Never Too Hot Read online

  She'd just made a terrible mistake. Yes, he'd been hurt. Badly. But it wasn't recent. They were old wounds.

  His words were low and hard. "I was burned two years ago. I'm fine now."

  She bit her lip. Nodded. "Oh. Yes. I can see that now. It's just when the sun hit you, I thought--" She should stop talking now; the hole she'd dug was already big enough. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make such a big deal about your ... your scars."

  The silence that followed her horrible words was long. Borderline painful. He must hate it when people freaked out over his scars and here she'd practically been wrapping gauze around them.

  And of course, now she couldn't stop wondering how he'd gotten so badly burned. Even though it was none of her business.

  Finally, he said, "I'm Connor MacKenzie. And this is my house. I thought it was empty. I just flew all the way from California. It should be empty."

  His name registered quickly. At last, something that made sense. "Are you related to Helen and George MacKenzie?"

  "They're my grandparents."

  She breathed her first sigh of relief. He wasn't a serial killer. He was related to the cabin's owner.

  "I'm Ginger. Why don't you come in." She tentatively smiled. "Maybe we can start over and I could offer you a glass of iced tea?"

  He didn't smile back. "How do you know my grandparents?"

  Did he realize that every word out of his mouth sounded like an accusation? Like she'd screwed up all of his big plans when she didn't know him from Adam.

  "I'm renting this cabin from them. Didn't they tell you?"

  He stared at her for a long moment, and she got the uncomfortable feeling that he was trying to assess whether she was telling him the truth.

  "No."

  There would have been a time when a big, strong man of few words like this would have had her trembling and weak-kneed. She would have assumed she was the one in the wrong even when she clearly had it all right. Fortunately, a lot had changed in this past year. And she, frankly, wasn't in the mood to be pushed around.

  "Wait here." Sixty seconds later she was back with the signed lease. "Here it is."

  He took the document from her and as he read through it, she was able to take a good long look at him for the first time. Golden-brown hair, deeply tanned skin, thickly lashed eyes, a full yet masculine mouth and strong chin, presently covered with a half-day's stubble.

  Now that she was no longer worried that he was going to attack her, on an elemental level, her body suddenly recognized his beauty.

  His innate power.

  Up close, not only was he strikingly handsome, but he was even bigger than she'd first thought. Between the wide breadth of his chest and the muscles flexing beneath his T-shirt, from the size of his biceps and the way his chest tapered down to slim, tight hips, she could feel her breath slowly leaving her body, quickly being replaced with something that felt--uncomfortably--like desire.

  It wasn't until several long moments later that she realized he was staring back at her. His eyes were making a lazy path from her face to her partially covered breasts, then farther down to her hips and legs before slowly moving back up to her face.

  Suddenly, she remembered what she was wearing. Or, more to the point, wasn't wearing.

  She'd never go out in public without a bra, but here, in the privacy of her own house, she did as she wished. It was one of the things she enjoyed most about having her own place. The freedom to not only do whatever she wanted, but to wear whatever she wanted.

  A tank top and cutoff jeans had never been part of her city vernacular. But here at the lake, especially when she was getting down and dirty with her paints, when the thermometer read eighty and the humidity was ratcheting up all day in preparation for a rainstorm, she liked the bohemian feel of cutoffs.

  Not thrilled about flashing some stranger--even less thrilled about him taking any surreptitious pleasure from looking at her--she crossed her arms over her breasts to stop the peep show. But then she realized he hadn't given her the lease back yet, so she had to unfold one arm and reach for it.

  The corners of the papers crumpled in his fist. Damn it, he'd already cut into most of her dwindling painting time for the afternoon. She wasn't in any mood for games.

  Switching into a stern demeanor that had been known to make billionaires quiver in their Ferragamos when they "forgot" to give one of her charities the money they'd publicly promised, she said, "Now that you have your proof, I'd very much appreciate it if you'd give me back my lease."

