Who in the building could she—Wyatt! Of course. Hadn’t he been working on the sink the one and only time she’d seen him? Without further debate, she ran for the front door, out into the hallway and around the corner. She banged on Wyatt’s door with her fist.
“Wyatt! Help, please, I need you!”
NOW THERE WAS SOMETHING a man didn’t hear every day, Wyatt thought as he laid down his calculator, distracted from his weekly “Heads Up” budget fiasco by a seductive female voice calling for help. Calling his name. Claiming to need him.
Yeah, right, he thought. When he opened the front door, some winsome female would be waiting for him—and what kind of story would she have? Maybe a big bug in her kitchen, or a jar that needed opening…or something in her eye?
He almost ignored the summons. He’d lived in Mesa Blue for nearly two weeks and had so far managed to stay handily out of his neighbors’ way. But when the woman called again for help, he realized she did sound a little hysterical. What if something was really wrong? His grandparents would never forgive him if he let some harm befall Phoebe Lane.
That was who the voice belonged to, he realized. Though he’d only heard it once, he remembered it, smooth as warm honey. Even when hysterical.
He hurried to the door and opened it. The creature standing in the hallway was hardly a female trying to impress him. Oh, the costume could have been contrived. After all, a woman dressed only in a slip could certainly catch a man’s attention. Especially this woman, for she had a better-than-average body, tall and slim-hipped, with full breasts and legs up to…But above the neck, she reminded him of the Creature from the Black Lagoon, wearing some kind of pea-green goo all over her face.
Wyatt would have laughed, but she didn’t give him the chance. She grabbed his arm and dragged him toward her apartment.
“You fix plumbing, right?” she asked breathlessly. “I saw you under the sink. You know pipes, water?”
“Uh, some, yeah.”
She pushed through her front door. Immediately Wyatt heard the water running. “In there.” She pointed toward her kitchen, where a lake of water was spilling onto the living room carpet.
“Oh, hell.” He ran for the kitchen, splashed through it and into the utility room, where the problem became glaringly apparent. Her washing machine hose had burst. He took a deep breath and plunged into the gushing spray of water, groping around behind the washing machine, feeling his way until he found the shut-off valve. A couple of turns, and the geyser shrank away to nothing.
“Oh, oh, thank heavens. I didn’t know what to do, and Bill wasn’t in—”
“Do you have buckets?”
“Buckets?” She blinked at him with huge blue eyes. Those eyes, surrounded as they were by green glop, made her look like a frog.
“And mops. We better get this water cleaned up before it soaks into the subfloor. Or, worse yet, into your downstairs neighbor’s ceiling.”
Phoebe gasped, then immediately went to work locating what he’d asked for. “Elise would kill me. She’s trying to sell her unit.”
“Oh. She’s the one getting married.” He took a bucket from her and started scooping up water from the floor, then dumping it into the sink. Phoebe got a mop and pitched in herself.
Wyatt gave Elise’s condo more than a passing thought. Though he’d been looking for a house to live in ever since he’d moved to Phoenix, it might not be that bad living in a condo, especially one as nice as those in Mesa Blue. Plus, if he lived here, he would be close to his grandparents. They were in good health now, still traveling and running around like a couple of kids. But they were both in their eighties. He wanted to keep an eye on them.
“Do you know how much she’s asking?” Wyatt asked idly, his gaze focused on Phoebe’s shapely backside, as she vigorously mopped the floor. He was a bun man, he couldn’t deny it, and Phoebe’s was tautly muscled and slender, but womanly all at the same time. And what exactly was she wearing under that slip? A thong, or…nothing?
His mouth suddenly dry, he looked purposefully away from her, grateful that he was soaked with cold water. He had no business ogling a woman in a slip, especially a woman who was so rattled by nearly flooding her entire apartment that she’d forgotten she wasn’t decently dressed.
He silently apologized for believing she’d orchestrated such a disaster solely to get his attention.
“I’m not sure how much she’s asking,” Phoebe said. “But you can ask her tonight at the party. I know your grandparents would be tickled to have you move in here. Gosh, I just realized I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Phoebe Lane.”
“The one with the wayward kitten,” Wyatt said, as if he’d only just now made the connection.
“Actually, that was Frannie’s kitten. I was just trying to help.”
The worst of the water was up now. “It’s nice to meet you, Phoebe.” Wyatt held out his hand. She shook it quickly, then let go. Her hand was soft, yet strong, her fingernails long, tapered, and painted a pale peach. He noticed her hair, then, too. Though it was pulled back with a rubber band, he could see that it was long, almost to her waist, and straight as a waterfall.
“I can finish up here,” she said. “I guess you might like some time to get ready for the party yourself.”
Wyatt rubbed his unshaved chin. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so quick to criticize Phoebe’s appearance; he was hardly a fashion plate himself. At least he’d showered this morning, but he’d thrown on the first clothes he found: an old, holey pair of jeans and a T-shirt with a cable station logo.
“Oh, I won’t be at the party tonight,” he said, the regret in his voice almost genuine. He was curious to see what this Phoebe looked like when she slicked herself up.
Phoebe’s green face fell. “I’m sorry to hear that. Everybody is…well, that is, your grandparents have told us so much about you, but we haven’t had a chance to get to know you.”
“I’ve been busy. And I have paperwork to finish tonight.”
“You work in television or something, right?”
This was uneasy territory. “Yeah, at WBZZ,” he murmured, hoping she’d assume he was a lighting technician. But chances were his grandparents had told her everything.
Surprisingly, she didn’t pursue that line of questioning.
“You still have to eat dinner. Just drop by for a few minutes and grab some fajitas. You don’t have to dress up or anything, it’s very casual.”
“I don’t think—”
“Please say yes. There are so many nice people living at Mesa Blue. Like Daisy Redford, for example.”
“Who?”
“Daisy Redford. She’s the most incredible artist. The most gorgeous auburn hair. I’m surprised your grandparents never mentioned her. They have her over for dinner all the time.”
They had mentioned her. Numerous times, almost as often as they mentioned Phoebe. But it seemed his grandparents weren’t the only ones interested in playing matchmaker. Phoebe was being none too subtle. Did her trying to push Daisy on him mean she wasn’t interested herself?
And why should he care whether frog-woman found him attractive?
“I appreciate the invitation, really, but I just don’t have time to socialize. My work takes up all of my time.”
Her manner turned definitely cool. “I’d better let you get back to it, then. Thanks again for stopping the leak.”
“No problem. I just hope you can get that stuff off your face after all this time.”
“What?”