FURBALL
FEVER - EXCERPT
Comedic Romantic Suspense
Chapter 1
Grace Donnelley planted her sandals on the sidewalk, tightened her grip on Murphy’s leash, and scanned the trendy beach house for signs of life. She was so over Nicholas X. Jackson, she reminded herself. A woman didn’t need a man to make her feel complete. To prove it, she stretched her lips in a confident, I’ve-got-it-all-together smile in case he was watching.
Friday morning, barely begun, had already whizzed downhill with the speed of a Japanese bullet train. As much as it galled her to come crawling, she needed Nick’s help, she needed it now, and she refused to leave his house without it. Okay, so catastrophe trumped broken dreams and crushed pride, hands down.
In her opinion, he owed her--big time.
Murphy jolted her back to reality by releasing a cascade of shrill yaps into the morning air. Scrabbling paws dislodged a flurry of stones as the schnauzer strained toward familiar turf, twisting on the end of his tether like a speared eel.
“Cool your jets,” she warned. “Nick won’t let us inside unless you behave.”
Murphy flung an all-purpose glare over his shoulder and gave a mighty tug. Bowing to the inevitable, she let him drag her along Nick’s brick walkway and onto the veranda.
Behind the house, waves whispered against the sandy beach of the Jersey shore. The clematis she’d planted that spring twined its way up a trellis to provide dappled shade, exactly as she’d foreseen. Through an open window, Bruce Springsteen belted out Born to Run over the gurgle of water rushing through pipes. Common sense dictated she should let Nick finish his shower in peace. Screw that! She’d read somewhere that the first forty-eight hours were critical in crimes of this nature.
With the leash wrapped twice around her fist to prevent Murphy from staking his claim with a territorial squirt, she narrowed her eyes and jabbed the doorbell twice. The chimes faded, leaving only the heavy thump of pounding rock. An overhead bird tootled a greeting. She took it as a sign of encouragement, and punched the doorbell again. Springsteen’s lament stopped in mid-sentence. She withdrew to the tumbled stones that served as Nick’s front lawn to monitor the second-floor bathroom window.
The best revenge after being dumped, she reasoned, was to look fabulous. A casual tug to the tank top maximized the cleavage Nick adored. She smoothed her palms over the hip-hugging jeans, guaranteed, the perky sales clerk had chirped, to diminish hips and thighs.
Eat your heart out, Nick Jackson.
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The window swung open. A cloud of steam, a billow of navy curtains, and a muttered curse emerged. Murphy yipped his adoration. Grace shaded her eyes against the September sun’s early-morning dazzle, and squinted at the dripping figure. Her platform sandals, carefully selected to add five inches to a pint-sized stature, wobbled on the uneven ground, spoiling the cool and collected image she wanted to project.
“What in tarnation? It’s too early for …” Nick’s mouth flattened into a thin line the moment he spotted her.
At the sound of the familiar bourbon and cream voice, she beamed an airy, carefree smile in his direction, and waggled her fingers.
The predatory grey eyes were cold as the North Atlantic in January. “Well, well, well,” he drawled. “If it isn’t Grace Donnelley, girl crusader.”
He leaned out a little further, providing a breathtaking view of powerful shoulders and a manly expanse of torso sprinkled with lovely dark chest hair and water droplets. From the way his face creased into a sardonic smile, she knew he hadn’t forgiven her--not that there was anything to forgive, she reassured herself.
Grace met Nick’s gaze defiantly. Damned if she’d let him glimpse how much she’d missed him during the four endless months since their romance had crumbled. “Don’t call me a girl,” she snapped. “I hate that.”
He took a corner of the towel and dabbed his neck. “Still the same fire-breathing feminist, I see. Some things never change.”
“And you’re still the same card-carrying male chauvinist,” she countered.
He leaned out a couple of inches further to display a manly six-pack, while his eyes scanned her face. “Your hair’s different. Weird, but kind of cute. All that black and orange reminds me of Halloween.”
She resisted the urge to pat down the fluorescent coppery highlights, which had been a ghastly summertime mistake. “The color intensifies my inner vixen, don’t you think?” she said with a jaunty flip of her curls. “I needed a change.”