  But this man didn't quiver. He didn't shake. Instead his eyes continued to hold hers and she was almost certain she saw a challenge in the blue depths.

  And wouldn't you know it, her heart started leaping around in her chest. She supposed it was some sort of instinctual response to the combination of his devastating looks and the threat that he clearly posed to her perfect summer on the lake.

  "Lucky you," he drawled. "Getting this place all to yourself this summer."

  She was caught off guard by the way his low, rough voice slipped and slid through her veins so seductively. How the hell had he managed to almost make her toes curl on the porch floors with nothing but a few words?

  Up until now he'd been hard. Unyielding. Definitely not in a bargaining mood. But now that she'd not only staked but proved her claim, it looked like he'd decided to change tactics by stunning her with the full force of his sensual power.

  Well, just because she liked what she saw (she'd have to be drained of all hormones not to), didn't mean she had any intention of touching. Which meant she was immune.

  Mostly, anyway.

  "You're right," she agreed, and even though she wouldn't normally feel the need to rub in her win over a virtual stranger, she couldn't resist adding, "It's breathtaking."

  He looked out at the lake. "Not many views this good, even on this lake. My grandfather used to call it the million-dollar beach."

  When he turned back to her his lips were curled up on one side in what might have been a half smile under other circumstances. But right at that moment it was colored more with a sneer than anything even remotely connected to happiness.

  "I'm just wondering one thing. How did you know my grandparents were thinking of renting it when they didn't even remember to tell their own family?"

  It was a sucker punch. Oh no, he wasn't going to get away with that. Because Ginger Sinclair was no longer afraid to call people on their shit. And this guy was fairly brimming over with it.

  "Are you accusing me of something?"

  The half-not-a-smile dropped. "Only if you've got something to be guilty about."

  Jesus. What was with good-looking guys? Were they so used to getting their own way all the time that they thought they could say and do whatever they wanted, whenever the mood struck? Someone should have taken this one down a peg a long time ago. Looked like the job was all hers.

  Twisting her mouth into that same half smile, half sneer he'd just graced her with, she said, "Well, since I've already been living here for eight months without your knowledge, it's clearly been a long while since you've had a chat with your grandparents. Seems to me I'm not the one who should have the guilty conscience."

  She braced herself for his next parry, but instead there was that flash in his eyes again, not angry now, more intrigued. The way her pulse jumped confused her, made her head feel like it was spinning. What was it about this guy that had her body turning traitor on her?

  It had to be the muggy weather. All the dancing on the porch must have depleted her electrolytes. She was dehydrated. That's all it was.

  "You're right," he finally said. "I need to call them."

  Ginger couldn't believe it. Was he actually agreeing with her? Well, that was that. Now that they'd cleared everything up, he'd go and leave her alone. Good.

  She couldn't wait.

  But then, she noticed the large bag at his feet, presumably full of his clothes. Clearly, he'
d been planning on staying in the cabin tonight. Because he'd thought it was vacant. Which meant he didn't have any other place to stay.

  Oh no.

  She looked at his face again, immediately getting snared in his dark blue eyes.

  Definitely no.

  This log cabin was hers and hers alone. The cuckoo clock chimed four times over the fireplace in the living room and she was hit by a sudden rush of anger at her perfect day falling to shreds.

  "Look, I'm sorry that you didn't know someone was living in the house, but I've got a twelve-month agreement, so you're going to have to find another place to stay." Tonight and thereafter, thank you very much. "And I'm afraid I'm going to be late for work if I don't leave soon, so ..."

  She looked at the door, making it perfectly clear that it was time for him to leave.

  He nodded, picked up his bag and said, "Okay."

  She was midway through releasing the breath she'd been holding when he added, "I'll come back tomorrow. So that we can figure out something that will work for both of us."

  What? He was coming back?

  She should have known a guy like this wouldn't back down so easily.

  "I'll say it one last time. I've got a lease through the summer. Good-bye."

