by Holly Jaymes
He lifted his gaze back to mine. “Another reason to stay off the roof in a storm.”
Asshole. “If you’re done lecturing me now, I’ll go inside.”
“You’re welcome.”
“What?” Gabe had always been a little cocky, but it appeared he was all-out arrogant now.
“For helping you on the roof. Most people would say thank you.”
I pursed my lips, hating that he was right. But seeing him again messed up my brain. It was also my worst fear coming true. When I entered the home improvement channel’s contest to win a home renovation, I’d been sure the show that would be doing the work was Vintage Makeover because it asked for older style homes like mine. But seeing Gabe Sloane on my porch suggested I’d won the renovation from his show, Budget Rehab. God, just what I needed, eight weeks working next to the man who broke my heart and my faith in love. Sinfully sexy or not, Gabe was a heel.
“Thank you.” I bit out. “Why are you here?” Please God, let it be a coincidence.
His eyes narrowed. “I’m renovating your house for my show. Did you get struck by lightning and forget? How many fingers am I holding up?”
I rolled my eyes. “That doesn’t start until tomorrow. Why are you here now?”
“Just taking a look around. Good thing I did or the first scene we’d shoot would be finding you splat on the ground or charred to a crisp on the roof.”
He thought he was funny, but I wasn’t laughing. “Are you going to be a jerk to me the whole time you’re here?”
He laughed at me, which made me even madder. “I’m not the one acting reckless. I’m just looking out for you, sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me sweetheart.”
He lifted his hands in surrender. “What do you prefer? Cheater?”
What? “I’d rather you didn’t call me anything.”
He shrugged. “Stay off the roof. In fact, stay away from the house.”
“I live here.”
He frowned. “It’s not easy to live in a home during renovation.”
“Well, I don’t have any choice, so you’ll need to work around that. I know it will be hard since you think you’re center of the universe.”
He smirked. “That’s what the ladies tell me.”
Ugh. I wanted to smack that smug smile off his face. “That is until they get to know you. Then they hope you’ll get swallowed by the universe.”
He shook his head. “Stay off the roof,” he said again. “I’m going home.” He walked down the porch but instead of going to the sidewalk, he cut right through my hedge and headed next door. I watched as he reached the house next to me, took the steps on the porch and entered.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Gabe was my neighbor. Just my luck. Miffed, wet and cold, I stormed into my own home.
Standing in the foyer, I took a deep breath. I scanned the open foyer, overlooking the tired, faded walls to the glory the hundred-year-old home once had, and would have when this renovation was done. I marveled at the intricate detail of the crown molding, the dark wood of the staircase, the marble on the floor. When I decided I wanted to buy a home, I wanted to get something with character and history. No ticky-tacky or cookie-cutter home for me. And this home fit the bill, sort of.
Over its hundred years, the large Victorian-style home had had updates and upgrades, but not all accentuated the beauty of the house. The kitchen had 1980s white cupboards that I was sure were made from particle board. One of the bathrooms sported the avocado green of the 1970s. All the fireplaces, the major source of heat when the home was built at the turn of the twentieth century, were boarded up.
I’d been a fool to buy the home because I didn’t have the funds to restore her to her former beauty. But I bought her anyway. I figured little by little, I could work on her. It wasn’t like I had anything else to do besides my teaching job. I didn’t have a man, thanks to Gabe and his showing me that men couldn’t be trusted. My parents had moved to South Carolina and my sister decided to move with them. Most of my friends were all busy with their husbands and children. So, my home was going to be my baby.
Luckily, I won the renovation, which would go a long way to restoring the home without my own funds and the fifty years it would have taken me. If only Gabe wasn’t part of the deal. Bastard!
I made my way upstairs to the room that had the leak. The pot was nearly full under the spot the water had been coming in from, but fortunately, no water was currently dripping down. I wouldn’t admit it to him, but I was glad Gabe showed up to cover the hole. The renovation winnings had limited funds, while I had big dreams for the house. I didn’t want all my money going into fixing new damage such as a leak. I’d watched enough home renovation shows to know that hidden problems often had big expenses that cut into the budget, so I didn’t want a leaky roof to cost me an upgrade or other feature elsewhere.
