by Lacey Black
Harper snickers. “You said units.”
Rolling my eyes, I reply, “Always a little girl, aren’t we?”
Standing up tall, she glares. “There’s nothing little about me.”
I know she doesn’t mean it like that, but I’m a guy. I’m. A. Guy. With a very active dick (though, thanks to military life, it hasn’t quite seen as much action as it would like), so when my eyes start to rake over her luscious body, I have to admit she’s right: there’s nothing little about her. Except maybe her waist. But her tits – damn, those tits – and her hourglass hips and long legs and big personality…
“You’re right. Your mouth definitely isn’t little. It’s quite…big. Plus, there’s your ass. I know it’s a lot bigger than it used to be.” Why do I say it? Because I love getting a rise out of her. Much like the rise she evokes in my pants.
Harper gasps, her eyes narrowing down into little slits. I almost smile in anticipation of what jabs she’s about to hurl my way next. “And look at you, asshole,” she stutters, glancing up and down my body as if trying to come up with a good retort, yet coming up empty. “Never mind. I’m not stooping to your level of idiocy and immaturity.”
“Idiocy? Immaturity? And here I thought I was your hero, coming to rescue you from the computer-killing virus you probably downloaded from looking at porn at work.”
“I don’t look at porn at work. I’m not a sixteen-year-old boy!”
Again, my eyes fall to the tight tank top. “Nope, definitely not a boy.”
“Stop looking at my chest!”
“Stop drawing my attention to it!”
Harper growls, throwing her hands up in the air. “You’re impossible. Let’s just go to my store so you will stop insulting my dog and staring at my boobs.”
“Oh, don’t think I won’t still look at your boobs at the store, Harper.”
“Shut up,” she mumbles, calling Snuggles into the kitchen and letting her out the back door. I watch from the front entry, glancing into the living room when she moves out of sight. It’s cheerful in neutral colors, yet with splashes of purple and blue accents that just speak of the woman who lives here. The couch is tan with a matching recliner, and the walls are a slightly darker beige. The flooring is an espresso walnut that looks damn good in the brightly lit space. Top that off with a stone fireplace, flagstone mantel, and a decent sized television that puts my little thirty-two incher to shame.
What draws my attention right now is what’s sitting on that beautiful mantel. The first photo is a family picture of Harper and her siblings. They’re standing with their mom in front of their family bed and breakfast where she grew up. They’re stretching a red ribbon across the porch, with Mrs. Grayson and Marissa, together, holding a large pair of scissors. The entire family is smiling proudly at the camera, obviously getting ready to cut the ribbon. It’s a recent photo, so I make note to ask Harper about it.
The photo next to it is her holding a little boy. He’s probably four or five years old, with a big toothy smile and striking blue eyes that remind me of Harper’s. The resemblance is uncanny, yet the shape of the eyes and nose are different. If I had to guess, I’d say a relative. Another photo to ask about.
The final picture is a younger Harper standing with Freedom Rayne, her spunky best friend. It was taken on the beach, both girls posing for the camera with blinding white smiles and barely-there bikinis. I remember the first time I realized those two were friends. We were in early grade school, and even back then, they were as different as night and day. The fact they’re still so close actually makes me a little nostalgic that I lost touch with so many of my own friends after high school. But the week after I graduated, I was off to boot camp, rarely to return to my hometown. Most of my old friends went off to college, got married, and started popping out kids. I was in foreign hot zones, setting up communications for our troops and using my computer skills to do a few things I’m not at liberty to discuss.
“Ready?” she asks, joining me in the living room, Snuggles hot on her heels.
“Yeah,” I reply, clearing my throat. “How is Free?” I ask, nodding toward the picture.
“You’ll see for yourself in about ten minutes,” she says, grabbing her purse and heading to the front door. I notice instantly she added a blue sweater over her tank top, which hangs off one shoulder and hits just below her belly button. Thank God for the white tank top underneath or she’ll see exactly what my body thinks of hers the entire ride to her store.
