Stirring Up Trouble (3 page)

“Ah, true love,” Sloane said without sarcasm. “Maybe I should write you into a short story. I could probably sell it in four seconds flat.”

Carly’s smile held the tiniest threat. “Don’t even think about it. Anyway, are you sure about leaving? Maybe you could just write the book from here.”

“Only if I want to kill my career in one swift move. Let’s face it, I have to knock this book out of the park, and I haven’t had a decent idea since I landed here. I don’t just write on location, sweetie. I
live
on location, and it’s time for me to be moving on. If I want to spark my creativity and write a bestseller, I’m going to have to pack my bags. It’s the only way that works.”

Her stomach began to ache, and she kept swirling her untasted soup. Forget Greece. If she couldn’t come up with some money, and stat, she wasn’t even going to be able to afford her current rent at the bungalow.

Which meant that her only available option would be to move home and try to write a career-saving book under her mother’s disapproving nose. Talk about your hostile conditions.

“You know, selling a short story isn’t such a bad idea. Maybe you could try that,” Carly said.

“The whole problem is that small-town settings are off-limits, remember? And that’s all I’ve got.” As much as she hated to admit it, Sloane was utterly out of story ideas, other than the one Belinda had shot down. If she wanted exotic ideas, she needed the exotic locale to go with it.

Carly leaned forward, dropping her chin into her palms. “Maybe you just need a little inspiration.” But the suggestion only prompted Sloane to bark out a sardonic laugh at the double entendre.

“Please. Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve had a little
inspiration?
” She hooked disdainful air quotes around the word, counting backward in her head to recheck her math.

Wait, was it January again? Already? Jeez, no wonder her muse was pissed.

“I’m sorry,” Carly said. “Maybe that wasn’t a good suggestion.”

“Actually, it’s a great suggestion.” Sloane released her spoon with a plunk, and all the frustration swishing around in her chest burst forth in an emotional jailbreak. “Believe me, nothing would make me happier than to be earth-movingly
inspired
right now. As a matter of fact, considering the lack of inspiration going on in my life, I think I’m due for a downright out-of-body experience. Not that I’ve ever reached the summit of Mount O during the actual act. Nope, not me. If I’m gonna get there, I’ve gotta fly solo.”

What a joke. She had to be the only romance writer on the planet who’d never achieved orgasm with someone else in the room. No wonder she had an epic-sized case of the writing blahs.

“Sweetie.” Carly’s eyes widened, coppery brown and full of astonishment. She reached a hand out, but Sloane had hit her limit. She lifted a hand right back, stopping her friend’s motion cold.

“No, really. Karmically speaking, is it too much to ask for the powers-that-be to send some mind-blowing orgasms my way? I’m tired of doing all the work. Plus, it’s all in the name of research. I mean, show a girl a little joy, for heaven’s sake!” Sloane knew she was ranting, but blowing off the steam she’d slowly built up felt divine. “Just once, I’d like to give new meaning to the phrase
life imitates art
. After all the fumbling lovers I’ve put up with who couldn’t find my hot spots with a map and compass, I deserve some really hot, toe-curling, religious-experience sex!”

“Um, Sloane?”

But the sinfully good release prompted her to continue without pause. “I mean it,
cucciola
. In spite of what I do for a living, I’m starting to think men who can dish up Richter scale orgasms are just a cruel myth.”

Finally stopping for a breath, Sloane registered the odd look on Carly’s face with apprehension. “What? Oh, God, don’t tell me they really
are
a myth?”

The deep rumble of a throat being cleared cut Sloane’s breath short in her lungs.

“Excuse me, chef. I don’t mean to interrupt a . . . delicate conversation, but I’ve got an emergency I need to discuss with you.”

The sound of the very smooth, very male voice over her shoulder froze Sloane into place and ignited every one of her nerve endings to a slow sizzle. Stunned, she whirled in her seat, only to find herself face-to-crotch with a pair of flawlessly tailored charcoal dress slacks. The wearer jerked backward, looking both startled and more than a little put out at her sudden movement.

Carly cleared her throat too late to hide the laugh beneath the gesture. “Sloane, you remember my restaurant manager, Gavin Carmichael, don’t you?”

