Fast & Loose Elizabeth Bevarly (bts book recommendations .txt) 📖

specifically, this house? How had she found him? More to the point, why had she gone to the trouble to try? And, most important of all, why had he not noticed before what great breasts she had?

At the sound of her name, she immediately stopped struggling and shook her hair out of her eyes as best she could to see who had said it. “Cole?” she asked in the same incredulous tone.

“What are you doing here?”

She slumped back against the floor, all signs of struggle gone. For some reason, though, he wasn’t quite ready to lift himself off of her. Not until he had answers to some of his questions. Especially that last one.

She blew out a long, weary breath. Then, very softly, she said, “I live here.”

It took a moment for that to register. And even when it did, because it was just too weird a development, he said, “I’m renting your house?”

She nodded.

Definitely weird. Maybe a little too weird?

In fact, the whole scenario bothered him on a number of levels. It was, after all, a pretty major coincidence that he was renting the house of a woman he’d decided only the day before he wanted to employ as a buffer against overenthusiastic groupies. But what if Hortense was one of those very overenthusiastic groupies he was trying to avoid? She’d been at the realty office when he arrived—had she known in advance he was coming? That he was the one who’d be renting her place? She’d turned up in not one, but two, bars where he’d gone for a drink, too. Had she been following him? Maybe since his arrival? Cole wasn’t so self-centered that he thought someone would go to so much trouble to make his acquaintance, but it wasn’t unheard of for whack-job fans to follow—and even stalk—the objects of their affections.

And what if this wasn’t her house? What if she’d just broken in knowing this was where he was staying—on account of she was stalking him—to steal a souvenir of some kind while he wasn’t here? Or, worse, to try to get to him while he was here?

“Prove it,” he said.

She lifted her head from the floor and narrowed her eyes at him in confusion. “What?”

“Prove this is your house,” he told her.

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“You must have some paperwork somewhere with your name on it. Bills, checks, library card, something that says Hortense Waddy.”

She slumped against the floor again. “No, I don’t,” she said.

“Why not?”

“Because my name isn’t really Hortense Waddy.”

He had a mixed reaction to the news. On one hand, he was relieved that she hadn’t been saddled with such an unsuitable name. On the other hand, it wasn’t looking good for the stalker thing.

“Look, I can explain everything,” she said. “Let me up.”

“Nuh-uh,” he said.

She snapped her head up again, and this time her eyes flashed with annoyance. “Let. Me. Up,” she repeated with significantly more nerve.

“No,” he said just as adamantly. “Not until you tell me what the hell is going on and who the hell you are.”

“My name is Lulu Flannery,” she said. “Eddie Mahoney, the guy you rented the house from, is a good friend of mine. He convinced me to rent out my house for Derby weekend, then, when a request came through from someone who needed a place for two weeks, he called in a few favors.” With clear reluctance, she added, “And he reminded me how much my Home Depot bill is.”

Cole eyed her warily. “Home Depot?” he repeated.

She nodded. “I’ve spent way more on the house than I planned since I moved in.”

“You’ve been fixing this place up yourself?”

Another nod.

Well, that explained the cracks in the walkway and the crumbling stairs. Obviously, she was working from the inside out.

“Okay, so let’s say you’re telling the truth,” he said, “and that this is, in fact, your house.”

“It is my house,” she insisted.

He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “How do you explain the fact that, virtually every time I turn around, I see you standing somewhere in my immediate vicinity?”

“Oh, please,” she muttered indignantly. “What? You think I’m your number one fan girl or something?”

He shook his head. “Actually, I’m beginning to think you’re my number one stalker girl or something.”

She gaped at that. “Stalker? Are you serious?”

“Hey, you’re the one who keeps showing up everywhere that I am.”

“Or maybe you’re the one who keeps showing up everywhere that I am,” she countered. “Who says you’re not my stalker?”

He gazed at her in amusement. “Because your reputation didn’t precede you, sweetheart. When I left California, I had no way of even knowing who the hell you are. You, however, were inundated with information about me from your local press.”

“I wasn’t inundated,” she said snottily. “And I wasn’t impressed, either. And besides,” she hurried on before he had a chance to say something snotty back, “I myself have a very popular website in the art glass community.”

This time, Cole gazed at her in indulgence. “Do you now?”

She lifted her chin defiantly. “Yes. I do. It’s very interactive. I get e-mail every day from someone telling me how great it is and how much they enjoyed visiting it.”

“Every day?” he asked with clearly feigned admiration.

“Well, almost every day,” she qualified with clear reluctance. Then, when Cole only continued to study her with skepticism, she amended, “Okay, twice I got that kind of e-mail. My point is, you’re not the only one who’s stalkable in this town, pal.”

In response, Cole only continued to study her in silence.

Her response to his response was the expulsion of an irritable sigh. Then she said, “The first time we ran into each other, it was scheduled.”

Really not looking good for the stalker thing, Cole thought. “Come again?” he said.

“Eddie told me to drop off my keys at five o’clock Friday because that’s when you would be arriving to pick them up.”

“And he told you who I was?”

“No,” she replied in a way that told him she thought he was nuts