He leveled his gaze at her. “That’s not exactly the change I was hoping for, darlin’.” All traces of moonlight and magnolias had vanished from his voice. “I was thinking more along the lines of a big old attitude shift.”
“My attitude’s peachy. Do you think I’d be here if it wasn’t an emergency? I need to talk to you.”
His voice sparked with anger. “You had all summer to talk to me.” He paused long enough to make Grace fidget. “Seeing as how you hung up on me twice, I figured you were happy with the way our little arrangement ended.”
“Seeing as how you refused to listen to my explanation twice, do you seriously expect me to beg for absolution?”
Okay, so maybe she’d overreacted to his ultimatum that she either grow up or get out of his life, but dammit, she refused to change her personality to please a man, even one who made her toes curl. She wouldn’t let him sucker her into a discussion of their relationship. Make that former relationship, she amended.
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With jerky movements, Nick swept the curtains aside. His scrutiny made her want to squirm. After an eternity, he said, “I don’t reckon you’re here to divulge that you’ve gone and developed some common sense and prudence over the summer.”
She went rigid. How dare a man who’d totally freaked out, morphed into a chauvinistic brute, and chastised her like a foolish child, think for one moment he had the right to lecture her. She enunciated her next words with precision. “I don’t want to have this conversation through a bathroom window. Let me in.”
“Nope.” His expression hardened. “Not until you admit that what you did on our last date was dead wrong.”
Grace’s blood pressure ratcheted up a few notches. “Is this how you want it? Shouting from the second floor? Fine with me. I adore airing my dirty laundry in public.” She raised her voice and started enumerating the reasons she hadn’t experienced the miraculous change of heart he’d mentioned. “As I recall, you called me irresponsible, reckless, impulsive, and--”
“This isn’t exactly the common sense demonstration I was hoping for. You jeopardized your life.”
“I had no choice. If I hadn’t--”
His harsh words cut off her explanation. “Weasel Walker had a gun. He took a shot at you. Did you even take a moment to consider the risks?”
“The bullet missed by a mile, dammit.
“The bullet missed by inches. Next time, you might not be so lucky.”
“That’s no reason to dump a girl without warning.” Aware that her voice had escalated into a shrill squawk, Grace peered over her shoulder. So far, she’d been lucky. No neighbors had witnessed the unfolding drama.
Nick’s throaty growl left no doubt about his agitation. With visible effort, he collected himself. “You nearly got yourself killed. I hate it when my dates do that.”
“If you’d only listen, I can explain--”
“You’re a loose cannon, Sunshine. Keeping you alive and out of trouble takes too much out of a man. I think you’d better leave. Now!”
His icy tone jolted her back to her senses. She’d managed to piss off the man she needed most--the only man who could grant her access to Saltwater Estate’s state-of-the-art surveillance system.
Desperate now, she blurted, “Wait. Last I heard, you’re still the security director of Saltwater Estates. I’m here on business.”
A short silence crackled between them. When he spoke at last, concrete solidified his voice. “In that case, Ms. Donnelley, I don’t conduct business this early. I suggest you phone during business hours and schedule an appointment.” He pulled his head inside and started to close the window.
She forced her tongue around the next words. “Please. I need your help”
The window halted its inward swing and opened again. His face reappeared. “Did I hear you right?”
A white knight wannabe, she thought, couldn’t resist the call of a damsel in distress. That was the upside of dealing with a male chauvinist. Concentrating on looking needy, which wasn’t too difficult all things considered, she made her voice quiver. “Please. It’s an emergency.”
He merely grunted, but she noted his eyes brightened with interest. Desperation spurred her on. She threw everything she had into her plea. “I’m begging you, Nick. I’ll explain everything if you let me inside.”
Silence.
She had already started to slink away when he ground out the precious words she wanted so desperately to hear. “Wait. I’ll be right down.”
***
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Thirty seconds later, the front door swung inwards. Grace fixed her gaze on Murphy, who seemed hell-bent on tripping her up, and teetered past a pair of bare feet attached to sinewy legs. Murphy gave the feet an enthusiastic lick. Even when Nick scratched the dog’s head, she refused to look at him for fear he would read her emotions--her desperation, confusion, even, dammit, her need. Especially her need.