Knowing she should be utterly mortified and praying for a fault line in the earth to swallow her whole, Sloane threw on a cocky smile instead. Letting her gaze float slowly upward, she looked Gavin right in his stunning, melted-chocolate eyes and said the only thing she could think of.

“Nice pants.”

Chapter Three

A thousand thoughts raced through Gavin’s mind, not the least of which was a) he felt like someone had shoved a furnace under his skin and b) as pretty as she was, Sloane must be doing one hell of an indecent research project. He raked a gaze over the glossy black hair she’d tossed out of her eyes, feeling every inch of her water-color-blue stare as she returned the favor of an assessing up-and-down.

Damn, she really was pretty.

“It’s nice to see you again.” Oh, hell. If that stiff-as-aboard reply was the best he could do, he needed to get out more. After all, they’d met before, and he’d seen her a handful of times around the restaurant. Plus, this wasn’t exactly his first rodeo. He could hold his own around beautiful women—hell, Caroline had been a former Miss Santa Barbara, with pretty to spare.

Right. Just look where that had gotten him.

Sloane slipped him a catlike smile, murmuring a breathy “likewise” in his direction before angling herself back toward the table, offering her long, cross-legged profile so as not to turn her back on him completely. She didn’t look the least bit embarrassed that he’d overheard her highly personal discussion. It also didn’t seem to fluster her that she’d swung her taller-than-average frame around so fast, he hadn’t had time to calculate where her baby blues would land until it was too late to reposition himself.

Carly furrowed her brow. “Is there a problem with tonight’s staff?”

“I’m sorry?” Despite his efforts, all Gavin could come up with was a pair of heart-shaped lips uttering the words
really hot, toe-curling, religious-experience sex
. The image conjured by Sloane’s words and the fresh memory of her quick turnaround flashed seductively through his head, and the furnace under his skin cranked into overdrive.

“You mentioned an emergency,” Carly reminded him. “Is everything okay?”

Reality yanked at Gavin with a vicious twist, and he jammed both hands in his pockets, moving his trousers from Sloane’s natural line of vision even though she’d turned her attention back to her soup.

Was he out of his mind? How had he forgotten about Bree, even for a minute? His mother had trusted him to take care of her, and here he was, overcome with dirty thoughts for a woman with an even dirtier mouth.

Nice.

“Right. Actually, no it’s not.” Gavin paused, trying to think of how to explain things in as little detail as possible. Mixing work with his personal life wasn’t something he made a habit of, not that anything private ever ranked too high on his list of things to share. “My thirteen-year-old sister is on her way here from school. The person who usually looks after her had an emergency, and . . . well, do you know anyone who’d be willing to keep an eye on her for me, at least while I’m on shift tonight?”

Carly furrowed her brow while Sloane lifted her arms in a languid stretch. Gavin forced himself to ignore the briefly exposed sliver of skin between the hem of her long-sleeved T-shirt and the top of her jeans, focusing intently on the empty four-top just over Carly’s shoulder.

“Just for tonight?” she asked, biting her lip in thought.

He shook his head. “I have a priority call in with the babysitting service, but there’s a possibility they won’t find anybody on short notice. I’ll try to figure something out when I’m off on Monday, but I need somebody at least until then.”

“Your mom’s gone all weekend?”

Gavin met Carly’s confused gaze and steeled himself. “I’m Bree’s legal guardian.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” She left the requisite pause for him to fill in the blanks, but he waited out the awkward silence until she continued. “Well, let’s see. Jackson’s cousins are all right about that age themselves, so they’re out, and we only have eight days to go before the wedding, so his mom is up to her eyeballs in last-minute details . . .”

Despair crept up the back of Gavin’s neck, booting the words right out of his mouth. “I’ll pay really well. She just can’t be alone all weekend.”

“Mind if I ask why not?” Sloane unfolded her legs and turned to give him a quizzical look. “I mean, isn’t thirteen old enough to stay home alone?”

Gavin stiffened. He had this argument all the time with Bree. He wasn’t about to have it with some stranger, even if that stranger’s liquid blue stare could ignite a kitchen fire faster than a faulty broiler. “Yes, technically it is, and yes, I actually do mind if you ask.”

