Feeling The Heat Page 6

  “Good morning, Georgia,” a cheerful clerk said from behind the counter. “The usual?”

  So they knew her well then, Linc decided. That definitely worked in their favor.

  “Yeah, and I’d like to add a prune Danish for my friend here.” She jerked her head in his direction and made a false moue of sympathy. “He’s having a little plumbing problem, if you know what I mean,” she stage-whispered loud enough for everyone in the restaurant to hear.

  Linc felt his cheeks burn and he managed a pained smile. “I don’t need one, thanks.”

  “Would you prefer bran?” she asked delicately.

  “I don’t need anything.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Georgia said briskly. “We all have that problem from time to time.” She cleared her throat. “Speaking of problems, Mandy…Carter hasn’t happened to have been in recently, has he?”

  Well done, Linc thought. Very smooth, very casual.

  Mandy’s uncertain gaze bounced between him and Georgia, as though she didn’t quite know what to make of Georgia asking about the old boyfriend in front of who she assumed was the new one. “You mean that guy you used to date?”

  “That’d be the one,” she confirmed grimly.

  Mandy’s brow wrinkled in thought for a few seconds, then she shook her head. “He hasn’t come in on my shift,” she finally said. “You might check with the evening staff.”

  Georgia winced with disappointment. “He left a couple of things at my place that I need to get back to him and I haven’t had any luck reaching him.” She reached into her purse and withdrew a slim silver card holder. “Would you mind taking my card and giving me a call if he comes in?”

  Mandy nodded. “Sure.”

  “And don’t let him know,” Georgia added, rocking back on her heels and looking all mysterious. “I want to surprise him.”

  A slow, knowing smile dawned over Mandy’s lips, indicating that they’d just formed one of those odd womanly bonds only chicks understood. Women, Linc thought with a mental snort of derision.

  “You betcha,” she said.

  Georgia accepted the trendy foil bag which held their breakfast and her coffee drink. It was one of those double-espresso-mocha-latte-half-half-decaf things he abhorred. He took his coffee black. The end. In his opinion, everything else was nonsense. Furthermore, who had the time to stand around and wait on coffee? He had an automatic timer on his machine which brewed it for him before he ever got out of bed. Now that, by God, was what he called efficient.

  “What would you like to drink?” Mandy asked him.

  Georgia winced. “You should probably have some sort of juice, don’t you think?”

  He would get her back for this, Linc decided, looking into those deceptively sweet brown eyes. He would so get her back. “I’ll have coffee,” he said, smiling over gritted teeth. “Plain, black coffee.”

  A minute later they were back in his truck, heading to destination number two on her list—Gib’s Ribs, another trendy bistro where Carter could sit and look important without having to spend any money. Georgia, looking particularly pleased with herself, tore a chunk from her poppy-seed muffin and popped it into her mouth. Despite being royally irritated, there was something disturbingly erotic about watching her eat.

  It was her mouth, he decided broodingly.

  It was full and lush, ripe like a strawberry and though he never tasted it—and didn’t intend to—would no doubt be just as sweet. He immediately imagined it sliding down his chest, then wrapping around that throbbing part of him that didn’t seem to recognize she was a threat. He hardened again and mentally swore.

  “Is something wrong?” Georgia asked, pausing guardedly.

  “No.”

  “Do you want your prune Danish?”

  In answer to that question, he chucked the entire bag out the window.

  She gasped, horrified. “You just littered!”

  “There’ll be a convict along directly to pick it up.” One of his father’s politically incorrect lines and frankly, he hated it, but he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of being right. Even though she was, dammit. He hated that he’d allowed her to irritate him so damned much, but he didn’t seem to be able to control himself. Which was precisely why he’d tried so desperately to avoid her.

  He knew—knew—that she’d be trouble.

  He didn’t litter, dammit. He’d cleaned all of the empty soda cans and garbage out of his vehicle this morning just so that she could get in it.

  Georgia pulled her cell phone from her purse and idly keyed in a number.

  “Who are you calling?” he asked suspiciously.