I brought the pot to the sink in the closet, which apparently wasn’t unusual back then, emptied it, and then stuck it back under the leaky spot just in case it started leaking again. Then I went to the middle bedroom where I’d live during the renovation. The rest of the house was mostly empty for the renovation, although I didn’t have a lot of furniture to begin with. I prayed that the show would be able to help me furnish the home with antiques of the time, or at the very least, new items in the Victorian style fitting the home.
Another boom of thunder shook the house and made the lights flicker. I shook my head as I wondered how much it was going to cost to deal with the electrical system. I went to the window and looked out over the house next door. I could barely see it through the deluge of rain. It was just as well. I didn’t want to see Gabe. Four years ago, after we broke up, I’d hoped I’d never see him again.
How had something so good gone so bad? My mother had been right that I was too young and ignorant of the world and relationships to commit myself to a man. I could at least be glad that I found out about Gabe before I moved down south.
I laughed derisively. He’d gotten everything he’d wanted. He had a top home renovation show in America. I suspected his rocking body and boyish yet dangerous good looks helped. Did women really watch the renovations or just his rippling muscles when he was knocking down a wall or working shirtless on landscaping?
And now he was going to be renovation porn in my house. Gag. I’d have to be nice to him and act like he hadn’t ripped my heart out of my chest and demolished it with one of his sledgehammers. Was this going to be a big mistake?
To keep my spirits up, I went to the kitchen where I kept my home renovation dream book. In it, I had swatches of fabrics and wallpaper, paint chips and images I’d printed from Pinterest of furniture and room setups that I wanted in my home. When I was feeling discouraged about taking on too much, I’d look through it to re-energize my dream and my vision.
I hated Gabe Sloane, but I couldn’t deny that he was probably the best person to turn my vision into reality. I knew firsthand he had a way of seeing beyond the tired and tattered bits of a home to its potential. I knew my home had spectacular potential, and Gabe was the person who could help my home reach it. Therefore, I’d have to find a way to play nice with him until the renovation was done.
Book 1: Chapter 2 Gabe—It’s Good to Be Home… Sort Of
Gabe
I stalked up the porch steps and into my house with my fists clenched at my sides. I was either going to throttle or kiss Samantha; both actions would be equally as dangerous. How could I loathe a woman and want to kiss her senseless at the same time? Fucking libido.
I stripped my soaked clothes in the foyer of the home I rented, and in my briefs, I went straight to the office my team and I had set up for the renovation. I pulled out the contract file and rifled through the paperwork. Yep, there it was. Owner of the home: Samantha Taylor. How the hell had I missed that?
Because I was eager to be near my home city and the house was spectacular. To be honest, I never cared much about who might own the property when I did a renovation. I and my team
always chose projects for the show based on the house and its potential. This house had it in spades. Built over a hundred years earlier, it had all the trimmings of a classic Victorian home. Large rooms with tall ceilings, all adorned in crown molding. A fireplace in nearly every room. A grand staircase leading up to five bedrooms. Over the years, the home’s sparkle had dimmed, but when I was done with it, it would shine bright again.
But holy hell, how was I going to spend the next eight weeks working by Samantha’s side? Especially when she was even more beautiful than I remembered. In the four years since she’d demolished my heart, my memory of her was closer to Medusa. Boy, was that off. Even with her hair wet and plastered to her head, there was no mistaking the beauty of her exotically-shaped blue eyes. Or the round fullness of her breasts outlined by her wet t-shirt. My hands remembered the feel of those plump beauties and itched for another chance to touch them. I clenched my fists again. Sorry guys, that’ll never happen.
