Beauty and the Black Sheep (The Moorehouse Legacy 1)

Although Mr. Little wasn’t exactly tall, dark and handsome, granted.

Nate dropped his hand.

He hoped his conscience wasn’t going to ruin what could be a terrific time between the sheets.

She started pushing and he frowned, measuring the size of the lawn around White Caps. He couldn’t believe she was going to do the whole thing by herself, and then thought, of course she’d do it alone. He was tempted to go right over to her, but figured he’d give her a little time to wear herself out. He knew she’d wait until she was half dead before she’d accept help. And even then it would be under stinging protest.

Man, he liked her.

Nate went up to his bedroom, unpacked, threw some clothes in the wash and then headed out to the lawn. She’d made it all the way through the side lawn and was about to tackle the grass that ran down to the lakeshore.

He walked up to her. “Hey.”

She stopped mowing and regarded him as coolly as someone sweating and panting could.

“You need some help?” He smiled as she shook her head. “I didn’t think so. How about I phrase it like this. I like to mow lawns. I’d like to mow this one. How can you stand in the way of my dream?”

She wiped her forearm across her brow. “Shouldn’t you be in the kitchen?”

“Daily prep is done. I’ve got everything under control in there right now.” He eyed the sun, which had emerged from the clouds, and then her shirt, which had a dark V of sweat running from her neck to her br**sts.

“So how about I spell you?” He leaned in. “You know, accepting help is not a sin.”

Before she could answer him, the Littles came out onto the porch. Frankie’s eyes fled to them as if they were a welcome relief so he looked over, too. Mr. Little was wearing a pastel polo shirt and khakis. So was his wife. They looked like dolls, perfectly dressed, perfectly coifed. They reminded him of his super-wealthy Walker relatives, a group of people he avoided at all costs.

“Guard of the entrance to the underworld in Greek mythology,” the man said, tapping a pen at a crossword puzzle. “Eight letters.”

“I’m not good at the Times puzzle,” his wife said, sitting down in a chair out of the sun. She flipped open Architectural Digest. “You know that.”

The man looked up with annoyance. “Yes, I do. I was talking to myself.”

Nate refocused on Frankie. “So what do you say?”

“God!” Mr. Little exclaimed. “This is impossible. Guard of the entrance—”

Nate rolled his eyes and spoke over his shoulder. “Cerberus.”

Mr. Little glanced up as if someone had lobbed a rotten tomato at him. He eyed Nate’s ratty T-shirt, his gaze lingering on the oil stains.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Cerberus,” Nate repeated. “You want me to spell it for you?”

Frankie tugged at his arm. “Excuse us, Mr. Little.”

But the man wasn’t listening. He’d pursed his lips and was busying counting off the letters. He looked up. “Ah—you’re right.”

“I know,” Nate said, just as Frankie pulled him out of the man’s sight. “What’s the matter?”

“Do us all a favor and don’t upset that guy. Once he gets rolling, he can go on forever. This morning, he was upset when a boat went by on the lake and woke him up. He wanted to know if I could post buoys out in front warning that noise pollution will not be tolerated. I thought he’d never shut up,” she whispered. “He’s impossible.”

“Doesn’t know his classical myths very well, either. Now, about the lawn.”

She frowned, considered him strangely, and then shook her head as if clearing it. “Listen, I need you in the kitchen, not doing grounds work. I appreciate your offer—”

“But you’d really rather do it yourself,” he finished. “You know, with the amount of work that needs to get done around this place, you should be looking for volunteers, not turning them away. You have better things to do with your time than mowing the lawn.”

He cocked an eyebrow, challenging her to contradict him. Her mouth opened as if she was going to, but then she closed it slowly. She put her hands on her h*ps and looked down at her grass-covered sneakers.

“Don’t tell me you’re trying to turn over a new leaf or something,” he said, thinking it was very possible he was developing a crush on her. “I’d rather be berated by you than have to watch you trying to be good.”

She laughed and then cut the sound short. “I really want to argue with you.”

“Because I’m being insubordinate?” He grinned.

“Worse. Because you’re probably right.” She scanned the lawn, the lilac bushes, the boathouse down at the shore. As she looked around, she seemed so solitary, so self-contained. So tired.

“How long ago did you buy this place?” he asked.

“Buy?” She squinted up at him. “My sixth great-grandfather built it.”

“The last stand,” he murmured. No wonder she was hanging in.

“Something like that.”

She turned her head to the house, running her eyes over it as if she was a mother inspecting a child for cuts and bruises. He watched as she lingered on the gutter, which was listing away from the roof edge. He was willing to bet she was making a mental note to fix it and that she’d do it herself.

The idea of Frankie high up on a ladder made him uneasy.

“So you grew up here?”

“Born, raised, the whole bit.” Her eyes went to the lake.

“Where are your parents—are they retired?”

She looked away from the water abruptly. “No, they’re dead.”

Her tone of voice told him their conversation was going to be over in a matter of seconds so he didn’t dawdle in offering his condolences.

“I’m sorry.”

He watched as she shut down in front of him and the change happened so fast, it was like having a door slammed in his face. Her eyes went impassive and her expression assumed a deliberate calm that made him wonder about the emotions underneath.

