His Southern Sweetheart (7 page)

“We did something similar—” Nate refrained from continuing the millisecond Amelia cut her eyes in his direction. He held his free hand in the air in surrender. “All right, let me stop.”

“Thank you.”

“Why don't you tell me what you want me to do?”

Amelia sighed and shrugged. Her arms dropped to her side and her shoulders slumped as she inclined her head toward the stack of envelopes on the table. “This is my grandmother's place. Last week, the phone call I received right after we—” her cheeks tinted a faint pink “—well, my grandmother took a spill last week and broke her leg.”

“A spill?” he repeated.

“She fell down the steps.” Amelia pointed her thumb over her shoulder to where he guessed the stairs were. “And she broke her leg.”

Nate raked his left hand through his hair. “Geez, I'm sorry.”

For a split second Amelia softened and smiled. “What happened to my grandmamma isn't your fault.”

“But,” he said with a nod, “what happened with your job is.” The silence falling between them gave him his answer. “All right, so what is it you want me to do?”

“She'll be home this week and I want to move everything around, but I'd like to start with a ramp on the side of the porch and then we can work our way inside.”

Nate's brows rose with amusement. She rolled her eyes and clarified, “I'm talking about moving all of her things downstairs into the office space.”

“Is this what she wants?”

“It's what I want.”

“Then your command is my wish,” Nate said with a bow.

* * *

Thank God for strong pillars. Amelia, dressed in a pair of gray yoga pants, her favorite University of Alabama shirt and red flip-flops, leaned against the cool, large column and took in the vision of sculpted muscle. Sweat dripped down the center of Nate's back. He stood with his back turned from the house for a break, resting his elbow on the top of the shovel. It was already noon and in three hours he'd prepared a space behind Grandmamma's hydrangea bushes for a hidden ramp. Nate briefly argued that her grandmamma did not need to advertise her age nor her ailment if she was going to be the only one living here by herself.

Without knowing, Nate's words caused Amelia to cringe inside. Every time she spoke with her mother, she was riddled with guilt, maybe survivor's remorse. She'd left town and never looked back, but would anyone blame her? Southwood was a small step up from Mayberry and Amelia had bigger plans for her life than being the wife of some peach farmer. Perhaps at one point in her life she'd thought she would live in town, run her family's ice-cream parlor and live happily-ever-after, but everything had changed when everyone in town had turned on her family.
So much for small-town loyalty
, she thought with the bitter tug of a half grin. According to everyone, her article for the paper hurt businesses.

A drizzle of cold moisture trickled down her fingers from the glass of iced tea she held. Amelia shook her head to shake out the unwanted memories. The square ice cubes clinked against the glass, and Nate turned around. Amelia's heart seized against her ribs when he smiled. Sunlight glinted in his dark green eyes. His mouth opened for a bright, toothy smile and his bicep flexed when he waved at the sight of her. Dark hairs sprinkled against his chiseled jaw from missing his morning shave—she refused to feel guilty about that. Amelia turned her glare from his, spying the crumpled up T-shirt he'd stripped out of on the gravel driveway. The man needed to be on camera. If she were a casting agent, she'd place him as the heartthrob, the one who would go on to be a star. If Nate could get her insides all gooey, she could only imagine what the rest of America would do at the sight of him. Hell, last night his lingering kiss had crept into her dreams. By the time she woke up, she'd needed a nice cold shower.

“How's it going in there?” Nate called out.

Despite the giant glass of ice tea she'd polished off in the kitchen, Amelia's mouth went dry. Did her desire for him read across her face? Damn it! In her world of highly emotional women and situations, she practiced constraint on her desires. One bat of an eyelash from one cast member at another could spark an entire storyboard and carry the show throughout the season. The summer heat cast a layer of moisture across her forehead and in the palms of her hands. The glass slipped and the ice clinked again.

“What?”

“Inside.” Nate pulled off the familiar brown work gloves from the barn. “You were moving some of your grandmother's belongings from downstairs?”

“Oh, um...” Amelia fumbled for the words to say as heat crept up her neck. “Yes, I'm making headway.”

