Be My Midnight Kiss Page 4

  At the time, however, he hadn’t been aware of how out of character such vulnerability would be, how difficult she actually was.

  But then there was her behavior with the Preston children. Around them, everything about her softened. Her claws retracted and she could be almost…sweet.

  He didn’t know what her story was, but the contrasts made him want to dig deeper.

  Blast his hide.

  And here he’d said he had no self-destructive instincts. He shook his head as he unlocked the workshop he’d made from an old ramshackle garage behind his house. A warm, furry shape appeared beside him, the scarred head bumping the side of his knee.

  “Good evening, my friend,” Gavin greeted Finn, the half-blind border collie he’d found on another jobsite a few months back. He dug his fingers into the now-silky hair that had once been matted and full of burrs, his fingers kneading the old dog’s neck and shoulders.

  Finn groaned and leaned into him.

  Gavin sank to his haunches and sent the dog into ecstasy, his tail thumping eagerly on the wood floor. At the commotion, another figure appeared in the doorway, Lily, the mama cat who’d once owned this space until he and she had made their peace with one another. She twined her way past Finn and rubbed against his leg. “How are you, darlin’?”

  He gave both animals a good stroking—and then he laughed. My Gavin, the savior of strays, his mother called him. He had a radar for a lost cause, a sad case, she claimed. Perhaps so, but if he had one grain of sense in his thick skull, he’d ignore any such notions about Steph Hargrove.

  Which, clearly, she wouldn’t welcome anyway.

  Gavin rose and walked to his workbench, studying the jewelry box that was his current project, wondering exactly who he was making it for. He didn’t always know until he was finished, but the making of something new was a challenge, a puzzle to be solved.

  He would spend an hour or so at the end of this long day focusing only on these pieces of wood that would become something beautiful, and he would cease to care if the lady was lonely.

  He didn’t need the headache.

  You’re not my type, she’d said. Nor was she remotely his own.

  Resolutely Gavin put his hands to work, and after a bit, his mind followed, leaving sad-eyed women behind.

  She’d lost her edge since leaving Seattle. It was time to revive the Steph who’d saved her, ditch this cautious, sad ghost who’d replaced the ballbuster siren. Trusting Ty Grant had nearly gotten her killed, and she had retreated into a shell. She’d even—heaven help her—flirted with the notion that the Sweetgrass way, that wholesome, love-fixes-everything world could be hers.

  Thank heavens she’d returned to her senses, not a moment too soon.

  The only time in her life she’d felt in control was when she was calling the shots. After a childhood when she’d been at the mercies of fate and a drug-addled mother, she’d made certain she was always in charge of her life. When she was the one who went after what she wanted. She was not and never would be a shrinking violet.

  So Steph was getting back into the swing of life with a vengeance that very night. She hit a couple of clubs that were open even on Thanksgiving, had danced until her restless feet hurt. She’d flirted, been propositioned, had considered and dropped several candidates, but in the end, she’d returned to her loft alone, still trying to clear her mind of the aggravating carpenter.

  There was only one major difference from her past this night: she’d come home alone.

  Now she sat on her second-floor windowsill, one leg propped up, the other dangling over empty air. Looking down, she watched the entertainment district stragglers, wondering if any felt her watching their little dramas unfold. Across the street, a decrepit Ford van crawled away, carrying the house band to a wee-hours breakfast where they’d laugh and talk and divide the night’s take among them.

  Someone whistled back behind her, a tune so achy and sad she wanted to beg him to stop.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” a graveled voice called right below her.

  Steph looked down.

  Guitar strapped across his back, he was young…too young, but wise in the ways of the street, she could see that. Hard times rode the planes of his face, nestled in the long hair drifting over his shoulders. “Whatcha doin’ up there, pretty lady?”

  Steph smiled. “Not much. You?”

  He shrugged. “Just gettin’ by.” He pantomimed strumming his guitar. “Playin’ some tunes…takin’ it as it comes.” He smiled, slow and sweet. “Layin’ down tracks for tomorrow.”

