by Lyla Dune
They entered the master suite.
She’d never been in there with a man before. The proximity of man and bed sent her hormones into overdrive.
Oh no. Did I leave my purple boyfriend out?
Frantically scouring the bedside table, she saw no signs of her beloved sex toy. She released a huge sigh of relief.
Wait. Oh God.
It was sticking out from under the sheet by her leg. She plopped down on the vibrator, hiding it with her butt, and to her horror, turning it on with said butt.
The buzz was deafening.
She jabbed a finger toward the closet. “Check out the massive walk-in.”
With his back to her, he meandered across the room, his shoulders quivering.
She clicked the vibrator off and shoved it under the covers.
When he turned back around, his lips were twisted into a fleshy pretzel. She could tell he was trying very hard not to laugh out loud.
Oh. My. God. He heard it. Saw it. He knows. Please tell me he’s amused by something else. Please.
His lips relaxed as he slinked into her personal space. Was he about to make a move?
A part of her wanted to run. The other part, the lower part, hoped he’d pin her to the mattress.
No. Bad idea. She had to clear her head and make her body behave. “Excuse me.” She pushed past him and did her best Vanna White hand gesture to feature the mahogany dresser. “Solid mahogany, hand-carved by a local artisan.”
He nodded approvingly and said, “Mind if I see the loo?”
“Loo?”
“Bathroom.”
Loo meant bathroom? “Skip to My Lou” played in her head. The song took on a whole new meaning. “Sure.” She didn’t want to show him the bathroom. It looked worse than the bedroom. But not much she could do about it now. After the vibrator incident, what did she have to be embarrassed about? A messy bathroom? Please.
She opened the bathroom door and revealed her enormous stash of makeup cluttering the counter and dirty towels piled on the floor.
But all she could see in her mind was purple silicone peeking out from under white muslin.
Manners? Intelligence? No, thank you. She pulled the dumb-blonde card. “Do you need to use it?”
He shot her an incredulous look. “Let’s hope not. It’s a hurricane magnet. Can’t be safe.”
“Aren’t you Mr.Sarcastic?”
“Me? Sarcastic? Never been accused of that before.” He peered over her shoulder. “Maid service refuses to go in there, I suppose.”
She shoved him playfully. “There is no maid service around here, pal.”
“Are we pals then?”
His warmth radiated through her. She desperately wanted to melt and curl into him until the dancing dildo in her head faded into the distance.
Snap out of it, you’re gay, remember?
“No. We can’t be pals. You’re the man who is going to make me homeless. Pals don’t do that.”
“What makes you think I intend to make you homeless?”
“You’re the new owner. If you plan to actually live here, you won’t need a house-sitter.”
“I see.” His unexpected tone of compassion soothed her.
He dipped his head closer to hers and whispered, “I’ve not asked you to leave yet, have I?”
Gulp. “No. No, you haven’t.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Mazy
Brock wanted to say, “Stay as long as you like, Beautiful. I’d love to show you some new tricks with that toy of yours.” But he stopped himself.
Whoever ran the projector in the theater of his skull did not stop, however. In fact, that pervert shuffled through his porn collection, until he found a blonde actress enjoying a grape popsicle.
Brock regained control of the mental projection booth, turned off the movie, and climbed to higher ground.
Sam had a point. He did have every intention of renovating the place, returning to Cardiff, and getting an extended Visa. He’d then come back and make this house his home while he mapped out the next phase of his future. He wouldn’t need or want a house-sitter.
With her eyes downcast, she shifted side to side. “I do apologize for the mess.”
“Not to worry, love. When alone with no one nagging and no one picking up behind me, I dare say, I could make the entire house look far worse than this room.”
What a crock. His teammates had ridiculed him for being a neat freak. The sight of this abomination made him itch. But she looked so much like a puppy who’d had an “accident” and feared a pop on the nose, he couldn’t help but lie. Besides, clothes and towels on the floor were easy fixes. She hadn’t punched holes in the wall or burnt the carpeting.