“Thank you, but it was a long time ago,” she said.

“You know, I lost a parent five years ago. We didn’t get along, but the death changed everything, anyway.” He didn’t want to mention it was an improvement because clearly what had been left for her was not. “It takes quite a while to get over losing a parent, much less both of them.”

She shrugged and he mined the angles of her face and the color of her eyes for some sign she would let him in.

Eventually, he said, “So about the lawn.”

She nodded downward, towards his feet. “I don’t know that you should be pushing a mower around with that ankle of yours.”

“I’ll go until I can’t go anymore.”

“Funny, that’s my motto, too.”

As she smiled and looked back out to the lake, he noticed that her glasses were smudged. Moving quickly, so she wouldn’t have a chance to jerk away, he took them off her face.

“What are you doing?”

He easily stepped out of her reach while she tried to grab them. “Cleaning your glasses.”

“Give them back.”

He rubbed one side and then the other with the clean corner of his shirt while moving around as she tried to take them. Lifting the lenses up to the sun and high over her head, he measured his work.

“There. All better.”

Intending to slip them back on the bridge of her nose, he looked down just as she leaped up. Her body collided with his and he gripped her around the waist to keep them from falling over.

As soon as she was in his arms, he felt as if he was out of control and on the way home at the same time. She must have felt it, too. Her lips parted in surprise as she looked up into his face.

Those eyes, he thought. Those miraculous blue eyes should never be hidden. At least not from him.

“Put me down,” she whispered. “I’m too heavy.”

But she wasn’t. He felt as if he could hold her forever.

Nate leaned in, getting his lips close to her ear. “Do you really want me to?”

He felt her nod into his shoulder and told himself he could still keep her in his arms even if her feet were touching the ground. It would be easier to kiss her that way, too.

He held his breath as he let her slide slowly down his body. When she was standing on her own, her br**sts were against his chest and her h*ps pressed into what was quickly becoming his rigid arousal. He waited for a moment, wondering if she was going to pull back. Her hands were on his shoulders, laying lightly against the material of his shirt. She seemed to be focusing somewhere to his left, but she didn’t look as if she were really seeing anything.

He put a fingertip under her chin and tilted her face up. Her eyes came to his reluctantly.

“Hi,” he said. Stupidly.

But what else could he say? My God, woman, where have you been all my life? Or the ever popular, how’d you like to go upstairs, right now, and get n**ed with me?

A blush hit her cheeks, spread down her neck and he knew he’d ruined the moment by talking. Breaking free, she snatched the glasses back and fumbled to put them on. When she got one of the ear pieces stuck in her ear, she had to try it again.

“If you’ll excuse me—”

As she turned away, he reached for her, taking her hand.

“Don’t go.” He wanted to tell her he wasn’t some scumbag macking on her randomly. He liked her. He wanted to get to know her better. They could go slowly.

Even though it would probably kill him. Light speed seemed like a lazy jog to him at the moment.

Frankie lifted her chin and shot him a level smile. “But I wouldn’t want to hold you up.”

He frowned, thinking that he didn’t have anything to do but stare into those eyes of hers. “From what?”

“Mowing the lawn,” she said and yanked her hand free.

As she raced around the corner, he threw his head back and laughed.

Chapter Six

H ope he enjoys the afternoon, Frankie thought, as she stepped under the shower. Rinsing off her sweat, she pictured Nate slaving over that old mower, cursing the moment he’d volunteered for the job.

She squeezed out some shampoo and rubbed it into her hair, stirring up a lather. Her hands stilled.God, that man. He was so…inconvenient.

Actually, there were quite a number of more accurate words she could have used but they all scared her. She didn’t want to describe him, even to herself, as sexy or compelling. Or exciting. Even though he was of all those.

And to top it all off, he seemed to be attracted to her.

Which meant he was delusional, too.

When her eyes started stinging, she ducked under the spray. She rinsed, turned off the water and stepped out onto the bath mat. After toweling dry, she wiped the mirror clean with her forearm and leaned in for a closer look.

What did he see in her, she wondered, pulling a length of hair straight out from her scalp. She let go and felt it hit her shoulder with a wet slap.

As she stared at herself through the streaks on the mirror, she was not exactly inspired. Her hair was thick and long but the color was a dull brown. Her eyes were nice enough, she supposed, spaced well and lined thickly with lashes. She flashed her teeth. They were in great shape, straight and white, just as her father’s had been.

Okay, so she wasn’t completely gone. But she wouldn’t exactly give Miss America a run for the money.

Frankie let the mirror fog up again, dried her hair and told herself to forget about the midair collision with Nate. He certainly would, the moment he went down to the Stop, Drop and Roll and got a good look at a few of the local hardies. Hell, if she had any luck, he’d head there tonight because she couldn’t afford to be distracted.

But as she went to her room, she wondered from what? What exactly was so pressing that she didn’t have ten minutes to spare in the bathroom fantasizing about some guy? It wasn’t as if reliving a little thrill was dangerous. She wasn’t throwing herself at him, for God’s sake.