Hot Spot (12 page)

And since when was she averse to nonchalant sex?

Especially with a first-class, A-number-one, mega-well-endowed man like Danny Rees.

"How about this one?" she finally said, pointing to an illustration.

"Sure," he said. Just like that. Like he could do anything.

It turned out he could.

And very well at that.

STELLA WOKE UP WHEN SOMEONE DOVE IN THE pool at what seemed the crack of dawn. The clock on the mantle disabused her of that notion; it was nine-thirty. She had time to get home, shower, and dress before store hours. Call her Type A, but she loved her store. Not that she didn't really love the sex with Danny Rees. But let's face it, her store would be there long after he had moved on.

Easing out of bed, she picked up her clothes and shoes and tiptoed to the door. She'd dress in the hall and not take a chance of waking Danny. Fortunately, they'd not locked the door; they'd had other things on their mind, which worked out fine for her—no loud metallic sound of a tumbler dropping would interfere with her sneaking outta here. She turned the knob with the caution of a safe cracker, ever so slowly, glancing at the bed occasionally—nervous she might be found out yet determined to leave. Apparently that one-track-mind thing worked for more than sex, and she wanted to go home.

A moment later she was standing in the hall, nude and hopefully alone.

A quick look. Yep.

She swiftly dressed and walked to the front door, which was closer to her car and farther from the bedroom
and
the pool house. The last person she wanted to see had platinum blond hair and the evil eye.

Standing on the porch a moment later, she inhaled the fresh morning air. It was a beautiful day. Sunny, warm, the birds singing their little hearts out, the fragrance of flowers wafting in the breeze. Of course, her gratifying mood may have had more to do with a night of countless, blissful orgasms than the morning sunshine and chirping birds.

Oh, oh
—that
wasn't a flower scent.

She needed a shower.

He WOKE UP with a hard-on, which wasn't out of the ordinary, considering the nature of his dreams starring Stella Scott and every feel-good impulse known to man. He might have even experienced that earth-moving thing last night.

Maybe. Possibly.

He smiled and, still half dozing, reached out to bring his dream girl closer to the action.

His eyes snapped open, and all the warm fuzzies disappeared in a flash.

She was gone.

His first thought was of her sketchbook with all those fucking guys.

He should have known. Any woman that good in bed wasn't a novice.

Not that he was looking for a novice. But he wasn't sure he wanted to be number one thousand and fifty, either.

Shit.

It took him a few minutes to cool down and a few minutes more to remind himself that he'd walked away from a woman or two in his life. It happened. And it wasn't as though he was looking for any long-term deal. Or any deal. He liked his answer-to-no-one existence. He liked being alone. So count your blessings—last night particularly—and get on with your life.

When he padded into the kitchen after his shower, he found Buddy having an espresso and reading the Sunday paper.

"It's just the two of us, sweetheart," Buddy quipped. "Stella's car is gone."

"And Kirsty and Brian?"

"I gave up before they did. But no one else slept in the pool house, so I figure she had Brian drive her home. I slept like a baby, by the way. Thanks for putting me up."

"Not a problem. Are you done with the sports?"

Buddy slid the sports section across the table and winked. "Had a good night, did we? Your eyes are at half mast."

"A very good night." Danny set two small cups under the spouts of his espresso machine and pressed the button for a double. "How much do you know about Stella?"

"Not much other than what she's told me when I've chatted her up at her store. I should at least have a finder's fee. You cut me out big time."

"I figured you had your chance." Danny watched the perfect crema form on the espresso. "You've known her for a while."

"True. And mostly I know she doesn't date customers." Buddy grinned. "How does it feel to be the exception to the rule?"

Danny looked up and smiled. "Exceptional." Pouring the two shots into a cup, he moved toward the table and sat across from Buddy. "Do you need a ride to your boat? Home?"

"Nah. I'll have one of my crew come and get me. They're at my slip in Afton. Come out on the boat if you like. We're going down to Lake Pepin later today."

"I'll pass, but thanks."

"You could ask Stella along."

"She's at the store." At least he assumed she was. He was sorely tempted to go over and see. Like a nicotine addiction, he was beginning to get the shakes. But he'd deal with it. He wasn't sixteen and infatuated. "What do you think about the Red Sox's pitching? It looks good."

"It should be with the money they pay Schilling."

Men didn't do blow by blows like women did.

STELLA ALMOST CALLED DANNY A ZILLION TIMES before noon. She'd looked up his phone number the minute she opened the store, and only sheer will kept her from making a fool of herself.

You didn't call up a stud like Danny and tell him what a great night you had.

Men like Danny Rees probably didn't take phone calls from women.

And despite the fact that he'd said he'd wanted her to stay for breakfast, she couldn't be sure he actually meant it or was only playing to the audience at the time.

So keep your mind on business, and forget about sex.

Not actually possible when she was already missing him.

Fortunately, she was busy most of the morning. Todd Ekhert and Jason Krantz, who were trying to make it out of seventh-grade math by passing summer school, had come in for their tutorial. They were conscientious about showing up every day, terrified they'd flunk the summer school makeup course and be held back.

She'd taught junior high math before she'd inherited the wherewithall to open her store, and she was more than happy to help. They were good kids. Just not left brain. And she'd promised them both a first edition of
Spiderman
No. 1, 1988 if they passed the course, so they were extra motivated.