Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Jeff Grainger was having a bad day. His truck was in the shop, forcing him to fold his six-two body into his mother’s tiny economy car. He’d lost a construction bid to a new guy in town who talked a big game but was a crooked scammer. And now he was about to face the only woman in the world who had ever made him question his sexual prowess.
Marisa Evans. Blonde. Beautiful. Girl-next-door looks.
And—until Jeff bungled a romantic interlude—a virgin.
Why the hell hadn’t she told him?
They both lived in the slow-paced town of Blossom Branch, Georgia, but they’d barely spoken two words to each other in the intervening year and a half since the incident . As far as Jeff was concerned, the situation might have remained frozen indefinitely, each of them ignoring the other.
Unfortunately, the town council had asked Jeff and Marisa to coordinate a project together, and now Jeff was stuck. He couldn’t say no without hurting his business reputation and making Marisa think he was avoiding her.
Which, of course, he was...
Hell.
He scrunched down in his seat as far as he could and scanned the area. No sign of her yet. They were supposed to meet at two o’clock beside the iconic Blossom Branch gazebo. The eight-sided structure located smack in the center of the town quad was impossible to miss. The beautiful park surrounding it was green and lush with large oak trees and plenty of room for picnic blankets, park benches and lovers’ rendezvous.
Not that this appointment was anything like a lovers’ rendezvous. He and Marisa had only been together in the biblical sense one time. That didn’t make them lovers. Far from it.
They were just two people who had let a pheromone-fueled, romantic-as-hell Valentine’s Day date spiral out of control. A blind date at that. Set up by his baby sister who thought he needed to socialize more.
Never again. Not a blind date, anyway.
He scanned the park a second time, and then he saw her. Immediately, his blood pressure shot up. She was tall and lean with precisely the right proportion of curves. Her skinny jeans and lemon yellow crop top revealed a section of her tanned midriff.
Barely two inches. Hardly worth mentioning. But even at this distance, she made him sweat.
Get out of the car, Grainger. He had to make his limbs move. It was five minutes before the appointed hour. Being late was unacceptable.
When he locked his vehicle and ambled across the quad, feigning calm, he saw she was wearing sexy gold sandals. Her long, wavy hair was pulled up in a ponytail. Since it was the end of August, her clothing choices were perfectly acceptable. It was hot today.
The problem was, he remembered kissing that sexy, flat belly and tickling those cute, feminine toes with the shell-pink nail polish.
Get a grip. Get a grip.
Marisa hadn’t seen him yet. She was facing the opposite direction, looking at her phone...perhaps checking the time.
He sucked in a breath, closing the distance between them. He could swear her scent wafted on the air. Light, tantalizing. Intensely feminine.
A trio of teenagers crossed between them. Marisa still studied her phone. Maybe looking for a text from him?
He cleared his throat. “Marisa?”
She whirled around so suddenly, it made him dizzy.
“Jeff...”
The way she whispered his name made his sex twitch. Southern accents were a dime a dozen around here. But there was something about her low, slightly husky voice that made his scalp tingle and his body tighten.
Her blue-eyed gaze was wary.
“Hey,” he said, trying to pretend their meeting was nothing special. “Thanks for coming.”
Her brows narrowed. “I didn’t have much choice. The town council sends a lot of business my way. Can’t afford to get on their bad side.”
That was exactly why Jeff was here as well, but it miffed him to hear the reluctance in her voice. “Same here,” he said bluntly. “Might as well get this over with.”
He hadn’t meant the words to sound so curt.
A flicker of her eyelashes told him she felt the sting. “Of course,” she said, her tone formal and frosty. “I’ve already sketched out notes. Subject to your approval—of course.”
Was she mocking him?
The collar of his short-sleeved navy polo shirt felt unexpectedly hot. He’d dressed for a business meeting, which for him was still casual, even with neatly pressed khakis. His usual attire was a T-shirt and jeans. He spent his days overseeing his crew on various jobsites. No reason to get gussied up.
Today, though, he had made an effort. For her? Maybe.
Marisa didn’t seem to notice.
“What if we sit in the gazebo?” he said. “At least we’ll be out of the sun.” Thunderheads built in the distance, and the wind had kicked up. The breeze did little to cool things off because of the oppressive humidity.
“Sounds good to me.” She took off in that direction, her long legs eating up the distance and carrying her all the way up the gazebo steps, leaving him to follow in her wake. He tried not to notice the sexy motion of her hips or the way her jeans hugged a heart-shaped ass.
When they were seated—on opposite ends of a bench anchored to the gazebo wall—Jeff cleared his throat again. Unfortunately, that was becoming a nervous habit.
He wasn’t nervous, he told himself. That was absurd.
“What did they tell you they wanted?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Probably the same thing they told you. The council has approved the construction of two temporary mini gazebos that will remain here on the quad, one on each side, from mid-September through mid-November. These refreshment stations will accommodate the tourists who show up for an ambitious series of events designed to bring visitor dollars to Blossom Branch. Craft festivals, outdoor concerts, motorcycle rallies...”
