Blazing Midsummer Nights (Harlequin Blaze) (3 page)

“Okay, see you in a little while.” Then, clearing her throat, Anna added, “Remember, through the screen porch, to the small, old-fashioned door in the far
left
corner.”

Left? Yeesh. Good thing she’d repeated herself—he’d been thinking right. Or, more accurately, he
hadn’t
been thinking right…not since he’d spied that stunning figure in green.

Xander nodded, then headed for the porch. There were at least a dozen people inside. He didn’t see a reddish head, but he probably would once he stepped into the shadowy alcove. Despite having decided that some rich Southern belle whose looks clawed at his guts wasn’t on his shortlist of people to meet, he couldn’t deny he wanted to see her close up. Mainly he wanted to see her eyes. Were they green, the same mossy shade as her dress? Or a rich amber-brown?

Or maybe they’re pinched, cold, bloodshot.

That would probably be a good thing. Because then he would see she wasn’t as attractive as he imagined, but just a normal, rich, bored, jaded young woman. Not some magical fantasy creature spun out of summer moonlight.

As it turned out, though, he didn’t get the chance to see her up close. Because, as he made his way across the screened porch, he realized she wasn’t inside. She must have slipped back out when he wasn’t looking.

Smiling and nodding at the several people who said hello, he headed for the back left corner. The door was tiny, as Anna had warned, and was nearly hidden by a large, potted plant. Sliding the key into the old-fashioned lock, he entered, seeing a small, dark passage before him.

Inside, clothes hung in front of his face—more felt than seen, since it was so dark. He must have hung up more things than he’d remembered, because the closet was more full than he’d expected. Of course, it could just seem that way because he was coming in from this side angle.

He pushed past his things, noting the soft, delicate scent in the air. Whoever had rented this place before him must have left behind some sachet or air freshener—his clothes sure didn’t smell like the flowery stuff that filled his every breath.

Reaching the doors that led to his new bedroom, he saw one was slightly ajar, and that the room beyond was well-lit. Strange. He didn’t remember putting a bulb in the new lamp he’d picked up for his bedside table.

He had just put up his hand to push the door the rest of the way open, when he heard a voice.

“Soft and pretty, sultry and sexy or hot and raunchy?”

He froze. That voice had come from his bedroom, and he knew damn well he hadn’t even hooked up a TV or radio, much less left it turned on.

“What’s it going to take to turn you on?”

Sexy voices of strange women standing in my bedroom
would be his first answer. Though, why said strange woman would be in his bedroom, he had no idea. Had a pair of guests crept inside, thinking to slip into what had been an empty unit until earlier today, to grab a midparty quickie?

“Do you like what you see?” she purred.

He waited for a male voice to answer, but heard nothing. Miss Purrs-A-Lot was either talking to herself, or the guy she was with had been struck mute while he tried to decide between pretty, sexy or raunchy.

Frankly, so had Xander. All he could wonder was if there was an option D, for “all of the above.”

Well, he’d also been struck mute by the realization that he was playing the role of voyeur in this sexy drama.

“I somehow suspect you’ll like pretty and soft, not sexy,” she said, her voice a little less throaty, a little less wicked. In fact, she sounded almost…disappointed. Which lent credence to his theory that she was entirely alone.

He rubbed his forehead, racking his brain to figure this out. A voice was coming from his bedroom. A female voice. A throaty, attractive female voice. A throaty, attractive female voice talking about something very sexy. To herself.

Wondering if he’d taken a wrong turn and ended up in a male fantasyland, or was being set up for some kind of X-rated
Punk’d
episode, he pushed the door open another inch and looked into the room. He couldn’t see far, because his line of sight was blocked by the woman staring at her reflection in the mirror on the other—closed—closet door. Yep. She had definitely been talking to herself; to her reflection, anyway.

Then he realized…it was her. The redhead whose eyes, he now saw, were so blue they looked violet. The one in the green dress. Only, now, she wasn’t wearing that green dress. She was—
holy shit—
nearly naked.

The long strands of her red hair had fallen forward over her soft, bare shoulders, covering much of a lacy black bra. And covering the curves that bra was covering.

