The gates of Valhalla must have opened up and spit him out, thought Jeannie as Viking warriors of old swirled in her head.
Jeannie, an avid reader of historical romances, liked brawny, tawny men, such as the one down on a knee, tying his shoelace.
Wavy blond hair, streaked with natural highlights, dusted the collar of his T-shirt. A sun-given tan kissed every visible surface of his skin.
Jeannie whistled an appreciative tune when he fluidly jumped up and landed next to Tall Guy, placing him in a neat chokehold while knuckling his head. Tall Guy's arms and legs ran out in all directions.
Despite her pique at being woken up, Jeannie let out a string of giggles at the amusing sight. Her laughter carried outside through her partially opened window, and all noise from the pavement stopped. The three males turned in her direction with their gazes zeroed in on her exact location.
Tall Guy and Mr. Stocky exchanged appreciative glances at the picture Jeannie made, while Mr. Southern Accent stood immobile with an expressionless face.
They'll brand me a stalker, Jeannie thought.
With one foot behind the other, she backed away from the window only to stumble over her tangled bed covers.
The world tilted.
Jeannie's long legs kicked up and her slim arches danced in front of the glass before sliding from the sill and onto the floor. Pain radiated in a slow swirl from her left butt cheek to her nerve center. Jeannie rolled from side to side in discomfort, puffs of air escaping from her mouth.
Are they hammering now?
Jeannie stopped moaning long enough to listen. The sound repeated. A few seconds passed before she grasped someone was banging on her door.
From a crawl to a standing position, she moved to the living room. Jeannie massaged her bruised cheek, unsuccessfully trying to take the pain away.
Squinting through the peephole, she fully expected to see only one of the men. Shock stole her breath as she took in all three.
Tall Guy hung back, running a hand through his long hair before stuffing his hands into the pockets of his skinny black jeans. Mr. Stocky leaned against the opposite doorjamb, partially in view. Her Viking romance hero, straight from the book on her nightstand, knocked in a steady rhythm.
So much ruckus and all before 8 AM.
Yanking back the glittering-gold security chain, Jeannie opened the door on a crack, shielding her body behind it.
"Yes?" she inquired, lifting a fuzzy eyebrow.
"Are you okay, ma'am?" said the big blond.
Under normal circumstances, Jeannie rankled at anyone who called her ma'am, but his sculptured mouth took the fight right out of her. His blush-pink colored lips, unusually disproportionate, screamed kissable. The top one, a cupid's bow, sat on its plump brother with a thin space in between.
Jeannie frowned. Who was this gorgeous man?
"Ma'am?" The Viking inquired again. His eyes, forest glades in the shadow, twinkled under heavy lids and long, thick man lashes. His accompanying smirk at her undeniable attraction to his person increased the downturn of her mouth.
You're staring, and he is waiting ...
"Yes, I'm fine. Thank you." Jeannie coughed to hide her reaction, averting her eyes to his damp gray T-shirt. The cotton material glommed on his hard chest, outlining a large tattoo.
The gloom of the hallway made it difficult for Jeannie to make out his ink. And she found that she really, really wanted to.
"My name is Hawthorne Gable, and these here are my friends. This one is Dalton Greene." He jerked a thumb at the rock star who winked at her. "And that one there is Quentin James." Quentin turned and gave her a smile as lazy as his half wave.
She tipped her head at the man's introductions. Quentin and Dalton returned her nod.
"I'm Jeannie. Jeannie Jones."
"Nice to meet you, Jeannie Jones." Another thumb jerk stated the obvious. "I'm moving in next door." Thorne scratched the morning stubble decorating his chin while Jeannie's eyes followed his fingers. "Sorry for the noise," Thorne said, his green eyes downcast. "I guess we woke you up, huh?"
"Yes. Yes, you did. But that's okay."
Jeannie tried to keep a hold of her earlier anger, but it had already dissipated under his charm.
Good-looking people always get away with murder. All they have to do is smile, Jeannie surmised, smirking at the man in question.
And smile Thorne didânice and bright.
Jeannie quickly wiped the smirk from her face as Thorne leaned in, lounging his long frame against her doorjamb. He was close. Too, close. She could count the stubble hair, which coated his well-defined jawline.
"Let me make it up to you, then." His tone, soft and soothingly seductive, mesmerized her in to responding.
"How?"
"After unloading the van, I'd like to take you to breakfast."
Is he asking me out?
Thorne continued as if he read her mind. "We're pretty hungry. Right, guys?"
The men behind Thorne nodded their agreement.
So not a date.
Jeannie gulped down her disappointment. A bitter pill to swallow so early in the morning.
"Which restaurant?" she asked, naming the only two within walking distance. "Babe's or El Chico's?"
Thorne shrugged. A massive lifting of heavily muscled arms. "Well, seeing as how I'm new around here, why don't you decide?"
Judge Winston had filled her in on the restaurants in the area, at least the ones he'd deemed worth a visit. Jeannie had yet to try them. She preferred to cook her meals.
"I've heard El Chico's has great breakfast tacos. Let's go there."
"A woman after my own heart," Thorne said, placing a long-fingered hand on his chest. "I love Mexican food."
Jeannie gazed at his mouth again. The way he'd said love, with a soft caress on his tongue, seemed like he meant it for her alone.
Thorne gave her a sideways grin before turning to his friends, cutting off her view of his unusual lips. "Does El Chico's sound good to y'all?"
Quentin made a show of looking at his watch. "Actually, I forgot we have an appointment to look at an apartment. We'd better pass for now." Quentin gave Jeannie another lazy smile while Dalton chortled. "You two go on ahead," he added, openly grinning.
"I guess it's just you and me, Jeannie."
Jeannie's suspicions rose at Thorne's motives. He didn't seem at all surprised or upset that his friends weren't going.
Maybe it's a setup?
"Give me about an hour," Thorne said, slowly eyeing her up and down.
All of Jeannie's thoughts flew out the window when he bit his bottom lip.
"O-oh. Okay," Jeannie murmured.
Thorne pushed off her door jamb, taking a backward step into the hallway. "I'll knock when I'm ready."
Inwardly, Jeannie could hardly wait for their breakfast ... thing. Outwardly, she gave off a calm aura.
"Nice meeting you, Quentin, Dalton." She nodded to each. "I'm sure we'll meet again."
"Yeah," Quentin said with a wink. "We'll be seeing you real soon, Jeannie."
A perplexed look crossed Jeannie's face as she nodded one last time before closing the door.
Thorne waited until they had stepped outside before slapping Quentin upside the head. The stocky man stumbled a few inches forward, rubbing at the sore spot.
"Why don't you try to make her suspicious next time, idiot?" Thorne whispered.
"Hey, I was just fooling around. She won't knowâ"
"She'd better not." Thorne glared at Quentin, staring him down. The smaller man looked away, duly chastised under his leader's glare.
"Let's bring in the equipment," Thorne said, alternating his gaze between his two subordinates. "You'll have at least an hour and a half to set everything up. Do you think you can manage that?"
"Yes, team leader," Dalton and Quentin said in unison.