A stained glass inset projected a rainbow of colors onto the foyer tiles. The warm, rich scent of skin-warmed sandalwood soap mingled with freshly brewed coffee and smoky bacon. The combination was intoxicating and unbearably nostalgic. Four months ago, she would have unlocked the door without knocking and tiptoed upstairs, anticipating Nick’s surprised pleasure at fresh breakfast pastries, a triple espresso, and a little early morning delight. Not necessarily in that order.
How many times had she joined him in the shower to run soapy fingers along the hard planes of his chest? How often had he taken her in his arms, warm water streaming over their heads and shoulders until at last, he melded his slick body to hers?
Murphy’s eager snuffling dislodged the bittersweet fantasy. In her peripheral vision, Nick’s tall figure lounged with unconscious elegance against the carved oak banister that graced the central sweep of stairs--the same stairs he’d carried her up, naked, giggling, and quivering with excitement.
When she risked a direct glance, her heart gave a small lurch. Dear God, he was half-naked. She studied the low-slung towel with interest. In her opinion, the knot didn’t look secure. He pushed away from the banister. The towel parted to reveal a sliver of tanned thigh dusted with fine hair. A hot flush crept up her neck and parboiled her face a humiliating shade of red.
“It’s a little late in the game for blushes, don’t you think?” he drawled, pin-pointing the direction her thoughts had taken.
Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. The sassy greeting she’d rehearsed vaporized in the cloud of lust that consumed her. She should have thought this through a tad more carefully before barging in.
Nick radiated a dangerous, predatory aura. It wasn’t fair how good he looked, especially dripping wet and wearing only a towel and a scowl. Chestnut hair, sable now with dampness, lay in spiky strands against a furrowed forehead. She slid her gaze downwards and her throat constricted. Moisture trickled down broad shoulders onto a bare chest--and, man, oh man, what a drool-worthy chest it was. Her fingers itched to test the smoothness of skin partly hidden by crisp curls. To hide her body’s treacherous reaction, she jerked her gaze to his face.
His mouth narrowed into an uncompromising line. Dark brows slashed together in a frown that would send most women running for the hills. Grace wasn’t fooled. She noted the way his fingers danced over the ragged scar under his left ear before gripping the knotted towel, as if to hold it securely closed. Surely, a trace of confusion lurked behind his eyes. Even the good ol’ boy act he could summon up as a disguise trumpeted a healthy case of nerves. Oh, yeah. The man was as jittery as a mouse in a litter box. Best of all, she was the reason.
The hint of vulnerability perked her up. It was obvious he wasn’t as indifferent to her as he wanted her to believe. She’d succeeded in getting under his skin. Score one for the good guys.
She cleared her throat. “Thanks for offering to listen, Nick. It’s nice to see you.”
All of you. God help her, but he was mouth-watering.
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Three errant beads of water met beneath his jaw. When the tiny stream gathered enough strength, it meandered down a corded neck, fought its way through fine, dark chest hair, rippled over a taut stomach, and soaked into the low-slung towel.
As if he recognized the sensual turn her thoughts had taken, a lazy smile cut a brilliant slash of white through dark stubble. “What seems to be the problem?”
Navy terrycloth stripes drew her gaze south. Her heart stuttered in her chest. Nick might not look pleased to see her, but apparently Mr. Happy had a mind of his own. For one fleeting moment, she allowed her gaze to linger on the nicely-tented towel. A warm ache started in the pit of her stomach, circled her belly, and lodged with humiliating precision at the apex of her thighs.
Look at his face, you fool, his face.
She focused on his mouth and bared her teeth in a brilliant smile. “About that. I find I’m in need of … ah … your services.”
One brow shot up.
Oh crap. He thought she was coming on to him. “To help me solve a crime,” she elaborated quickly.
"You’ve landed yourself in a whole heap of trouble, have you?” The unspoken word ‘again’ hovered between them.
She toned down her smile’s voltage. “Yeah, well. It wasn’t my fault.”
“It never is.”
“This time, it wasn’t, truly,” she said, feeling both defensive and stupid. “You’re the last man on earth I want to turn to, but you’re the only person who can help me.”
His mouth tightened. “My, my. I’m flattered, but I’m thinking you need more help than I could ever give.”