Too bad.

No, it’s not, jackass.
Because he didn’t know if his heart could have taken seeing what he suspected was an utterly perfect pair of breasts. Just spying the rest of her body was enough to rob him of breath. And coherent thought.

The hair played peek-a-boo with the bra. But below that was nothing but smooth, soft-looking, pale, feminine skin. Miles and miles of it.

Her bare midriff drew his eyes downward, to the indentation of her small waist, then the flare of her hips. Those hips were covered by two thin straps of silky fabric—dark green, lacy—that descended into a V of shimmery material that covered her groin. Long, supple legs went on forever, or to the floor, ending in a pair of sexy, spike-heeled black shoes.

“So I guess a thong might be overdoing it,” she said.

A thong could never overdo it in his book.

“Too bad. This thing doesn’t look too shabby,” she said with a sigh. She turned, glancing at her reflection, checking out the rear view.

Oh, man, what a view. The strip-of-fabric-pretending-to-be-underwear slid between two delectable cheeks, and Xander nearly choked, sure he’d never seen a more perfect ass.

Suddenly realizing what he was doing—playing Peeping Tom—he slammed his eyes shut. Sure, the woman had decided to come into his bedroom to do her lingerie assessment, for some weird reason, but that didn’t mean he should stand here in the dark like some perv, squirming to catch a peek.

He tried to figure out what to do. How did one handle this type of situation? Should he go back the way he’d come, hoping she wouldn’t hear him, then go tell his landlady that some chick with a great ass and a Godiva complex was trespassing in his place? Or maybe he ought to get out there and confront her before her boyfriend showed up to decide whether he liked her thong? He hadn’t even slept in his brand-new bed himself yet; he sure didn’t want another couple christening it.

Especially not if the other couple was
that
woman and any other man on the planet than himself.

He could have answered one question for her—
yes, oh, hell, yes on her current underwear.
If the guy was straight and breathing, he’d like the damn thong. In fact, as for himself, well, he couldn’t think about much except how much he wanted to tug that shiny green fabric out from between those luscious curves. With his teeth.

You gotta get out of here.

Yeah. Pronto.

Even though the lighting was low in the closet, and he couldn’t see well, he knew he’d have to at least open his eyes to make sure he didn’t poke himself in the face with a hanger. So he risked a peek, opening just the left one. He hadn’t turned away from the crack in the door, so he got a full-on image of what she was up to.

She was up to dropping her panties.

“Whoa, stop right there!” he barked, not even having made the decision to reveal himself. Instinct just propelled him out into the bedroom.

She let out a little scream, and he opened his mouth to tell her he wasn’t some kind of attacker. But before he could speak, and before she could dive for her clothes or dart for the door, his foot caught the edge of the dresser, and he fell flat on the floor, landing right at her sexy feet.

And looking up at a most
interesting
view.

2

L
OOKING DOWN AT
the incredibly gorgeous, hot, sexy, shirtless man lying at her feet, Mimi at first thought she’d had one too many glasses of wine and was seeing things. But considering she’d only had one, she doubted she was intoxicated.

Her second thought was that she was about to be attacked.

She grabbed a vase off her dresser. It was a heavy, leaded crystal thing, that would probably crack the pervert’s skull open. She came close—so incredibly close—to dropping it on his head, when a voice whispered in her mind,
He’s Mr. Hot. He was at the party. Anna knows him.

It seemed crazy to suppose that before attacking, a sexual predator ditched his clothes and socialized at parties in his victims’ backyards. So who was he?

“Who are you and what were you doing in my closet?” she asked, still not letting go of the vase.

“
Your
closet…?” he mumbled, rising to his hands and knees. On all fours, he turned his head from side to side, looking around the room, and added, “I’m in the wrong apartment.”

“No shit, Sherlock. Now who are you?”

He lifted his head to look up at her. And his big brown eyes—gorgeous, beautiful, velvety-brown eyes that were ringed by the longest lashes she’d ever seen on a man—got even wider.

That was when she remembered she was naked but for her bra. And that he was kneeling at her feet. About eye level with…

“Oh, my God,” she groaned, lunging for her dresser. She plopped the vase on it, grabbed her robe and thrust her arms inside, quickly wrapping it around her body.

