by Devney Perry
“Are you being funny?”
My smile flattened. “I guess not.”
Presley took a wide step around me, hefting the grocery bags higher as she walked toward her porch.
I caught up to her with a long stride and slipped my hand through the handles of her paper bags, stealing them from her grip.
“Hey.” She shot me a glare.
“Let me help before you dislocate a shoulder.” Stubborn woman. “If you want to return the neighborly favor, I’ve got about fifty boxes to unpack.”
She climbed two of her steps, shifting bags to her now free hand to balance the weight, then she turned and met me at eye level. “I’m not going on a date with you, or to dinner, or whatever you called it.”
“Did I ask again?”
She rolled her eyes.
“Can I help you take these groceries inside? Or would you like to stand out here all evening? Because I really do need to unpack.” I needed to unearth the sheets for my bed and towels for my bathroom.
She grumbled something under her breath and took the rest of the stairs, digging her keys out of a pocket of the baggiest pair of khaki cargo pants I’d ever seen in my life. They probably would have fit me, except the hems had been cut off to accommodate her shorter legs.
The bottoms were cuffed, rolled halfway up her calves. These hideous pants allowed no hint of the curve of her hips or the shape of her ass. Except they were oddly not so hideous and kind of sexy because they were cinched tight by a red belt low on her waist, highlighting her trim physique.
One tug of that belt and the pants would pool at her feet. That’s why they were sexy. They tempted, they begged to be set free.
Presley’s gray tank top was thin and tight and, unfortunately, covered her bra straps. Was it the red one to match her belt? My imagination took off like a sprinter from the starting blocks. Let it be the red one biting into the smooth skin of her shoulders.
“How was your day?” I asked as she unlocked the front door, needing a distraction before I touched the bare skin of her arm.
She snarled.
“That good?”
“I’m ready for it to be over.” She pushed inside her house and flipped on a light, brightening the entryway as she walked down the short hallway and turned to the kitchen.
“Have you ever been next door?” I asked, following her to the kitchen and setting the bags on the counter.
“No. Why?”
“Everything is opposite. My kitchen is on the other end of the house, which means our bedroom windows are facing each other.”
She gave me a sideways glance. “Am I going to hear you grunting some woman’s name in the middle of the night? Because if so, I’ll need to buy new ear plugs.”
I slapped a hand over my heart, feigning insult. “You think I’m a grunter? How could you? After all we’ve been through, you’d degrade me to a grunter. I’m wounded.”
That earned me a lip curl as she began unloading groceries.
I had no desire to bring any woman to my home unless her name rhymed with Wesley and her last name sounded a lot like larks. Every minute I spent with her intrigued me more. Presley rarely did what I expected, and for a guy who was fairly good at anticipating other people’s reactions, it was refreshing.
I dove into the bags I’d brought inside, taking out a loaf of bread and bag of baby carrots. Then another bag of carrots. And another bag of carrots. “Do you have rabbits?”
“No.” Her cheeks flushed as she swiped a bag from my hand. “I just like carrots.”
“How long will it take you to go through all of these?”
She shrugged and opened the refrigerator door. “I don’t know. A week?”
“A week?” My eyes bulged. “That’s more carrots than I eat in a year.”
“Carrots are good for you. They’re good for your vision.”
“And they make your skin orange. You’d get along with one of my nieces. She used to love carrots as a baby. That was all she’d eat—carrots from those little glass jars. Until one day I came over to visit and her skin was orange. My sister had to limit carrots from then on out.”
“I eat these many carrots regularly. Do I look orange?” She waved a hand up and down her body.
“No. You don’t.” Not orange, but she did look fucking delicious. My mouth watered at her imagined taste. I bet she was sweet, and that pert mouth would taste better than honey.
My gaze zeroed in on her lips, so soft and the perfect shade of pale pink. I’d be able to cover them with my mouth, suck them until they were their own shade of red.
Presley’s breath hitched and she twisted away, hurrying to unload another bag like she’d heard my thoughts.
I turned my back to her, hiding as I made a quick adjustment to my dick. Between the attitude she dished out and that firm body, being around her was taking more and more restraint.
Did she feel this tormented tension too? Did she have any idea how much I wanted to shove the groceries onto the floor, heft her up on a counter and take that sweet mouth?
I sucked in a sharp breath through my nose, taming my arousal before it got out of hand. If I didn’t stop imagining Presley naked, I’d have to hobble my hard-on home. As it was, I’d be in for a cold shower.
I really needed to find the towels.
Behind me, Presley rustled through bags, opening and closing cupboards as she put her items away. “So what are you doing here?”
“Helping unload groceries.”
“No, here. As in the house next door. I thought you were staying at the Evergreen.”
“I was.” I handed her the loaf of bread. “Motels are fine for short location shoots, but I’m going to be here too long to stay cramped in a single room. Someone else can have that spot. I needed more space anyway, and I didn’t want to take a trailer. Besides, real estate is a good investment and that house was cheap.”
“Cheap?” She stiffened. “Owning that house would take me twenty years to pay off. It’s not cheap.”