  Steph leaned her cheek against her knee, unwelcome but too-familiar emptiness echoing inside her. “That ol’ tomorrow. She’s not so easy to get to sometimes.”

  He chuckled. “You are so right, sweet one.” He pulled his guitar around the front. “Maybe I can help you along.”

  Steph nodded, feeling a pinch in her heart at the kindness of a stranger.

  He began strumming, then blended his smooth voice with words she couldn’t make out.

  It didn’t matter. The melody spoke for itself. He played about love and longing…about pain and parting and nights when you don’t think you’ll make it until tomorrow.

  He was good, but he made her remember Gavin O’Neill’s voice, his hands on the strings. The kindness in his eyes she didn’t want. Didn’t need. The laughter that came to him so easily.

  Except with her. He didn’t approve of her.

  Which was fine because she was not going to think about that man anymore. Ever.

  Suddenly she itched to escape her thoughts, to leap inside and slam the window.

  But at that moment, the man below switched to a melody so light, so hopeful that Steph’s heart lifted, just a little.

  Not much. But sometimes, even a little was enough.

  She leaned her head back against the frame and closed her eyes, drifting inside the cradle his music had made for her. For moments that felt safely endless, she let him wrap a soft, cozy cocoon of music around her, and her heart rested.

  Unlike the way Gavin’s music had made her feel exposed.

  Stop. Just…stop. Wearily, she tried to return to that place of rest, but…no dice.

  When the last notes trailed off, Steph bent forward. “Come up.”

  He smiled and let his gaze slide over the length of her. “With legs like those, I won’t say it’s not tempting.” Then he shook his head. “But that’s not what you need, is it?”

  Steph chewed at her lower lip, then sighed. Damn it, he was right. She shook her head. “I think I can sleep now. Thank you.”

  He slanted a lazy salute. “That’s thanks enough for me.” Turning to go, he looked back one more time. “Sleep tight, pretty lady.” Then he shambled off.

  With a lump in her throat, Steph climbed back inside her loft, closing the window behind her.

  And went to be alone. Again.

  Chapter Three

  The country-western bar where Gavin let himself be dragged after work several days later was one favored by an odd mix of cowboys, construction workers and white-collar types who liked to kick back a few and dance. It reminded him of a honky-tonk he’d loved back home.

  For some of the guys from Wyatt’s jobsite, this was their usual after-work stop, and Gavin found himself not averse to indulging in a beer on this day.

  Uncharacteristically, Wyatt had accompanied them. Gavin sat beside him at the bar, raised his glass of the brew to salute the man who’d become one of his closest friends. “What are you doing here? You usually head straight home.”

  Wyatt actually…squirmed? “I like doing that. You don’t do this much, either, am I right?”

  “I’m remodeling a house in my spare time, if you’ll recall.”

  “You’d have an easier go of it if you leveled the place and started from scratch.”

  Gavin smiled. “But where would be the challenge in that?”

  “You do seem to like a test.” He hesitated.

  “What’s on your mind?”
Because something clearly was.

  Wyatt paused, then cleared his throat. “Look, just a friendly word of warning: stay away from Steph Hargrove. I saw you together at our place. She’s bad news.”

  “What makes you say that?” Not that he disagreed.

  “She has a troubled past—and a reputation that reminds me too much of Laken.”

  “Laken?”

  “That’s right—you’ve never met her. She’s an old friend of Ellie’s, but she lives in Sweetgrass Springs now.”

  “Where we’ll be starting the new job soon,” Gavin noted.

  “That’s right. The guy Steph works for, Jackson Gallagher, keeps buying up buildings there to make room for employees he’s moved from Seattle. He’s become a one-man economic development machine.”

  “Video games, right? Doom Galaxy?”

  “Yeah. Great game, huh? My boys are crazy about it. Jackson said I could bring them with me one day. Let them beta-test the game they’re finishing now.”

  “Really?”