  There. She couldn't have been clearer.

  But he still wasn't leaving. Instead his eyes were scanning the cabin and then he was walking over to a log that held up the wall between the porch and the living room. Without warning, he slammed his fist into it.

  She half screamed in surprise. "What the hell are you doing?"

  Calm as anything, he used his fingertips to brush away the crumbled wood chips.

  "See that?"

  She swallowed hard. "You just made a hole in the log."

  A perfect fist-sized hole. How strong did he have to be to hit it like that without even flinching?

  "This rotten log is just one of the half-dozen ways this old house could come down around your head." He turned back to her, raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure my grandparents would be happy to give you a refund on your rent."

  Her heart was still pounding from the shock of seeing him knock a huge chunk out of the log. But she was bound and determined not to let his scare tactics work.

  "I'm not going anywhere."

  "Then we'll talk tomorrow."

  The screen door slammed shut behind him as he left. Ginger couldn't stop herself from moving over to the log to get a better look at it. And as she put her hand into the hole he'd left, she hated how Connor had made her look at the cabin that had been her refuge with different eyes.

  With doubt.

  CHAPTER TWO

  MOST DAYS Ginger's five-mile drive to the small downtown strip on the opposite side of Blue Mountain Lake was a leisurely, relaxing one. As winter had turned to spring and spring had shifted into summer, the trees were bursting with bright green new growth that she'd never failed to appreciate.

  Until today.

  What on earth was she going to do about Connor? About the fact that he clearly wanted an all-access pass to her home? She wasn't ready for her lakefront idyll to come to an end.

  She was finally getting the hang of, well, hanging out. Her paintings were starting to look the way she pictured them in her head.

  And Blue Mountain Lake--but especially Poplar Cove--felt more like home than any home she'd ever had before.

  It was a whole different world out here in the woods as compared to her previous life in New York City. She loved everything about it. The past eight months at Poplar Cove had been the happiest of her life. The setting, of course, was spectacular, but her joy was inspired by far more than the beautiful natural surroundings.

  Freedom was a revelation. For the first time in her life, she answered to no one but herself. Not a husband, not her parents, not the committee members of umpteen charity boards.

  Sure, she'd had to get a job waiting tables in town to pay for her canvases and paints and groceries, and it had taken a little while to get used to taking orders and delivering food and drinks, but waitressing was a small price to pay for not having to take her parents' money while her ex-husband kept their money tied up with lawyers.

  As she parked her car behind the diner and got out into the fresh air, she took a few seconds to breathe it in as she reminded herself that there was no reason to freak out.

  So the owner's grandson had showed up out of the blue. So what? The most important thing was that she'd held her ground. And would continue to do so. Unfortunately, she had to admit that he'd done a good job of making his point about the old cabin. Something would have to be done there.

  Isabel, her closest friend in town who also happened to own the Blue Mountain Lake Diner, always gave good advice. If anyone would know what to do in a situation like this, it was Isabel.

  Ginger was halfway across the parking lot when Josh, Isabel's fifteen-year-old son, nearly knocked her over as he shot past her to join a pretty blonde on the sidewalk. Ginger called out a hello, but he didn't hear her as he rounded the corner.

  She pushed through the back door into the kitchen to find Isabel chopping a couple of bell peppers into thin slivers. "Who was that cute girl Josh was leaving with? He couldn't take his eyes off her."

  Isabel sighed, not looking up from her task. "Who knows? I'm the last person he'd introduce her to."

  From the first, Ginger had been struck by how attractive Isabel was. Slim and blond, nearly fifty, she looked easily a decade younger. Today, however, she looked tired. Worn out. Probably because things had been rough lately between Isabel and her teenage son.

  "What happened this time?"

  Isabel's words came out in a rush. "He slammed in through the door, even though I've told him at least a hundred times that he's going to pull the door clean off its hinges, and when I asked him to grab the silverware from the dishwasher, he told me he wasn't going to work today."

