Wild in the Moonlight by Jennifer Greene Read Free Book Online

of rain, didn’t move. If the sky got serious, he’d move onto the porch, but it was still warmish. If anything, the sudden spin of damp wind brought out her farm’s sweet scents. He told himself he was looking at the old red barn with the Dutch shingled roof, the rock fence, the rolling slope in front of him. But somehow his gaze kept straying to her house. Not the architecture of the sturdy old white farmhouse…but the shiny windows on the second story.
    Specifically the window on the east. The one where the light had been switched off an hour before. The one with the filmy drift of white curtain at sill level. The one where he’d seen her unbraid that long, long pale hair and shake it free. The one where she’dreached behind her to unbutton her blouse—and then, damnation, disappeared from sight to take the rest of her clothes off.
    He couldn’t figure her out.
    She was awfully bright for a batty woman.
    She cooked better than a professional chef. Had more business pots going—the land, the house, the greenhouses, her herb and flower business—than any one person could normally take care of. She seemed to be emotionally and financially thriving on all that chaos, even if she did choose to dress like an old-fashioned spinster. She also seemed to make a point of acting as if she were witless, goofy, one of those fragile women who’d swoon if life put any stress on them.
    As far as he could tell, she loved stress.
    Most confusing of all, though, those soft eyes were studying him—then shying away—as if she were a young girl unfamiliar with the chemical pull between the sexes. She’d been married, for heaven’s sakes. She’d surely had a hundred men react to her before. Besides which, he knew perfectly well when he sent off interested signals to a woman.
    He was interested. Hell, she was sensual to her fingertips, complicated in personality and character, and he’d always liked complicated woman. But he needed to seriously work with her, and the instant they met, he picked up her wariness of him. So he’d sent out no signals, no vibes. He knew he hadn’t. Andhe sure as hell wouldn’t go near a woman when she made it clear she wasn’t in the market for attention—at least not from him.
    But damn. She was a handful of fascination.
    Another raindrop plopped on his forehead. Then another.
    From one breath to the next, a meandering drizzle suddenly turned into a noisy deluge. Skinny needles pelted down, warm and wet. He climbed to his feet quickly enough, but before he could scoop up the sleeping bag, he heard a warning growl of thunder…followed by a breathtaking crack of lightning that seemed to split open the sky.
    Abruptly her back screen door slammed open. “Damn it! Get in here!”
    For a second he had to grin, lightning or no lightning. Unquestionably the screech came from his delicate flower of a hostess. The one with the vintage clothes and the fluttery hands who made out as if stringing a whole thought in a single sentence was a difficult challenge for her.
    A yard light slapped on. Ms. Violet—harridan— Campbell showed up on the porch steps, barefoot, her tank and boxer shorts looking distinctly unvintage-like. In fact, her boobs looked poured into that tank, making him pause for another moment in sheer respectful appreciation.
    â€œHave you lost your mind? That’s lightning, for God’s sake! Didn’t you hear the storm coming? Ikept waiting and waiting for you to come inside, but obviously you’ve been living in France too long. In America, we know enough to get out of the rain.”
    â€œI’m coming—”
    â€œBy the time you get around to coming in, we’ll both be electrocuted. Look. I may not have welcomed the idea of your sleeping in the house—for God’s sake, I don’t know you. But a storm is a storm, for Pete’s sake.
    â€œPete’s sake, God’s