Her very sexy lingerie store.
“Afraid you can’t control your urges if left alone with me?” I ask, meeting her at the front door and waiting for her to walk through first. My mom raised a gentleman, but also because I can stare at her ass a little more.
Sorry, I’m also a guy.
When we’re both on the front porch and her door is secured, she turns to me with evil in her eyes. “No, I’m afraid if I kill you, I won’t be able to dispose of the body by myself.” Then she gives me a big, wolfish grin and heads off to her car. I’m left standing on her porch, a stupid smile plastered on my own face. I’ve missed sparring with Harper.
Just don’t tell her that.
The drive up to her store is short. Most businesses in town aren’t open on Sunday, which means the only foot traffic are those coming in and out of the diner just up the block. The hardware store isn’t open, but that’s something I plan to change. Even if I have to work that day myself. The only option for purchasing building materials is to drive to Harriston about thirty minutes away. It’s proven most home improvement projects are completed by the homeowner are done on the weekend. Yet, Douglas Hardware is only open on Saturdays from seven to one.
It’s something that’s going to change.
Especially when I purchase the building next door and bring in more merchandise.
I park in front of the hardware store, planning to head there after installing Harper’s new laptop, and meet her at her lingerie store. Kiss Me Goodnight. It’s definitely an interesting name for a business, but it fits her. It fits the vibe she’s going for within the walls of her place. It’s not just super sexy lingerie (though she has plenty of that too), but it’s casual pajamas and body products too.
Inside smells amazing. Like warmth and sweetness, with a hint of seduction, all rolled into one. A total chick place, but I get it. It’s totally her. Just as I set the new laptop down on the counter, the front door bursts open in a frenzy of chaos and lavender. Free. Her name is Freedom Rayne, born to tree-hugging, vegetarian hippies who changed their own last name when they were married.
“I brought coffee with soymilk and honey and goat cheese fig muffins!” she exclaims as she sweeps in, her long flowy skirt billowing around her bare ankles.
“Goat cheese?” I ask, standing up and staring down at the food as if it were about to bite me.
“Don’t knock it until you try it, Latham Douglas. It’s like sex for your mouth,” she sasses, making Harper choke on her coffee with soymilk.
“My mouth does love sex,” I boast, reaching into the pan and grabbing a muffin. Both ladies watch as I bring the sweet treat (if you can really call goat cheese and fig a sweet treat) to my mouth, shoving the entire thing inside in one solid bite.
“Damn, your mouth does love to devour,” Free coos, leaning her elbow onto the counter and staring up at me with a smile. “Harper, isn’t his mouth amazing? He just shoved that entire thing in there and actually makes it look sexy.” She bats her eyelashes my way and smiles wickedly, but I already know it’s totally for show. Free isn’t into me anymore than I’m into her. It’s just a game that I’ll happily oblige.
When I swallow the surprisingly delicious muffin, I lean forward, setting my own elbow on the counter and say, “You should see what I can do with my tongue.”
I hear a gasp, but not from Free. No, this one comes from Harper, who just so happens to knock into the display shelf of lotions, setting them all flying like a crazy game of dominoes. “Get a room
!”
“Ehh, I don’t think Lath can handle what I would offer,” Free says, shrugging to her friend and throwing me a wink and knowing smile.
“I believe you speak the truth, Freedom Rayne.”
“I love the way you say my name, Lath. With just a hint of that southern North Carolina drawl, I bet you get all the ladies worked into a tizzy.”
Before I can reply with a smart-alecky quip, Harper stands up from collecting the goodies she knocked down, places her hands on her delicious hips, and glares at both of us. “Can you stop stroking his already massive ego, please? I brought you here to help me bury the body, not flirt with him.”
“You want to stroke my massive what?” I ask, turning my predatory smirk her way.
Harper rolls her eyes so hard I’m pretty sure she just saw her brain. “Puh-lease, I’d rather not discuss whatever tiny, itsy-bitsy, little thing you want stroked.”