  “The police. I’m going to report you.”

  He blinked, astounded, and felt his jaw drop. “Have you forgotten that I’m doing you a favor?”

  “Have you forgotten the law?” she shot back. “Whatever happened to ‘Sworn to protect and serve’?”

  “That’s the police,” he growled, making a grab for her phone.

  She leaned out of his way. “Whatever. You back up the police, don’t you? What sort of example are you setting? You’re supposed to be an example to the community.”

  Her penchant for being right was becoming a perpetual thorn in his side. “I’m a bond-enforcement agent, Pollyanna, not a civil servant.” Good grief, it wasn’t like he’d run over a puppy. It was a foil bag.

  “You’re a litterer. And litterers get hefty fines.” She perked up and leaned even farther away from him as someone evidently picked up on the other end of the line.

  Motherfuc—

  “Ah, yes. My name is Georgia Hart and I’d like to report a crime.”

  Geez, God. How freaking humiliating. Aside from making him look bad, he’d get razzed for this unmercifully by every one of his law-enforcement buddies. Not to mention his family. Cade, in particular. There was only one thing he could do.

  “Yes, a crime. I know the perpetrator and will be willing to fill out a sworn statement.” She shot him a smug look.

  Because his brain had been replaced with an irrational mass of anger, Linc broke another law and committed an abrupt U-turn. She squealed in alarm and her organized purse, muffin and coffee went flying. “I’ll go back,” he said, feeling his belly swell with galling dread. He took advantage of gravity and snatched the cell phone out of her hand as she landed hard against him. Any other time he would have appreciated having a soft female plastered against him, the feel of a plump breast landing against his arm, but at the moment he was too irritated.

  He snapped her phone shut, effectively ending the call. “God, woman, you are a lot of trouble,” he said, hoping his exasperation covered the shake in his voice.

  She straightened herself, primly smoothed her hair making sure every last strand was still firmly snug against her head. “You should have more respect for the law.”

  He shot her a pointed look. “You should have more respect for someone doing you a favor.”

  She opened her mouth, prepared to argue, but ultimately snapped it shut. She swore softly under her breath—a surprisingly harsh epithet out of that sweet-looking mouth—and released a pent-up sigh. “You’re right. I apologize.”

  He didn’t know what surprised him more—the fact that she admitted she was wrong, or the apology. Both issued from a woman were out of the realm of his experience. Not that he’d ever argued with a woman the way he did with her. Honestly, Georgia Hart was in a league of her own when it came to pushing his buttons and making him feel like he needed to take the world apart a piece at a time. All of that combined with that annoyingly sexy mouth he couldn’t seem to stop looking at, the incessant need he’d suddenly developed to land between her thighs, and Linc was ready to howl.

  Ultimately, though, he’d suddenly realized something much more profound and shaming than he’d bargained for from her—this little mouthy wedding planner with the wounded, sweet brown eyes, sexy mouth and too-tight ponytail had more character than he did.

  He pulled off to the
side of the road, got out of his truck, snagged the bag and climbed back in behind the wheel. His gaze drifted to Georgia who was trying to repair some of the damage his U-turn had wrought. Coffee stained her white blouse and muffin crumbs were all over her black suit. Though she hadn’t uttered a single complaint, he knew it was killing her. Feeling even more like an ass, Linc cleared his throat. “You’ll need to change.”

  “I will.”

  “Good, I wanted to take you shopping for proper bounty-hunter clothes, anyway.” He put the truck back in gear and merged with traffic.

  She stopped putting things in her purse long enough to glare at him. “I don’t want to go shopping,” she said, her voice vibrating with irritation. “I want to go home, clean up and change clothes.”

  Linc started to argue, but ultimately changed his mind. A thought struck and he hit Send on her cell phone, redialing the last number she’d called.

  “Weddings With Hart, this is Karen. How can I help you?”

  He chuckled grimly and shook his head, then shot her an appraising look. “You’re slick, Georgia, I’ll give you that.”

  She merely smiled.

