A change from Snippet One posted earlier -- Gwen has become Gina -- don't know why, but the name just seemed more like the character herself. Also, changed from first person to third person as I wanted several points of view in this romance. Remember: this is a work-in-progress!
Love Long Overdue
a Mr. Librarian romance
TWO
"What are you doin’ down there, lass?" Carmichael put his hands on his knees and
bent further down. He was grinning ear
to ear.
"Nothing, just looking for signs of moles. Old Mr. Anderson can't move around much
anymore, so I try to do my bit." Gina
sneaked a peek to see his reaction. God,
just look at those hands, would ya?
Strong fingers, lean and clean.
What would they feel like on her --
"Moles, eh? I
don't see any holes anywhere.”
“Of course not – I’m doing a good job keeping them away,” she
huffed at him. The grin just widened,
showing white teeth against tanned skin.
“Would you like to come out from under there now? You must be a bit cramped." He reached out a hand. She chose to ignore it and started to scoot
backwards. Of course, that gave him a
clean shot of her butt coming right at him.
Not exactly the most elegant exit, but then again, she wasn’t the
elegant type.
But his hand was still waiting to help. She grabbed it at the last second before she toppled
over on said butt. He tugged and she lunged,
finding herself grasped firmly by two strong hands.
"Do you live here?" Speechless, she nodded, feeling the warmth of
his hands on her arms. Little tingly things
started happening and, damn, she thought she heard music, just like in those
old classic movies.
Of course, idiot. His
cellphone was ringing.
"Excuse me."
He released me and did a half-turn.
"Carmichael here . . . ah, ye don't say? Really?
Be there in a tick." He hung
up and turned back to her, idiot woman who was still staring at his hands. He extended one again.
"Name's Carmichael, Adam Carmichael. And you are?" His deep blue eyes watched her, probably
wondering if she was suffering from a disability, like not getting one's brain
in gear and putting two words together. She
blinked and shook her head up and down like a bobble doll.
"Yes, I live here. Top floor.
Name's . . . " What was her
name? Oh, yeah. "Gina Bradshaw." She finally looked up beyond his hand, her
eyes roving up his chest, the open collar of his shirt revealing the hint of
dark chest hairs, a strong jaw, a wide mouth still smiling until her gaze
landed on his eyes. She took the
proffered hand, yanking it up and down like a well pump.
“Well, Gina Bradshaw, good to meet you,” he said. He waved his hand to his car and back to the
house. “Just moving my things in,
getting settled.” He looked down at his
hand, still being pumped. “Do ye think I
can have my hand back now, Gina?”
She dropped it like it burned her skin. “Sorry! My mind’s on other things. Busy day, lots to do.” She grabbed the shears and the daffs and
started toward the garage door, but he was in the way. She waited until he moved, then yanked the
door open and left the shears on the potting table.
"Well, I'll be off now.
See ya." Gina spun on her
heel, only to tumble to the side, the smooth surface of the ballet flats
slipping in the grass. He caught her. Again.
She felt his warm breath on her cheek and stood stock still.
"Careful there now." She heard the low chuckle and tugged her arm
free, then started back to the house, wanting to put as much distance between them
as possible. Her head was thick with
thoughts and sensations. She needed
air. She needed to calm those randy body
parts. She figured about two trays of
ice cubes should do it. She opened the
back door and started for the stairs, but the damn Scotsman was right
behind her.
Yes, literally behind her.
Behind her behind, watching, she was sure, as she climbed. As her foot hit the first landing, he tapped
my arm. Flashes of heat broke forth in her
addled brain. Good god, what the heck? Get a grip, girl.
"You know you've got grass stains all over your as . .
. uh, jeans."
"Yes, I know," she growled.
"You better put something on those stains. They'll never come out."
"I’m well aware of that, thank you." She lunged for the next steps but he
continued to follow. She stopped and
turned, crossing her arms, blocking his way.
These last set of steps were hers.
No one but invited guests and her landlord came any further. She pointed down the stairs.
"That landing is yours.
Your apartment is on the second floor, Carmichael." Gina started to turn back but he caught her
arm. His grip was gentle but firm, and
his eyes gleamed up at her in the half light from the landing window.
"I know where I live.
I just wanted to see you to your door.
In my country, that's what a gentleman does, you ken?" A piece of her melted at those words, at the
light burr of his accent. She started to
say something, but shut her mouth for fear of stammering. She gave him a smile, nothing flashy or
flirty. Just a smile.
"Could we go out for a drink sometime?" he asked,
as he shifted and came up a step, closing the space between them. She was drowning in two blue pools rimmed by
dark lashes. Visions of a mountain lake lined
by tall pines rose up in her mind's eye.
He hovered over her, his lips at her eye level. Soft lips, wide and generous. Things fluttered low in her belly and she
sucked in air, knowing that if she didn't, she’d be toppling over the banister
until her body – pasty white, mind you – was a mere splat on the floor three
levels below.
"Ah, sure.
Sometime," she mumbled. With
all her strength, she turned, caught the last step and just about broke down
the door to escape the man and what he was doing to her. Not even ten minutes had she known him and
already she was a puddle of helpless female longings. Once inside, she leaned against the door,
restraining herself from flipping the lock.
Not to keep him out, but to keep herself in.
This was something she'd never experienced before. She’d always been the one to instigate the dance
between man and woman. She was assertive
when she wanted someone. Wasn't she? Or was it that she always picked the passive
guys, the oneswho needed to be prodded into motion, the ones who could be led around
by the nose.
Could Carmichael be led by the nose? Highly doubtful. But that would make it all the more
exciting. The thrill of the chase and
all that. But what about after the
chase?
Gina grabbed her cellphone and hit the speed dial for Julie’s
salon while listening to Carmichael’s steps go back down the stairs.
“Yo! I got you booked
for 3:30 –“
“Houston, we have a problem,” Gina muttered, wiping a drop
of sweat from the side of her face.
“Uh, oh. What’s up?”
“Mr. Librarian. Good
god, my body is in meltdown, Julie.”
“Get your ass over here now.
Forget the tanning. I’ve got a
glass of pinot with your name on it.”
She hung up.
Right. No
tanning. Julie and a glass of
pinot.
It wasn’t enough, but it would have to do.
* * *
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"Love Long Overdue" on my blog.
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