I swear, her mouth makes me so hard.
Instead of retorting and calling her out on her lie, as I’d love to, I send a wink her way and dive into the laptop box in the bag. Pretending to ignore her, I get busy setting up her new system, which, thankfully, her old one backed up every night off-site and at the end of every day with an external hard drive. I’m not sure who was computer savvy enough to make such a suggestion to Harper, but it was definitely a solid business decision. Most businesses don’t think to have two forms of backup, my own included. That’s another thing I’ll be changing when I officially take over the hardware store.
When the backup is installing, I finally glance up and notice Harper and Free. They’re over by the far south wall, pointing and discussing something. Weird, considering that wall butts against the empty store between hers and mine. Maybe she’s going to add some displays to that wall. Right now, she has a small unit that houses baskets of sexy panties.
Needing to stretch my legs, I make my way to them. Neither of them hear my approach, a product of my time in the military, and their words become clearer.
“I love that idea. Open brick on this wall with an arched doorway between the two. That’ll be beautiful,” Free says, painting a picture for her friend.
“Oh, I dig that. I know there’s brick between that store and my own. I hope it’s in good enough shape to use that in the addition,” Harper adds.
My brain zeroes in on their words. Addition? Open brick between stores? What the hell? Does she want to buy the building between Kiss Me Goodnight and Douglas Hardware? It sure as shit sounds like it, but when I met with my realtor in Harriston yesterday afternoon, he assured me I was the only bidder making an offer.
“Plus, that extra space will allow you to add that aromatherapy line you were telling me about,” Free says, pulling my attention back to them.
“Yes! I have so many great ideas for the new space. I can’t believe I made that offer. I’m terrified and so excited at the same time,” Harper beams, practically jumping for joy right there where she stands.
Made an offer?
I’ll be dammed if I’m going to sit back and let her have that space. I’ve already put feelers out with a few contractors on opening up the wall between my building and that one to give us more space. I have ideas, plans for it. She thinks she’s going to just get it?
She’s got another think coming.
Chapter Three
Harper
“You’re all set,” Latham says, pulling my attention away from the plans Free and I are making.
I don’t even have the property yet, but that isn’t stopping me from envisioning just what I’d do to the space if my offer were accepted. When I made it, my realtor assured me I’d know whether it was accepted or if a counteroffer was made. The good news is she thought I was the only one being considered by ol’ Mrs. Morton.
The anticipation is killing me.
“That didn’t take long,” I say, spinning around and meeting him back over at the counter.
“It was a simple reinstall, thanks to your up-to-date backup. You can have a quick look, but it appears that all your files transferred easily enough. Your accounting software is finished, and the add-on for inventory is completing now,” he says, turning the laptop my way. “I recommend keeping it plugged in to the Ethernet cable while you’re here, but your Wi-Fi should work fine if you take the laptop somewhere else in the store or to your office.”
“I do like the idea of being able to take it mobile,” I concede, not really admitting he may have been right in his suggestion. I hate that. “How much do I owe you?”
Latham pulls a receipt out of his jeans pocket and hands it over. I glance at the dollar amount, inwardly groaning that I have to take the money out of what I’ve been saving for the property next door, but knowing it needs to be done. If I would have hired a computer expert to work on it, the cost may have been dramatically more.
“How much for your time too?” I ask, setting aside the boxing gloves—figuratively speaking, of course. Though, the idea of donning a pair does have some appeal… At the end of the day, I am grateful for his assistance, and he deserves to be paid appropriately.
“I don’t need your money, Harper.”
“I’m going to pay you for your time,” I retort, crossing my arms. His eyes immediately dip down to the cleavage I know is on display. Even though I covered up with this thin blue sweater, it still hangs dangerously low in the front. I may or may not have had that planned when I threw it on earlier.
“How about you pay me with a kiss?” he says breezily, offering me the stupid cocky grin that does things I try to ignore to my lady parts.
