The Best Of Blaze - Six Sexy Romances

“This is a sex cabin, Kira.”

“Sounds like it.”

“I’m in a sex cabin, and I can’t have sex. This is depressing.”

“You can have sex. Go find someone to have sex with. Right now.”

“I’m in the middle of the woods. The next cabin is half a mile west.”

“Then start walking. Bigfoot’s probably out there. He’s probably well-hung.”

“And hairy.”

“I warned you about the beard rash thing.”

The floor creaked with the sound of footsteps.

But not hers. Joey hadn’t moved.

“Shit,” she whispered into the phone.

“What?” Kira whispered back, unnecessarily.

Joey looked up at the ceiling.

“Someone’s here. Stay on the line with me.”

“Yeah, of course. Are you sure?”

“I heard footsteps upstairs.”

“Then get the fuck out of the house. This isn’t a horror movie. Do not investigate.”

“Right. Going. Right now.”

Joey started backing up toward the door, her heart racing. The footsteps continued across the floor above her head. They were fast and purposeful footsteps, not at all tentative but also not threatening. They were heavy, too, like whoever was walking wore either work boots or cowboy boots. She hadn’t heard that sound in a long time. Even the VPs at her Oahu Air office often came to work in sandals or flip-flops—one of the perks of working one hundred yards or so from the ocean.

“Jo? You there?” Kira whispered again.

“I’m here. Hello?”

“Yes, I’m still here.”

“Not you. I was talking to whoever’s up there. I think he’s working here.”

“Hey there,” came a voice from the top of the stairs. A male voice. A deep yet friendly voice. “Joey Silvia?”

“That’s me. And you are?”

“It’s Chris. I’m almost done up here with the ceiling fan,” the man called down to her.

“Has he murdered you yet?” Kira asked.

“Not yet. He says his name is Chris, and he’s doing something with the ceiling fan.”

“Is he hot?”

“Am I supposed to run screaming from him or have sex with him?” Joey whispered.

“Depends on if he’s hot or not. Go look.”

“You just told me to leave,” Joey half whispered, half yelled.

“You can leave, but find out if he’s hot first.”

“Okay... I’m going up. If my phone dies and/or you hear the sound of me screaming, hang up and call the cops.”

“What if he’s not murdering you, but you’re screaming because it’s such good sex? Do I still call the cops?”

“I’m not a screamer.”

“If he’s the right guy you will be.”

“I’m going to go up and see what he’s doing.” She glanced out the kitchen window and saw a large green Ford pickup parked behind the house with the words Lost Lake Painting and Contracting on the side in black-and-gold letters. Okay, not an ax murderer, then. Just the guy she should probably thank for doing such a good job on the house.

“I’ll stay on the line,” Kira said. “If you think he’s going to murder you, say, um, ‘I’m on the phone with my best friend, Kira. She’s a cop. And she’s sleeping with a cop. No, two cops. Cop threesome.’”

“I’m just supposed to work that into a casual conversation with a possible murderer?”

“And if he’s sexy and you want to bang him, just say, ‘Nice weather we’re having, isn’t it?’”

“It’s the Pacific Northwest. In October. It’s forty-eight degrees out and raining.”

“Just say it!”

“You are the worst friend ever.”

“You’re welcome. Now go check him out. Try not to get murdered.”

Joey crept up the stairs and found they no longer squeaked like they used to. The rotting middle board they had to step over was gone. Someone had replaced the old stairs with beautiful reclaimed pine from the looks of it.

“You still there?” Joey said as she made it to the top of the stairs.

“I’m still here,” Kira replied. “You’re not dead yet?”

“Not dead. Yet.”

The upstairs of the cabin consisted of two small bedrooms with a full bath between them. And whatever magic had been done on the downstairs had wended its way upstairs, too. New bathroom fixtures of brushed copper. The grimy tub had been replaced with a new and huge bathtub inlaid with stone tile. Somehow this Lost Lake contractor had managed to make the house look both old and authentic and yet brand-new at the same time.

“Hello?” she called out.

“I’m in the master,” the male voice answered.

“I heard his voice,” Kira said over the line. “Good voice. Calm and manly. He’s probably comfortable hugging his guy friends and telling his dad he loves him.”

“You got that much from four words?” Joey asked.

“I’m very intuitive.”