He thumbed another note. Remove carpet and install hardwood floors upstairs.
She glared at his phone, obviously, still displeased with his note-taking.
Maybe he could lighten the moment. “I wanted to remind myself to hire a cleaning service.” Instead of making her laugh, as he planned, he had the distinct impression he’d upset her even more.
“I’m joking. I added replacing the carpet with hardwood floors to my to-do-list. Carpet and sand don’t go together well.”
She turned her face away from him. He reached for her hand, but retreated before touching her. “Relax. I don’t care about the mess.”
She whirled around. One side of her mouth curled upward, but her eyes lacked sparkle. In light of all the news she’d received this morning, he suspected she’d appreciate some time alone to mull things over.
The doorbell rang. She brushed past him, racing to the window at the end of the hallway. “Mazy’s here.”
He quick-stepped into the hall.
Sam zipped past him again and headed downstairs. He found himself following her without invitation. Mazy wasn’t his personal house guest. He should have stayed put, but he was curious to see this Mazy person. Lover perhaps?
Midway down the stairs, Sam halted and looked him in the eyes. “You can check out the rest of the upstairs without me.”
She didn’t want him to follow. He was rude for traipsing after her in the first place. “I wasn’t sure if…” He backed up. “I’ll be up here if you need me.”
She continued down without him.
He mumbled to himself, “I’ll be up here if you need me?” Why would she have need of him? She had a visitor, someone she knew quite well. Mazy. Male or female? Sounded like a male name, but could be female. Sam claimed to be a lesbian, but her body language suggested otherwise.
Blimey. Now he pictured Sam’s long legs entangled with the legs of another beauty, and he enjoyed the image. Freaking splendid. The past three months of self-imposed celibacy had an unexpected adverse effect. He now entertained sexual fantasies in which he wasn’t even an imaginary participant.
Bloody Hell. He needed to find a way to fire the wanker running his mental-movie projector.
THE SPUNKY DRUMMER for Bikini Quartet had a habit of letting herself in before Sam could answer the door. The twenty-three year old stood in the laundry area when Sam reached the main level. Grease smeared Mazy’s pasty-white arms. She wore navy coveralls with the sleeves lopped off. After she peeled a grimy, beige ball-cap off her head, she tunneled her fingers through her curly, red hair.
What had possessed her to abandon her small engine repair shop and pay Sam a visit this morning?
Mazy wiped her feet on the doormat. “Hey, girl. Who’s cool ride? You got a man in here?” She popped onto her tiptoes and peered over Sam’s shoulder.
Sam positioned her body to block Mazy’s view into the living room. “Yes, but it’s not what you think.”
“I’m not thinking anything.” Mazy waggled her eyebrows. “Heard there was a fine man driving a red Mustang, and he helped you on the bridge this morning.”
“Holy cow. Myrtle didn’t waste any time. She told you, didn’t she?” Myrtle was the only local Sam saw on the drawbridge that morning, other than the bridge-tender who rarely sa
id more than two words to anyone.
“Nope. I haven’t seen Myrtle. I stopped off at the Circle K to get some coffee, and Ashley told me.”
“Ashley? How’d she find out?”
“Louise told her a hunky guy pushed Ole Betsey over the bridge. She described the helper as a demigod. Myrtle emailed her some pics of him. I texted Myrtle to forward the photos to me, but I haven’t got them yet.” With a quick zip and tug, Mazy removed her coveralls, revealing a gray tank-top and a pair of pinstriped boxers with the waistband rolled down. If Brock saw her, he’d have no trouble believing she was gay.
Wait. That might come in handy. Even though Mazy was a straight tomboy, Brock wouldn’t know.
“You asked Myrtle to send you a pic of him, huh?”
“Heck yeah. I wanted to see for myself. But looks like I’m gonna see the demigod in the flesh. Lucky me.” Mazy stepped around Sam.
Sam grabbed her friend’s arm and pulled her back. “Hold on a sec.”
“Sam, what’s your problem?”
“I need to show you something.” She brought Mazy in and motioned for her to take a seat at the kitchen counter. “I got something I want you to read.”