  “Want in on the action?” Wyatt asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  Both fell silent. Finally, Wyatt cleared his throat again. “So. Steph.”

  “What about her?”

  “I’ve spent several years watching Laken discard men like used tissues. Steph seems cut from the same mold. I have no idea why Ellie is so determined to adopt her, except Ellie can’t resist a lost cause. Or a stray…sort of like you, come to think of it. This stray has a bite, though, I’d bet anything.” Wyatt met his gaze. “And if you say one word to Ellie about this warning, I’m firing you, I don’t care how talented you are.”

  “You can’t.” Gavin grinned. “Ellie likes me.”

  “She’s matchmaking.”

  “I know. She means well.”

  “I told her not to.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, Ms. Hargrove isn’t thrilled, either.”

  “How about you?”

  “She’s absolutely not my type.”

  “She’s sexy as hell, though,” Wyatt pointed out.

  “She is that.”

  “If you only want a roll in the hay, I’m betting she’s very talented.”

  Gavin frowned. “Your kids like her. And I have a feeling she might be lonely.”

  A bark of laughter. “Steph? I doubt that.” Wyatt glanced in the mirror behind the bar, and his brow wrinkled. “Speak of the devil…she does get around, doesn’t she?”

  Gavin followed his stare and spotted the woman in question striding across to the bar on those long, long legs, her lithe figure showcased in a tight black pinstriped skirt and severely tailored red silk blouse. Work clothes, he supposed, but with the addition of red stilettos, she looked anything but buttoned-up.

  She was quickly welcomed by the bartender and offered a stool by one of the regulars. She gave each man around her a smile that seemed genuine, bantering with them and making every man near her vie for her attention. Steph Hargrove was a siren, yes, but with a surprising dash of pal mixed in. In no time she had her audience eating from her hand.

  “I’d better shove off.” Wyatt signaled the bartender to bring his check. “I’ll be late for Joseph’s game if I don’t get cracking.”

  Just then Steph glanced into the mirror, and her gaze fastened on Gavin’s. He felt a visceral and very unwelcome punch, but he carefully kept his face neutral and merely lifted his beer in salute.

  She arched one eyebrow, then pointedly turned away.

  Friendly perhaps, but not to him. And didn’t that just stir the competitor in him?

  Wyatt rose and clapped his hand on Gavin’s shoulder. “Look, you’re a grown man. I should butt out.”

  Gavin grinned. “You should. But I’m doubting you will.”

  Wyatt chuckled. “Probably true.” Then he followed Gavin’s gaze and frowned. “Your funeral. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Gavin touched his forehead in salute. “Forewarned is forearmed.”

  “You’d need some serious armor with that one. Well, see you.” He turned away, then back. “Oh—I’m supposed to find out if you’ll be around for Christmas.”

  “That’s family time,” Gavin responded.

  “Are you going home to Tennessee?”

  “No, not this year. One of my sisters is having a baby in January, so I’ll see them then.”

  “Then come be with us. As you might have noticed, Ellie has a generous definition of family. You won’t be the only non-Preston in attendance, I assure you.” He frowned. “But Steph might be there.”

  “She doesn’t have family?”

  “Don’t know. Haven’t heard any mentioned.” Wyatt clapped him on the back. “See you in the morning.”

  Gavin nodded absently. There might be the explanation for Stephanie’s behavior—yes, Stephanie. Steph was too harsh a name, to his ears. Not that he expected to be calling her anything, really.

  He should head out, as well. There was sheetrock calling his name.

  But just then he noticed her on the small dance floor, smiling and flirting outrageously with her current partner.

  Gavin pondered holding sheetrock…or holding her.

  No question she’d caught his attention, like it or not. She was an itch that would keep niggling at him until he figured out how to scratch it. Surely one more encounter with her would cure him of this curious fascination, since they were so clearly unsuited. He threw some money down on the bar, and headed her direction.

  As he approached, she glanced over her shoulder, then quickly turned her back on him, redoubling her attention on her partner, putting a dangerous sway in those slim hips he wouldn’t mind getting his hands on.