Shit. Someday, I’d get through a conversation with this woman where I didn’t manage to piss her off.
“I’m sorry.” I held up a hand. “I’ll admit my perspective on money is skewed.”
I had to watch myself around my family too. On more than one occasion, I’d shoved my foot into my mouth when it came to wealth. My parents and my sisters were proud of my success but didn’t want handouts.
I’d offered to buy my mom a new car. She’d informed me she could buy her own vehicle, thank you very much. I’d gone overboard with Christmas presents a few years ago, buying my sisters each a diamond bracelet. They’d been gracious, but Matine had pulled me aside later and said the gifts were too much. Apparently, diamonds made things weird. So last year I’d bought them each a fancy new coffee maker. The year before that, house slippers and a massage.
The only extravagant gift I’d been able to arrange in recent years had been getting my sisters and brothers-in-law to let me pay for my nieces’ college educations.
Now that I was getting to know Presley, I saw that same kind of pride. My wealth held no appeal. Hell, it was probably working against me.
That credit card stunt the first day I’d met her had definitely been a bad move.
Presley wouldn’t look at me as she folded the paper bags into a neat stack.
“Truly, I didn’t mean any offense,” I said. “I’m going to be in Clifton Forge for a while and wanted a place of my own. It’s a very nice house, as is yours.”
Her shoulders eased and she met my gaze. “How long are you here?”
“We’re on an aggressive shooting schedule, but we’re trying to be authentic—your favorite word—so we’re filming most scenes on location. Right now, we’re projecting eight weeks total. Two down. Six to go if we stay on track.”
“Then what?” she asked. “Wait. You’re not going to stay here, are you?”
“No.” I chuckled at the panic in her voice. “I’ll be out of your hair as soon as we w
rap here. We’ll go back to California and shoot some scenes on set. The movie will go into postproduction. We’ll have edits and retakes and sound. By the time we actually start marketing the movie, you’ll have forgotten all about me.”
She nodded along as I spoke, though I could tell she had no idea what any of the movie terms meant. Not many did unless they were part of the Hollywood world.
I’d done the same thing when Isaiah had walked me through the custom bike design. He’d named parts I’d never heard of, and besides the seat, handlebars, gas tank and wheels, I’d been at a loss to understand how the pieces fit together.
My blank stare had probably looked a lot like Presley’s at the moment.
When I’d first started acting, I’d been a mess—going the wrong way, standing on the wrong mark, looking at the camera. My first movie had been a crash course, and luckily, I’d had a good tutor in Laurelin, my manager. She’d given up acting to become a manager and had taken me under her wing. So had the producer, director and the cast and crew members. Not a single person on that set had given me shit when I’d screwed up early on. After that project, I’d walked into the next with more confidence and it had shown on screen.
“Have you lived here long?” I asked, changing the subject.
If we kept on this path, I feared we’d begin talking about the movie, but I was saving that for Friday. I wasn’t going to deviate from the plan. Once we were done discussing Dark Paradise, I’d have to come up with yet another excuse to spend time with Presley. This bought me a few days.
“Almost ten years,” she answered.
“Ten?” Presley wasn’t old enough to have lived here that long. “Did you grow up in this house or something?”
“I moved in when I was eighteen. I rented the guest bedroom from the lady who owns this place. She was looking for a roommate to take care of the place while she was gone because she worked for the railroad and traveled a lot. So I took care of her cat and made sure the house was clean. When she moved a few years later, she was going to sell but I asked her if I could rent it instead.”
“So you’re twenty-eight?” She did not look twenty-eight.
“Twenty-seven. My birthday is in August. You?”
“Thirty-four.”
Presley stepped across the kitchen, passing me by. I followed, stopping by her side as she looked down the entryway to the front door. “Thanks for your help.”
“No problem. Are you sure I can’t convince you to help unpack boxes?”
“I’ve had enough unpacking for a while,” she muttered.
“Huh?” Hadn’t she lived here for ten years?
“Nothing.” She waved me off, then looked once more to the door.
But she wasn’t getting rid of me that easily. I strolled past her into the living room, ignoring the grumble that came from her mouth.
“No picture?” I picked up an empty frame from a table beside the couch.
“No.” She yanked it from my hand, laying it facedown.
I walked to the TV, crouching down to examine the row of movies stacked neatly on the stand’s shelves. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a horror fan.”
“I’m not,” she muttered. “Those aren’t mine.”
“Oh, do you have a roommate?”
“Not anymore.”
That distant tone I’d gotten the first day at the garage was back. I stood, the chill in her voice setting the hairs on my arms on end. What was I missing? What picture had been in that frame? Who had left the Saw movies behind?
She tapped her foot, reminding me it was time to leave.
I ignored that too and kept searching for clues.
When I’d been a cop, I’d walk into a room and catalog everything within the first minute. I’d gotten out of that habit since changing careers, and it took me longer than it would have back then to pick up on the details in Presley’s home.
The empty frame. The People magazine turned upside down on the coffee table. The cushion on the left side of the leather couch that looked slightly more worn than any other seat.