  For the past few months Josh had been helping out for a couple of hours in the afternoon to earn some spending money. Apart from a tray of dropped wine glasses, he'd done great. A little lazy sometimes, but he was only fifteen.

  "Hmm." Ginger didn't want to take sides, even if it did sound like Josh might be out of line. "Did he say why?"

  "Evidently his father told him he should be out having fun with his friends because there's plenty of time for him to work when he grows up."

  Isabel blew out an angry breath. "I'm going to kill Brian. He feels guilty because he only sees his son a handful of weeks every year and doesn't have a clue how much harder all of his endless generosity makes my day-to-day. You should have heard Josh last night going on and on about all the 'totally awesome' things he did with his father in the city the past couple of weeks."

  "Must be hard to compete with that."

  "Impossible. So I told Josh he'd better stay or else and you'll never guess what the little shit said?"

  Ginger had a pretty good idea what a fifteen-year-old boy might come up with. Especially after working with them for the past months at school.

  "He said the only way he was going to stay was if I chained him to the stove. And then he blasted out of here with that girl to go see a movie."

  Ginger leaned on the counter. "I still have nightmares about fifteen. Braces. Bad skin. All I needed was the ponytail and glasses to perfect the look. The extra fifteen pounds didn't help any, either."

  Isabel grunted and Ginger knew she was being no help at all. "What I'm trying to say is that fifteen is a hard age for everyone. And you've got to know that Josh is a great kid. All year up at the school when I was doing art with his class, he was always really polite. Amazingly focused. There was this one kid I almost smacked a couple of times when he repeatedly flicked paint on the--" She realized she was heading off on a tangent and switched back to Josh. "Anyway, compared to some of the other kids, Josh is practically an angel."

  All the fight seemed to go out of her friend. "Thanks for that. It h
elps to hear that he's not turning into a complete screwup. A lot, actually."

  "You're welcome. I wish I could help more, but without a kid of my own to practice on I'm pretty much just standing here blowing smoke."

  Knowing this was a touchy subject for her, Isabel said, "Oh honey, I shouldn't complain. It's just that days like this make me wish I had a partner in this whole parenting thing. Someone to share the decisions with. To make it all easier. I thought it was hard when Josh was a baby and I was up all night with him, then had to pretend to be a fully functioning human being the next morning. But I'll tell you what--this moody teenager crap is even harder."

  "And totally normal," Ginger had to remind her.

  Isabel nodded. "You're right. If I keep letting the little things get to me I'll be completely out of my mind by the time he goes to college. Remind me to get you five cents out of the tip jar later. Counseling session officially over."

  Ginger hesitated for a moment, even though that was her cue to go to the storage room to hang up her bag and change into her black pants and button-down shirt.

  She'd hoped to chat with Isabel about Connor. But it was clear that her friend already had enough on her mind with her son.

  No big deal. A lot had changed in the eight months Ginger had been at the lake. She'd learned to speak up. Not to let people steamroll her. She'd been clear with Connor. Poplar Cove might have been his house as a kid, but it was her house now. If any work was going to be done on it while she held the lease, she'd say when, she'd say how much.

  She didn't need Isabel to tell her that.

  The traffic was crazy on Main Street and Connor had to park on the far end of the street from the Blue Mountain Lake Inn. Main Street was only one block long, but even though he hadn't been to the lake in over a decade, it felt like stepping back in time. Some of the storefronts were newer, shinier than he remembered, and there hadn't been brick-paved sidewalks when he was a kid, but the huge flower baskets were still hanging from the old-fashioned lampposts and the hardware and grocery stores were right where they'd always been.

  He caught sight of himself in the window of a yarn store. Jesus, he looked like he was hunkering down for a storm, hunched and tense. The five a.m. cross-country flight was taking its toll. Connor was used to constant movement, not being cramped in a tiny seat for so many hours. A long hard run would help burn off some of the aggravations of the day. But first he'd get a room at the Inn.