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She'd crawled out of
Baltimore, but now walked tall. She'd never again date anyone in the public
eye.

Seeing Kason now, she appreciated
him as a man.

He was a loner. She liked
him low-key.

She took a step back so he
could enter. “Welcome.”

Cimarron trampled Kason to
get inside. The dog turned in two circles, then angled beneath the dining room
table, the only place he would fit.

Kason stood inside the
door, tall, muscled, and much too large for her camper. He bumped Dayne on the
shoulder as he took in her space with a single glance.

She saw what he saw:
built-in furniture. The couch was just big enough for one person; the bench behind
the table would be a tight squeeze for two. The twin bed was a single step off
the kitchen.

“It's a dollhouse,” he
finally said. “You won't be throwing many parties.”

She edged around him, and
her hip clipped his thigh. Very tight quarters. “It's my place for now.
Temporary, until I get on my feet. With a camper, wherever you go, you're
always at home.”

“If it works for you,
that's all that matters.”

It worked for her. The
silver Airstream wasn't much bigger than a tin can. Yet she found it cozy. Cleaning
would take less than five minutes. Everything in the camper was within arm's
reach.

“I thought I'd light
candles to save on electricity.” She turned toward the table. “Any chance you
have matches?”

He fished in his pocket,
tossed her a pack. Naughty Monkey matches. The bar was known for its orange
neon monkey, stiff drinks, strippers, and lap dances.

Her curiosity got the
better of her. “One of your haunts?” she asked.

His expression closed, as
if she'd crossed a line. The man didn't share his life.
 

She averted her gaze. “None
of my business, sorry.”

 
Long ticks of silence passed before he said, “Look
at me.”

When she did, he accounted
for the matchbook. “Naughty Monkey hosted a bachelor party for a friend of
mine. I snagged the pack to light a cigar.”

“You have friends?” The
words escaped her. The question bordered on rudeness, yet she'd believed him a
man unto himself.

“One or two,” he said
evasively.

“Did you have a lap dance?”
Was he into tassels and G-strings?

“Too many questions off a
matchbook.” He ended his explanation. “I've known you four days. You're
sounding like a wife.”

“A wife would have a right
to know.”

“We're not married, Dayne.”

She blushed then,
embarrassed by her interest in the man. He didn't do personal. He'd yet to
share his last name.

“Dinner.” She moved on. “Would
you like cheese on your fried-egg sandwiches?”

“Cheese sounds good, and
ketchup.”

One step, and she lit the
three votive candles on the kitchen table. Heather scented the air. She set
down the matches, and swore the orange monkey on the cover smirked at her.

Three steps, and she was in
the kitchen. She cracked and cooked eggs and stirred lime Kool-Aid.

The fried eggs went on
wheat bread. The ketchup came in condiment packets she'd snagged from fast-food
restaurants. Her way to cut costs.

She fixed two plates,
stacking Kason's with three sandwiches. She and Cimarron would split the
remaining two.

She laid out the meal,
included a family-size bag of potato chips. Kason scooped half the bag. The man
was hungry.

They squeezed together on
the single bench. The table was screwed to the floor and pressed their middles.
Their thighs touched, their knees bumped, and their elbows knocked. Eating
proved difficult, as she was lefthanded, and he was right. They leaned into
each other with every bite.

Twice Kason knocked food
out of her hand. Once Kool-Aid sloshed from her glass onto her T-shirt. He
passed her a handful of napkins. She dabbed at the lime drops.

The mishaps seemed minor.
Although cramped, the camper was cozy. Dayne had no complaints. Cimarron was
content with bites from her sandwich.

Once done with dinner,
Kason stretched his arm along the back of the bench. His T-shirt pulled tight
across his chest, the symmetry of his six-pack visible. The sleeves bunched
over his biceps.

His fingertips tapped her
shoulder. “You've fed me three meals,” he said. “I've contributed nothing but
my appetite. I'll replace your groceries tomorrow.”

She cut him a glance. “No
repayment necessary until you find work.”

“Work?” His brow creased.

“You're unemployed,” she
said softly, not wanting to hurt his feelings. “I have food for a month. I'll
share until you get on your feet.”

“On my feet...” He shifted,
visibly ill at ease.

“I have a couple of job
tips,” she told him. “Frank at the Food Warehouse is looking for night
maintenance men. He pays cash.”

A muscle ticked along
Kason's jaw.

“Cock-a-Doodle Cafe at
Tri-Corners needs a dishwasher,” she continued. “I saw the sign in the window
yesterday.”

His mouth flattened in a
thin line.

“I read in the classifieds
that the phone company needs drivers to deliver directories over the next
month. You've got a Hummer, even though it looks like it's on its last legs.
That's fast, easy money. Cim could ride along with you.”

Kason looked pained. He
rested his elbows on the table, eyes downcast. His shoulders were visibly
tight. “Look, Dayne...” he began.

She cut him off. “These may
not be your ideal jobs, but the money would sustain you until you hit on your
career choice.”

“Solid leads. I appreciate
your suggestions,” he managed.

