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“Old boyfriend bothering you?” she asked.
For a moment he looked blank, then he shook his head. “My new housekeeper at the Tennessee place. She sends regular e-mails with detailed updates, but no matter what time I call, all I get is voice mail. It’s been two months, and I still haven’t talked to her in person. Something’s not right.”
Blue couldn’t imagine owning a house, let alone having a housekeeper.
“My real estate agent swears Mrs. O’Hara’s great, but I’m getting tired of doing everything electronically. Just once, I wish the woman would pick up the damn phone.” He began scrolling through his messages.
Blue needed to find out more about him. “If you’re from Chicago, how did you end up buying a house in Tennessee?”
“I was down there with some friends last summer. I’d been looking for a place on the West Coast, but I saw the farm and bought it instead.” He set the BlackBerry on the table. “The place sits in the middle of the most beautiful valley you’ve ever seen. It has a pond. Lots of privacy. Room for horses, which is something I’ve always wanted. The house needed a lot of work, so my real estate agent found a contractor and hired this Mrs. O’Hara to oversee everything.”
“If I had a house, I’d want to fix it up myself.”
“I send her digital pictures, paint samples. She’s got great taste and came up with her own ideas. It works out.”
“Still…That’s not the same as being there.”
“Exactly why I’ve decided to surprise her with a visit.” He opened another e-mail, frowned, and whipped out his cell. A few moments later, he had his quarry on the line. “Heathcliff, I got your e-mail, and I’m not crazy about this cologne endorsement. After End Zone, I was hoping to get away from that kind of thing.” He rose from the bench and walked a few steps away from the table. “I was thinking maybe a sports drink or—” He broke off. Seconds later, his mouth curled in a slow smile. “That much? Damn. My pretty face is as good as an open cash register.”
Whatever the other person said in response made Dean laugh, a big, thoroughly masculine sound. He propped his boot on a tree stump. “Got to go. My hairdresser hates it when I’m late, and we’re doin’ highlights. Give the rug rats my best. And tell your wife she’s invited to a sleepover at my place as soon as I get back to town. Just Annabelle and me.” With a crafty laugh, he flipped his phone shut and shoved it back in his pocket. “My agent.”
“I wish I had an agent,” Blue said. “Just so I could drop the word into a conversation. But I guess I’m not an agent sort of person.”
“I’m sure you have other good qualities.”
“Tons,” she said glumly.
Dean headed for the interstate as soon as they got back on the road. Blue realized she was chewing on her thumbnail and quickly folded her hands in her lap. He drove fast, b
ut he kept a steady hand on the wheel, exactly the way she liked to drive. “So where do you want me to drop you off?” he asked.
The question she’d been dreading. She pretended to think it over. “Unfortunately, there aren’t any really big cities between Denver and Kansas City. I guess Kansas City would be fine.”
He shot her a who-do-you-think-you’re-kidding look. “I was thinking more along the lines of the next decent-size truck stop.”
She swallowed hard. “Except you’re obviously a people person, and you’ll be bored without company. I’ll keep you entertained.”
His eyes flicked to her breasts. “Exactly how do you intend to do that?”
“Car games,” she said quickly. “I know dozens.” He snorted, and she hurried on. “I’m also an excellent conversationalist, and I can run interference with your fans. I’ll keep all those yucky women from throwing themselves at you.”
His blue-gray eyes flickered, but whether from irritation or amusement, she didn’t know. “I’ll think about it,” he said.
Somewhat to Dean’s surprise, the Beav was still in his car that night as he exited the interstate somewhere in west Kansas and drove toward a sign for the Merry Time Inn. She stirred as he pulled into the parking lot. While she’d slept, he’d had more than ample time to study the rise and fall of her breasts underneath her muscle shirt. Most of the women he spent time with had pumped themselves up to four times their normal size, but not the Beav. He knew some guys liked overinflated breasts—hell, he used to like them—but Annabelle Granger Champion had long ago spoiled his fun.
“Every time a man like you ogles a woman with artificial E cups, you encourage some innocent girl with perfectly nice breasts to go under the knife. Women should concentrate on expanding their horizons, not their busts.”
She’d made him feel personally responsible for the evils of breast enlargement, but Annabelle was like that. She had a lot of strong opinions, and she didn’t pull her punches. Annabelle was his one true female friend, but between her marriage to Heath Champion, his bloodsucker of an agent, and the birth of her second child, she didn’t have much time to hang out anymore.
He’d been thinking about Annabelle a lot today, maybe because the Beav had strong opinions, too, and she also didn’t seem interested in impressing him. It was odd being with a woman who wasn’t coming on to him. Of course, he had told her he was gay, but she’d figured out that was bullshit at least a hundred miles ago. Still, she’d kept trying to play him. But Little Bo Peep was way out of her league.
Her mouth froze in midyawn as she spotted the well-lit three-story hotel. As many times as she’d aggravated him today, he still wasn’t quite ready to hand her a couple hundred bucks and throw her out. For one thing, he wanted her to ask him for the money. For another, she’d been good company today. And then there was the hard-on that had been plaguing him for the past two hundred miles.
He turned in to the parking lot. “These places will take most any credit card.” He should have felt like a bully, but she was so full of tough talk and swagger that he didn’t.
Her lips compressed. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a credit card.”
No big surprise there.
