Northern Fires. JENNIFER LABRECQUE
given him the proverbial time of day.
“Thanks, Jenna.”
“Oh, Sven, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I guess I just didn’t realize you felt that way about Juliette.”
“I don’t feel any way about her.” Which wasn’t exactly true, but this wasn’t a soul-baring session with a shrink, either, was it? He had to admit his masculine pride had been pricked from the get-go because Juliette had taken one look at him and dismissed him. WTF was up with that? He’d decided then and there she’d be too complicated and too much trouble.
“Well, maybe you should test the waters, the way you and I did, so you’ll know. It’s impossible for a good-looking single guy to be ambivalent about a pretty woman of similar age in a town this size. You do think she’s pretty, don’t you? And she has a nice figure.”
“Of course she’s pretty.” There was something arresting about her short dark hair, brown eyes and delicately sculpted face. “And yes, she has a nice figure.” Yes, he had noticed her soft curves on more than one occasion—well, the truth of the matter was, every time he saw her. “And as you so graciously pointed out, darling, she’s never given me the time of day.”
“Maybe she’s as scared of you as you are of her.”
“Wait a minute. I didn’t say I was scared of her.”
“You didn’t have to. You think she’s a babe, but you’ve never asked her out so that can only mean one thing. You’re scared.” She patted him on the back. “Don’t be. What’s the worst she can say? No.”
“I am not scared.”
“Good. Let me know what she says.”
“About what?”
“When you ask her out.”
JULIETTE MADE A COUPLE of notes, but her concentration was seriously compromised waiting on Sven to show up. She was ridiculously nervous. He was going to go over the set design with her. Big deal. She’d seen him around town any number of times in the past ten months. Therefore, it was totally silly and uncalled for that she’d popped into the ladies’ room twice now to check her hair and make sure she didn’t have any mascara smudges beneath her eyes.
She heard the pull of a diesel truck passing outside, but it didn’t stop. She moved to the center front, looking at the now-empty stage. The rest of the cast and crew had vaporized as if they’d been caught up in a Vulcan mind meld. Instead, it had simply been the allure of Thursday-night karaoke over at Gus’s. Good Riddance citizens took their karaoke seriously.
While Juliette stopped in at Gus’s for meals, she didn’t make a habit of hanging out there. Most days she felt good and strong, but spending a lot of extra time in a bar didn’t seem the wisest course of action. Once an alcoholic always an alcoholic. A recovered drunk was only one drink away from being back at it … And she never wanted to be back at it again.
She was a big girl. She could handle being alone with Sven Sorenson. She was alone with men all the time, flying them in and out of Good Riddance and to various and sundry spots in remote Alaska. He was just another man. Granted, he had a larger-than-life quality about him that wasn’t just because of his height. As Merrilee had pointed out earlier, Sven was just too … too everything—handsome, charming, sexy, she could throw in another sexy just to keep it real and accurate—for a woman’s peace of mind. And since Juliette was all about preserving the peace—primarily her own—she’d gone out of her way to keep her distance from Sven Sorenson.
She smiled ruefully to herself. The community center was far larger than the confines of her airplane. Distance shouldn’t be a problem.
Despite her newfound perspective, her heart began to thud in her chest at the unmistakable sound of a diesel truck pulling into the parking lot outside. The engine died, followed by the slam of a door and the crunch of boots on gravel.
She pasted on her most professional smile—friendly, yet distant—as boots thudded on the wood stairs and hesitated at the door. The door opened and Sven stood there for a moment. Perhaps she was simply in dramatic mode, courtesy of rehearsal, but it was like some frame in a movie where the gorgeous hero pauses so all the females in the audience can indulge in a swoonfest.
She was an audience of one, but certainly not immune to the visual picture he presented. His booted feet planted apart, strong, long legs in worn denim, narrow hips, a broad chest and still-broader shoulders. The spring sunlight served as a backlight, burnishing his hair to molten gold. He was a cross between a Viking marauder and a Norse god.
All the spit dried right out of her mouth and seemed to head south to congregate between her thighs in a totally unexpected, unwelcome flood of physical attraction.
It was like being struck by a bolt of lightning—not that she ever had been but this must be what it felt like. Of course, she’d noticed him before. He was an extremely good-looking man. A woman would have to be dead not to notice a tall, broad-shouldered, muscled man with a well-chiseled face, blond hair, dark blue eyes that sometimes took on a hint of moss green, a ready smile and an outgoing personality. So she had been aware of him, but never, ever like this. This total rush of energy, attraction, awareness—whatever label she wanted to throw on it—was exhilarating … and terrifying.
She realized while she was in some kind of freakish sexual stupor, he was simply allowing his eyes to adjust to the room. “Juliette?”
She’d been gawking and he hadn’t even seen her, thank goodness. She gathered her wits, along with her notes, and stepped forward. “Right here. Hi.”
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “Hi.” He smiled and Juliette curled her fingers tighter around her clipboard. “I hear you’ve got some set-design work that needs finishing up,” he said. “I’m your man … I … uh … if you want me.” He shifted. “Well, you know what I mean … for the play.”
Juliette was flummoxed … and she didn’t flummox easily. “I … uh … sure. I hate that Bull can’t do it, but I appreciate you offering to help.”
“Sure thing.” From the first time she’d heard him speak, his voice had always reminded her of her aunt Mae’s apple pie, which had always been her favorite dessert—crisp notes with an underlying hint of honey and spice. “You want to bring me up to speed with where you are and what you need?”
Where she was and what she needed … well, she could write a short story on both of those with a footnote on what she might actually want on a temporary basis. However, Sven hadn’t meant it in the personal sense, which she would’ve never shared with him anyway.
“Let me give you a quick rundown on the play and then I’ll show you what we have so far.”
He straddled a chair and turned those midnight-blue eyes on her. She sat in a chair a few feet away, her pulse still not quite back in the at-ease range she usually aimed to maintain.
She gave him the CliffsNotes version of the storyline. Interestingly, she could almost see the wheels turning in his head, fitting in the backdrop and set design to the plot and its various segments. Juliette wrapped it up and said as she stood, “And this is what we have so far.”
He rose to his feet, as well. She was very much aware of his height and the impressive breadth of his chest and shoulders. And yeah, that was all good and fine, but what could he do with the set?
Silently she turned on her heel and he followed as she led him to the back right corner behind the curtained stage where Bull had set up his work area. Sven’s boots echoed across the stage floor as he walked with her. Shadows shrouded Bull’s section behind the drop of the heavy curtain. An element of awareness threaded the silence between them.
In the dim light, Juliette inhaled Sven’s scent—a combination of man, fresh-cut lumber, soap, leather and the outdoors. Her heart raced as he leaned in and reached toward her—her thoughts racing nearly as fast as her heart.
It had been so