  Another blanket of heat blasted him and he resisted the urge to lean forward and taste those strawberry lips. He wanted to feel her, Linc thought. Mold his hands over her face and know her shape. Every last covered up, pinned down inch.

  Slick and had character, Linc thought, staring at her mouth once again.

  Now that was a dangerous combination.

  JAW TIGHT AND EVERY MUSCLE seemingly clenched in uncomfortable misery—it was her talent, after all, Georgia thought morosely—Linc wheeled his SUV down her long paved drive. Other than to gruffly ask if the coffee had burned her, he hadn’t had much to say. It hadn’t—luckily the majority of it had landed on his dashboard—but she was still stupidly touched that he’d asked. He might be a perpetual frat-boy ogre, but he’d at least demonstrated a modicum of rudimentary courtesy.

  Live oaks and sugar maples dressed in their latest fall colors, along with an occasional cypress to break up the monotony, dotted the rolling landscape. A sturdy split-rail fence marched along the drive and separated various pastures, and the big red barn she’d always fancifully considered the castle for their horses sat in the distance, a postcard image for lazy summer days and the smell of sweet hay. Several horses munched on the rare clump of lingering green grass, her blue roan mare, Magalina—Mags for short—included.

  “You ride?” he asked, seemingly surprised. Those deep green orbs had widened with interest and, dare she hope…appreciation?

  No doubt he thought the pastime was too dirty a hobby for her. She rather liked the idea of shattering one of his perceptions about her. “I’m not going to win any awards, but yes.” She pointed to Mags. “That mare is mine.”

  He whistled low under his breath. “She’s pretty. What’s her name?”

  “Magalina.”

  A short chuckle burst from his throat. “Magalina? As in Magalina Hagalina? The old children’s song about the ugly girl?”

  Georgia smiled. “That’d be the one.”

  He poked his tongue in his cheek. “Why would you name that beautiful animal after an ugly girl?”

  “I didn’t want her getting too full of herself.”

  Again another startled chuckle rumbled up from his chest and he turned to stare at her. “You’re kidding, right?”

  Georgia smiled and rolled her eyes. “Of course, I’m kidding. I didn’t name her. Her previous owners did. She wasn’t so beautiful when she was a colt. She looked like she’d rolled around in a puddle of ink. Her confirmation was a little off—legs too short and she was awkwardly gaited.”

  Linc slowed and watched Mags canter in perfect form across the field. “Looks like she’s past that.”

  “She is. She just needed a little time to grow and come into her own. Her owners were too impatient.” She pulled a shrug. “Their loss, my gain.”

  “I can’t argue with you there.”

  Georgia felt a droll smile roll across her lips. “Well, there’s got to be a first time for everything.”

  Smiling, Linc slid her a considering glance. “You’re just not going to miss an opportunity, are you?”

  She pulled another small, hopeless shrug. “I can’t seem to help myself.”

  And it was true. In her profession there’d been times she’d not only had to bite her tongue, but resist the urge to gnaw if off completely. She’d mastered the delicate balance of being both courteous and firm, of orchestrating the perfect compromise. Why, then, couldn’t she keep her uncharitable comments to herself when it came to Linc Stone? Why did she want to goad him at every turn? Annoy him? Particularly when, as he’d so irritatingly pointed out, he was doing her a favor?

  Ordinarily she was pretty good at protecting her own interests, but with Linc, logic seemed to fly out the window. Much like the Danish he’d tossed earlier, Georgia thought, smothering a laugh. Honestly, she’d been completely shocked and outraged over his littering, but somehow knowing that she’d pushed him out of character as well made her feel marginally better.

  In other words, she wasn’t the only one getting knocked off their game.

  Linc slowed once more. “Is this your place?”

  “No, that’s my brother’s. We both moved into the house after my parents died, but I’ve since built a place farther back on the property,” she said. “Just follow the bend in the road.”

  Linc hummed under his breath and continued on around the corner. “That’s it?” he asked, seemingly surprised once more, as her house came into view.