Remembering the purpose of her visit, she restrained the rude finger she longed to flip. Sadly, he might have a point. Most family members had suggested a prolonged visit to men with white coats and plenty of Valium. Her oldest brother had even recommended a lobotomy, and not, she suspected, completely in jest.
“Sorry. That didn’t come out right,” she said through stiff lips. “Something terrible happened last night.” She gave him the full impact of her baby blues.
He expelled a sigh. “Tell me what’s going on.”
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She hoped he couldn’t detect the glint of triumph in her eyes. “I need you to bend the rules and let me watch last night’s security video.” The motion-activated camera tracked all traffic entering and leaving Saltwater Estates, and might provide a clue to the identity of the house-breaker.
He blinked twice. When he spoke, his voice took on a harsh edge. “Think again, Sunshine. I can’t let you do that. It’s against regulations.”
She studied him intently. Rules and regulations had never figured prominently in Nick’s life. Hadn’t she surprised him in the security kiosk one memorable Friday evening during the late shift? Between steamy bouts of lovemaking, they’d watched surveillance images on the computer screen.
“When did you start worrying about regulations?” she asked. “Don’t you remember the time we--”
He cut off her reminiscences in mid-sentence. “That was a gross error in judgment. It won’t happen again.”
Before Grace could impress on Nick the urgency of watching the video, Murphy had other ideas. He did a snappy schnauzer dance around her legs. She shook her foot trying to disengage the leash as it tangled around her ankle. The dog strained toward the kitchen and the bacon, pulling her with him, flecks of drool flying from his moustache. For a small dog, he had the strength of a bull moose in rutting season.
“Murphy, dammit …” She flashed an apologetic glance in Nick’s direction on her way past. “It’s the bacon.”
He bit out a warning. “Watch out. There’s a--”
Her left sandal landed on top of a wheeled object. The floor started to move.
“-- skateboard.”
It all happened in a split second. The skateboard shot away. She dropped Murphy’s leash. A hard hand snagged her above the elbow, but did little to slow her momentum. As she started to execute what felt like a perfect half-gainer, her brain fired off a frantic warning.
Grab something, anything. Break the fall.
She groped blindly. Soft terrycloth yielded to her clutching fingers. In desperation, she grabbed hold of solid flesh and held on for dear life.
His muffled howl joined her surprised yelp in a syncopated duet.
At the back of her mind, Grace noted that what she gripped was warm and thick and solid. Oh, my! Her last thought in the millisecond before they toppled to the floor in a tangle of arms, legs, and towel, was that for once she was right.
He was definitely happy to see her.
***
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Fifteen minutes passed before Nick pulled himself together enough to saunter into his sun-filled kitchen, fully dressed and feigning a nonchalance he was far from feeling. He assumed Grace hadn’t noticed him yet because she sat hunched over his kitchen table, her head in her hands. The throbbing inside his loose jogging pants screamed a reminder of three things--one, his Johnson felt like it had been compressed in a wringer; two, Grace Donnelley was still bad for his health; and three, he wasn’t over her yet, not by a long shot. Glory be, she might look soft and feminine, but she had a grip like Tiger Woods on the down-swing.
He studied her as intently as a drowning man might eye a life preserver. In spite of the orange hair and those horrible jeans that turned her nice, rounded ass into a featureless wash-board, Grace was a total turn-on--cute and curvy, a sexy armful a man could cuddle without fear of breakage, and a far cry from the many waif-like women he’d dated.
In that moment, his hard-won peace of mind dropped away, leaving only turbulent emotions, raw, painful, and quivering. Aware of a terrible sense of loss, he did the only sensible thing a man in his position could do. He hardened his heart and encased his feelings in protective cement. Grace was out of his life, and good riddance.
His bare feet were silent as he limped across cool terra-cotta tiles toward the counter to check the coffee. When he spoke, he was pleased to note his voice was light and conversational, betraying none of his inner turmoil. “I put on a fresh pot of coffee before I hopped in the shower.”
She angled her head to face him. A startling crimson crept to the roots of her black-and-orange curls. “Oh, my God, Nick. I am so, so sorry,” she said. Bluebell eyes pleaded for forgiveness. “I didn’t mean to…” Her voice trailed away.