She pulled up Irene’s recent email on her cellphone and handed it to Mazy.
Mazy read silently then lifted her eyes. “By the end of June?”
“Yep. And demigod? He’s the new homeowner. So he may have pushed Ole Betsey over the bridge, but he’s bulldozing me out of a home.”
“Don’t go making a mountain out of molehill. He isn’t exactly bulldozing you if he’s letting you stay on an additional six weeks for free, now is he?”
“Smartalec.”
Mazy didn’t have a college degree, but she did have street smarts and common sense. She was right. He wasn’t bulldozing Sam out.
Sam slouched. “He wants to renovate. Can you believe it? This place is awesome, and he wants to change things.”
“That’s not so strange. People have a tendency to want to make houses they own theirs, reflect their taste.”
“I know.” Sam tilted her head side to side in an attempt to alleviate the pressure building at the base of her skull. “It’s just too much for me to take in so fast. I got a call from Irene this morning on the drawbridge, and then he showed up at my door two minutes after I got home. I haven’t even had a chance to change into dry clothes.”
She squeezed the sides of her damp shorts. “And… I had to show him my messy room.”
Sam considered telling Mazy about the vibrator, but decided she’d rather keep that to herself. The purple monster was going to haunt her beyond the grave as it was.
She faced Mazy. “I can’t fathom looking for a new place.”
The more Sam talked, the higher her voice climbed, until she could pass for Minnie Mouse.
Mazy pulled Sam into a warm, lingering hug.
“Ahem.” A deep, manly sound came from the living room.
Sam turned.
Brock stood beside the coffee table. And he appeared as uncomfortable as a kid watching his parents kiss.
NO DOUBT ABOUT it, Mazy was a girl. Judging by the way the two women hugged, maybe Sam told the truth about being gay. Mazy certainly had a masculine way about her, and the emotion between the women seemed genuine and loving. He should leave them alone. Where could he go?
He cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt.”
Sam pulled away from the redhead, but kept one arm around the young woman’s waist. “Brock, I’d like to introduce you to my girlfriend, Mazy.”
Brock kept his distance and gave a nod as a greeting. “Mazy.”
“Nice to meet Pleasure Island’s newest celebrity,” Mazy replied.
“Celebrity?” He’d traveled a great distance to lose that label. Celebrity was the last thing he wanted to be called. What was going on here?
Sam elbowed her girlfriend in the ribs. “She’s being silly. Anyone new to the island is a celebrity.”
The women now stared at him like he’d just landed in a UFO.
He had to get out of there. “I need to pick-up some supplies and start working on the deck. Could you direct me to the nearest hardware store?”
Sam released her arm from Mazy’s waist. Pointing west, she said, “Go back over the bridge, and hang a right. The hardware store is in a shopping area on the left. You can’t miss it. It has a bunch of lawn-mowers parked out front.”
“Thank you. Do you need anything?” He couldn’t imagine what she might need from the hardware store, but it seemed polite to make the offer.
“Nope. I’m good.” Her voice had a cold edge.
It dawned on him that she might assume since he owned the house, he planned to take over the master suite, the one room she seemed to spend most of her time in, judging from the mess. “Sam, I don’t mind if you continue to stay in the master bedroom. I’ll sleep in the guest quarters.”
“What?”
Damn. This woman must have high-blood pressure. The vein in her throat pulsed so hard it caused the hair against her neck to sway in rhythm. Maybe he should lead her to a chair and try to get her to calm down before she keeled over.
“I thought you were just checking the house out. I mean…Irene said I had six weeks. She didn’t mention you were moving in before that six weeks was up. What the hell. Do you plan on moving in today?” That was not the voice of Sam. That demonic voice belonged in a fiery pit.
This woman was moodier than anyone he’d ever met. Given an opportunity, she’d most likely rip him to shreds with her candy-colored nails. She was starting to resemble a cat, which was far from sexy in his eyes.
