Victoria Dahl - The Guy Next Door

“As I was saying,” he continued. “Hemingway had a ramp installed from the bedroom to his pool house studio, so he didn’t even have to…”

Gail wasn’t paying attention to Jesse’s words. She couldn’t hear much anyway because the seductive sound of the man’s baritone had caused the inside of her skull to hum. She decided to look at anything but the bed. Her eyes traveled to the way Jesse’s shirtsleeve had been rolled up on his muscled forearm. Then they strayed to the front of Jesse’s shorts. That had been a mistake.

She dabbed at her damp forehead, praying that no one in any of the tour groups converging in the Hemingway House could sense her private struggle. Of course they couldn’t. To everyone gathered near the velvet rope, Gail was just another visitor strolling through Hemingway’s bedroom. No one had any idea that she, Gail Chapman, PhD, was having a life-altering crisis.

Suddenly, the room began to reel. It felt as if her world was coming off its axis. Hemingway’s bed mocked her. It was nothing but a monument to uncontrollable desire and wild sex and everything she’d been doing without for too long, and it was all she could do not to start panting and howling like some kind of rabid animal.

She didn’t dare look at Jesse again. She didn’t have the courage. She kept her eyes down and her bag clutched tight as people moved around her.

“Gail.” Jesse’s deep voice had become a whisper, just for her, so close to her ear that she could feel the heat of his breath.

Slowly, cautiously, she looked up at him, and his sultry blue eyes wrinkled in a smile. Gail found herself counting the short silvery hairs sprinkled through the dark stubble on his chin and cheeks, and wondered if the barely there beard would feel rough to her fingertips.

“Gail?” he repeated.

“Yes?” Her focus lingered briefly on his wide, sumptuous mouth before she looked into those remarkable eyes once more.

“The group is moving on to the pool house,” he said, nodding his head toward the crowd clomping down the outside steps. “Would you like to come along?”

She couldn’t speak. All she could do was surrender to those dark blue pools of wantonness. Oh, God, she was going under.

“Are you all right?” Jesse’s trademark frown had reappeared, but it was fainter this time, and it seemed to be born of genuine concern rather than disapproval. “You look a little flushed, Professor.”

She nodded. Maybe she should say something. Maybe she should tell him that the whole morning had been too much for her repressed libido to handle—the taunting bed, the sultry heat, the witty repartee, the references to Hemingway’s sexual bravado and Jesse’s god-awful good looks. Maybe she should just tell Jesse the truth—that everything about him was so mesmerizingly masculine that she couldn’t trust herself. She was on the verge of doing something completely out of character.

That’s when Jesse reached up and brushed a loose strand of hair from the side of her face. That barest tickle of his touch sent an electric rush through her.

“I…” That was all she could get out. Gail swallowed hard. If only she’d rented a house that happened to be next door to a cute little retired couple like the Purdys, or, better yet, a group of vacationing Buddhist monks. Then maybe she wouldn’t be coming unglued like this.

“Yes?” Jesse asked.

It was the small hoop earring that sent her over the edge. It caught the sunlight and zapped her like a laser. Later, she would convince herself that the bright flash had short-circuited her brain.

“I haven’t had sex in two years,” she blurted out, breathing hard. “I’m a wreck. I came here hoping to meet a man of dubious character who could make my knees weak. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth. I’m unstable, and very, very deprived. You should probably stay away from me.”

Jesse’s eyes widened significantly. Gail held her breath. Would he laugh at her audacity? Would he be offended? Sickened? Would he call for museum security?

He did none of those things. Instead, Jesse’s eyes mellowed, then he helped himself to a languid visual journey of all things Gail, from the crown of her hair to the tips of her toes. When he was done, he leaned in close.

And kissed her.

“YO. PRETTY GIRLIES.”

Hannah tossed her hair and groaned, ignoring the man’s comment as she and Holly walked toward the water’s edge. Once they were out of earshot, Hannah leaned in toward her friend. “Did you see that dude? It should be against the law for someone so totally old to wear a Speedo! He was, like, almost as old as your Mom!”

“I think I’m going to dry-heave,” Holly replied.

Hannah suddenly perked to attention. “Hi!” she said, swiveling her head to catch the eye of a much younger and hotter dude who was making his way across the sand.

The man just barely raised his chin in acknowledgment.

“Damn,” Hannah said, sticking her toe into the gentle waves of the Gulf of Mexico. “The guys here are totally stuck-up, unless they’re old and desperate and wearing gold chains. Then they’re just plain creepy.”

“I got some breaking news for you, Hannah.” Holly couldn’t help but laugh at her friend’s naiveté. “Remember what I told you? That some of the best-looking guys here are gay?”

Her friend’s eyes widened behind her sunglasses. “Him? But, I mean, I realize there are a lot of gay men in Key West, but he was so…I don’t know…”

“Perfect?” Holly asked.

Hannah nodded and sighed. “I guess that should have been my first hint, huh?”

“You girls aren’t afraid of getting burned?”

The girls looked up into the faces of two incredibly good-looking guys who’d approached them unnoticed. They were maybe just a few years older. Both had dark, dark brown hair and dark, dark brown eyes and big, white smiles. And the way they were checking them out indicated there wasn’t a gay bone in either of their totally buff bodies.

“Your skin looks delicate,” one of them said, touching Hannah’s shoulder with his fingers. “You should probably put on some sunscreen.”

The girls turned to each other with open mouths.

Hot twins? Holly couldn’t believe it. How freakin’ epic is this?

