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  Eve wondered if he could resist a piping hot Eunice. If he couldn't, so much the better, because just like that, Eve had Charlie to herself. She hadn't expected it to be so easy. Who knew a broken washing machine could create a romantic opportunity?

  "You won't have to hang around once I get into it," Charlie said. "You should grab some pizza before it gets cold."

  Apparently he wasn't viewing this at all the way she was. She'd have to come up with a reason to stay. "Let me dump these clothes in my bedroom and then we'll see what the situation is. I'd like to watch and see how you do it." She stepped into her bedroom and laid the dry cleaning on the bed.

  Then she turned to find Charlie standing in the doorway waiting for her. Charlie in the doorway of her bedroom was an unexpectedly arousing sight. Even without the benefit of a leather motorcycle jacket, his shoulders were satisfyingly broad. Add to that the appealing way his brown hair curled just a little, sending a softening wave down over his high, intelligent-looking forehead, and you had one hot-looking guy.

  Ever since Monday afternoon, her hormonal reaction had been building in her system gradually, drop by drop. Now it had reached critical, mass and she was helpless in the face of urges that shocked her.

  She wanted him this very minute. If he walked into the room and threw her on the bed, they could do it on top of the dry cleaning as far as she was concerned. She probably wouldn't even notice unless a hanger poked her in the butt.

  As she watched him standing in the doorway, her mouth began to water. Denise was so not getting her mitts on this guy. Eve wanted to strip off his flannel shirt and corduroy slacks to find out if indeed he wore tighty-whities as she suspected. Suddenly that seemed like the sexiest underwear in the world.

  He, however, wanted to fix her washing machine. Somewhere between those two goals they might be able to find a meeting place.

  "Mm." His murmur of approval caught her by surprise.

  Was it possible that he'd read her mind? If she stayed right where she was, would he walk into the room and take her in his arms?

  When he moved in her direction, her heartbeat changed dramatically. What a rush. She'd never been so in tune with someone that he acted out her internal impulses. Should she go to meet him, to let him know his instincts were right on target?

  As she debated whether to hold out both arms in welcome, he cruised right past her and picked up the pamphlet on her bedside table.

  "Properties of the Custom Rotary Engine." He flipped it open to the table of contents. "Now there's something I wish I'd had a chance to read before tonight. Can I borrow it?"

  "Uh, sure." Damn, he'd been after her bedside reading material, not her. So much for being in tune. "It gives all the parameters. I skimmed it instead of doing an in-depth study of the specs. If I'd read it cover to cover, I might have avoided blowing up the first one."

  "We're not going to blow up another one." Charlie started leafing through the pamphlet and nodding. "Yeah, this is great." Then he closed the pamphlet. "Now let's check out that washing machine."

  "Okay." Getting Charlie to think about something human instead of mechanical might prove more of a challenge than she'd thought.

  But right before he turned around to leave the room, he paused. "You have a round bed." He sounded surprised, as if he'd been so absorbed in the pamphlet that this was the first real look he'd taken.

  Obviously the man wasn't plugged into the same sexual outlet that was powering her sex drive. "Yes." She'd had it so long that she'd forgotten it worked as a conversation piece. If the bed could jump-start a personal discussion, fine.

  "Why round?"

  If only she could tell him she'd bought it because it was supposed to promote great sex, but that would be intellectually dishonest and she'd never been capable of that. "I read somewhere that if you want to spark creative ideas, you have to shake up your brain, surprise it with the unexpected. So I ordered a round bed."

  "Does it work?" He drew closer to the bed.

  Want to test-drive it and see? But she knew the timing was wrong for a comment like that. "It did at first. I had some wild dreams and came up with the hovercraft concept."

  "There's an endorsement."

  "But I should probably change to something else."

  "Trapezium?"

  She laughed. "Wow. No two sides the same. That would shake things up."

  "Just draw up some specs and I'll fool around with it."

  Now there was a concept. Charlie making her a bed. That could lead to some interesting discussions. "Okay, I will."

