Page 25

chapter

twelve

Jeremy – Pearl Jam

HANNAH

Considering the gossip floating around town, Hannah Quinn was prepared for just about anything—except the sight of the guy who had her sister’s steel-lined panties in a twist peering into a steaming pot on the stove, a daisy dishtowel tucked into the back of his faded Levi’s.

Leaning in the doorway, she dug a stick of Juicy Fruit from her pocket and eyed him.

Well-preserved for a thirty-something, gigolo photographer, she decided, chewing. No gross bald spot on top of his head or rolls of fat creeping over the sides of his pants. The ass cheek not covered by the ratty towel? Pretty tight.

If he had all his teeth, she’d use her limited influence to convince Tana to keep him.

Trying to sort the local buzz from the meager scraps of info her sister had tossed her way, Hannah forgot about her gum and, according to her dorm roommates and Art History professor, her most annoying habit. The sharp crack had Campbell True spinning around, ladle extended like a sword.

With a gusty exhalation, his arm dropped to his side as a rusty-red drop hit the floor between his bare feet.

“Hot damn,” she breathed, her gum slipping to the back of her throat.

Either her sister was blind, or she was lying through her teeth.

Okay-looking, her Mama . He was hot . Dark hair on the shaggy side, a shade past six feet, killer brown eyes, and cheekbones she’d sell her sweet little soul for.

And, to push cute to the extreme, he had a dab of pasta sauce on his nose.

Why the heck was her sister dicking around with this living next door? If Hannah hadn’t pleaded a headache when Tana invited her to go to the library, her sister would have shipped her back to school without a glimpse of Mr. Wonderful.

Forcing a weak smile, Campbell yanked the dishtowel from his waistband and slapped it on the counter.

Hannah wasn’t a mindreader, but the jelly had clearly been sucked from his donut.

She’d seen the split-second flash of pleasure whip across his face.

She grinned, popping her gum to the front of her mouth for a satisfying smack. Interesting .

“You thought I was Fontana, didn’t you? I’m Hannah, her sister, in case she failed to mention she has one.

We look alike. Same hair, same nose.” She plopped into a chair at the kitchen table—a mint-green horror Celia bought last year—and propped her feet on the rung.

“Lucky her, she got my mother’s build. Metabolism of a teenage boy, legs for days.

Me? I glance at a milkshake, and my jeans cry. ”

“Um...you seem”—he made a lazy circle with the ladle—“thin to me.”

She stretched out her legs and inspected her toenails. More orange than red. Not great, but it would do. “I appreciate the effort. I know discussing a woman’s weight is basically surgery without anesthesia for guys. ”

Campbell glanced helplessly at his ladle, as if it might have answers.

Hannah folded her legs beneath her, wishing Celia’s fancy chairs were more comfortable.

“Go ahead, finish cooking. I have to be home before Tana gets back. She’d lock me up studying day and night if she could.

I know, I know—gotta keep the scholarship.

But once she realizes I’m really, truly going to be an artist and not some money-grubbing accountant or whatever, she’ll freak.

An easel leads straight to the poorhouse, she says. ”

Her sister’s potential infatuation blinked. Opened his mouth. Closed it. Then finally said, “I think I blacked out somewhere between ‘scholarship’ and ‘money-grubbing accountant’.”

Hannah laughed, delighted. Funny and hot, a dangerous combination. “I just wanted to meet the neighbor. Chat a little. Kit’s long-lost brother. Local celeb.”

“I’m not actually a celeb?—”

“Best Promise’s got, so enjoy it.” She waved away his protest. “Anyway, if you have pictures of stars in compromising situations, I’d love a peek.

Mr. Palmer, the dry-cleaning guy, said you and Naomi Campbell had a fling last winter in Aspen, which is, like, the most exciting gossip I’ve ever heard in person. In my life .”

Campbell stilled and glanced over his shoulder.

Steam-curled the glossy hair curling over his brow and swirling around his ear.

Hooking the ladle on the edge of the pot, he turned, leaning against the counter.

He had cat-colored eyes, now that she’d had a second to look.

Tawny gold and brown. She’d try to recreate the exact hue on canvas later.

This guy could go on the cover of a romance novel or something.

“That the kind of garbage they’re spreading in town? I don’t even know her.” He frowned, somehow making grumpy look good. “I shoot landscapes mostly, not people. ”

Popping her gum, Hannah drummed her fingers on the table.