She couldn’t stop shaking. Adrenaline had put her on high alert. Now humiliation and embarrassment were doing their darnedest to make her quiver into a ball of mush.

Had she really just flashed her goodies to a complete stranger? And, for the briefest, most wicked second, had she not been tantalized by the image of that incredibly hot, sexy stranger moving a few inches closer for a more intimate look?

She’d been in here planning to seduce a nice man she’d been dating and was about as aroused as a stick of wood. But playing a Sharon Stone-type game of peek-a-crotch with a gorgeous mystery man got her all warm and melty down there?

She clenched her thighs together. Yeah. Warm and melty. Like chocolate left in the sun.

Just waiting to be tasted.

She winced and clenched harder. What on earth was wrong with her? “This can’t be happening,” she said with a moan.

“Tell me about it.”

The stranger, all slick-skinned, broad-chested and rippling muscles, slowly rose to his feet. He continued to look around the room, shaking his head slowly, as if in a daze.

Up close, he was more attractive—not to mention at least twenty degrees hotter—than he had been from across the party. His jaw was so square, his face so lean and masculine. Such masculinity shouldn’t have looked right with the accompanying long lashes and the downright full lips, but managed to come across as perfect.

“This really
isn’t
my bedroom.” He still sounded thoroughly confused.

“I think we’ve established that. It’s my bedroom. Did you not happen to notice the pink sheets and lingerie?”

Of course he noticed the lingerie, idiot.

Feeling her face flame, and the rest of her get a little warmer, too, she tightened her arms around her waist, conscious of how silky and thin the robe was. Could he see the pucker of her nipples against the cloth? Was there any way he could tell that her thighs were quivering and she badly wanted to lean against the edge of the bed for support?

“I noticed,” he admitted, his eyes darkening.

She licked her lips, reminded herself to breathe. “How did you get in here?” It made no sense. Hadn’t he been outside at the party when she’d entered the screen porch? And while she’d left the door unlocked on the way out earlier, she’d flipped the lock when coming back in.

He lifted his hand, showing her a small key.

She gaped. “Where did you get that?”

“From Anna. I locked myself out of my apartment.”

All the breath left her lungs as she suddenly realized who he was. Not some random, lost party guest. Not a drunk who might forget this night ever happened. Not a handsome stranger she would never have to see again. No. She’d just come face-to-coochie with her new next-door neighbor.

“You’re 1B,” she whispered.

“Excuse me?”

“The new tenant across the hall in 1B.”

He slowly nodded. “Yeah. I moved in today. And, uh, am I to understand that you’re 1A?”

“Yes.”

He hesitated a long moment.

“Well, uh…nice to meet you?”

The guy had just been kneeling face-level with her—fortunately neatly trimmed—va-jay-jay and all he could manage was
nice to meet you?
Where the hell was the
sorry I was creeping in your closet and spying on you naked?

“Seriously? That’s all you’ve got?”

A slow, lazy grin tugged at his lips and he glanced down at her robe-covered body. “Uh,
really
nice to meet you?”

She reached for the vase again.

He held a hand up, palm out. “Sorry. But, I mean, you gotta admit, that first meeting is going to be hard to top.” He glanced at her thong, still lying on the floor between them. His stare grew a little more heated. “Not to mention bottom.”

She growled. Literally. “Just how long were you watching?”

“Long enough to wonder if you’re dating a eunuch.”

“What?”

“Hey, only a guy with no balls wouldn’t like the way you looked in that thong.”

Her face reddened and she was torn between thanking him or kicking him. Not only had he seen her—lots of her—but he’d obviously heard her talking to herself. Hopefully he hadn’t arrived in time to hear her ask the pretend Dimitri in the mirror if he was into anything naughty and kinky.

Hmm. Wonder if 1B is?

She swallowed the lump in her throat, wishing her brain would stop tossing out these sexy curveballs. She was on the straight-and-narrow, nice-guy-and-a-future path, please-her-father-and-show-him-she-could-do-his-job path. She didn’t need any distractions, physically or mentally.