The words came out more clipped than he’d intended, and although Sloane’s eyes flashed as she fastened them on him yet again, she merely lifted a thin shoulder and returned to her soup. “Okay, then. You’re the boss.”

Carly’s glance flicked from Gavin down to her friend, a slow smile breaking over her face. “Why don’t you ask Sloane to watch your sister?”

“No!”

Gavin was about to apologize for letting the word rudely barge out, until he realized he wasn’t the one who’d said it.

Sloane shook her head, adamant. “Look, I’m sorry you’re in a bind, but I don’t do kids. Plus, I have a ton of work to do. I don’t have time to play Nanny McPhee.” Her coal-colored bangs tumbled over one cheek in another firm head shake, and something in Gavin’s chest leapt forward without his consent.

“That’s just as well, because I didn’t ask. Considering the conversation I just overheard, I don’t think whatever you do for a living would make you a good fit anyway.” Okay, so it was a bit chillier than was probably necessary, but still. Bree wasn’t just some
kid
.

“Excuse me?” The ladder of Sloane’s spine rose in an indignant line, and she leveled an icy stare at him.

“Okay, knock it off, both of you.” Carly stood, knotting her arms over her chest in a way that said she meant business. “Gavin, Sloane writes romance novels. I can personally vouch for her character.”

“And for the record, eavesdropping is rude,” Sloane added on a grumble. “What’d you think I did for a living?”

Gavin’s face went hot. “Well, it didn’t sound too respectable. And I wouldn’t have eavesdropped if you hadn’t been so loud.” Okay, so penning naughty books hadn’t crossed his mind as a possibility, and it was a lot more reputable than what his imagination had cooked up, but still. A romance writer who seemed hell-bent on stirring up trouble wasn’t exactly the kind of influence he wanted for his thirteen-year-old sister. He’d just bow out of this gracefully.

“No offense, but my sister’s in kind of a rough place. She’s been struggling in school lately, and I’d prefer someone with more experience who can handle that kind of thing. She’s got a lot of work to catch up on.”

Sloane uttered an unladylike noise. “I can
handle that kind of thing
perfectly fine. I’d just prefer not to. Plus, like I said, I have a book to write.” She pinched her thumb and forefinger together, motioning an imaginary pen across a page.

Oh, for the love of God. He’d been trying to be polite about it. Did she have to take it so personally?

“Look, I don’t have time for this,” he started, but Carly cut him off.

“No, you really don’t. It’s Friday, and as much as I’d love to tell you I can run the front of the house without you all weekend, the truth is that I can’t. But I do think the solution is right under your nose.” She tilted her head at her friend. “I meant it when I said Sloane’s a good choice. You already know her, she’s responsible, and she just happens to be looking for a little extra income.” Carly shot her friend a look that dared her to argue.

Of course, Sloane’s infuriatingly pink lips popped open in protest. “Well, yeah, but—”

“And Gavin,” Carly interrupted with her best don’t-fuck-with-me smile. “You said Bree needs help in school, right? What subject?”

“English, but—”

“Perfect,” Carly continued smoothly, and he had no choice but to shut up. “Sloane’s an excellent writer. Look, what doesn’t make sense here? You need someone to look after your sister and tutor her in English. And you”—she pointed a warning finger at Sloane—“are a writer who has the time and could use the money. Hate to break it to you, but despite both of your misgivings, it seems you two need each other. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve really got to help Adrian with the tasting menu.” She narrowed a
help me out, here
glance at her friend, then lobbed a matching one in his direction before disappearing into the kitchen.

Gavin blew out a hard breath. The restaurant was no place for a moody preteen to spend thirty-five hours of her weekend, no matter how badly he wanted to keep an eye on her, but still. Miss I-Don’t-Do-Kids couldn’t possibly be his only hope.

“Just out of curiosity, what’s the going rate for a babysitter these days? Not that I’m considering doing this,” Sloane qualified with a lift of her hand. “Because it’s a really bad idea.”

“And why is that? You don’t have a criminal record or anything, do you?” God, part of him wanted her to give up a reason that would make this conversation a done deal so he could come up with a decent fallback plan, one that didn’t involve a candidate with a sassy mouth and bravado to spare.

Sloane shocked him with her quick burst of laughter. “Of course not. Carly wouldn’t have recommended me if I was a degenerate, now would she?”