God dammit. This renovation was supposed to be easy and stress-free. It was already hard enough returning home because it was to spend time with my mother following my father’s death six months ago. My older brothers were in the area, but I still felt the need to be close. We’d been a close-knit family growing up. Losing my father was like losing a part of our family’s soul. We needed each other to heal from the loss.
Lucky for me, my show was successful enough that I could negotiate moving it home, at least for the last year of my contract. I’d rented the house next to the rehab because I needed a place to live and sticking close to the rehab seemed like a good idea. If I’d found a home in the area that needed work, I might have bought it to flip. But there weren’t any viable ones close enough to the renovation home. Since this project would be only eight weeks long, renting seemed like the best option. As it turned out, the house next door to Samantha’s was available.
I shook my head as I realized we were neighbors again. Growing up, it was fun being her neighbor. We didn’t play much as kids, but by the time we hit middle school and I developed a fascination with girls, I’d noticed her. So had many other boys. It wasn’t until we were out of high school that we were both single at the same time and I’d finally been able to take her for a date. Normally, I’d have gone the traditional dinner and movie route, but then I’d taken a chance and kissed her right after helping her break back into her home after getting locked out. That kiss rocked my world, and I’d felt an immediate connection to her, different than I’d had with other women. I didn’t want to be the cliché date. I wanted to be me, so I took her to my audition house and showed her my hopes and dreams. From that day on, we had something special. Or so I thought.
To this day, I could remember every second of that first kiss. I hadn’t had a kiss like that since, although I’d never tell her that. Spectacular, knock-your-socks-off kisses didn’t make up for getting cheated on. Looking at her lips today, wet with rain, my libido would have been happy to taste them again. For that reason, being her neighbor could be a problem.
I’d thought I was lucky to get a rental so close. As it turned out, the universe was playing a cruel trick on me. But I couldn’t move. I had a three-month lease, and the fact was, Samantha’s house needed work on everything top to bottom and probably everything behind the walls and under the floorboards. Since my salary wasn’t paid from the renovation funds allocated by my network, all my time on the home was essentially free. The more time I put in the home the better. Being next door made it easier.
While seeing Samantha put a dampener on the project, I had to admit that I was looking forward to getting my hands on the house. The home was structurally sound, but it was clear it hadn’t been cared for in years, decades probably. It was a challenge I was eager to take on, although I was certain the budget that had been allocated wouldn’t cover everything that house needed. I’d get the home up to code and cleaned up, but we probably wouldn’t be able to make many esthetic changes I’d like, at least not with the quality of materials a house like that deserved.
If Samantha had achieved her goal and become a teacher, chances were she wouldn’t have additional funds to contribute to the renovation. That was too bad because the home had the potential to be spectacular. What didn’t make sense was why she bought it. It was too big for one person. Was she planning on filling it? Perhaps a bed-and-breakfast? No. That would require other changes and permits we hadn’t planned on. Was she engaged and planning on having a brood of kids? Jealousy roared out of nowhere, which pissed me off. What did I care if another man was touching her? Because he was getting what you should have had. I silenced my brain, reminding myself that I’d dodged a bullet when we broke up because as it turned out, instead of her heart growing fonder during my absence, it went back to her former boyfriend.
I headed back to the foyer, grabbing my wet clothes and heading upstairs. I tossed the clothes in the dumbwaiter down to the basement laundry and made a mental note to get them in the washer before I left for dinner at my mother’s. I got in the shower, turning the water on hot. It was June in Virginia, which meant it was hot and humid, but after getting soaked in a storm, the skin got chilly.
I pressed my palms against the terracotta tiles of the shower. They weren’t what I’d have chosen for a home built in the early 1900s but I couldn’t deny the quality of work.
The image of Samantha wrangling with the tarp on her roof while a thunderstorm barreled down around her had me shaking my head. What the hell was she thinking? If she was going to do stupid things like that, this rehab was going to be a nightmare.
