Trevor could feel the grin on his face. It was making his cheeks ache, but for the life of him, he couldn’t stop. He’d been smiling like a buffoon since he’d heard the husky voice curl its way around the pump, saying she wouldn’t mind licking him.
Okay. So he knew she hadn’t meant him. The way she’d said it, though, made him laugh out loud, and hey; a guy could dream, right? Right. Dream on, big guy. He used her words to mock himself.
But when he’d peered around the pump, it was only her. No big guy anywhere. And oh, what a woman she was.
Drop. Dead. Gorgeous.
A woman alone. Without a car.
He took in the gas can thumping against her leg as she stepped away from the dock. From there, his gaze traveled up the length of her, his curiosity piqued. She wore a long, colorful skirt that skimmed the top of her feet which were encased in some kind of strappy sandals. A see-through cream top did nothing to hide a turquoise bra with what appeared to be little red hearts or flowers all over it, and even though he didn’t allow himself to look too closely, Trevor got the feeling she’d intended the bra to be visible. Her neck was draped with an assorted collection of chains and pendants, and the chunky jewelry on the fingers of both hands echoed the look.
Around her head she’d tied a scarf, Gypsy-style, and her sunglasses perched low on her nose. A thick rope of a black braid hung beneath the fluttering ends of the scarf, the tip of it, like a paintbrush, sweeping back and forth across the curve of her back.
Her voice, full and throaty, flowed out from between lips painted scarlet, and he caught himself watching her mouth move, mesmerized. He couldn’t remember what color her eyes were, but he didn’t care. All that had mattered was the way she’d watched him, challenging him, analyzing him, judging him. And trusting him. He’d seen the moment things had shifted. As though the shutters opened and the welcome mat came out. He wouldn’t exactly call it seduction—they were, after all, at a gas station—but he was pretty sure he’d seen anticipation in her bold gaze.
It made him want to straighten his shoulders, throw back his head, and pound his chest while he bellowed like a jungle man. “Me Trevor. You Phoebe,” he muttered, mocking himself as he took off down the road, the wind whipping away his words as he picked up speed.
Her Jeep was just ahead of him. He pulled up behind her close enough that he could see her watching him in her rear view mirror. He didn’t bother pretending he hadn’t noticed, but smiled even broader, his jaw now threatening to seize up on him.
When they reached the next intersection, he pulled up beside the driver’s side of the Jeep.
“You following me?” she hollered over the rumble of his bike. There it was again, that anticipation, an invitation in her slanted eyes.
“Maybe,” he shrugged, glad for his dark glasses so he could openly study her without feeling like a pervert. Yeah, she was sexy. Petite and lean, but not waifish, with some very feminine curves in all the right places. Her skirt had risen high on her thighs from the breeze billowing around the open-topped vehicle, but it was her face that kept drawing his gaze. The way her mouth moved when she spoke, the slow, intentional way she blinked—not those fluttering fangirl eyes he got before, during, and after every show—and the tilt of her head, as though angling her face for a kiss she knew was coming.
Her eyebrows rose above the top of her sunglasses and she casually smoothed her skirt down over her knees, tucking it carefully beneath her thighs.
“Or maybe I’m just heading the same direction you are.” He shifted into first gear as the light turned green.
Phoebe nodded noncommittally and turned right without switching on her blinker. He wondered how she would react when she realized he was turning right as well. He could see she was still watching him in the mirror, but her expression now showed signs of wariness.
“Good girl,” he muttered, glad to see her mounting caution. “You don’t know me from Adam.”
When she slowed ever so slightly in front of Juliette Gustafson’s condo, Trevor found he was holding his breath in disbelief. No way.
The wave of disappointment that crashed over him as she kept going surprised him. Had he really thought she’d be stopping the same place he was?
“Well, Lord,” he chuckled, swinging the bike in a wide u-turn so he could park right in front of the house. “That was the most amazing encounter. Thank you for making me smile today. And for making my pulse race like that. For reminding me how awesome it is that you made man and woman.” He rubbed the heel of his palm over his heart. He unbuckled his helmet, slipped off his gloves and shoved them into it, then swung his leg over the bike and stepped up onto the parkway…just as Phoebe came tearing back down the street toward him. His heart thudded to an abrupt halt, and then leapt into action again, as though playing some high school marching band number at high speed.
