~ Southern Exposure ~

by

Kimberley Dehn

“I’ll bet the guy you left at the altar is real disappointed.”

Oh, that was smooth, Mickler. What a great opening line.

~ * ~

At the sound of the stranger’s husky, Southern Comfort-over-ice voice, Kat felt her toes curl. Strike one. Her gaze skimmed his sun-toasted torso, starting where the bib of his coveralls fell forward to reveal taut abs and a well-defined chest. Bronzed from the sun, brawny from honest labor, she surmised no tanning salon or executive gym had ever touched this man. Her gaze danced over his chiseled pecs to where he had tattooed a red and yellow superhero insignia on his left bicep. She adored men with great bodies. And she loved Superman. Besides being a bona fide hunk, he stood for Truth, Justice, and the American Way. Strike two.

Sinfully long lashes framed dark blueberry-blue eyes. Golden brown hair, kissed by the sun, fell in feral disarray to his broad shoulders. A wicked dimple in his left cheek peeked at her through beard stubble. His compelling gaze sucked all reason from her brain, causing her heart do an impromptu somersault. Strike three. She was doomed.

What motto did her grandmother, founder of Mother Hubbard’s Cupboard, a multibillion dollar gourmet frozen food company, claim to be the backbone of her success? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Unfortunately, such an adage made mockery of her conclusion that all men were dragons and in desperate need of slaying.

Kat saw her hand reaching out to him, but covered her action by snatching her bra from his fingers to slip it on. The sun god-like cur made no attempt to avert his incredible eyes. In fact, his brazen stare caressed her bare assets, supporting her theory that she indeed had jumped from the fabled frying pan into the fire.

Spying her robe on the floor, she pushed to her feet. She had meant to put it on after throwing her gown overboard, but then realized she was being chased and...

Mr. Animal Magnetism dropped his gun to sweep her into his arms. She clung to him, desperate to resist. She would not fall for another man. The outcome always ended in disaster. And yet the warmth of his body, the strength of his arms made her wonder if he was unlike her past mistakes.

Fighting the urge to bury her face in his neck and bite it, Kat inhaled his evocative fragrance of beer, body musk and butterscotch. Like an aphrodisiac, the combined scents sent her senses spinning. She felt like a giddy teen in the throes of a sultry summer crush on her older brother’s beer-guzzling best friend.

“Put me down.” Her voice sounded strange to her own ears; throaty, breathless. Like a bubble-brained ingénue in a cheap made-for-TV romance. Disgusted with herself, she fidgeted. She did not care how good, how safe, it felt to be in this stranger’s arms. The events of the morning, her wedding day, had once and for all drummed home the point that she was not cut out for love or a lasting relationship. With that said, she would do everything in her power to protect herself from a life of heartache. “I said put me down.”

With deliberate slowness he slid her down the length of his torso to her feet; the hard muscled parts of his chest abrading the soft sensitive parts of her chest. Her body burned beneath the emotional inferno in his eyes. Despite her façade of indifference, she blushed. Her resistance ebbed; he looked delicious. It would be so easy to indulge, if just for the hell of it.

No. The actions that morning confirmed all men were bastards. Hunks with bedroom eyes and dimples were no exception. Temptation to immerse herself in this Southern superhero, Inferno Man, would pass. She just needed time to ground herself until she could regain composure, although her composure had been both abused and tested since her discovery that her brother considered her a fool and a commodity to be bought and sold.

Realizing her fingernails were kneading his chest like the claws of a contented kitten, Kat doused herself with a mental bucket of ice-cold reality. “Excuse me, are you comprehensively challenged?”

His glassy-eyed gaze shifted into focus. “Uh... no.”

“So, if you understand what I’m saying, why are you still touching me?” Kat enunciated as if she spoke to a simpleton. “Put. Me. Down. That also includes you manhandling me.”

His expression altered into disbelief. “Manhandle?”

“You can let her go, Dean. I’ve got her covered.”

The harsh voice jerked Kat’s gaze over Inferno Man’s shoulder. A large copper-skinned Indian with long black hair, hawk-like nose and feathers in his Stetson eased across the deck with the business end of his gun pointed at her head. She opened her mouth to scream. Dean’s arms constricted with a jerk. Instead, she winced.

“She’s your outlaw?” Dean exclaimed.

Kat watched the Indian eye her scantily clad body. “Unless she’s some big-boobed Baywatch babe getting married again.”