit me if one of my father’s friends hadn’t pulled me out of the way in time.”

She took a breath, seemed to come back to the porch, the dining table. “It was the final straw. What was the point of pretending anymore? Everyone could already see what a mess my marriage was. So I filed. And got the hell out of there.”

“Your husband was an asshole.”

She smiled, almost seeming surprised by it. “You’re right. He was. Is.”

“And he was wrong. About you, about how you look.”

“Connor, you don’t have to. It’s taken me a long time, but I’m finally starting to come to terms with my body. With my shape.” Another smile, this time more sad than happy. “I spent a lot of summers at fat camp.”

“Whoa. You’re joking, right?”

“Every summer I got to hang out with fifty of my best overweight friends. I could quote the calorie handbook to you verbatim.”

He hated everything about the idea of fat camp. Especially when there was nothing wrong with Ginger. Nothing at all.

“I still don’t get it. Why would they have sent you to—”

No, he wasn’t going to say the words. Not when they didn’t fit her.

On the surface Ginger seemed so strong. She hadn’t taken any of his bull, had come right back at him every time. But now, for the first time, he saw a hint of the fragility she’d been hiding.

“I guess my parents thought life would be easier for me if I were prettier, if I could wear the same things everyone else did. But like I said, I’m over it.” She held out her arms. “After my divorce, I figured it was time for a new approach. To say this is me. Take it or leave it.”

Jesus, she didn’t get it, how badly he wanted to take it. Take her. Rage rushed through him at what that prick of an ex-husband had said to her, at the way her parents had belittled her beauty; he forgot his vow to stay in neutral territory.

“The first moment I saw you standing on the porch in your cutoff shorts and tight little shirt, I wanted you.”

Ginger pushed her chair back so fast the loud scrape of the chair echoed all through the porch. She grabbed their plates.

“I’ll clear this up.”

But the kitchen wasn’t far enough away, didn’t give her the space she needed to pull herself back together.

She’d been about to throw herself at him, about to beg him to make love to her, to shove the plates and food off the dining table and pull him down over her as a thank-you not just for saying something so incredibly sweet, but for getting her art in a way few other people ever had.

Only, she’d just told him her whole sob story. If anything had happened just then she would feel like it was out of pity.

He walked into the kitchen holding the rest of the dishes, his large presence seeming to suck up all the air in the room.