  "With this one, though, I would think you'd fall off." He glanced from Eve to the bed and back again.

  She wondered if he might be picturing her in that bed. With luck he was also imagining a sexy negligee. The brightness of his eyes made that a definite possibility.

  "The dimensions feel strange at first, but you get used to them," she said. "Then again, I don't move a lot in bed." Except when I go there to do something besides sleep.

  He swallowed. "I, uh, do. I thrash around something terrible. Sometimes I wake up and I'm all tangled in the ..." His voice trailed off as his glance met hers. "But I'm sure you don't want to hear that."

  "I don't mind." She held his gaze, which was fun because she had to look up. When a girl stood five ten in her stocking feet, she didn't look up to a whole lot of guys. Charlie was at least six five.

  And he had such great eyes to look up into, especially when the light didn't reflect off the lens of his glasses. Right now there was no reflection at all, and she could study those intelligent brown peepers for as long as she wanted. "There are lots of things we don't know about each other."

  "Guess so," he said softly. His eyes got all warm and dreamy. He looked like a man thinking seriously about a kiss. Then he backed off and took a deep breath. "To tell the truth, I'm not very interesting."

  Chapter Six

  Whew. Charlie wasn't sure what had happened, but he'd been damned close to kissing Eve at least twice. It was that mouth of hers, those incredible lips that had helped make her famous.

  Obviously he was as susceptible to that mouth as the rest of the world, especially when she used it to explain her theory about sleeping in round beds to shake up her brain and promote creativity. He'd also allowed himself to stand next to that round bed of hers for way too long.

  Then he'd made the colossal mistake of offering to build her one in the shape of a trapezium. When was he planning to do that? He had places to go, jobs to interview for. He needed to forget about beds and sex and get his hands on something mechanical fast.

  He tucked the pamphlet on rotary engines in his hip pocket. "So where's your washing machine?"

  "Down this way. The washer and dryer are in a closet in the bathroom." She led the way down the hall.

  The hardwood floors felt great under his socks. He was renting an apartment with the standard beige carpeting, and he'd never realized how much he hated it until now. He'd been renting for years, always telling himself that buying a house was the first step in admitting he'd never leave Middlesex.

  But he liked the feel of Eve's house. Sure, the place was a little cluttered, but he'd decided that was Eve's style. Ordinarily clutter drove him nuts, but he was so impressed with Eve's thought processes that he forgave her the clutter. He suspected she had a much higher IQ than anybody guessed. Although he was pretty smart, she might be smarter, maybe even genius level.

  She kept that brain hidden away, but the hovercraft was like a giant neon sign advertising her superior intelligence. He was drawn to that bright light like a moth. And he shouldn't be.

  Eve's bathroom smelled of her perfume and shampoo, which sent Charlie's libido into operational mode once again. He pictured Hoover Dam and tried to block the incoming sensual messages.

  'The washer's in here." Eve opened a pair of bifold doors.

  The washer and dryer were piled with more clutter. In an attempt to forget that Eve was standing right behind him, so near he could h
ear her breathing, he started cataloging the stuff. He noted supplies for scrapbooking, several skeins of purple yarn, three empty flowerpots and a trowel—minus any dirt—a book on herbs, packets of seeds, a box of watercolors, a table easel, a book titled How to Draw Nudes ... whoa. Maybe cataloging the clutter wouldn't work to take his mind off sex.

  "I keep trying to have normal hobbies, but it never works out." She continued to stand very close.

  "I never could get into the hobby thing, either." Being so near Eve felt like standing in a thermal belt. Ambient heat teased him, and he fought the impulse to turn and pull all that warmth right into his arms. Instead he picked up a stack of junk and started to put it on the floor so he could get to the washer.

  "I'll take that," she said. "I really should get rid of some of this, because I never follow through. I just go back to working on that crazy hovercraft. If I didn't have all this stuff around, then I probably wouldn't have misplaced my hovercraft notes."