To say “some of her belongings” was an understatement. Amelia did not want her grandmother risking her life again by tripping down or up the steps, but she herself had nearly tripped a few times bringing some of Grandmamma's church dresses downstairs. She knew her grandmother would have a fit when she came home—but this was for the best.

“Is that for me?”

Amelia followed Nate's head nod toward the glass in her hand. She held her breath as Nate climbed over the trellis onto the side of the porch. With each step he took closer to her, her heart raced. With one hand he reached for the glass, while with the other outstretched hand he held out a couple of long-stemmed daisies. She loved the simple flower. Nothing said being in the country like stretching out on a bed of daisies, gazing into the sky and guessing the shapes of clouds. As he took the glass, their fingers grazed against each other. Sparks emerged. To recover from them, Amelia dropped her hands to her side, and the petals brushed against her thigh.

“So kind of you to allow your ward a sweet tea break,” he said after a long sip. His profile of his lips against the glass could start a whole new ad campaign for tea.

“We're in the South,” Amelia said with a frown. “It's just tea.”

“My sister-in-law says the same thing.”

“Who?” Of course he came from a family; the man wasn't truly sculpted and created by God and placed on earth to torment women.

“Well, future sister-in-law?” Nate took another long sip. “Any day now my brother is going to propose.”

Amelia's spine stiffened with the memory of why she had mandatory vacation time. “Did your brother have to get a ring back from Natalia?”

“Cute.” Nate squinted his green eyes toward her. Under the cover of the porch's roof, their color darkened. She wondered who he inherited them from. Light brown or hazel eyes ran in her family but had skipped her. “If you don't know the story, you're getting nada from me. And don't assume all men fall for Natalia.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Not all guys go for the glamour.” Nate stepped forward to close the gap between them. He braced his empty hand against the pillar right over her head. “Some guys like a woman who doesn't need all the makeup and lashes.”

Conscious of her lack of face paint, Amelia tucked a stray hair behind her ear, forgetting the flower in her hand. Nate reached down and helped her with the stem, then tucked it behind her ear. A breeze blew into the narrow space between them, pushing her Alabama T-shirt away from her bare breasts. Had she been in the spotlight of one of her shows, a camera would have panned in on the way her nipples hardened. God forbid if Nate thought he was the cause.

“What do you think you're doing?” Amelia asked.

“I thought we were having a moment.” Nate dropped his hand to his side. “No?”

“We had our moment.”

Amelia straightened her lips and prayed her eyes did not give away how much she wanted him to kiss her right now. They had thirty-seven more hours left together and she wanted to make the most of this time together. Any man who carried around a spare change of clothes in the trunk of his car was not the commitment type. Forty hours might be his longest relationship. A wasp in the corner of the ceiling caught her attention. His eyes followed hers, then tore away from the nest. A shiver ran down her spine.

“Are we on hidden camera?” Nate asked.

Eyes narrowing, Amelia's upper lip curled on the left side. “What?”

“You're in the reality TV business,” he said as if that explained everything.

“Was.” Amelia inhaled and glanced around at the blue hydrangeas blooming. Her arms folded under her breast, creating distance—again. Why did Nate always seem to corner her off? She could move, but he was the one who brought his behind over here.

“So there are no cameras on this property?”

“What?”

Nate stepped back and half sneered, half laughed. “Come on, Amelia. You make a living out of filming other people. Maybe you're tired of them being the star.”

“And I suppose I am making you my costar?”

The lopsided grin he gave her sent a shiver along her arms. “You can't deny we'd make a fabulous flick. Want to try?”

“Go find Brittany Foley for your freaky stuff.” Amelia frowned. The words irritated her. She and Brittany had never seen eye to eye even before Amelia's article. Amelia did not buy the goody-two-shoes act from the pastor's granddaughter. In high school, Brittany made no secret of the fact that she had been not just more active but more advanced in the bedroom than the rest of the girls.

“Cute.” Nate stepped back. A dribble of sweat rolled down the center of his bare chest, over the ridges of his perfect abs and disappeared into the waistband of his black boxer briefs. His hung just slightly low, allowing for the vision of his V-shaped muscles. A spasm shot to every pressure point of her body. A low seductive laugh broke her out of her daze. When she glanced up, Nate's eyes followed hers. “Well,” he began, breaking through the crackling tension between them, “let me get back to the work at hand.” He stepped toward the stairs and paused by her shoulder. “That is what you brought me here for, right?”