Okay, so she had him there. He wouldn’t have asked Carly for help if he didn’t trust her judgment. “Sorry. I guess you’re right.”

Sloane raised a shoulder toward the long, graceful line of her neck, releasing it noncommittally. “So you still haven’t answered my question.”

Gavin blinked, recalculating their conversation with a quick nod. “Oh, right.” He told her Mrs. Teasdale’s weekly rate, and her eyebrows shot skyward.

“And you just need somebody for the weekend?”

He hesitated. “Well, not really.”

Her almond-shaped eyes crinkled with a look of confusion. “It’s kind of a yes or no question.”

Damn it, he was really out of options. “If it works out this weekend, I’d need somebody until the babysitting service can find a replacement. Probably for a couple of weeks.”

Sloane’s smile turned shrewd. “
If
I do this, I want time and a half.” Her stare offered no quarter, but he met her head-on anyway. He wasn’t
that
desperate.

“First of all, I still haven’t asked. And secondly, what makes you think you’re worth time and a half?” How much experience could she have if she didn’t even like kids?

“Kid wranglers who double as English tutors don’t come cheap, and this one in particular needs the cash. You said she has a lot to catch up on; plus, you need someone to babysit on top of it. You’re getting two-for-one here. Take it or leave it.”

He folded his arms over his chest, not quite convinced. “You’re not going to teach her how to write trashy novels, are you?” Gavin asked, wary. Bree was only thirteen, for God’s sake.

Sloane’s pretty blue eyes shrank to slits. “The correct terminology for that perfectly legitimate subgenre is
erotica
. And of course I won’t teach her how to write it—in addition to being inappropriate, it’s not what you’re asking for. If you’d ask about my background instead of just passing judgment, you’d find that I earned an MFA from NYU, and I’ve taught several creative writing courses for adults online. Like it or not, this
trashy
author is probably more qualified to tutor middle school English than anyone else in Pine Mountain.”

He blinked. “You have a master’s degree?”

She served up a smile more syrupy than dessert wine. “Summa cum laude, buddy.”

Wonderful. All he wanted was to make sure Bree would learn Proust, not porn. So sue him for being a little protective and having his sister’s best interests at heart.

The antique grandfather clock by the double-door entrance echoed three distinct chimes through the muted chaos of kitchen prep, a literal signal that Gavin was running out of time. “Okay, what do you say we start over, here? I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Sloane’s saccharine smirk lost some of its caustic edge. “Well, you did a pretty good job of it.”

A tiny quirk tickled the corners of his mouth, daring it to bloom into a full-blown smile. “Come on. It’s a little tough to blame a guy for jumping to conclusions after overhearing all that talk about
orgasm
this and
toe-curling
that, don’t you think?”

But rather than get defensive or try to change the subject, Sloane chuckled. “Okay, you might have a point. But just so you’re aware, terms like
trashy
and
smut
are pretty derogatory. I take my job seriously, and I expect other people to do the same.”

Jeez, he’d really put his foot in his mouth. “Understood. But for the record, I take my sister’s welfare seriously, too. While I didn’t mean to insult you, it’s my responsibility to make sure Bree’s sitters are good enough to take care of her.”

Sloane’s lips parted for a split second before she pressed them together and dropped her head into a tight nod. “I hope you find someone who fits the bill.”

She shifted her body back toward the table and shouldered her bright red bag. As she stood and moved to scoop up her untouched bowl of soup, something high-pitched and fierce hollered at him to stop her. Risqué books aside, he really was out of options. Plus, despite Bree’s complaint about not needing a tutor, letting her fail English wasn’t an option.

“You fit the bill.” The words flew out before Gavin could finesse them into an actual request, and he scrambled to try again. “I mean, ah, I’d really like it if you could help me out with my sister until the babysitting service can send someone to relieve you. Please.”

Sloane looked at him with a shocked blink-and-start combination, and her spoon plopped to the tablecloth with a velvety orange splash. “I don’t know,” she said, finally. “Like I said, I’m not really a kid person. To be honest, I might fit the bill less than you think.”

“But you’re responsible, right?” God, any second now, Bree was going to walk through the door with a truckload of attitude and a backpack full of English assignments. Sloane nodded.
Think . . . think!