He nodded. Marisa had summed it up nicely. “Yep. Same spiel they gave me. But one thing I don’t understand. Seems like this plan could adversely affect our local restaurants.”
Marisa made a face. “Doesn’t matter. Miss Ophelia wants it this way, and no one was willing to go toe-to-toe with her.”
“That figures.” He grimaced. Miss Ophelia’s great-great-great grandfather had deeded a parcel of land to establish Blossom Branch back in the 1800s. The way she saw it, the town belonged to her—metaphorically speaking—and thus her opinion carried a heck of a lot of weight.
“It’s not ideal,” Marisa said, “but the snack stations will offer just that. Snacks. Hopefully, the diner and other sit-down restaurants will still get foot traffic for meals.”
“Maybe so.”
One gold sandal tapped the floor. “You’re the carpentry expert,” she said. “It will be up to you to draw the actual plans. But here’s what they asked of me. The first two pages are a list of items that will be offered for sale. Drinks in one mini gazebo, food in the other. I’ve indicated how many electrical outlets we’ll need and how much counter space. Everything else is up to you.”
He took the list and studied it, careful not to touch her. Already his gut was in a knot. Her casual beauty messed with his head.
Because she rattled him, he made himself focus on the list and read it very slowly. One of the mini gazebos would be simpler than the other. It would offer a variety of coffees, also hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps—or marshmallows—and hot toddies.
He looked up at her. “Why does the customer have to get a drink in one spot and then cross over to the other gazebo for snacks?”
When Marisa tucked a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear, he told himself not to fixate on her suckable earlobe with the tiny diamond stud. He started to sweat.
She studied him curiously. “Several council members had the same question. It’s part of Miss Ophelia’s grand plan. She thinks it will keep lines from getting too long. Plus the streamlined menu at each gazebo will make it easier for the servers to move quickly.”
“What kind of snacks?” he asked, reminding himself to pay attention to the paper in his hand instead of trying to decipher the unexpected vulnerability in Marisa’s eyes.
“Cake. Lots of cake. Homemade granola. And fruit cups.”
“Supplied by?”
“Me,” she said, suddenly seeming self-conscious.
He frowned. “From what I remember, you work long hours. How are you supposed to handle this, too?”
“I’m shifting my focus,” she said, lifting her chin as if he had implied criticism. “Less corporate catering. More intimate, casual affairs. By the way, that second gazebo will need at least three small refrigerators.”
No woman should expect to utter the words intimate and affairs in the same sentence and not have a man get antsy. Jeff nodded, trying not to notice the way her breasts filled out that yellow top. “Makes sense,” he said gruffly.
He glanced at the sky, or at least the part he could see from under the gazebo’s roof. “I’ll get started on this, and we can meet again later to fine-tune the details. You should get home before the storm rolls in.”
Marisa flinched when a crack of thunder followed a flash of lightning that hit close by. “You’re right,” she said. “That’s enough for today. I don’t want to get wet.”
The thought of Marisa wet and available had him shuddering inwardly. God help him, he was still hung up on her. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Before either of them could make a move to leave, an ominous but familiar sound filled the air. Tornado sirens.
His companion gasped. “I’ve got to go,” she said. “Bye, Jeff.”
He grabbed her wrist, feeling the delicate bones. “No time. My place is half a block from here.”
She jerked away, her expression horrified. “I’m not going home with you.”
Their one night of wild, wanton sexual excess had happened in his bed. The foreplay on his kitchen table. And halfway up the stairs.
The sirens screeched again. “Come on,” he said. “We don’t have time to argue.” Three years ago, he had bought the abandoned First Georgia Bank on a side street off the town center and renovated it. The original safe in the cellar was now a completely outfitted storm shelter.
Marisa was still trying to argue with him when the sky turned an odd shade of green.
“Hell,” he muttered. “This is bad.”
There was no time to move cars or go anywhere except straight across the quad. All around them, people were running, faces filled with alarm.
The sirens continued their relentless shriek.
Jeff focused on a single goal. Keeping Marisa safe.
He had her wrist again, but she wasn’t fighting him now. They ran in tandem, panting, sweating.
It took six and a half minutes. As they neared his front door, he dug in his pocket for keys. The wind howled now. Hail hit like bullets on the street around them.
“Hurry,” Marisa said, her fingers twined with his.
Inside, they ran for the stairs.
He hit the light switch to the basement. “I have a generator,” he said. “If the power goes out, we won’t be in the dark.” They scooted down the narrow flight of steps.
She balked momentarily at the door to the safe. “I might have a slight aversion to being buried alive,” she said.
The attempt at humor failed miserably. Her face was dead white.
“It’s not bad, I swear.” He wrapped an arm around her waist, gently urging her forward. They were out of time.
From outside, a crash reverberated, and then they heard a sound no one wants to hear. The deafening roar of a freight train, soon to be right on top of them. The noise amplified second by second.
“Jeff!” Marisa cried out as he dragged the door shut and slammed the locking arm.