“I’d rather kiss a pig,” I throw over my shoulder as I head off to my office, leaving him standing there chuckling.
I write out the check for one hundred dollars over the amount on the receipt. If anything, he deserves a little payment for the Sunday time he spent here, fixing my computer issues, instead of doing whatever the hell it is he does on Sundays. I jot the check details down in the ledger and make my way back to the front of the store. Latham is standing at the counter again, casually leaning against it as he chats with Free. He’s smiling easily, and not that evil, demonic one he always gives me. It’s light and free, and I can’t help the slight bubble of jealousy that surfaces when I think about Latham and my best friend.
“Here,” I say a bit too hastily, thrusting the check in his hand. His eyebrows furrow together in question, but he doesn’t say anything. In fact, he doesn’t even look at the check. He shoves it in his pocket, never taking his eyes off mine for a second.
“Thanks.”
Crossing my arms, I stand up tall and square my shoulders. “Aren’t you even going to look at it?”
“Do I need to?”
“I wouldn’t short you, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I didn’t think you would.”
“I paid you more.”
“Why?”
“Because you spent part of your Sunday here instead of doing…whatever you would have done today.”
“You mean I was here, with you and Free, surrounded by lady’s lingerie instead of watching football in front of the TV, while drinking beer and eating chicken wings?”
“There’s no football in July,” I argue. I’m rewarded with a smile.
“You have a point, Harper. Then, my next option would have been of the entertainment variety, if you know what I mean. I have a list of lady friends a mile long.”
“Pig.”
He barks out a laugh, the sound going straight to my core. My panties are pretty much ruined by this point. “I guess you’ll never know,” he says with a wink and moves. As he slides behind me (I refuse to move, by the way), his warm breath fans against my neck and goose bumps pepper my skin. His lips are mere inches from me and heat floods my veins. “Just say thank you, Harper.”
“Thank you, Harper.”
He chuckles, but doesn’t move. I can feel the heat of his body practically pressed against my back. It takes everything I have to not lean
into his massive body. But this is Latham, I have to remind myself. The devil himself, and he’s probably using all of his sexual wiles to get under my skin.
It’s working…
No, it’s not!
“I’ll see you soon, Sweetheart,” he whispers, his lips grazing ever-so-slightly over the back of my neck. I shiver instantly. He places a scrap of paper in my hand, but I make no movement to see what it says. I’m not sure I want to know.
“Stop calling me that,” I reply, my own voice a little raspy.
“Never,” he says loudly, as he finally moves past me, and heads to the door. Without saying a word, he waves at Free and slips through the entry, pulling it tightly secure as he goes.
“Damn, that was hot. Did you just orgasm?” Free asks, her eyes wide with shock and excitement.
“What? No!”
“You didn’t? I just about did watching. He sooooo wants you,” she coos.
“Shut up,” I grumble, ignoring the slight bubble of excitement that seems to plant firmly in my chest at the prospect.
Free laughs, making herself useful while I check out my new laptop. The software is completely installed, and the moment I move the mouse to waken the screen, a password authorization pops up.
Password?
I type in my first name. Nothing. I add my last name. Still doesn’t work. I try the name of my store, but that gets denied too. I start to get a little irritated – okay, a lot irritated – as I try word after word after word. Nothing works. Leave it to Latham to password protect my new laptop and not tell me what the magic word is, the infuriating, frustrating, pig-headed man!
I’m just about to call Free over for help when I think about that little slip of paper he placed in my hand. I didn’t want to give it a thought before, but now? Now, I find myself digging into the pocket of my shorts and pulling it out. His handwriting is horrible, yet familiar, as I glance down at the single word scrolled across the pink Post-It.
He didn’t.
I type that word into the password box and click enter.
My home screen immediately appears, and so does my smile. Leave it to Latham to force me to type out that one word multiple times a day. That word I hate, yet secretly love at the same. That single word I will forever associate with the man who could drive a nun to drink and turn to prostitution.