“We're neighbors.” She
patted his arm. “My food is your food. I have tropical rainbow sherbet for
dessert.”

Kason might have preferred
butterscotch pudding, but his two scoops of sherbet went down fast. “I like
orange the best,” he said of the three flavors.

“I'm partial to pineapple.”
Neither favored lemon. It was too tart.

He pushed the bowl aside,
then said, “Frank's Warehouse is part-time for you. What do you want to do
eventually? Skills, goals, dreams?”

Kason being sociable? His
concession stunned Dayne, yet kept her gratified. While her history with Mick
Jakes was off-limits, she'd share her future plans.

“Public relations is my
field.” She missed the customer contact and creative aspects of her job. “I'm a
wiz kid at promotions.”

“Promotions...” He went
from relaxed to rigid, then completely closed down.

The candlelight flickered
on the severe cut of his features. The soft scent of heather was at odds with
the hardened man.

His gaze hit the door.
Clearly, his departure was imminent.

His withdrawal frightened
Dayne.
Wiz kid? Promotions?
What
had she said to offend him? “Kason?” She nudged him with her elbow.

He hefted his big body,
moved from the bench to the couch. Only two feet separated them, yet it seemed
like a mile. “I'm fine,” he said, but he didn't look it. The man was rattled.

“PR and promotions,” she
repeated. “What put you off?”

“I'm private, and not a fan
of publicity.”

“I'm not promoting you.”

No, she wasn't, Kason
Rhodes realized. Her job choice, however, knotted his stomach. “Sorry, gut
reaction.”

“To
what?”
she pressed.

Tomboy was trying to put
her finger on his pulse. She wanted to know what made him tick. He didn't want
people knowing him.

So he blew her off. “It's
nothing.” He snapped his fingers, and Cimmaron crawled from beneath the table. “It's
late. Cim and I need to call it a night.”

“It's six fifteen.”

“Nothing wrong with
sleeping twelve hours,” he said defensively.

“If you're in hibernation.”

He pushed to his feet and
she slid from behind the table.

They stood leather boot to
Converse toe.

She blocked his path to the
door, refusing to let him by.

He preferred not to
physically lift her out of his way, so he curled his lip and baited her. “You
waiting for a good-night kiss?”

The candlelight captured
her blush. “I'm sorry for whatever I said that upset you.”

“I'm not upset.”

“Yet you're leaving.”

“You offered dinner. I ate.
I'm gone.”

Her expression was of a
little girl lost. She looked wounded. Kason's chest gave an unexpected squeeze.
He'd have enjoyed hanging out with her, but he didn't want her dependent on
him. She needed to make her own happiness.

“Have you bought new
batteries for your vibrator?”

Her jaw dropped and her
blue eyes went wide. Her nod was a shocked bob of her head.

“Then you've got company.”

She turned as red as the
candle flame. “Go.” She shoved him toward the door.

With his hand on the knob,
he asked, “Want Cim to spend the night?”

A small smile replaced her
disappointment over his departure. “You don't mind?”

“Dog's happiest in your
bed.”

“I'll return him in the
morning.”

“Drop him off with a cup of
coffee.”

“Deal.”

A significant pause while
neither moved. While they each took the other in, and any lapse in judgment
would start something neither could finish.

He had one foot out the
door when she swept the matchbook off the table, tossed it to him. “Don't
forget your matches.”

Kason fingered the Naughty
Monkey matches. He knew the bachelor party bothered Dayne. When a man didn't
come clean, a woman drew her own conclusions. They were often wrong. A part of
him needed to clear her misconception.

He'd never explained
himself to anyone, so his confession was rusty. “I didn't have a lap dance at
Naughty Monkey,” he told her. “The bar was loud, the crowd trashed. I prefer
dark and quiet corners when I drink. Most times, it's me and a Bud.”

She looked at him as if
he'd righted the world. The tiny camper worked to his benefit. She came to him
with only one step.

Going up on tiptoe, she
placed a kiss on his cheek.

Her lips were soft and her
breath warmed the corner of his mouth. The urge to turn, take her lips, and
touch tongues hit hard. He wanted to show her that he could take things slow.
That foreplay was his game. As well as prolonging a woman's pleasure.

That wouldn't happen
tonight. Maybe not ever.

They were short-term
neighbors. Not lovers.

Control walked him into the
night, his footsteps heavy.

The evening closed around
him, solitude his silent companion.

Seven

The sound of splashing water followed by a girlie squeal woke Kason from
a light sleep. He jackknifed off the bed, went to the back window. A look
across the yard, and he located Dayne inside the shower stall. From what he
could see of her feet and calves, she was hopping like a rabbit. She'd run out
of hot water.

Her last shriek was loud enough to draw the sun's attention. Rays shot
from behind a dark gray cloud.

She was not a happy camper.

Cimarron sat outside the enclosure, a drape of white across his
shoulders. The tomboy was using his dog as a towel rack. Kason had the urge to
whistle, to call the Dobie to him. Which would leave her naked. A nude Dayne
had appeal. But she'd be furious with him.