Joey shook her head and walked down the narrow hallway to a partly open door. This had to be the master bedroom, not that she’d ever thought of it like that. Master bedroom sounded imposing, impressive. The “master” bedroom she remembered had a tablecloth for a curtain and a mattress propped up on a sheet of plywood and cinder blocks where her parents slept.

“I’m going in,” Joey said under her breath, her phone still plastered to her ear.

She eased the door open...stepped inside...looked up...

There on a step stool stood a man, a much younger man than she expected. All contractors were forty and up in her mind but this guy looked no more than late twenties maybe. He had dirty-blond hair cut neat and a close-trimmed nearly blond beard. He was looking up, concentrating on the wiring above his head. He wore jeans, neither tight nor baggy but perfectly fitted, and a red-and-navy flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, with a fitted white T-shirt underneath.

“Hey, Joey,” he said with a grin. “Good to see you again. How’s Hawaii been treating you?”

He turned his head her way and grinned at her. She knew that grin.

“Chris?” This Chris was that Chris?

“Chris? Who’s Chris? You know this guy?” Kira rasped in her ear.

She knew this guy. It was Chris, wasn’t it?

Oh, my God, it was Chris.

Chris... Chris Steffensen. Dillon’s high school best friend. The skinny, scrawny, long-haired, baggy-pants-wearing, Nirvana wannabe even a decade after Nirvana was an appropriate thing to be obsessed with at their high school... This was that Chris? That Chris she wouldn’t have trusted to screw in a lightbulb, and now he was wiring up a ceiling fan? And seemed to be doing a very good job of it.

“Did you...did you fix up this whole house?” she asked, rudely ignoring his question about Hawaii.

“Oh, yeah. I’m doing some work for Dillon and Oscar these days. Long story. You like what we did with the place?”

He grinned again, a boyish eager grin. She couldn’t see anything else in the world because that bright white toothy smile took over his face and her entire field of vision. Damn, he was pretty. When did he get so pretty? And he was taller than she remembered. He must have had a bit of a post-high-school growth spurt. Taller and broader. Those shoulders of his...well, there was only one thing to say about that.

Joey hoped Kira was still listening.

“Nice weather we’re having, isn’t it?”

2

CHRIS STARED AT HER, brow furrowed.

“Joking,” she said. “I know it’s bad weather.”

“It’s Oregon weather. Should we awkwardly hug now?”

“God, yes.”

“I’m going to hang up,” Kira said, laughing into Joey’s ear. Joey ended the call and stuffed her phone into her jacket pocket.

“Did you...just hang up on somebody?” Chris asked, his eyebrow slightly arched. When did he learn how to do that?

“Yes. No. She hung up on me first. It’s okay. We’re friends. We do that a lot. Hug now?”

He jumped lightly down from his stool, and Joey stepped into his arms. He’d said “awkward” and it was but also it wasn’t. First of all, he felt good—warm and solid and strong. And second, he smelled good, like sweat and cedar. Finally, it was just Chris, after all, even if it had been nearly ten years since she’d seen him.

“God, it’s good to see you again,” he said softly, like he meant it. It was the absolute opposite of Ben’s “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Yeah, you, too.” She stepped back out of his arms before making a fool of herself by bursting into tears.

“You’re a day early. Dillon said you wouldn’t be here until tomorrow.”

“I changed my flight. Is that a problem?”

“Not a problem at all. I just meant to be out of here by then. But I’m almost done. The master was the last thing. Ceiling fan, then paint.”

“No hurry. Stay as long as you need to. All night even.” She winced. Why did she say that? “So...how are you?”

“Fine.” He sounded slightly suspicious. She didn’t blame him. She was acting slightly odd. Finding out you’d been dating a married man could do that to a girl. “You? How’s Hawaii?”

“Lovely. Lots of volcanoes.”

“You’re on a volcano right now.”

“Hawaii and Oregon have a lot in common. Volcanoes and rain. And...that’s it.”

“They’re practically twins. You look great, by the way,” Chris said.

“I’m wet.”

Chris’s eyebrow went up another notch.

“Wet from the rain,” she said hastily.

“Right. The rain. Hawaii’s been good to you.”