“We’re safe,” he said urgently. “We’re safe.”
His words sounded like the worst of lies, even to him. The town hadn’t taken a direct hit from a tornado since 2011. Today, Blossom Branch’s luck had run out. The shrieking moan of the wind was incredible.
He pulled her into his arms and held her tight. Suddenly, their silent animosity vanished, at least from where he was standing.
Marisa buried her face in his shoulder. Her arms wrapped around his waist. He felt the tremors in her body. Jeff was doing some shaking of his own. A man would be foolish not to be alarmed. Fear was a positive defense in a dangerous situation. This qualified.
Suddenly—when he thought things couldn’t get any worse—the pressure in his ears increased, the unmistakable noise of breaking glass rained down like a horror movie, and a huge groaning boom exploded overhead.
“What was that?” Marisa burrowed closer.
He could barely hear her words until suddenly, everything was quiet.
In the distance, tornado sirens still wailed, but here in the basement the eerie absence of sound made the hair on his arms stand up in dread.
He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, stroking her hair and petting her as if comforting a child. But Marisa wasn’t a child. She was a fascinating, talented, sexy woman. And at the moment, she was in his care.
“I think the building may have collapsed,” he said.
Marisa pulled back, her expression aghast. “Your beautiful home? Oh, Jeff. Surely not. It’s stood on this spot for a hundred years.”
“We’ll see,” he said, not ready to release her. Not yet.
Despite their uneasy relationship, she made no move to step away from him. “How soon will it be safe to get out of here? It’s gone, isn’t it?”
“Well, this isn’t the eye of a hurricane. Tornadoes don’t last long,” he said wryly. “You know that. The damage is done in seconds. And they don’t come back for a second round. Unless we have a cluster of storms.”
“Was that in the forecast?”
“I don’t think so.” In retrospect, he should have paid more attention to the day’s conditions.
In this moment of postdisaster stress, he took the time to savor the way she felt pressed up against him. They fit together well. He’d noticed it the first time they slow-danced at the Peach Pit.
Blossom Branch’s legendary bar and grill had been decked out in pink streamers and red tulle for the holiday. The first fifteen minutes of the blind date had been awkward, as blind dates usually were, but then he and Marisa had clicked.
They had the same taste in books and movies, the same sense of humor, and my God, the sexual attraction had been off the charts. It was as if he’d been struck by lightning.
Laughter had led to flirting. Flirting had led to kisses.
Then he had taken her home with him...
Marisa interrupted his trip down memory lane. She wriggled free of his embrace and looked around the storm cellar. “This is a great panic room—and I mean that literally—but can we please get out of here now?”
He exhaled, relieved they had survived. “Sure.”
When he released the locking mechanism and pushed on the door, nothing happened. “Must be jammed,” he said. “It gets damp down here in the summer.” He checked to make sure he had unlocked the arm all the way and then pushed again.
His heart thudded hard in his chest. Uh-oh...
Marisa scooted up beside him, right at his shoulder. “What’s wrong?” she said. “Why aren’t you opening the door?”
The overhead light used an industrial, long-life bulb that cast a yellowish glow over everything. Marisa still looked beautiful.
Her eyes were wide. “Jeff?”
He rubbed the center of his forehead where a headache brewed. Probably triggered by the weather system. “Well...” He didn’t want to upset her. But there wasn’t a good way to spin this.
She grabbed his arm, her fingernails digging in and making him wince. “Jeff!”
He shrugged, meeting her wide-eyed gaze apologetically. “Obviously I can’t tell for sure. But I think there’s a possibility we may be trapped by some kind of debris.”
Marisa stumbled backward, her hand over her mouth. Now, her skin had a green cast as if maybe she was trying not to throw up. “That’s not funny, Jeff Grainger. Open the damn door. I don’t have time for your jokes.”
“Are you seriously claustrophobic?” he asked quietly.
She was a strong, capable woman, but right now he could see the faint trace of hysteria she was trying to hide.
“Yes.” She wrinkled her nose. “Isn’t everybody to some extent?”
“Not everybody, but this situation is out of the ordinary. There’s no need to panic,” he said. “The air supply is stable. We’re not injured. Somebody will find us and get us out.”
“Yippee, skippy,” she said, turning to pace the small area.
He wanted to laugh, but he didn’t think she would appreciate his response. Maybe fate had arranged this encounter. Maybe this was his chance to apologize. To bring resolution to an incident that had upset them both.
“We might as well get comfortable,” he said. The inexpensive camp chairs would do for now. “I have plenty of bottled water and beef jerky.”
“I don’t want anything,” she snapped. “I’m not going to be here that long. Maybe if we both push on the door, it will open.”
Jeff realized they needed a diversion. “The door’s not budging,” he said flatly. “Come here and let me hold you.”
She eyed him with an expression that made him feel like the lowest of snakes. “No, thanks,” she said. “I’m fine.”
He held out his hands. “We should talk about it, don’t you think? The elephant in the room?”