He took one step toward her car, and then waited while she swung her legs out and dropped agilely to the street, circled the front end, and stepped up onto the grass in front of him. She was obviously on a mission and he thought it might behoove him to stand still and brace himself for whatever was coming.
Didn’t mean he had to stand still in silence.
“So maybe you’re following me,” he said, his head cocked a little to one side. He ran a hand through his hair, the action making it flop messily across his forehead.
“What are you doing here?” Phoebe asked, pausing several feet away, hands on her slim hips. “Do you know the people who live here?”
For some reason, her abrasiveness only made him want to pet her, to soothe her ruffled feathers. Get your head in the game, man. “I do, in fact,” Trevor said, his eyes glued to her face. “My sister lives here.” He glanced over his shoulder at the front door expectantly.
Phoebe frowned and crossed her arms, her brows shooting up derisively. She had rather expressive eyebrows. “Really. Your sister?”
“Absolutely.” Should he expound on the whole ‘sister in Christ’ thing?
“You’re lying,” Phoebe declared, her jaw tight, her eyes flashing. She wasn’t playing games anymore. “In fact, the woman who lives here is engaged to a police officer. One who happens to be here right now.” Her tone turned the statement into a warning.
Trevor held up his hands in surrender, the helmet still clutched in one, but he didn’t give in to the urge to step back. Clearly this woman knew Juliette. “Right, right,” he said quickly, keeping his voice calm. “A police officer who happens to be like a brother to me. So when they get married, Juliette will be like my sister….” He trailed off, lowering his hands slowly.
Phoebe’s face relaxed, her chin lowering as she considered what he’d just said.
And then he saw it. When she lifted her eyes to meet his in that slow, guarded way he’d seen Juliette do a dozen or more times since the first night he’d met her, recognition washed over him like a rushing wind. He laughed out loud.
“And you must be one of the Gustafson Girls.” He held out his hand. “Let me start over. I’m Trevor Zander. Friend to Vic Jarrett who is, as you say, engaged to the delightful Juliette Gustafson. The same Vic Jarrett I was supposed to meet over here about half an hour ago to rescue him from some sister club, or a secret ‘girls-only’ thing, or something equally terrifying.”
“But you got waylaid by a damsel in distress,” Phoebe concluded for him, a hint of a smile tugging at her full lips.
“An honor and a privilege, both,” he replied, dipping forward slightly in a quick bow.
Phoebe made a small snorting laugh, an odd, unladylike sound coming from the beautiful woman, and then held out her hand to him, shaking his for the second time that day. “And yes, I’m one of the Gustafson Girls. Phoebe Gustafson. And Juliette is my for real sister. By birth. Not by marriage.”
Trevor narrowed his eyes and studied her, pretending to search her face for some familiarity. “You know, in the right light, at the right angle…” he pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. “I don’t know. I still think I might have to go with stalker.”
Phoebe snatched her hand from his and gently poked him in the shoulder. “As far as I’m concerned, the verdict’s still out on you, too, mister. And relax. Your face might freeze that way. You haven’t stopped grinning like a creepy creeper this whole time and it’s creeping me out.”
He laughed out loud. “Really? The ladies usually dig the piano key smile. I could have sworn it was working on you, the way you just about tore my head off there a minute ago.”
She rolled her eyes and turned away, then surprised him by slipping a hand into the crook of his arm and gesturing with her other toward the front door of Juliette’s condo. “Come on,” she said, giving him a little extra tug. “We’re both late, and now I don’t have to face the wrath alone. You can be my protector.”
Trevor moved into step beside her and they crossed the lawn together. He liked the way that sounded, the idea of looking out for Phoebe Gustafson, of standing between her and danger, even if the danger was only in her mind. He knew Juliette and Gia, and he didn’t imagine the fourth sister, Renata, was anything to worry about.
He liked the way it felt to walk beside this ebullient woman, her fingers light and cool wrapped around his forearm. And he liked the way the smile on her face—not creepy at all—seemed to reflect the one he knew he still wore.