"So what did you think of Penn Bennett?" Alessandraโs friend
Clare asked, from her spot in the adjacent beauticianโs chair.
"I donโt want to think about that man," she told Clare, "or
ever see him again."
But life hadnโt been going her way the last five years, and
as if she needed more proof of that, she noted a shiny truck
pulling into a parking space in front of Oliverโs Ristorante
across the street. "Though you can check him out yourself.
Looks like heโs heading for Overpriced Ollieโs."
Clare wiggled on her seat. "Thatโs what I love about small
towns and the beauty shopโs big picture windows. Sooner or
later everybody passes by."
Crossing her arms over her chest, Alessandra wasnโt so
pleased. She watched his long legs emerge from the truckโs
cab. There was a kid with a table on the sidewalk outside
Ollieโs, soliciting funds for some good cause, but it didnโt
make her like the bastard any better when he drew out a
couple of bills from his pocket.
Weโll have to see about a booking on Inside
the Actors Studio, heโd said
.
What the heck did he mean by that? And heโd uttered it with
such a cynical smile on his handsome face, too.
While she watched him hand over the money, he smiled again.
But then his head turned toward the street as a car came to
a sudden stop behind his vehicle. The skinny passenger in
the beat-up sedan shot his torso out the side window and
stripped off his shirt.
"Build me up!" The guy yelled it so loud she could hear it
through thick plate glass and whirring beauty appliances.
"Penn Bennett, build me up!"
Smile growing to a grin, Penn reached into his truck and
withdrew a T-shirt that he balled up and threw to the
half-naked man. A fist- pump later, the car took off with a
screech of tires.
"Okay, I know my experience with the male animal has been
somewhat limited, but . . ." She glanced over at Clare, who
was staring out the window, her jaw dangling.
Her friend transferred her gaze toward Alessandra, showing
wide eyes. "The bastard is
Penn Bennett? You didnโt
tell me that! Penn Bennett of
Build Me Up!"
Alessandra blinked. "Which would happen to be . . . ?"
"Just the hottest home renovation show on television. His
team repairs and remodels homes of needy people. I almost
cry every time he leads the grateful family into their
now-beautiful house. He makes them feel so special."
"Really?" While Alessandra could believe the guy was on
TVโhe was Hollywood handsomeโshe couldnโt imagine him as an
altruistic do- gooder.
That little break in your voice, the single tearโ
brilliant.
Remembering his words, she frowned and figured mean and
spiteful was the guyโs true character. "The thing is, Clare,
this
Build Me Up showโitโs a job for him, right? He
gets paid to make nicey-nice and appear all sympathetic."
Clare opened her mouth, but Alessandra kept on talking.
"Donโt get taken in by what you think you know about Penn
Bennett. If you ask me, heโsโ"
"Waiting with bated breath to hear your assessment of his
character."
Ah, damn, Alessandra thought, the skin at the back of
her neck prickling in belated warning.
Just another
reason to dislike the guy. Real men didnโt enter beauty
salons and catch disgruntled women discussing them over
peroxide and bobby pins. Slowly, to give the embarrassed
heat she was feeling a chance to fade from her cheeks, she
shifted in her chair to face him.
His hazel eyes took a lazy pass over her lacy camisole,
short watermelon-red cotton skirt, and bare legs. "Liam said
that โNun of Napaโ thing was just a nickname, and now Iโm
sure heโs right."
Clare snickered.
Alessandra decided not to dignify the remark with an
explanation. It wasnโt her fault that the residents of
Edenville and its environs had put that tag on her. But
there were worse things someone could call someone else.
Like arrogant. Like too good-looking for his own good. Over-
confident, that was certain. She could imagine a
bare-chested Penn Bennett flexing in front of a mirror, hear
him singing to his amazing reflection.
Iโm too sexy for
my shirt.
"Iโm sure you need to go away now," she said.
He laughed. "No," he said, running a hand through his
layered hair. "Iโm here for a cut."
Men in Edenville went to Manuelโs Barber Shop, closer to the
highway. It had the requisite barber pole outside and ESPN
played on a TV in the corner. In Manuelโs back room it was
said he pulled molars with rusty pliers and handed out
herbal cures for the clap. "This is a beauty salon," she
said, gesturing to encompass the lavender walls and framed
headshots of female models.
"What?" he asked, all cheeky grin and sparkling eyes. "Iโm
not beautiful?"
The fact was, he
was beautiful, in a wholly masculine
way that involved long lean muscles and the grit of golden
stubble on his chin. But Alessandra hated his studied,
I-donโt-give-a-damn looks, and she hated that he wasnโt
taking the hint and moving on. Worse, she hated his perfect
knowledge of just what was going through her head, clear
from the smirk on his lips and the laugh in his eyes.
"Why donโt you try squeezing out a tear or two, little nun,"
Penn said softly, that sly smile still on his face. He moved
into her personal space, leaning close enough that she could
smell his lime- and-sin aftershave, even over the combined
scents of sweet shampoo and acrid hair color that permeated
the salonโs air. "That usually gets you what you want,
doesnโt it?"
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