It was sweet that he said that, but she looked like hell and she knew it. She’d dressed in the classic Oregon uniform of Columbia jacket (red), jeans (blue), rain boots (a nondescript army green) and no umbrella. Umbrellas were for tourists, which meant her dark hair was plastered to her forehead. And she’d cried a little in the car and given herself raccoon eyes. She had naturally warm brown skin, which she’d inherited from her Mexican-American father, and a Hawaiian tan on top of it, so at least she wouldn’t appear as washed out as she felt. If she’d known Chris would be here looking as good as he did, she would have made more of an effort.

“You look fantastic. I barely recognized you with the short hair and beard. When did that happen?”

“Short hair? Um, eight years ago? The real world made me do it. The beard? Last November. Bad breakup. She dumped me for a Trail Blazer. I stopped shaving. Everyone told me I looked better with the beard so I kept it. I trimmed it, though. I had a little ZZ Top thing going on.”

“A Trail Blazer? Like one of the basketball players or the cars? Because if she dumped you for a car, that’s weird.”

“The basketball players. Apparently she had a thing for tall guys.”

“You’re tall. You’re huge.”

That eyebrow went up one more notch.

“I keep saying sexual things without meaning to,” she said. “Sorry. I’m running on very little sleep. I can’t be held responsible for what my mouth does.”

The eyebrow was as high as it could go.

“I did it again, didn’t I?” she asked.

“It’s okay, Jo.” He furrowed his brow. “Do you still go by Jo? Joey? I don’t want to call you that if you don’t. Are you Jolene now?”

“Definitely not Jolene. Everyone still calls me Jo or Joey. They better since it’s all I answer to.”

“Joey, it is. I’m almost done here, and then I’ll get out of your hair.”

“You aren’t in my hair at all. The cabin looks amazing. I can’t believe you did all this.”

“Not all of it. I had to subcontract the exterior. I can do cedar siding but it takes forever.”

“But the rest of it? The floors, the kitchen, the paint...the pumpkins?”

“Some kids were selling pumpkins at a stand by the road. I’m a sucker.”

“Were you always good at painting and flooring and advanced pumpkin carving and you just kept it a secret?”

He shrugged. “I learned a lot of it from Dad. Except the pumpkin carving. That’s self-taught.”

“You go to school for this?”

He nodded. “Yeah, trade school. Then I apprenticed for a few years. Anybody can learn to do this stuff. Just takes time.”

“Mount Hood must keep you busy. Half the cabins around here were falling down when we were kids.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. I had to turn down four other jobs to do this one for Dillon.”

“You could have told him no.”

“Nah.” He grinned again. “He said you’d be staying here for the wedding. I couldn’t let my high school crush crash in a dump, could I? If the ceiling caved in on you, I’d never forgive myself.”

Joey laughed, rolled her eyes.

“So now you finally admit it.”

“Only took me ten years. But don’t worry. I’m totally over you.” He waved his hand, signing a “done” motion. She might have believed him but for the twinkle of mirth in his eyes.

“You never told me...were you the one who put the roses in my locker on Valentine’s Day?”

“Maybe...”

“Did you pick my lock?”

“No. Dillon did.”

“Oh, that asshole.” She shook her head in exasperation. “I told him I was going nuts trying to figure out who did it, and he played dumb. He’s so good at playing dumb I believed him. Or maybe I thought he was just dumb.”

“He didn’t want to out me. He’d been through that himself.”

“Yeah, that was a rough year,” Joey said, remembering the year when the rumors about Dillon being gay got started. He’d trusted the wrong friend with the secret and in a week the entire school knew. She and Chris had taken shifts with Dillon, walking with him to and from class, to and from home. As long as there were witnesses around, they were pretty sure nobody would jump Dillon and beat the shit out of him. They’d had a few close calls. Chris had bloodied more than one nose protecting Dillon. “I’m so glad he had you back then.”

At least this time he didn’t raise his eyebrow at her, but she could tell he wanted to.

“You know what I mean,” she said. “Not had you. Unless he did. Which is fine. I kind of wondered what you two were up to in the garage.”

“Smoking weed.”

“That’s not sexy at all.”

“Sorry to disappoint you with my straightness. I promise, I was born this way.”

“It’s quite disappointing. I already had yours and Dillon’s wedding planned before my own.”

“That’s far-thinking of you. That wasn’t even legal until last year here.”

“I was a dreamer. And I thought you’d both look so cute in bow ties.”

“I’ve never been happier to be not marrying Dillon than I am right now.”

“No respect for the bow tie. It’s a classic. James Bond wore a bow tie. Brando wore a bow tie.”