“Of course.” Amelia jumped away from his body. “What else?”

Nate nodded his head. “Just asking.”

Amelia waited until she heard the shovel going back to work against the Earth's dirt before she went back inside. The minute she entered the doorway, she went straight to the pitcher of iced tea and poured the beverage down her shirt.

Chapter 5

“Y
ou changed.”

Nate's baritone voice startled Amelia as she daydreamed at the kitchen sink. For a while she'd found herself kneeling against the armrest of the flowered couch in Grandmamma's sitting room and staring out the window, crudely watching Nate's body in motion. Bulging biceps flexed when he shoved the shovel into the ground. His back muscles rippled as he turned to throw the dirt off to the side of the trench he built. When a tad bit of drool actually touched her bottom lip, she had decided to stop torturing herself by ogling his body.

“I got a little wet,” Amelia explained, and when he raised a quizzical dark brow she shook her head to shake off the embarrassing heat creeping up from her neck. “You're a pervert.”

Funny, she'd called him one when she was two seconds away from grabbing her battery-operated friend while she watched him work outside.
Nate leaned against the wall of the entrance to the kitchen. He must have found his way through the breezeway. Disappointedly he'd covered up with his T-shirt back on.

“I came in here to see if you had any more tea.”

Embarrassed by her wantonness, Amelia cut her eyes toward the pitcher brewing on the ledge on the windowsill in the late-afternoon sun. The darkness of the amber liquid indicated it was done. She reached for its red handle. “Sure.”

Nate pulled out the chair closest to her and turned it around, straddling it as she pressed one of the glasses she'd washed against the ice-dispensing compartment of the refrigerator. Even with her back to him, she knew his eyes were all over her body. Why had she chosen the short denims? Did it really have anything to do with the ninety-nine-degree weather outside? Or did she subtly want to seduce him as he worked?

“When does your grandmother get out of the hospital?” he asked.

Amelia pressed the glass against his hand and let go quickly so their fingers didn't touch. Good thing his fingers were so large they brushed against hers. “In a few days. But if she keeps getting on the doctors' nerves, sooner.”

One of the nurses had left a text message for Amelia, informing her they were considering allowing Grandmamma to finish her rehabilitation at the house. She'd wanted to know if Amelia had the house ready yet. Technically everything upstairs was now set up downstairs, as far as clothes went. Amelia needed to take out the couch and bring in a new bed. After Amelia left, Cay would be able to take care of the daily errands for their grandmother.

A dimple appeared in his right cheek when he grinned. “I think I have an idea. I have a grandmother who is pretty spunky myself.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,
Abuela
Caridad.” Nate's smile went from seductive to boyish at the thought of his family. “She would kill me if I moved things around in her house.”

Barefoot, Amelia stepped backward to lean against the sink. “Does your
abuela
live by herself twenty miles away from civilization—” Amelia snorted “—if you call Southwood civilization?”

“Hey—” Nate feigned a frown “—don't knock my town.”

“Your town?”

“Yeah.” He leaned forward on the two back legs of the chair. “This place is great.” His left brow rose. “And there's more than one streetlight.”

“Barely,” Amelia mumbled, remembering when she gave him the description. A jolt of excitement shocked her system. “I guess Brittany has made Southern living pretty comfy for you.”
If ever she could eat her own words
.

“Brittany has been very accommodating,” said Nate. A sudden desire to wipe the smirk off his face washed over her. The tingling sensation in her fingers overwhelmed her, so she folded her arms beneath her breast.

Amelia hated the unfamiliar green streak rumbling through her veins. She'd captured it before in the editing room after going through footage. She knew that when a bulging vein crept out of the middle of someone's forehead or jaws clenched together, the green-eyed monster was getting ready to enter. Film-wise, capturing the moment was gold. Personally, Amelia wanted to crawl under the table and die. Then, like verbal diarrhea, the snide comments couldn't stop. “I bet she has.”

“Brittany understands the deal.”