“There are loads of stories. A hot weekend with Madonna after she dumped Sean Penn. Jane Fonda sneaking into your apartment in Atlanta—if you know what I mean. Which, personally, I don’t, because she’s old enough to be your mother.

” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, and that chick who dates Hugh Grant? Heard you almost married her.”

He smiled, dimples pinging both cheeks, finally finding the fun in the situation. “Liz Hurley.”

Whew . Adorable is what he was . “Yeah, that’s the one.” She blew a bubble, which was hard as heck to do with crappy gum like Juicy Fruit. “Now it’s my sister they’re hooking you with.”

Scooting to the edge of her seat, she watched the cheery expression drain from his face.

Uh-huh. Bingo.

Brushing by her, Mr. Wonderful ripped open a drawer in the mammoth island Henry built for that witch Celia last year, rifled around until he came up with a box of toothpicks.

Jamming one in the corner of his mouth, he muttered, “I don’t have a relationship with your sister.

Sorry. Gossip’s wrong on that score. Same for Naomi, Madonna, and Jane.

Liz Hurley, I did take to dinner last fall.

Just dinner. She’s a close friend of my European agent.

There was a stupid snapshot in the Enquirer .

” He snapped the box shut, tossed it back in the drawer.

“Probably where that ridiculous story came from.”

Hannah stuck her foot out, aiming to poke him as he crossed back to the stove.

“Hold on, don’t have a cow.” She shrugged, rolling her gum around her tongue.

“My sister needs fun, adventure, spontaneity—a little spice in an otherwise salty life. I guess I came over here to tell you it’s okay with me. Plus, I was way curious. I admit it. ”

“Small town gossip is, pardon my French, usually bullshit.”

“I don’t know about that.” She dangled her flip-flop, swinging it back and forth. “For once in her life, I hope she goes for it. Knowing her, she isn’t making it easy.” She sighed, buffing a spot on the table with her thumb. “Fontana’s never made anything easy.”

Campbell stopped dead, dropped his head back, and muttered a low curse. With a tired exhale, he slid into the chair across from her, shoving a hand through his hair, leaving it in adorable knots.

She’d hooked him. He was interested in her sister, plain and simple.

And knowing Tana, she wasn’t giving up many details.

“Okay, Hannah Quinn, renowned artist and intrepid investigator of bogus luminaries, you win.” He saluted her with the toothpick. “I’ve got about ten minutes before the troops pile in from pumpkin carving out back expecting dinner. Fire away.”

“Oh.” Her face pulled into what Jaime called an unattractive pout.

“I thought you had the questions.” Was he trying to avoid getting together with Tana?

If her sister found out she’d grilled Campbell True for information—or worse, offered any—she would freak in a very unflattering, borderline horrific way.

He leaned forward, then slowly, like her offer was news to him, pressed his lips together and sat back.

Twirling the toothpick between his fingers, his gaze drifted over her shoulder, and she could practically hear the wheels in his mind spinning right along with that wooden sliver, longer than necessary if all he wanted to ask was where Tana liked to eat in Greenville or what movie might be the best to take her to.

No action flicks, that would be her recommendation, something light. Tana loved romantic comedies .

When his gaze tracked back, it was focused on her like there would never be another person to question, not ever again. It was the same look he used on the models he worked with, she was certain.

Why did Tana have to pick an intelligent one? A thinker , just like she was?

A foreboding sensation raced down Hannah’s spine, and she squirmed in her seat to shake it off.

The fancy embroidered curtains fluttered from the inch-wide crack in the window as a crisp fall breeze rushed over her skin.

She was smart—an honor student, co-captain of her college debate team, even though she planned to paint her life away.

And shrewd, much more so than her sister.

Tana, despite everything she’d been through, still believed in the inherent goodness of people. That was why Hannah had come tonight—to judge the man her sister avoided talking about unless she absolutely had to.

And when she did, her cheeks flushed.

Perplexing…because Fontana Quinn was no blusher.

When the lone question came, Hannah realized just how deeply her sister and this man were—or could be—connected. “Who hurt her?”

FONTAN A

In every town Fontana’s father dragged her to, there had been a library.

Housed in a grand old Georgian like Promise’s or a makeshift trailer like the cheerless one in Indiana, libraries had become her refuge—soothing, bland, predictable.

Everything her childhood hadn’t been.

Even if her father was on one of his rampages, he wouldn’t follow her there. The quiet, the calm, held him back like barbed wire. Now, she visited for pleasure rather than purpose.