What it came down to was that Troy Langtree, while attractive, appeared to be completely lacking in a simple appreciation of life. And no matter how much Chloe longed for a nice guy—an established, professional, hard-working nice guy—he had to at least know how to laugh.
Watching curiously, Chloe noted Troy was not dressed in his usual conservative, navy-blue suit. In fact, he wore—of all things—jeans. Very tight, worn jeans that hugged some fine, firm male thighs, not to mention outlined a particularly great butt that Chloe had never even noticed before.
As Troy moved out of the pool of light cast by the overhead streetlamp, a flash of summer heat lightning silently lit the sky. Chloe saw a dark frown on his handsome face and thought she saw him mutter a curse word. When he crouched down next to his truck and poked at a tire, she understood why. “He’s got a flat.”
Chloe watched as Troy retrieved a jack and a spare tire from the back of the truck, then lay down on the ground to jack up the truck. Funny, she would have pegged him for a card-carrying AAA member. She found herself somewhat impressed that the prep-school king knew how to change a tire.
He got the flat tire off within a matter of minutes. Chloe, still hidden behind the heavy drapes blocking the view inside the store window, fought her basic urge to go help. Exiting the store would involve a call to the security guard, who’d have to turn off the alarm system and unlock the doors to let her out. By the time she found the lazy guard, Troy would probably already be finished anyway.
Chloe saw a few drops of rain hit the top of the window and slide down it, creating curvy lines on the thick glass. Troy didn’t appear to notice. “Better hurry up, buddy,” she whispered, her own breath creating a misty circle on the sliver of window exposed between the tiny gap in the drapes.
Troy tossed the flat tire up onto the sidewalk, and Chloe paused to appreciate the thick breadth of his arms in his tight T-shirt. “Okay, so the stiff works out,” she admitted aloud. He’d have to. His upper arms looked about the same circumference as her thighs. Her mouth went dry.
Troy wiped his hands on his jeans, leaving a streak of greasy black dirt on one hip, but apparently not even noticing. He went back to work but then suddenly stopped and held up one hand. Watching him wince, then suck his pinky into his mouth, she knew he must have hurt himself.
The sight of Troy Langtree’s beautifully curved lips wrapped around his own fingertip made time stop for at least five seconds, long enough for her to gulp and picture those fine lips wrapped around some part of her anatomy.
He remained oblivious to her presence as she continued to peer hungrily at him from behind the shrouded window. Retrieving a spare tire, he put it on the truck as the misting rain increased its tempo and began coming down in earnest. Troy had just tightened the last nut when the light rain became a typical Florida summer deluge. She half expected him to dive into the truck for cover, or run to the front of the store for protection beneath the awning.
He did neither. Instead, as she watched, her heart stuck somewhere in her throat, he stood, lifted his face to the sky, and began to laugh. His cotton T-shirt soaked up the water as voraciously as a dry sponge, and she watched it grow darker and tighter against his body. It soon clung to him like a second skin, hugging and outlining a chest that went on for days.
Just when she thought she couldn’t possibly take another moment of this voyeurism and decided to turn away, Chloe saw Troy reach for the bottom hem of his shirt. She stayed still, nose on glass, eyes wide and unblinking, wondering if he was really about to do what he appeared to be doing.
With his face still lifted skyward, Troy tugged the shirt up. He’s taking it off! It took forever, it seemed, for the wet cotton fabric to separate itself from his skin. Chloe didn’t move a muscle as she watched, breathless and more than a little excited. Then Troy pulled the shirt off all the way, tossed it into the back of his truck, and stood barechested in the rain.
“Whoa, mama,” Chloe managed to whisper. His bare, thick chest rippled and flexed with muscle, moving with fluid grace and strength. Chloe’s fingers pressed against the window, the coolness of glass feeling nothing like she imagined all that hot male flesh would feel.
She whimpered as Troy slowly raised both his thick, strong arms, extending them straight out to his sides. He looked graceful and powerful all at the same time. Obviously still savoring the rain pelting his face, he slowly turned in a circle toward her, as if wanting to soak up the water or simply dance in appreciation of the elements.
She drew back instinctively, even though she knew there was no way he could see her wide eyes and drooling mouth between the few inches of parted drapes in the darkened store window. Especially not with the rain and the tinted glass.
No, he couldn’t see her. But she could definitely see him. Chloe found herself very thankful for the streetlamp on the sidewalk near where he stood which illuminated him from head to toe. Leaning close again, she saw heavy drops of rain land on his shoulders and ride those long, lean sinews of muscle down his body. Water pooled at the waistband of his tight jeans and darkened the fabric to an even deeper blue.
Troy didn’t appear to care. He seemed almost pagan in his sensual appreciation of the elements. Pagan. Powerful. Perfectly, mouth-wateringly, male.
A man fully in tune with his senses. A man savoring the cool relief of a summer night’s rain against his overheated skin. A man laughing at the elements.
Definitely a man she wanted to get to know better.
BY THE END OF TWO WEEKS, Chloe was convinced Troy Langtree was a vampire who only came alive after sundown. She hadn’t seen a single hint of that spectacular, earthy male since the night she’d watched him change his tire then soak up the rain. Heaven knew she’d searched for him, during meetings or when they’d casually bump into one another in the store. But all she’d seen was the tight-lipped, buttoned-down Troy Langtree who’d hired her. Not the jeans-wearing tire changer. Certainly not the pagan rain worshipper.
“You’re sure you don’t need me to come along and keep you company in that big, fancy hotel?”
Chloe shook off the memory of Troy Langtree, shirtless and wet, and turned her attention to her friend and co-worker. Lowering her pen to the surface of her desk, she said, “Sorry, Jess, I wish you could. But I’m surprised Langtree even approved the travel expense for me to attend this conference. I don’t think he’d spring for you, even if you’re the best darned perfume sprayer in the state.”
Jess Carruthers, the perfume sprayer in question, wiped off the surface of a stool in the corner of Chloe’s office and gingerly sat down on it.
“Office” was probably too generous a word. Actually, Chloe worked in an old stockroom in the darkest recesses of Langtree’s. The twelve-by-twenty room still occasionally doubled as a holding area for shipments during the holiday season. It housed boxes, crates, old sales circulars, racks of clothes Chloe planned to use for the displays, even ancient, musty plans for the two renovation jobs the store had undergone in the past few decades. Not to mention limbs, heads and other plastic mannequin body parts splayed about like evidence of a mass murderer’s rampage.
“How you can stand being locked away in here all evening is beyond me.” Jess wrinkled her nose and coughed into her fist.
“I like it. Besides, I’d rather deal with dust motes than go home every night smelling of thirty designer perfumes.”
Jess rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it. My poor dog doesn’t know who’s going to walk in the door every night under all those Estée Lauder and Tommy Hilfiger smells. Still, don’t you get lonely tucked away back here?”
“Nope,” Chloe replied. “It’s a great place to work. Few interruptions. No distractions.”