Next Door to the Hockey Player

Chapter One

The first thing I did when a strange man appeared beside the hot tub was scream.

The second thing I did was drop my book.

It hit the water open-side down with a tragic little splash, and I lunged for it on instinct.

That was my third mistake.

My foot slipped off the submerged seat, and suddenly there was no seat, no sky, no dignity, and entirely too much hot water up my nose.

I came up sputtering, shoved wet hair out of my face, and found the man still standing on the deck.

He was enormous.

That was an annoying thing to notice while I was naked.

Broad shoulders filled out a faded gray T-shirt, worn jeans sat low on narrow hips, and a dark beard covered a jaw that appeared to be fighting a smile.

I clutched my dripping paperback to my chest before remembering that the water was already hiding everything important.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

His gaze moved from me to the drowned book, then to the robe, towel, sandals, and wineglass I’d arranged on the deck with the confidence of a woman who had not anticipated witnesses.

“I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“You scared the hell out of me. You can’t sneak up on naked women like that.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “I walked out of the house.”

I looked past him.

The glass door stood open, which was new.

For almost two weeks, the sleek mountain house behind him had been dark, silent, and so thoroughly unoccupied that I had begun to regard its hot tub as less private property and more of a neglected community resource.

Apparently the community had just arrived.

I lowered the ruined book from my chest. “Do you live here?”

His eyebrows rose.

Then he glanced at the house again before looking back at me.

“I own it.”

For several seconds, the only sound between us was the steady churn of the jets and the water dripping from the paperback in my hands. Ownership made my position significantly harder to defend, but I wasn’t prepared to surrender on the word of a man I’d never seen before.

“I’m going to need slightly more than that.”

His mouth twitched. “Dane O’Shea. My name is on the deed, and my key worked on the door you just watched me walk through.”

The name meant nothing to me, although the key was admittedly strong evidence.

“I suppose asking you to produce the deed while I’m naked would be excessive.”

“I can get it if you really want it.”

The amusement had made it into his voice now, which was irritating because I was still holding the remains of a perfectly good book against my chest.

“My robe is behind you. Could you go back inside and turn around while I get out?”

Any teasing disappeared immediately. “Of course.”

He stepped through the glass door and turned his back to the deck without trying for one more look or one more joke. That earned him several points he desperately needed after frightening a year off my life.

I tossed the book onto the deck, climbed out, and grabbed the towel before the cooler mountain air could remind every inch of bare skin that Labor Day weekend was approaching. Once I’d dried off enough to pull on my robe, I shoved my feet into my sandals and retrieved my wine.

“I’m covered.”

Dane turned around.

I was using the word covered generously. My wet hair was plastered to my shoulders, the robe clung to my damp legs, and the book at my feet had swollen to nearly twice its original size. At least the wine had survived.

“I have never been inside your house,” I told him.

“I want to establish that before this conversation goes any further. The house appeared completely empty. No cars, no lights, no people coming or going. My father told me months ago that the place next door had been finished, but as far as I knew, nobody had moved in.”

“I didn’t think you had.” He glanced toward the hot tub. “So you decided it came with the neighborhood?”

“When you phrase it that way, you remove all the nuance. The tub was already running. I didn’t break anything, turn anything on, or interfere with the property.”

“I’m not sure trespassing has much nuance. You still got naked and climbed into it.”

I tightened my grip on the wineglass. “I’ve used it several times.”

That finally did it. Dane laughed, the sound low and surprised, as if he hadn’t planned on finding any part of this funny and had lost the fight.

It transformed his face enough to create a new problem for me.

His eyes were blue, which I’d already noticed against my better judgment, and the smile softened the harder lines around his mouth. Up close, he looked less like a furious homeowner than a very large man who was trying not to enjoy catching his naked neighbor committing a misdemeanor.

At least I assumed trespassing was a misdemeanor.

I decided not to ask.

“For the record, I’m Chrishelle Palmer.” I pointed through the thick stand of evergreens separating the properties. “My father owns the house next door.”

Dane followed the direction of my hand. The neighboring house wasn’t visible from his deck because the two properties sat on large wooded lots, but a short path through the trees connected the rear portions well enough for me to walk between them in a few minutes.