Yeah, but did you see her nipples? my libido said. My dick perked up at that memory. Fuck, just what I needed. Guys didn’t like to be accused of being simpletons that were slaves to their dicks. Unfortunately, that organ had a mind of its own. It wasn’t like an arm that I could decide to move or not. My dick did what it wanted, when it wanted, whether I wanted it to or not. Like now, as the image of Samantha’s t-shirt molding to her fantastic tits filled my brain.
I looked down at my erect dick. You’re just going to have to suffer, dude, because there’s no way I’m going to rub and tug with her on my mind. I turned the faucet to cold and let out a loud “Fuck,” as the cold water blasted me. At least it worked and my dick retreated.
After my shower, I dressed, went to the basement to toss my wet clothes into the washer and then headed out to my car. The storm was gone and the sun was out, causing the streets to steam from the mixture of the rain and now heat. I’d spent a few months on the west coast during the summer and it didn’t seem to have the humidity and summer storms blowing in out of nowhere like we did on the east coast. For home renovation, that was nice as it allowed for a longer workday and fewer hassles from heat, humidity and rain. Even so, I liked the east coast, or maybe I just liked being home.
I got into my car and drove over to my mother’s place. It was less than fifteen miles away, but with Northern Virginia traffic, it might as well have been in another state. It took nearly forty-five minutes, but I eventually pulled into the driveway of the brick ranch home she and my father raised me and my three brothers in.
I’d had the typical childhood with loving parents and the loud rambunctious household that came from having four boys. As the youngest, I was babied, but also a source of great concern for my parents because of my lack of interest in school or applying myself. My older brothers were much more accomplished academically. But I proved I didn’t need a college degree to be successful. I’d taken my passion and talent in building and turned it into a billion-dollar empire. I owned a significant amount of real estate here in Virginia and Florida, had my own successful renovation show and developed a line of tools sold in every hardware store in America. A blue-collar billionaire.
“Here’s Dopey,” my brother Nate said as I entered through the side door. As it turned out, my brothers weren’t particularly impressed with my success.
“You do know you’re a drug dealer, right?”
He smirke
d. “Better living through chemicals.” Nate could live forever on the money his drug patents earned him, except for one of the vaccines that he’d given away for free because it was most needed by poor people around the world. He did more good than I did, but I wasn’t going to admit that out loud to him because he’d lord it over me.
“Gabe.” My mother breezed into the room with a smile and hug. Since I could remember, she’d always had a smile and hug. It didn’t quite reach her eyes now, but that was to be expected. My father had been the love of her life. It was because of them I’d believed in true love once. Samantha taught me that my parents’ relationship wasn’t the norm. They had something truly special. But like most things in life, shit happened to ruin a good thing when my father died. Mom would say he died at home with her, just like he’d wanted to, but they were barely sixty years old when today people were living well into their eighties and nineties. We all felt cheated.
“Mom.” I hugged her back and then followed her to the kitchen while Nate took a call on his cell phone in the living room. “He invent another drug? Maybe one to improve his personality?”
My mother smirked at me. “Be good, Gabe.”
I flashed her a grin. “Yes, ma’am.”
“There he is.” My oldest brother Will stood from where he’d been sitting at the kitchen table. He gave me a quick hug. “Beer?”
“I wouldn’t mind one.” I looked around. “Where’s Mitch?”
“He’s resetting his nerves out back. You know how it is for him, coming out of the mountains into civilization.” Will handed me the beer.
I took it and sipped as I looked out the back window. “It’s hard to blame him with this traffic.”
Mitch was on the lawn tossing a stick to my mom’s Labrador dog George and his German shepherd Duke. We’d tried to tell her a dog needed a cool canine name, but she insisted he looked like a George.
Fifteen minutes later, we were having Sunday supper. In some ways, it was like it had always been, except for the empty spot at the table that had been my father’s. It always took me a minute to accept the fact that he wasn’t going to barrel in and join us at dinner. My father had been a big man, physically and in personality. My brothers and I all took after him, with dark hair and eyes, tall and broad. He was a contrast to my petite fair-haired mother. But it worked. Like yin and yang.
