Dane weaved precariously for a moment before finally leaning against her for support. He wasn’t overly tall. In her heeled shoes she was only half a head shorter than he was, putting him just over six feet. Nor was he thickly built, edging more toward wiry than stocky. But the hand she placed around his waist as she helped him into the Victorian’s parlor was touching taut muscle.
A fire burned cheerfully in the hearth. She guided him toward the wing chair positioned closest to it, and forced herself not to think about what the man’s wet, grimy clothing would do to the upholstery. She had more pressing problems than soiled cushions or Dane Conlan, who would be gone from her home soon enough. Then she picked up the telephone and bit back an oath.
“Don’t tell me,” he said, apparently noting her grim expression.
She set the receiver back in the cradle. “Storm must have taken out the line.”
“I don’t suppose you have a cell?”
“It’s in my car.”
“The car that’s in the shop?”
“That would be the one.”
It galled her to think about her yellow Volkswagen Beetle—a refurbished original rather than one of the newer models—sitting uselessly on a hydraulic lift at Hank’s Collision & Repair. Regina had argued with Hank earlier that day over having to pay for a loaner when this was the second time in a month her car had been in because of its faulty starter. Finally she’d stomped out and caught a ride back to Peril Pointe with one of the mechanics. Temper had cost her the rental of a cheap replacement vehicle as well as the use of the cell phone she’d left stowed in the car’s glovebox.
“How far is town? Maybe I can walk.”
“Seven miles by road.” She crossed her arms over her chest as she regarded him. “On a night like this and in your present condition, I don’t think it would be wise.”
“Neighbors?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Nearest house is three miles south of here. I’m afraid Peril Pointe is rather remote.”
Which was precisely why developers were clamoring to buy it. The house was situated on the most western tip of seven acres of premium property fronting Lake Michigan. It was prime real estate. The yearly taxes alone put a strain on Ree’s currently limited budget.
He blew out a gusty breath and settled back in the chair. “Well, then, unless you’re going to turn me out into the storm, it looks like I’ll be spending the night.”
She watched his gaze detour briefly to her ruined blouse. Once again awareness lit his eyes as he offered that charming smile that had a single dimple winking low in one cheek. The man could have been on his death bed and she would bet he’d still find the energy to flirt with the nurses.
Ree glanced at the framed photograph of Nonna Benedetta that was perched on the mantel. Her grandmother had been a delightful woman with a firm belief in duty and enough patience to deserve beatification.
With a sigh of resignation, Ree replied, “I guess so.”
I guess so. Not exactly a gracious invitation. Dane noted the furrow between the woman’s neatly arched brows and the tight compression of her mouth, which still somehow managed to look sexy and inviting. Regina Bellini wasn’t happy with the arrangement.
He wasn’t certain he was, either.
He did need medical attention. Not necessarily the trip to the E.R. she had suggested, but the gash on his hand could use a few butterfly bandages—okay, maybe a stitch or two—and his head felt as if the entire drum section of the high school’s marching band was using it to pound out a cadence.
But those weren’t the only reasons for his trepidation when it came to staying the night. The rest had to do with the woman standing before him. She made him nervous as hell and it didn’t have anything to do with the fact that she’d leveled a double barrel at his chest.
He’d never responded to any woman quite the way he was responding to Regina Bellini. She was beautiful, lushly so with that cloud of dark hair, generous mouth and a pair of heavily fringed eyes that held enough secrets to keep members of the opposite sex curious.
And he was curious, although some things he already knew. She had a body built to complement a man’s: not quite slim, not overly curvaceous, but definitely soft and yielding in the places that mattered most.
More than her array of appealing physical attributes, however, he admired her sheer nerve. This was no shrinking violet, no damsel in distress. She’d answered the door toting a gun, for God’s sake. He grinned at the recollection. Who knew that having his life threatened would prove to be such a turn-on?
And he was turned on. Despite the brutal physical abuse Mother Nature had meted out during the past couple of hours, his libido was humming along in overdrive. Amazing. Absolutely amazing.
“Is it a private joke or are you going to clue me in?” Regina asked, apparently having noted the slight quirking of his lips.
“Just can’t get over my luck today,” he replied smoothly. “I cheated death. Twice.”
Her expression turned contrite as she knotted her fingers together. “About that. I want to apologize for the way I answered the door.” She cleared her throat. “I’ve had a little…trouble lately.”
“With developers?” he guessed, recalling her questions about his occupation.
“Yes.”
“Apology accepted.” When he started to ask about the trouble, though, she shook her head.
“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
Lightning flashed then, followed by a serendipitous clap of thunder. When the sky was dark once again, so was the house, except for the flickering fire. Dane was beginning to think the woman could handle anything. Other than muttering an oath in what sounded like Italian, Regina Bellini didn’t miss a beat. She found a box of matches, lit a couple of candles in the hurricane lamps on the room’s antique tables and rolled another fat log onto the fire.
Dane decided the only thing left to do was joke about their lousy luck.
“I must have done something to tick off the gods. Do you believe in fate?” he asked.
The woman apparently wasn’t in a joking mood. She regarded him for a moment before answering his question seriously.
“I believe we’re responsible for our own situations, our own destiny. No matter what life throws at us, it’s ultimately up to us to find a way to deal with it and make the best of it.”
“Lemonade from lemons?” he asked and she nodded.
That had long been Dane’s philosophy as well. Too many people he knew expected something for nothing or complained copiously rather than rolling up their shirtsleeves and getting down to business to change what they didn’t like.
Dane put his faith in hard work and perseverance. Both yielded results. But, thinking back on the hour he’d spent bobbing around in the waves of Lake Michigan before being spat onto the shore at Peril Pointe, he decided maybe luck played a role,