There was an entire row of photographs hanging on one wall and I moved in to get a closer look. The largest in the center was of Presley and Draven. He had his arm around her and his cheek bent low, pressing into her hair. She was hugging his waist and smiling wide.
“You two were close.”
“Very.” There was longing in her voice. Heartache. She joined me in front of the photo, staring at it hard, like she was wishing she could hop inside and go back to that moment.
That same nostalgia hit me whenever I saw a photo of myself in uniform, standing beside my dad wearing the same. There were days when I wished we could leap into the past, to relive the moments when he was my hero and the notion of giving up the police force for some action movies would have made us both laugh hysterically.
The longer she stared at Draven, the more it began to sink in. Presley’s defense of his character. Her constant reminders that he’d been a good man.
Draven had been a father figure for her. She longed to be his daughter.
She tore her gaze away from the photo. “You’d better go.”
“Okay.” There’d be no breaking down that wall of hers tonight. “Are we still on for Friday?”
She nodded and led me to the door, her spine stiff and shoulders pinned as she opened it wide.
I followed but didn’t leave. Instead, I leaned against the frame and let the warm air seep past us both. “I don’t know which box my dishes are in.”
“Probably the one marked dishes.”
I grinned. Everything in the boxes was brand new. I doubted there’d be many items labeled. “I’m ordering pizza. Want to share?”
“I’m eating in tonight.”
“That’s right. You’ve got all your carrots.”
“I have bad eyes,” she snapped. It sure was fun to irritate her. “When I was a kid, the eye doctor warned me I’d probably need glasses. I didn’t want glasses because what already tiny first grader wants to stand out more than she already does? So I ate a ton of carrots. I still had to get glasses, but . . .”
“The carrots stuck.”
She nodded.
“Do you wear glasses?”
She nodded again.
I bet glasses would only make her blue eyes bigger. They’d be sexy on the thin bridge of her nose. They’d accentuate the daintiness of her chin. I’d have to come over one night, surprise her with something neighborly—carrot cake maybe—just to see if I could catch her in glasses.
“What else do you like to eat?”
“Go away, Shaw.”
I chuckled but didn’t move. “Tell me.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to know about you.”
“You’re leaving in six weeks. Doesn’t this feel like wasted effort?”
“Not at all.” These questions felt like some of the best I’d asked in a long, long time.
“I like pasta. And bread. And chips. And cereal. And all the things that come in a box because even though they’re supposed to be bad for you, I love them anyway.”
“A box? Like a pizza box? Because I’m ordering pizza for dinner tonight. Want some?”
“You’re impossible. Go. Home.” She planted one of her delicate hands on my arm and gave me a not so delicate shove.
I didn’t budge.
She growled.
“Fine.” I pushed off the door and winked as I walked down the steps.
I didn’t rush my steps but I kept my eyes forward, waiting for the sound of her closing door. When I hit the driveway, I still hadn’t heard it, so I glanced back.
And fuck yeah, Presley’s eyes darted up from my ass.
She could pretend she didn’t like me all she wanted, but we both knew there was something here. Something worth exploring for six weeks.
How convenient, since Presley was my new neighbor.
I whistled as I crossed my yard and waved to the woman across the street watching her
daughter play in a splash pool.
Goddamn, I loved my new yellow house.
Chapter Eight
Presley
Fridays were my least favorite day of the week.
Dash didn’t work on Fridays unless he’d gotten behind. He’d put in long days early in the week so he could spend Fridays with Bryce and their boys. Emmett and Leo loved to duck out early and get their weekend party started. When he’d lived here before, Isaiah used to stick around in case a last-minute walk-in showed, but now that we had the other mechanics, he was gone early too.
And without Draven, that left me alone in the office, watching the clock tick toward five.
The slowest hours of the week came on Friday afternoons.
But not today. I couldn’t wait for this Friday. I’d driven to work with jitters this morning that had yet to fade.
I had no idea what time Shaw would come to the office, but when he showed, I’d be ready. I’d worked ahead the last few days, preparing so that once he arrived, I’d be off the clock and all ears.
My afternoon cup of tea was steaming. My foot bounced on the floor. I’d be a mess if Shaw made me wait until five.
He didn’t.
At ten after three, his gleaming SUV pulled into the lot.
“Hey.” He walked into the office and whipped the sunglasses off his face.
“Hey,” I breathed, the air from my lungs stolen by the square cut of his jaw and his glittering eyes. The man was handsome to distraction.
I hadn’t seen much of Shaw since the evening he’d helped me unload groceries at my house. His vehicle had been missing more often than not whenever I came home from work. I’d done my best not to watch.
I’d followed my normal routine and lived like that house was empty. I didn’t check the windows when I heard a car drive by. I didn’t turn down the television at night so I could hear the slam of his door. A movie star might live next door, but I refused to treat him differently than I would any other neighbor.
I respected his privacy that much.
Except . . .
Then the nights came. I’d retire to my bedroom and slip into my pajamas. I’d settle underneath my covers and fluff my pillow. But instead of closing the blinds like I had for years, I’d leave them open. I’d crack the window.