The deal? What was the deal and why did it make Amelia want to scratch Brittany's eyes out? Amelia did not do those things. Sure, she'd aired a lot of catfights, but she herself did not partake in violence. “What is your
deal
?” She hated herself for asking.

“I don't do complicated,” he said, reaching behind him to set the now-empty glass on the table.

“Oh.” She relaxed her lower back. “I understand.”

“Do you?”

“You don't like attachments. I don't, either.”

Nate's luscious lips pressed together. Did her use of the term bother him? “When was the last time you dated someone?”

One of the perks a field producer had was asking questions. Back in the day, she'd cut her teeth on a reality show, meaning she'd worked in a house filled with a half dozen highly volatile young ladies, where she and a crew had filmed everyone for six days straight in order to obtain enough drama to produce a thirty-minute episode. One might think having a minor in psychology was a waste of time in this business, but Amelia used hers as a skill to evoke emotions. She took what she saw on film to question problematic situations, whether there or not. Every confessional she edited raised the most drama on reunion shows. In the scheme of things, Amelia understood what buttons to push. This was her job. Not Nate's. “Let's talk about something else.”

Amused, Nate shook his head from side to side. “Nah, what's wrong with answering the question?”

“Because I know where this will go,” she said with a sigh. “I'll answer your question and then I'll ask you the same.”

His mouth spread into an even more amused grin. His golden brown arms folded over the back of the chair. “Okay. I have nothing to hide from you.”

“Because I already know when your last relationship was.” Amelia pressed her finger to her chin, pretending to ponder the question. “Um, or shall I say relations?”

A cloud covered the late-afternoon sun, shading Nate's face. The grandfather clock in the living room chimed five times. On cue, Nate's stomach growled. Come to think of it, she had not offered him breakfast or lunch. Most people working eight hours out of a day deserved a meal.

“It's quitting time,” Amelia said.

“Or happy hour,” he suggested. “What do you say?”

Laughter escaped her lungs. “I remember the last time I drank with you.”

“You say it with such a frown that my ego insists on a do-over.” In a quick swoop, Nate lifted his leg over the chair and advanced on her.

With the sink at her backside, Amelia had nowhere to go. The only thing possible was pressing her arms against his chest—his massive, hard chest with muscles that she'd watched flex and glisten in the sun. The memory of the ease with which he'd swooped her into his arms and carried her toward the bed, where he'd feasted on her body, flashed through her mind. Desire pooled between her legs.
Why was she stopping him?

“Hold on.” She found her bearings. “This is not happening.”

“Because you want free labor?”

“Because you played me,” Amelia corrected.

Nate sealed her against the sink by pressing one hand on either side of her. “I thought I explained myself.”

“So? A murderer doesn't get a get-out-of-jail-free card by explaining the way he killed someone.”

“You're warped,” Nate said with a laugh. “You know that?”

“I've been called worse,” Amelia said, shrugging.

The height difference between them without her heels was blatantly obvious when he straightened. Nate belonged on the runway or a basketball court. His thick brows rose with a question.

“Tell me about it over dinner.” His voice softened with apparent concern and his hand snaked out to take hers. “Off the clock.”

At least at dinner, Nate would be covered. Of course, Nate possessed the ability to make a duffel bag look good. “I don't think so. I don't go out when I'm in town.”

“No problem,” Nate said cheerfully. “I'll cook.”

Fine, gorgeous and he could cook? What could go wrong?

* * *

What could go wrong?
More like what couldn't go wrong? To say Nate started a full-blown fire was exaggerating. Sure, the flames were high, but the smoke had been the scariest part. And speaking of smoke—where it was, there was fire. At least, the fire now brewed in Nate's system. He was the one with the obsessed thoughts and dreams of Amelia. He refused to let his opportunity to be with her be threatened by someone else. One of Southwood's finest firemen lingered on the porch, talking and flirting with Amelia. He got it; she'd been gone for a while.

“I can't believe you're really here.” Fireman Parker Ward was the first to greet Nate in the Marlows' driveway. He introduced himself after assessing any damages, claiming to have been familiar with the address and wanting to personally make sure Helen Marlow was okay. When Amelia stepped out from around the side of the house, the guy had been following her around like a lovesick puppy.