To his vast surprise, part of him relished the fact that she cared. Wishing she would shut the hell up, he brushed her concern aside. “Forget it. I’ll give you my favorite Mickey Mouse mug if you’ll stop talking about the unfortunate, ah, incident.”
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She ignored the bribe. “Do you think it’s broken?” Her clear sapphire gaze swept over his package with avid interest.
He reckoned she wasn’t referring to the Mickey Mouse mug. In spite of the pain, he felt himself swelling. He faced the counter to hide his hard-on. What the hell had he been thinking? Inviting her inside was only begging for trouble.
“I’m fine,” he said. “Everything’s fine. Let’s forget anything happened, shall we?” Turning away, he poured two mugs of steaming coffee. He plunked them on the table and settled carefully into a chair, hoping to distract her from the embarrassing bulge in his pants and the even-more-mortifying topic of his aching dick. He saluted her with his Scrooge McDuck mug and took a long, satisfying gulp.
She ignored the coffee and leaned forward. “I’d better drive you to the hospital. I’ve heard of a case where a couple was having a little afternoon delight. At exactly the wrong moment, he zigged, while she zagged. Poor sucker missed the bull’s eye, and--”
A cold shudder skittered down Nick’s spine. “I don’t need to hear this,” he interjected, while shooting her a glare intended to quell the gruesome details he sensed she was anxious to impart.
“--hit the Brawny Brute extra-firm mattress so hard he fractured his --”
Cringing, he over-rode her grisly recitation. “Still taking cream and lo-cal sweetener?” he shouted, shoving a ceramic cow pitcher at her.
“The doctors had to make a surgical incision in--”
He raised his voice to a booming roar, hoping to drown her out. “Never understood why women think lo-cal sweetener counteracts the calories in cream.”
“They removed the blood clot, repaired the tear in the tunica albuginea--that’s the white connective tissue, which runs the entire length. And then--” she paused dramatically, no doubt gathering strength to deliver the grand finale.
Sheeeeiiiiit-fire. If only she’d shut up. He knew a chauvinistic comment might well cost him his life. He didn’t care. He had to divert her attention. Summoning up his most supercilious tone, he drawled, “This surely is an unladylike conversation.”
“--they sutured the--” She jumped like a pea on a hot shovel. “Excuse me?
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He was pretty sure none of the well-bred women he’d favored, either before or after Grace had torn his life into tiny shreds, would ever initiate a discussion about the anatomy of a man’s dick. He said, “I guess I’m an old-fashioned type of guy. A lady doesn’t discuss a man’s, er, private parts in mixed company.”
She tossed her Halloween-striped hair in an indignant flounce, narrowed her eyes until all that remained were narrow blue slits, and pronounced, “There’s nothing, absolutely nothing, wrong with discussing any portion of the human anatomy in mixed company, not even a man’s penis.”
Thank God. He’d struck the perfect chord and shut down her spine-chilling litany that made his balls want to crawl back into his body. “That’s not what my mamma said.”
The force with which she sucked in her breath caused her magnificent breasts to heave with the passion of her conviction. She leaned forward and favored him with an unforgettable view. “I hate to tell you, but your mamma is sorely mistaken,” she said. “Our body is our temple, Nick, and you have nothing to be ashamed of.”
Unable to resist and knowing she’d make him pay, he stared into the deeply shadowed cleavage revealed by her low-cut neckline. “Neither have you, darlin’,” he said. “Neither have you.”
Comprehension flooded her face and she jerked upright, causing an awe-inspiring jiggle. “Put your eyeballs back in your head,” she snarled. “These puppies are strictly off limits to the likes of you.”
“Glory be,” he breathed. “I’d forgotten how truly magnificent they are.”
Her eyes shot blue flames. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this from the man who thinks it improper to discuss body parts.”
He hid the grin that threatened to slip up on him. The distraction tactic had worked. “I meant it isn’t fitting for a lady to discuss body parts.”
Her lip curled in a silent snarl. She folded her arms across her chest until the tightly compressed bosom bounced, threatening to take on a life of its own. With a little bit of luck, he thought, they would escape the flimsy tank top.
That was better, much better. Now that her attention had been safely diverted from his aching dick, he felt safe enough to say, “I was about to eat. You might as well join me for breakfast while you explain why in tarnation the security video is so important.”
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