“Pee-wee Herman wore a bow tie.”

“Yes, Pee-wee.” She pointed at his chest. “That’s who you should be for the wedding. You are going, aren’t you?”

“I’m going,” he said. “I wasn’t really planning on wearing a costume, though.”

“You have to. It’s on the invitation. And Pee-wee’s Big Adventure was an ’80s movie.”

“How about a costume that doesn’t involve bow ties? Maybe something more along the lines of John McClane. Die Hard, maybe? Easy costume.”

“So you’ll just wear gray slacks and a dirty nasty white T-shirt to the wedding?” She feigned disgust but the thought of Chris in a sweaty sleeveless undershirt was quite...nice. Nice as the weather they weren’t having right now.

“And bloody feet. Don’t forget that part. Who are you going as?”

“I was thinking Carrie. Bloody prom dress to match your bloody feet.”

“Carrie came out in the ’70s.”

“You sure?”

“I’ve seen every Stephen King movie at least five times.”

“Five times? What is wrong with you?”

“Don’t ask,” he said.

“Got any other ideas?”

“Got a metal bikini? You can be Princess Leia in Return of the Jedi.”

“It’s a little chilly for that, don’t you think?”

“There goes that fantasy.” He smiled again. She blushed. Oh, my God, they were flirting. She was flirting. He was flirting. Flirting was happening. Did Kira make this happen? Or was it Dillon? Was he trying to put her and Chris alone in the house together? Very possible. Dillon never liked Ben. And she knew a setup when she saw one.

“So...who are Oscar and Dillon going as?” Chris asked.

“They won’t tell anybody. It’s a big gay secret, Dillon said.”

“He called it a ‘big gay secret’?” Chris asked.

“You know my brother.”

“Intimately,” he said. “Wait. Never mind.”

“Any guesses?” Joey asked.

“Kirk and Spock from one of those ’80s Star Trek movies. They’re both nerds. It could work. Walking, talking fan fiction.”

“My money’s on Bill and Ted,” Joey said.

“Whoa.”

“Exactly.”

“You know who you should go as...” Chris pointed his screwdriver at her and it was neither threatening nor sexual. Especially when he flipped it casually and stuck it in his back pocket like a kid gunslinger holstering a toy pistol.

“Who?”

“Since the guys hijacked your birthday for their wedding...you should go as what’s-her-name from that movie.”

“That doesn’t help me.”

“Girl. Redhead. Birthday cake.” He snapped his fingers repeatedly. “You know, Molly Something.”

“Sixteen Candles?”

“That’s it. Didn’t her sister get married on her birthday?” Chris asked.

“Day after but close enough. Oh, my God, that’s a great idea. Dillon will think it’s hilarious. He loves that movie. I’ll go as Sam. All I have to do is get a red wig and a floofy bridesmaid dress. Or some kind of Laura Ashley nightmare to wear and a hat. Will you come with me?”

“As who? Don’t say Dong.”

“No, you can put on a pink button-down shirt and be Farmer Ted. Just pop your collar.”

“Will you let me walk around with your underwear in my pocket like he did?”

“You remembered my birthday. You can walk around with my underwear in your teeth if you want.”

Chris’s eyes widened just slightly.

“This conversation got weird fast,” she said.

“I’ve never had anyone offer to let me hold their underwear in my mouth at a wedding.”

“Well, it is Dillon’s wedding.”

“Fair point.”

She rocked back on her heels. “I’m just gonna get my stuff out of the car. Or maybe I should wait since the bedroom’s not done yet.”

“The other bedroom is all set up. You can put your stuff in there.”

“Our old bedroom? You fixed it up?”

“I did. Go check it out. Turned out pretty nice.”

He wore an expression on his face that made her a teeny tiny bit suspicious. She walked out of the master bedroom and down the hall into the second bedroom. She’d always liked that room better. Better view of the forest and she could even catch the occasional glimpse of Mount Hood’s snowy peak on clear days.

