Guitars, Cadillacs by Cara West

Author:Cara West
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 1993-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

THE NEXT TIME Jessie surfaced, Wayne was the one who’d left the bedroom. Looking around she realized his clothes had vanished. For an instant she panicked. Had he left without saying goodbye?

Then, through the open door she smelled the scents of breakfast. Instead of cooking for her guest, her guest was cooking for her.

As Jessie swung her feet off the bed she noted soreness in some interesting muscles. She groaned her discomfort and headed for the bathroom, grabbing some clothes along the way.

This time when she faced Wayne, she wanted to be poised and collected. It was hard to be in control, naked as a jaybird. She’d already found that out.

A shower would help as well. The drenching spray would wash away his handprints. As long as she didn’t expect a little soap and water to wash away his handiwork. She had a feeling she was marked for life.

Ten minutes later she walked out of the bathroom, damp but demure and feeling considerably less vulnerable. Her hair was caught back in a low ponytail. The shirt she’d selected swallowed up her torso. And her loose trousers obscured the line of her hips.

None of this preparation, however, provided her with conversation. She could only stare dumbly as he deftly flipped an omelet.

Glancing her way, he smiled, then went on with his task.

“I’m supposed to be doing that,” she said. “You’re my guest.”

When he looked at her quizzically, she turned bright red.

“Actually—” she cleared her throat “—I haven’t had much practice with overnight guests. I hope Mrs. Peters hasn’t had a coronary.”

“Mrs. Peters?”

“My landlady.”

“Why should she?”

“Your truck’s been parked in front of her house on and off since two-thirty this morning. I’m sure she’s noticed. She feels the need to look after me.”

“Oh. I see.”

He didn’t continue, and the silence suggested they’d exhausted that subject. She searched for another.

“Sit down,” he instructed her, rescuing her from her dilemma. She looked around and realized he’d set the stamp-sized table with orange juice and coffee. After she settled, he put a third of the omelet in front of her, along with a helping of grits. Both portions were generous.

“Cream? Sugar?” He might have been the host.

“No, thank you,” she said politely. “I drink my coffee black.”

For a while the silence between them was interrupted by the clinking of silverware and china. But it didn’t take long for them to empty their plates. Jessie noted that the omelet was delicious. And that Wayne’s appetite was proportionate to his stature.

And if the wet towels in the bathroom hadn’t already alerted her, she would have guessed from his springy hair that he’d taken a shower while she slept.

No man should look that sexy in crumpled clothes, she decided. No man should look that sexy and be able to cook.

After refilling his coffee cup, Wayne settled back in his chair. His legs were too long for the table and he slanted them to the side of it. His gaze was steady as it met hers head on.

“Come up next weekend and stay with me,” he said.

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