Amelia rubbed her fingers across her chin. She leaned a hip across the railing of the porch. Parker stood too close for Nate's comfort, with his fireman's hat in his hand, coat open and shamelessly displaying the snug T-shirt. Who did he need to write a complaint to? Nate's mind tried to recall the name of one of the bachelors from the auction, but he was too busy eavesdropping from the other side of the door. Was this even professional?

“Well, I can't say I'm here for long, Parker,” Amelia said with a slow Southern drawl Nate had become familiar with from the other residents of Southwood. When they'd met at the hotel bar, she'd spoken with no trace of an accent.

Parker nodded. A series of smiles passed between them. “Well. I hope while you're here you'll let me cook you a real dinner.”

Seriously, dude?
Nate's fists balled. The dig of his fingers against his palm snapped a bit of reality into him. Nate reminded himself he did not do complications. Amelia had made it clear she did not plan on staying in town. Nate loved Southwood and planned to be here for the long haul. He was at the Marlow residence for a job and when that was complete he owed her nothing. Well, at least maybe dinner tonight.

“I'm not sure you cooking me dinner is a good idea.”

“I—”
Parker pressed his helmet against his chest “—am a great cook. Ask anyone at the station. Besides if anything should catch on fire, I'll put it out myself.”

Nate closed his eyes and counted to ten in order to keep from ripping the screen door off and choking the smug fireman. A light, airy giggle sounded off. Realizing he'd never made Amelia giggle without touching her irritated Nate even more. From his angle, he saw Amelia's face light up. The corners of her eyes softened and her smile widened.

“You're still crazy,” Amelia replied.

“And you're still beautiful,” said Parker. “But of course I may be biased.”

No bias, Nate thought. Anyone with a pair of eyes saw the beauty in Amelia. From what he understood, she spent her career filming people when
she
needed to be on film. Now there was something worth turning on the television for.

“Oh, Parker, stop.” Amelia flirted on.

Yeah, Parker, stop
. Nate rose from the back of the couch, ready to interrupt, when one of the other firemen honked the horn on the truck.

“I've got to go,” Parker announced. “But I am serious about catching up with you before you leave. I understand you don't want to run into folks but maybe I'll meet you at FP General for a cup of coffee. It will give me a chance to catch up with Miss Helen. I had no idea she'd hurt herself.”

The squeak of the screen door caught their attention. Both Parker and Amelia turned toward him. Amelia's face was more quizzical, while Parker shot him a glance of irritation for the interruption. The man did not care for Nate's presence.
Whatever.
Amelia was his for at least thirty-two more hours, with a bonus for dinner tonight.

After the local fire department cleared out of the driveway, the desire to cook a meal gone, Nate convinced Amelia to let him take her out for dinner. Women didn't resist his invitations to dinner. With Amelia, it seemed more like an act of congress. With people like Donna Jean or Brittany, they wanted to be downtown at one of the local restaurants, depending on the night. Since it was Sunday, most were closed, with the exception of some of the old eateries closer toward the town square, run by families who spanned generations in Southwood. Nate decided to take her choice to eat at a newer pizza joint across town as flattery, and tried to read it as a desire to have him all to herself, but somehow he couldn't fool himself. Amelia did not want to be out with him; that she'd picked the corner in the back of the pizzeria where no one would see them clued him in.

“Did you leave here under WITSEC orders?” Nate teased.

Amelia's dark eyes stopped skimming the laminated menu long enough for her to furrow her brow. “What?”

“You're all cloak and dagger.” Nate nodded at the way she held the menu in front of her face. “Unless you need glasses.”

The way she frowned was cute. The corners of her mouth turned upside down and her bottom lip poked out. A shoe made direct contact with his shin. “My eyesight is perfect.”

“Not just your eyesight.” Nate cocked his head to get a glimpse of the hourglass curve of her shape.

“Does your cheesy machismo usually work on women?”

Nate flashed a grin. “It worked on you last week.” He regretted the words the second before he finished the
k
in
week
. Amelia's foot came into contact with his shin again. “Sorry. Chalk this up to being nervous.”