  She’s bad news.

  Hadn’t he had his own taste of her sharp tongue? Indeed, but abruptly Gavin found himself smiling. She was bad-tempered and difficult, but didn’t that add to the challenge she presented? His perfect woman hadn’t yet made her appearance, and while he was patiently waiting, he would unlock the puzzle of Stephanie Hargrove. It wasn’t as though his heart would get involved, after all. His heart wasn’t what heard her siren call. And he wasn’t a monk.

  Meanwhile, two could play Ms. Hargrove’s game.

  When Stephanie glanced over and narrowed her eyes at him as if to warn him off, he stifled the grin that threatened and instead walked right past her toward a woman sitting with her friends. This woman was definitely more his type with her generous curves and sweet face. “Would you care to dance?”

  “Me? I, uh…” She glanced at her friends.

  “Only the one dance. I swear my mom would tell you I’m just a hair stubborn but, on the whole, quite harmless.”

  “You’re not from here,” said one of her friends.

  The first woman smiled. “I love your accent. Where in the South?”

  “East Tennessee, but you’re the one with the music in her voice.”

  Her friend grinned. “If you don’t want him, Sue Anne, I do.”

  He smiled right back. “Perhaps you two ladies would also favor me with a dance.”

  “I’m taken,” said one.

  “I’m not,” said the second.

  “Get in line,” said Sue Anne.

  Gavin laughed and drew her out on the dance floor where they chatted easily. He never once spared a glance for Stephanie.

  At the end of that song, he escorted Sue Anne back and claimed her friend. The third woman said her boyfriend was out of town, so she wanted her turn, too.

  “Oh, but I would never go after another man’s woman. My mama would tan my backside.”

  “Drat,” sighed the woman. “A gentleman.”

  This time Gavin had a more difficult time ignoring Stephanie completely because she somehow wound up right next to them. When he glanced her way, she gave him her best come-hither look, then redoubled her efforts to charm her current dance partner, her movements sinuous and seductive. When the man’s hands slid around to grab the derrière Gavin had admired, Gavin had to contain
a glower.

  “Uh-oh,” said his partner. “Lovers’ quarrel?”

  “Not at all.”

  “She keeps watching you, you know, when you’re not looking.”

  Gavin stifled a satisfied smile. “You don’t say.”

  “Want me to go tell her she’s stupid for doing whatever it is that has you dancing with us instead of her?”

  Gavin laughed heartily and was pleased to see Stephanie’s head whip in his direction. “A friend of mine calls her a man-eater.”

  The woman glanced over. “She looks like one. Sue Anne’s much nicer.”

  “I’m sure. And much more my type.” Gavin sighed. “But there’s that stubborn part my mama would warn you about. I’ll play this hand out.”

  “My advice? Get Sue Anne’s phone number first.”

  Gavin chuckled. “Perhaps I will.” The music stopped, and he escorted her back to their table, pausing long enough to visit for a few minutes, leaving with not one but two phone numbers even after Sue Anne’s friend told Sue Anne the score.

  Gavin left them, debating simply leaving now.

  The band began again, a slow, smoky tune, and he reversed course, snagging Stephanie from her current companion. “My turn.”

  The man protested, but Gavin’s expression stopped him. He shrugged and moved off.

  She jerked in his grasp. “I didn’t say I wanted to dance with you.”

  “Hush.” He drew her into him and began moving.

  She remained stiff. “What, you want to give me another lecture?”

  He merely held her more snugly against him. “Sh-h. I like this song.”

  He saw the mutiny in her eyes along with the confusion. Bit by bit, though, she relented, and he smiled to himself, tucking her head into his shoulder and swinging them around so that she had no choice but to hang onto him.

  Soon she quit resisting completely, then swiveled her hips against him in a blatant invitation Gavin badly—badly—wanted to pursue.

  Instead, he whirled them again.

  And began to sing to her.

  Stephanie lifted her head, a line forming between her eyebrows, and he could see her working up an argument.