“I thought that was the arrangement you had with the Marshalls. You continued to stay on while they were in town. You all stayed in the house…together, right? That’s what the Marshalls told me.”
She balled her fists. “Yeah, but that was the Marshalls. I don’t know you.”
Fair enough. He had a sneaking suspicion he’d yet to meet all the women trapped inside her body.
HOW DARE HE move in on top of her like this. Without warning. Sam clenched her fists so tightly, her fingernails dug into her palms.
Mazy snickered, and Sam flashed her a bug-eyed stare. Mazy flashed one right back.
Brock said, “Is there an issue, ladies?”
Sam turned her attention back to him. He slowly strode toward her.
“You can’t stay here. You can’t. Got it?” She forced her hands open, stiffly splaying all ten digits.
“Might I remind you this is my house?” He lifted a single brow. “I don’t mind if you stay on for another six weeks, but you’re free to leave. If you do choose to stay, I’m more than willing to bunk in the one room flat below. You may continue to sleep in the room you’re accustomed to.”
“Listen, you….“ The redneck in Sam wanted to pick up the nearest breakable and throw it at his head while she screamed, “get the hell out of my house.” But she couldn’t. This wasn’t her house.
Mazy must have read Sam’s body language, because she grabbed Sam’s arm and gave it a jerk.
“Whatever.” Sam turned her back to Brock, so he couldn’t see her Oscar-worthy-eye-roll.
This wasn’t happening. It was bad enough she had to move out of the place on short notice, but to be forced to live in the same house with this…this…utterly hot man was taking things too far. For five years. Five long years. She’d kept her life on track. She’d paid off most of her bills and had eliminated a lot of drama from her life. Men brought drama. Sexy men brought the worst kind of drama.
She had four gorgeous, exes to prove it. All of them had been beautiful men with sinister tendencies. Pretty on the outside meant ugly on the inside, but she still turned to mush when she saw a pretty outside. She was weak and she knew it. Living in the same house with this man was like asking a recovering alcoholic to sleep in a bar with gallons of whiskey within his reach.
She couldn’t allow herself to be put in this position. She barely survived he
r last boyfriend. She’d been in love and two months pregnant when he’d dumped her, left her cold in under 140 characters. Dropped with no regard after three years of living together. And it wasn’t the first time a guy had broken her heart either, but this one was, by far, the worst breakup of her life. She was convinced her picker was off, way off when it came to guys.
The doctor told her that her miscarriage had nothing to do with her emotional state, but she didn’t believe him. The pregnancy was going fine until her world caved in. She hadn’t planned the pregnancy, but she and her ex had talked about it beforehand, and he said he liked the idea. She thought he was on board for it. He must have just been humoring her. A miscarriage on the heels of a bad breakup left some serious battle scars. Staying away from men was her mode of survival. But how could she stay away from a housemate?
This was NOT fair!
With a loud meow that resembled a howl, Princess darted across the tile floor. Sam could always count on Princess to side with her.
Sam spun back around to see Brock scanning the kitchen with his arms waist-level and extended in an airplane-prepared-for-take-off pose.
Princess meowed again. He jerked his head in her direction. His eyes narrowed, and he continued to search the floor.
A bundle of fur zoomed across the hardwoods and crouched under the coffee table. The cat swatted his leg. Brock hopped back with both hands raised like he was under arrest.
A snorting laugh ripped from Mazy.
Brock hiked his shoulders toward his ears and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’ll return in an hour.”
Princess hissed, and Brock squeaked. Girlie as hell. He escaped through the laundry room.
Sam wished she knew a command to sic Princess on him.
When the door slammed behind him, Sam hopped onto a barstool and faced Mazy. “Can you believe this shit?” She sure couldn’t.
“What? That you got a guard cat?”
“No. That Shrek is moving in.” Mazy didn’t know about the miscarriage. Sam didn’t like thinking about it so she opted not to tell her. All Mazy knew was that Sam had chosen to not date while she got her life back on track. And that’s all she needed to know. But those devastating memories were flooding her mind, causing her hands to tremble, along with every muscle in her belly.
