She froze, hands splayed on the wood. That rich molasses voice. She’d know it anywhere. Hot neighbor was on the other side. Here. Now. And she was in the thigh-hole leggings.
Covert breath check. All good. The peppermint she’d nabbed leaving Smuggler’s Cove came in handy. With a deep breath, she flung open the door. Rhett stood floodlit by the porch light, dressed in a navy collared shirt that did his eyes all kinds of favors.
“Hello, hello.”
“Hey.” His hair stuck out behind his ears, unruly and damp as if he’d just stepped out of the shower. The idea of him sudsy and, God, sans clothing caused a tightening below deck. “I heard a crash. You need backup?”
In those Clark Kent glasses he did resemble a secret hero, especially in how he projected the right amount of strength, a rock solid internal fortitude.
“Oh. Right. Well, there was this mosquito. A big one.” She gestured vaguely with her hands before clasping them behind her back, nails biting into her palms. “What can I do you for? A cup of sugar?”
“Two things. The first is this.” He whipped out a bar from the back pocket of his jeans. “I brought chocolate.”
A jolt shot through her with such intensity it became difficult to swallow. “My three favorite words.”
His sleeves were pushed up. Holy forearms, Batman—lean, deliciously veined with the promise of delivering sensational cuddles. Her fingers trembled as she took the bar, glancing at the colorful silver foil. When was the last time anyone had given her anything? “My kind of kryptonite.”
“I wondered what flavor would be your weakness.” His inscrutable gaze locked on hers for a millisecond before bouncing to an indefinable spot between her neck and shoulder. “Ginger over at What-a-Treat makes the best rocky road in the Low Country. The candy shop’s an Everland institution, been around forever.” His deep drawl performed the sort of sex acts on her eardrums that were illegal in thirteen states. She grinned like an idiot, but it felt too good to care.
“There. Better.” He gave a satisfied nod. “Happiness is a good look on you.”
Her hand flew to her throat. “It is?” Her pulse pounded beneath her fingertips. As a rule she loathed when a man asked her to smile, but this was different. He didn’t sound like he wanted to be all up in her space, demanding her attention; rather, he wanted to cheer her up with a random act of kindness.
“Yoo hoo! Tootle-loo!” A horn honked. Rhett’s features shifted into a scowl as the woman from across the street peered through the window of her pink Cadillac. “Why Rhett Valentine, is that you?”
“Not past your bedtime yet, Miss Ida May?” He held up a hand in sociable greeting even though annoyance underwrote his tone.
“Had Quilt Guild tonight, but looks I got back right on time. Y’all having fun?”
“Being neighborly.” He started rocking on his heels, as if shaken off his foundation.
“Bet you are, I bet you are.” Ida May pulled her pink Cadillac into her garage. Insinuating chuckles echoed up the street.
His teasing manner from a moment before evaporated in an instant. Rhett’s half smile was replaced by a focused look that meant business. “I said I’d come for two reasons. The other is this. A family friend shattered her leg in a car accident this afternoon. She owns a local dog-walking service.”
“O-kay?” She mashed her brows. The accident sounded awful, but talk about a random thing to come over and share.
“She needs to hire someone.”
“Oh!” Everything was clear. “Like a caregiver…I could do that. Cook meals. Read out loud.” She grinned. That wouldn’t be so bad.
He shook his head. “To handle her client roster on a temporary basis.”
Her smile froze. “Wait.” She snapped a loose string dangling off her thigh hole. “You can’t mean—”
“You need a job,” he said firmly. “And this is a great way to get over cynophobia.”
“Cyno-huh?”
“Fear of dogs. It can’t be much fun being scared of a common household pet.”
“No,” she said faintly. “It’s not.” Shewasdesperate for cash to get out of Dodge, but was she this desperate? This opportunity was like wanting a snack, but broccoli’s the only thing in the fridge.
“My boys liked you,” he was saying. “Especially Faulkner. And dog behavior is predictable if you learn to read their body language. I can help with that.”
“I have no problem reading dog body language. They look at me with their beady eyes and say, ‘Mmmm. Rawhide!’” She cleared her throat. “Look. This offer is sweet. Really.”
He crossed his arms. “But…”