  "You did?" This was how genius could flounder. No doubt the notes were brilliant, and they could be anywhere in this mess. What a crime. Maybe Eve needed someone around to help her organize, someone like him, only not him. Definitely not him.

  "I'm sure I'll find them." She didn't look all that sure, though. "It's just that I lose other stuff, but I've never misplaced something from the hovercraft project. And I could swear I left the notes on the workbench, because that's where I keep them."

  "But you had that explosion." He had an image of papers flying everywhere. Valuable papers.

  "I know. Stuff can happen. That's why I keep the notes under my Darth Vader mask. It's cast in lead, and it's very heavy."

  "Once we get this finished up and have some pizza, I'll help you look." He didn't like the idea of missing notes. Not at all.

  "It's not like I have to have them. Most of it's in my head, anyway."

  "Maybe you don't need them, but if you ever intend to market the hovercraft, you'll need all the notes you can put together, to convince the money people to invest in it."

  She took a deep breath. "Right. We'll find them."

  "Yeah, we will." He held up the pile of stuff in his hands. "Where do you want this?"

  "I'll take it."

  He handed her the pile, which involved some physical contact. Static electricity arced between them.

  "Ouch!" She pulled back and almost dropped everything.

  "Sorry." Instinctively he reached for her hand to steady her. No shock this time, just warm, soft skin. So soft. So very ... He let go abruptly as he realized they were staring into each other's eyes again exactly as they had in the bedroom, when he'd come so close to kissing her.

  "It's okay." She smiled at him.

  No, it wasn't okay. It wasn't okay that he was wildly attracted to this woman who had bought a house in Middlesex and seemed to be putting down roots.

  "You have a nice house," he said.

  "Thank you."

  "I guess you must like the area."

  "I adore the area." Her expression softened. "When I was house-hunting there were sappy Halloween decorations everywhere. I could hardly wait for the cardboard turkeys at Thanksgiving and the plastic reindeer at Christmastime."

  "You're serious."

  "Absolutely. I love plastic reindeer. My parents wouldn't be caught dead with one, though. Middlesex is the hokey small town I used to dream of when I was growing up in Boston."

  "Well... that's good, then." And they were miles apart. She was settling in and he could hardly wait to leave. Charlie turned back to the washing machine and lifted off the rest of her hobbies-gone-wrong material, which included the easel and her book on drawing nudes.

  "I made the right choice, that's for sure, although I did expect to get into some of these hobbies now that I live in a small town. Hobbies and small towns seem to go together."

  "I guess." He wished he could stop thinking of her drawing nudes. "Except I don't really have any." "Isn't playing pool a hobby?"

  "Absolutely not." He exerted some force to pop up the top on the washer. It didn't come easily, so he had to put more muscle into it. The effort felt good and helped get his mind off the image of Eve sketching a live model.

  "It's not? Well, there goes my only shot at a normal hobby."

  He gave a mighty heave and the top came up with a metallic bang. "Playing pool, if you do it right, is a science." He could never pose nude for someone. Rick had that kind of chutzpah, but he didn't.

  "I suppose it is a science. That's probably why I like it."

  "No doubt. You play like a pro." Sometimes Charlie wished he could be more uninhibited, like his cousin. Rick wouldn't worry about whether he was leaving town. He'd put the moves on a woman anyway.

  "I do enjoy it."

  For a moment Charlie lost track of whether they were talking about pool or sex. But his answer would apply to either one. "Me, too."

  "That stick of yours is awesome."

  "Thanks." Okay, it had been pool. He'd been thinking about sex while he talked about pool. But now he needed to stop all the talking and thinking and fix this machine.

  He glanced down into the bowels of the washer and discovered that she was using the wash basket for storage, too. Right on top was a book called Kill That Clutter! That made him smile. He left the stuff where it was because it didn't interfere with the repair work.

  "Now that I live three blocks from a place with a pool table, I should buy my own cue," Eve said. "That is, if you'll be willing to play with me."

  He managed to turn a bark of laughter into a cough.