“So, have you had lunch?” one of them asked.

Holly watched her friend smile and straighten her spine, as if the boys weren’t already aware of her 36Ds—as though anyone south of the Everglades wasn’t aware of them.

“No,” Hannah answered. “And I’m suddenly starving.”

THE KISS ALONE WAS SO unexpectedly delicious that Jesse was nearing sensory overload. So when Gail’s cell phone began to vibrate somewhere inside the Sherpa-sized straw bag now wedged between their bodies, the direct buzz to his crotch was almost too much to bear.

He hated to do it, but he pulled his lips away from hers. Gail stared at him with eyes as big as sand dollars.

“I should probably get that,” she said.

He nodded, pressed his fingers to his lips as if to seal in the sensation and backed away. Jesse headed out through the set of French doors to the museum veranda, gulping down the fresh air. I just made out with one of Lelinda’s paying customers, he thought to himself. I just kissed the woman staying next door, a woman I barely know. He heard loud giggling and turned to see that apparently he’d done it in front of a dozen Chinese visitors, to boot.

Jesse waved to them sheepishly. “Welcome to Key West,” he muttered, leaning his elbows on the railing. Even through the tourists’ snickering, Jesse could hear Gail on the phone with her daughter. He turned his head to look at her.

“That sounds fun, honey,” she was saying, her eyes darting toward Jesse every few seconds. Gail tried to smooth down her hair. “Sure, that’s fine. I appreciate your asking for permission. Wear life jackets and call me when you get back to the dock. Don’t forget to reap-ply your sunscreen. Remind Hannah, too.”

Jesse watched her turn off her cell phone and tug awkwardly on her skirt. Then Gail took a deep breath and squared her shoulders before she headed his way.

“I apologize,” she said in what was obviously her professor’s voice. The wanton strumpet who’d revealed herself only moments before was nowhere to be seen. “I think I better walk home.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jesse said.

“No, that’s not necessary.”

“Oh, yes it is.”

Jesse followed her down the back steps to the Spanish-tile courtyard and past Hemingway’s exotic inground pool. He gave a quick wave and shouted a thank-you to the Purdys, who were seated on a bench under a large eucalyptus tree. Jesse jogged to keep up with Gail before she’d made it to the front yard and out the gate.

“Hold on, Gail.”

She shook her ponytail, not looking back.

“Look, I have a moped parked right around the corner. I’ll give you a lift back to the house.” Jesse had reached her side, but she hadn’t slowed her march. It was impressive that Gail was at least five inches shorter than his six-one frame but her stride could cover some serious territory. “Talk to me, Professor.”

She turned to face him. He wasn’t prepared for what he saw—profound embarrassment. Guilt. Desire. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

It was then that Jesse knew his first impression of his neighbor had been accurate. She had no game. She was out here in the world without pretense. And that kiss had affected her deeply. It was clear that Gail Chapman was a vulnerable and attention-starved woman, and Jesse shouldn’t be messing with her. If he were smart, he’d let her walk on home by herself the way she’d insisted. He was about to tell her as much when she looked up at him and smiled sadly.

“You’re an exceptionally smart and handsome man.” Gail’s brown eyes were unflinching. “I’m sure you have a wife or girlfriend—or maybe several of them. But that’s none of my business. What I’m trying to say is that I shouldn’t have thrown myself at you. That’s not like me at all. And I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to—”

The professor pressed the palm of her small hand against his chest to stop him from saying more. “I’ve been divorced for six years, Jesse, and I haven’t dated much. My ex-husband was a philanderer and a white-collar criminal, and I admit I basically shut down after the divorce. I’m no good at this sort of thing. Casual sex, I mean.”

Jesse blinked, dumbstruck. Never in his thirty-eight years had he heard a woman cut to the chase the way Gail just had. Her raw honesty was startling.

“Thanks for the tour. You really know your Hemingway, Captain.” She gave his shirt an affectionate pat. “Goodbye.”

“You’ve got it all wrong,” he said.

Gail spun around, a small frown between her pale brows.

“I’ve never been married and I am not seeing anyone.”

“Oh.”

“And that was the most incredible first kiss I’ve had since Myra Castillo planted one on me in sixth grade.” Jesse couldn’t figure out why, but it gave him a rush of pleasure to see Gail’s shy smile return.

“I have an idea.” Suddenly, Jesse was feeling protective of her. He wanted to salvage her day. “Let me give you a private tour of Key West. Just you and me—” Jesse stopped himself, tipping his head toward her purse. “And your very large straw bag.”

Gail sniffed, trying to act offended but already starting to laugh.

“What in God’s name do you have in there, anyway?”

“Nothing. Yet,” she said. “But I wanted to have it with me so I could carry any treasures I might find while I’m in town—artwork, cute T-shirts, a good book.”

Jesse grinned, making a mental note to circumvent Duval between Angela and Petronia until he could get Chago to dismantle the permanent J.D. Batista shrine in the window of Island Books. His buddy owed him a favor.

“I’m at your service,” Jesse said, extending his hand to the lovely professor.

She accepted it. Jesse didn’t understand why or how, but the way her hand slipped into his felt like an answer to a question, a question he hadn’t even planned on asking.

“SO WHERE ARE YOU STAYING?”

Though the girls had been hanging out with Luis and Nestor for only a couple of hours, they already felt comfortable, as if they’d known each other for years. Hannah laughed at most everything that came out of Nestor’s mouth. Luis seemed to be the more serious of the two and, in Holly’s opinion, the most handsome. The two local community college students seemed really polite and sweet.