hairy, with a million eyes and fuzzy spiked legs and probably a sac full of poison hidden on its bulbous body.
Spiders. God, she hated spiders. Especially spiders who were blocking the only exit from the kitchen, where she stood, wearing a filmy, short little bathrobe, freezing her butt off because she’d come down to put coffee on right after she’d gotten out of the cold-as-ice shower.
“Go away,” she ordered in a quivery voice.
The spider ignored her and remained planted right in her path. Beady little pinpoint eyes stared up at her, red and angry—or maybe not, but they looked that way to her—and she knew if he had a mouth, it was smirking.
She edged backward toward the stove, thankful she’d glanced down before walking out of the kitchen, because if she’d placed her bare foot on that furry little beast, she would have screamed loud enough for Tommy to hear her back in L.A. Besides, the little creature looked big enough to have flung her off rather than being smashed flat.
Candace wasn’t scared by much. Snakes didn’t bother her; she had been skydiving so she wasn’t afraid of heights. She’d even bungee jumped off a bridge in Mexico once. She’d stared down more than her fair share of grubby dudes with cheesy come-on lines on the street.
But bugs? Spiders in particular?
The little bastards terrified her.
“Candace?” a voice called. A voice that was familiar, even though she hadn’t talked to him much in the past few days.
She and Oliver, as if by unspoken agreement, had spent little time together since the morning her grandfather had tried to fix them up. When they’d left late that day, after visiting with Grandpa in the recovery room, Oliver had brought her to a car rental place so she could get her own vehicle. She didn’t want to have to rely on him to run her back and forth to the hospital, which was where she spent most of her time. They ran into each other there on occasion, had grabbed coffee or a quick lunch and engaged in a little small talk. But as if they both realized they probably shouldn’t spend too much time together out at the house, where they were entirely alone, they’d avoided interaction. They exchanged mostly waves as they were coming or going, or when he was working out on the grounds, and she was watching him while pretending she wasn’t at all interested.
Any woman would be interested. It was bad enough seeing him inside at the hospital, clothed and respectable. When he worked, when he stripped off his shirt to wipe his sweaty, dirty face, and those muscles rippled and gleamed, he was male beauty in motion. The few times they had talked at home, she’d done everything she could to keep from revealing how incredibly attracted she was to him. Sometimes, though, she caught him staring at her, and suspected she wasn’t doing a very good job.
She only wished he would do something to reveal whether or not he felt the same way. So far, he hadn’t. He’d been cordial and polite, never more than that, as if she’d suddenly become his employer now that Grandpa was out of commission.
Got a task for you there, Mr. Groundskeeper. How about doing a little plowing for me?
She scrunched her eyes shut, muttering, “Not French, not stupid, off-limits.”
“Candace? Are you here?”
“In the kitchen,” she said, not sure whether she was hoping he would turn right back around and leave, or that he’d stride in and accidentally squish Mr. Spider so she wouldn’t have to (A) deal with the arachnid herself, or (B) technically ask for Oliver’s help.
“I just wanted to let you know your suitcase has finally made it. The delivery service just left it on the porch. I signed for it.”
Oh, thank goodness. She’d been fighting with the airline about it all week, fearing she would have to put in a claim to replace everything she’d packed for the trip. She’d run out of her sister Madison’s left-behind clothes and had had to wash and rewash the few items she’d had in her small carry-on bag. Especially the panties. Hmm. Funny how she’d gone through panties at a record rate since she’d met Oliver. That man ought to buy stock in Victoria’s Secret.
“I’ll bring it in. Do you want me to haul it up to your room?”
She nibbled her lip, wanting no such thing. Oliver in her bedroom, near her messed bed with the silky nightie tossed carelessly on top? Him filling her private space with that delectable, intoxicating man smell?
Hell, no. She was already having the most intense, erotic dreams about the guy without ever having to picture him near her bed. No way was she going to invite even hotter ones.
“No, it’s okay. You can just leave it in the hall.”
She waited to hear him bring in the bag and leave. Waited for an acknowledgment—something. But there was nothing but silence. Frowning, she risked edging a tiny bit closer to the doorway, never taking her eyes off her fuzzy enemy, who showed no signs of moving out of the way. She briefly considered jumping over him, but had the most horrible vision of him launching up while she was split-legged above him. For all she knew, he could be the bug world-record holder at the high jump. Considering she wore nothing but the short robe, she wasn’t prepared to even think about where he might land if he leaped. Her vajayjay might have grown cobwebs from disuse, but that was taking things a step too far.
She desperately wanted to go out and make sure Oliver was gone, then dash up the stairs and put some clothes on before he could come back, but it looked like she was going to be involved in a spider standoff for hours. Thinking, she finally grabbed the broom and tried waving it in his general direction. But it wasn’t until she got the bristles to within six inches or so that the thing began to move.
Straight toward her.
“No—get away from me!”
A hard pounding emerged from the hallway. She recognized it as running footsteps just as Oliver burst into the kitchen. He didn’t hold a rake this time, but the look on his face said he expected trouble.
“What is it?” he snapped as he scanned the room. “What’s wrong?”
“Uh, nothing,” she said, forcing a smile. Though, when she saw where he stood, she didn’t have to force it any further. Because unless the creepy crawly had moved really fast, he was right now stuck to the bottom of a man’s thicksoled work boot. Although she loved most creatures, she wasn’t about to start playing a dirge for that one, who’d looked like a mad scientist’s experimental cross between a bug and a dinosaur.
“Who were you talking to?”
“Nobody. I thought you’d left.”
“I was bringing in your suitcase,” he explained, walking closer, studying her face to see if she was lying, perhaps covering for a bad guy hiding in the pantry. He obviously wasn’t going to go away without an explanation.
Knowing she had to, she admitted in a voice a little above a whisper, “There was a spider.”
His frown disappeared. A twinkle might have appeared in those dark bedroom eyes, but he had the courtesy not to smile. “One that speaks English and follows orders?”
“Ha-ha, very funny. That thing was huge. I mean, it could have been wearing a mask, swinging from webs and looking for the Green Goblin!”
“Comic book fan, huh?”
“Movie