  Georgia smiled. “That’s it.”

  “It’s not what I expected.”

  She could certainly understand that. Given the enormous stately Colonial—complete with the circular drive and fountain—her parents had built, Georgia’s modest two-story farmhouse seemed curiously misplaced on the Hart Estate. Even Jack had been a bit surprised when she’d shown him her house plans.

  “Just pull around back,” Georgia told him, pointing to the carport at the rear of the house. Yellow mums and purple pansies bloomed from big barrels placed on either side of the drive and a flag bearing the phrase “Home Sweet Home” swung in the gentle fall breeze. Eclectic bird feeders and baths we’re strewn around her brick patio and a freestanding fireplace took center stage, her comfortable old wicker rockers planted in front of it for optimal warming pleasure.

  Linc, she noticed, took every bit of this in stride…until he saw her antique claw-foot tub. She knew that it was a bit startling, but she loved it. It was the ultimate indulgence, complete with hot water and bubble bath.

  Smiling, he chewed the corner of his lip and quirked a brow. “You take a bath in that? Out here?”

  “There’s an alarm at the entrance of my driveway,” Georgia told him. “It gives me time to make myself presentable.” Or scurry inside, as the case may be. Typically, the only people who came to visit were Karen or Jack, and those visits weren’t often when she was bathing.

  Linc shook his head, seemingly impressed, and shifted into park. He climbed out of the truck and followed her inside. Bogey and Bacall lounged on the rug in front of the kitchen sink and Stitch came running across the hardwood, his nails clipping a steady beat along with his excited bark. Though he normally growled at strangers, the tiny black dog merely stared at Linc, sizing him up.

  Linc bent down and offered his hand, allowing the dog to give him a tentative sniff. “I’m guessing there’s a good reason your dog is wearing a diaper.”

  Georgia smiled. “He’s wearing a diaper because he has bladder issues and I don’t want him peeing all over the house while I’m gone.”

  He nodded, his lips twitching. “Reason enough.”

  “I got him at the shelter,” Georgia told him. “He’d been mistreated. Kicked repeatedly according to my vet,” she said, anger making her voice shake.

  “Damn.”

  “I know.” She nodded at the cats. “They’re re
scues, as well.” She’d save them all if she had the time and room, Georgia thought, but at least this way she felt like she was doing something to help a few. Make their lives a little better. Too often people acquired animals, then didn’t want to keep up the responsibility and maintenance the animals required.

  Having gotten Stitch’s stamp of approval, Linc stood and glanced around the room. “This is nice,” he said.

  Though it was technically the left butt-cheek of the house, in the figurative sense it was most definitely the heart. Despite the fact they lived separate busy lives, Jack usually joined her for dinner a couple of times a week.

  Since her tastes leaned toward a French-country style, she’d painted the walls a rich buttery cream, and her cabinets were a substantial and heavy design, finished in cool maple with a deep mocha glaze. The effect was subtle but significant, giving them an aged appearance. Lavender bloomed from her windowsill, sleek toasted-almond granite served as her countertops, and a copper sink and range hood—the crown jewels of her kitchen—completed the look. Her grandmother’s antique trestle table rounded out the decor. A bowl, much like the one she’d seen in Linc’s loft, sat in the middle of the table. He smiled when he saw it and cast her an unreadable look.

  “I noticed some similar pottery at your house,” she said. “I bought it downtown. Looks like it could be from the same artist, doesn’t it?”

  He merely nodded, silently agreeing with her.

  At any rate, she’d spent a king’s ransom on the kitchen, but wouldn’t change a thing. It was her favorite room in the house.

  “Wow,” Linc said, eyeing the pot rack over her island. “This is amazing.”

  “Thank you,” Georgia murmured, pleased and curiously relieved. It shouldn’t matter if he approved of her house or not, yet for reasons beyond her immediate understanding…it did. “The living room is through here,” she said, directing him past the dining room. “You’re welcome to wait here while I clean up and change.”

  “Sure,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Do you mind if I wander around down here and look around while you get ready?”