She opened the door and her jaw dropped. Chris had outdone himself. The plaster that covered the walls had been removed, leaving the rough wood boards exposed. They gleamed a golden hue in the warm lamplight. A hand-woven blue-and-gray rug covered most of the hardwood floor. A large bed sat in the center of the room. The headboard and footboard were all dark wood, roughly carved but sanded smooth, stained and polished. Piled high on the bed were pillows and blankets. The downstairs woodstove had been brought up to the guest room and a hole cut into the wall to vent it properly. Framed photographs of Mount Hood and the surrounding forest in all seasons lined the walls. It was everything rustic and luxurious and lovely all in one. She could be very happy in this room and in this house. Or, at least, not as miserable as she thought she’d be. Even the frames on the photographs were beautiful distressed wood. A small thing but she admired it, was grateful for it.

“You’re good,” she said as Chris came to stand behind her.

“So I’ve been told. But don’t be too impressed. A friend of mine makes those frames, not me. But I did make the bed.”

“You do excellent hospital corners.”

He chuckled softly. “No, I mean, I made the bed.”

“You...carved the bed?”

“There’s all these trees around here. Might as well put them to use.”

“You literally made the bed?”

“I literally made the bed. Impressed?”

“I am. Are you trying to impress me?”

“I don’t know. It is working?”

“It’s sort of working.” It was definitely working. “So...you want to get a drink later? My treat.”

Kira would be so proud of her, asking Chris out for a drink two days after being dumped.

“You betcha.”

She was officially back in Oregon. You betcha? When was the last time she heard that?

“But I have to finish up the master first.”

“Can I help?”

“You want to help?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t. What are we doing?”

“Painting. I finished painting the ceiling. Gotta paint the walls now. It’s all taped off already.”

“I can paint. I’m good with the trim.”

“You start the trim, I’ll roll the walls. But you’ll need to take those clothes off.”

“Chris, we just, I mean—”

“You’ll get paint on your clothes, Jo.”

“Right. Paint. I’ll...just get my stuff out of the car and change clothes real quick.”

“Take your time. I’ll finish wiring the ceiling fan.”

“Did you make the ceiling fan, too?”

“No. But I did put on the stairs and the stair rail. It’s all pine.”

“You’re really good with wood.”

“You did that one on purpose, didn’t you?” he asked.

“Let’s pretend I did.”

Chris didn’t laugh at her but she caught him smiling as he left her alone in her new room. Well, not her room but the room that would be hers while home for the wedding. She hadn’t taken a vacation in a couple years. After everything that had happened with Ben she was tempted to take it all at once and not go back to work until after Thanksgiving. In fact, she was sorely tempted not to go back to work ever. Not there, anyway. Not if she had to face Ben.

Except she’d promised Kira she wouldn’t make any major life changes for six months. It was good advice, very wise. She had to go back to work, didn’t she? Of course she did. She was in the right and Ben was in the wrong. She wasn’t about to let him win by quitting and slinking away with her tail between her legs.

No. Stop. Joey refused to think about Ben or work or anything else as she hauled her suitcase and overnight bag up the reclaimed pine wood stairs and into the bedroom. Funny—she’d been looking forward to a quiet night alone in the cabin before facing her brother and parents and giving them the news about her and Ben. She wanted the one night to pull herself together, to figure out a story to tell her family about why she broke up with Ben that wouldn’t make her look like the worst person on earth and/or the stupidest person on earth. But hanging out with Chris and working on the house seemed like a far better way to get her head together than sitting alone in an empty cabin and ruminating on every clue she’d missed, every blind eye she’d turned. Better to work, do something, distract herself, stay busy. Painting the master bedroom with Chris actually sounded sort of fun.

She pulled on an old long-sleeved T-shirt that she slept in and tied a red bandana around her hair. When she went into the master bedroom she found Chris had finished up with the ceiling fan and was pouring a warm brown paint, the color of milk chocolate, into a large plastic tub. He was whistling.

“Is that ‘All Apologies’?” she asked as she selected a two-inch paintbrush from his kit on the floor.

“It is.”

“You’re whistling Nirvana while you work. You know most people whistle happy tunes.”

“So ‘Heart-Shaped Box,’ then?”

She pointed her paintbrush at him. “You’ve changed completely, but you haven’t changed at all.”

“I could say the same to you,” he said, glancing at her out of the corner of his eyes. She was ninety percent sure he’d just checked her out. Good. She’d been checking him out since she walked in the door.

He handed her a small roller tray filled with paint. She dipped her brush in the tray, soaked it with paint and coated the wall by the doorframe with a smooth line of warm mocha.

“Wait, not that wall,” Chris said, his voice full of pure panic.

Joey gasped and spun around “What? Sorry. Did I—”