  Then he cleared his throat. "Sure." This was the point where he should explain about his job change, but he couldn't bring himself to do that yet. She seemed so happy at the prospect of him hanging around for a friendly game of pool that he hated to tell her he hoped to be gone in less than a month.

  Reaching down, he wiggled a couple of wires. One was definitely loose. And so were his thoughts. He fantasized about fixing the washer, ranting it on, and propping Eve up against it to have sex. He'd heard that the vibrations of a washing machine could make a woman come in no time.

  "I'm glad there's no hard feelings," she said.

  "Not at all." Other parts of him were hard, but not his feelings.

  "Some guys don't like it when a woman kicks them."

  He wished she'd chosen a different way to phrase it. "Doesn't bother me." He checked the hoses, and they seemed to be okay. This might be a really easy fix, once he had a screwdriver.

  But once he had a screwdriver, they'd have to go back to the kitchen and join the party in progress. Although he was flirting with disaster by staying here with Eve, his ego loved the idea that she found him good company. He hated to give up that heady feeling.

  "It's nice that we're well matched," she said.

  He pretended to fiddle with the hoses. "Even if we weren't, that would be okay. It would be a learning experience for me." He studied the inside of the washer and pretended to be thinking very hard about the repair.

  "Not many men are secure enough to learn something from a woman."

  Charlie could think of no further excuses for staring into the innards of the washing machine, so he turned around. "Maybe not." He looked into her eyes and knew he'd be deliriously happy if she'd teach him anything at all. Underwater basket-weaving would be fine. The subject wouldn't matter—he'd be her willing pupil for the duration.

  "That's something special about you, Charlie. You don't have those stupid macho hang-ups." She gazed at him, her eyes very blue behind the thin wire frames of her glasses.

  "I like things to be straightforward." Like this, where they were both being totally honest with each other. He'd had no idea the chemistry would be this compelling or he would never have offered to fix her washer.

  "Okay, so how's this for straightforward? Do you have a girlfriend?"

  "I don't have a girlfriend."

  "Oh." Chagrin flashed in her eyes. "Then you must not find me attractive, after all."<
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  "Not true." He took her by the shoulders, more contact than he'd ever dared before. But he didn't want her thinking that she wasn't good enough. Never that. "I find you incredibly attractive, but why you would even care what I think is a mystery."

  Her expression grew soft. "I like you, Charlie. I like you a lot."

  "That's crazy." He had the sensation of sliding into a vast pit that would swallow him. Maybe he was never, ever leaving this town. She was the equivalent of a siren song, luring him to crash on the rocks of this Connecticut village and never make his journey out West. If he didn't believe his mother was a bastion of integrity, he'd think she'd bribed Eve to rope him and tie him securely to Middlesex.

  "I don't know why you think it's so crazy," Eve said.

  "There's a lot to like about you."

  He was aware she'd moved closer, dangerously closer.

  Or maybe he was responsible for that. He might have been tugging her toward him. He did still have a grip on her shoulders. "I have to explain something, something very important."

  "All right." She ran a tongue over her lips.

  The urge to kiss her was so strong that he almost didn't get the sentence out, but he managed somehow. "It's all about Hoover Dam."

  Of all the things Eve had expected to hear, Hoover Dam wasn't one of them. But Charlie was a complicated man, and she seemed to be stock on him, so she might as well learn about this Hoover Dam thing. "Lay it on me."

  "Do you have any idea how many kilowatt hours that dam produces per year, on average?"

  "None whatsoever." Nothing was making sense so far, but Charlie was holding on to her, and that was such a marvelous sensation that she would listen to a lecture on the mating habits of tree frogs if only he'd keep his hands right there.

  Or maybe not right there. Maybe other, more interesting places. But her shoulders were a start. A very good start.

  "Four billion kilowatt hours per year." Charlie tightened his grip and his eyes sparkled. "Can you imagine that?"

  "Amazing." She loved stats almost as much as she loved the enthusiastic way Charlie was squeezing her arms. "How many turbines?"