“You’re staying there?”

“Yes, and that brings me to the part of this conversation where I ask you for a favor.”

He leaned one shoulder against the open doorway. “I thought the part where you asked me for a favor was when I turned around.”

“That was basic human decency. This one is different. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention to anyone that I’m staying next door.”

His expression changed, not dramatically, but enough that I could tell he was taking me more seriously. “Is somebody looking for you?”

“Nobody dangerous, and I’m not running from the law. My situation is embarrassing, not sinister.”

“Does your father know you’re at his house?”

I took a slow sip of wine. “That information is not currently available to the homeowner.”

Dane stared at me for a beat before another laugh escaped him.

“I’m starting to understand why you’re so comfortable with trespassing.”

“That was one hot tub. I have an otherwise excellent record with property rights.”

“Chrishelle, if there’s a real problem, you don’t need to make a joke out of it.”

The change in his tone surprised me.

“There isn’t a real problem. I’m safe, I have permission to use my father’s house whenever I want, and I’m not hiding from anyone who has a legitimate reason to find me. I just need a little time before certain people know where I am.”

Dane studied me long enough that I wondered whether he was going to press.

Instead, he nodded. “You’re an adult. Whatever you don’t want to tell me is your business.”

Relief loosened something between my shoulder blades.

“Thank you.”

“You don’t owe me anything for keeping your business to myself.”

“I know, but I did invade your property repeatedly, and I’m capable of offering a useful peace settlement.”

“What are you offering?”

I looked through the open door behind him.

From the deck, I could see part of an enormous open-plan kitchen with pale wood cabinetry, a wide island, and a professional-grade range that made me instantly curious about what else the room contained.

“I’ll cook for you.”

His gaze returned to mine. “You’re offering dinner as a peace settlement?”

“This is my first property dispute, so I don’t have an established procedure yet.”

That almost-smile appeared again.

“What do you have in the kitchen?” I asked.

“I got in today, so not much. Chicken, rice, eggs, greens, fruit, yogurt, oatmeal, and whatever else was on the list I made before I drove up.”

There were professional athletes with more imaginative grocery lists. There were hospital cafeterias with more imaginative grocery lists.

“You eat like that willingly?”

“It does the job, which is all I need from it. You seem to have strong feelings about chicken and rice.”

“Only when perfectly good ingredients are being wasted. Food should aspire to more than doing the job.”

I stopped there. Telling him I cooked professionally would lead to questions I wasn’t interested in answering, and I could make dinner without handing him the rest of my résumé.

“If you want me to keep quiet, you really don’t have to feed me,” he said.

“Then consider it compensation for unauthorized hot-tub usage. If the meal happens to encourage you to continue being discreet, everyone wins.”

“And what exactly do you get besides my silence?”

I looked over my shoulder at the bubbling water.

“Occasional permission to use the hot tub would make this feel more equitable.”

Dane glanced toward the water. “You get caught trespassing, and ten minutes later you’re negotiating continued access. Fine. You can use it if you ask first, and if I say no, the answer is no.”

“I’m adapting to new information. And that’s very reasonable. I do understand consent and private property despite the unfortunate evidence currently surrounding me.”

His gaze went to the drowned paperback, then back to me. “The evidence is pretty substantial.”

I picked up the book and tucked it under my arm, where it immediately began dripping down my robe.

“If we have a deal, I can start tonight. What time should I come back?”

Dane straightened. “We have a deal. Seven works.”

I glanced toward the sun dropping through the evergreens. That gave me enough time to shower, change, and recover some dignity before I willingly returned to the scene of my humiliation.

“I’ll come back at seven. You’ll probably need groceries after tonight if you expect this arrangement to continue, but I can work with what you have once. Assuming you can keep a secret.”

“I can keep a secret.”

The certainty in his answer left very little room for teasing.

I believed him.

“Then I’ll see you at seven.”

I gathered the towel, wineglass, and the rest of my belongings before heading toward the narrow path through the trees.

“Chrishelle, one more thing.”

I looked back.

Dane nodded toward the hot tub. “Ask next time.”

“I promise to reform.”

His gaze dropped to the waterlogged book under my arm. “You might want to start before you lose another one.”