“What were you doing, anyway? Going through your underwear wardrobe, trying to figure out what to wear to entice him?”

“That’s none of your business.”

He ignored her. “Because, honey, just saying
yes
would be enough enticement for any heterosexual guy on the planet.”

Pleasure curled in her when she noted his sincerity. But she crushed it out, remembering she didn’t like this man who’d spied on her and gotten two eyes full of her private parts. Not to mention she’d sworn off hot men and this one was so on fire he should have a smoke detector strapped around his chest.

Offering her a sheepish grin, he added, “Look, I’m really sorry I spied on you. I wasn’t there for more than a minute. To be honest, I was caught off guard. I just didn’t know what to do.”

“Going back out the way you came in would have been good.”

“I thought this was
my
apartment. But I was going to leave anyway. Then I, uh, opened my eyes and saw you drop your pants.”

He’d closed his eyes? Cute.

Well, cute until she thought about what he’d opened them to see. She glanced down at her thong, lying there between them, a small green circle that looked like a Go sign. Grabbing at the flimsy material with her toes, she yanked back the thong, hiding it beneath the folds of her robe.

His lips twitched.

“And instead of leaving, you decided to introduce yourself?” she snapped, more flustered than before.

“Instinct. I just wanted to stop you.”

“From doing what? Changing my underwear?”

“I thought you were in my bedroom, remember?”

“Okay, still, what was the big emergency? Were you afraid I was going to leap on your bed and roll around naked, and you wanted to make sure I didn’t dirty your sheets?”

That image hit both of them, her words hanging there in the empty air. She suddenly pictured rolling around in the sheets with this man, getting hot, sweaty, dirty. Doing all kinds of wild things that had never even crossed her mind when she’d begun planning a seduction for tonight. Because, deep down, when she’d voiced that pretty/sexy/kinky question to the invisible Dimitri, she’d already known the answer—pretty. Soft, sweet and romantic, that was Dimitri’s style. He was a missionary guy all the way, she’d bet her last dollar on it.

One B? Well, he looked like he’d be up for about anything.

It all came back to that camel-in-the-desert question—was she looking for a canteen or an oasis?

She breathed deeper, willing her heart to slow down. It wasn’t as if she could lie down and drink from the delicious waters of this particular oasis—she didn’t even know this guy!

He, meanwhile, lifted a hand and rubbed his lightly grizzled jaw. She heard the faint rasp of it and suddenly had the image of those unshaven cheeks brushing against her skin. His eyes gleamed as he glanced at her bed—prettily rumpled, the comforter turned down, the pink sheets soft and inviting. She trembled, remembering that ten minutes ago she’d been imagining asking Dimitri to share that bed. Right now, though, she was practically thinking,
Dimitri? Who’s Dimitri?

“I wasn’t really thinking,” he finally admitted. “I guess I just didn’t want to be the kind of guy who’d watch something like that and then skulk away like some kind of pervert.”

“So you lunge out and terrify me instead?”

“You didn’t look that terrified, and I didn’t lunge.”

“I was scared to death, and that was some serious lunging.”

“I had my hands up to try to block the view.”

“You should have watched where you were going, then maybe you wouldn’t have tripped and landed at my feet.”

Those lips quirked into a grin. “My intentions were good.”

“The results weren’t.”

“Says you.” He shrugged. “Hey, there are only so many things I can apologize for, and landing at the feet of a beautiful, nearly naked woman ain’t one of them.”

He was staring again. Not at the bed this time, but at
her.
His dark eyes traveled from her bare throat, down to the V in her robe, then farther. As if he liked what he’d seen, and wanted to see a whole lot more.

She reached out and grabbed the edge of her dresser, willing her legs to stop shaking.

“Did I really terrify you?” he asked, his voice lowering to a thick whisper. “I
am
sorry about that.”

“My heart’s still racing,” she admitted.

He didn’t ask her to evaluate whether that thumping in her chest was caused by fear…or something else. She didn’t ask herself to, either.

“Well, you came across as anything but frightened,” he told her, eyeing the vase. “I thought you were going to brain me.”

“It was a close call.”