by Marie James
When my eyes find his again, I realize what he’s just done. I regain my fortitude and sneer in his direction.
“It’s not even eight on a Saturday. The noise is out of control and more than a little disruptive. Every morning I have to pick up debris out of my yard,” I complain. “The roads in front of this block are covered in clumps of mud from your equipment.”
His smile never falters.
“And,” I say taking a step closer and jabbing my finger into his rock solid chest. “I’m just hungover enough to smack that damn grin off of your face and not feel bad about it.”
He catches my hand before I can pull it away and holds it flat against his chest.
“I know a few stress relieving techniques you’d benefit from,” he says on a low purr.
Cue sexual innuendo and thigh clenching.
With a violent tug, I pull my hand from his grip. “You’re incorrigible,” I say and storm back to my house.
I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that he thinks he can talk to me that way, or that I actually want to take him up on his offer.
“Nice shoes!” he calls after me as I cross from utter destruction onto fresh green grass. I hang my head as I climb up my front porch steps. Why can’t he just leave well enough alone?
Chapter 7
Kegan
I almost followed Lexi back to her house, but she seemed genuinely pissed. I avoid upset women like the damn plague, and even the beautiful Ms. Carter won’t be an exception to that rule!
I remained distracted all day, my focus on her home rather than the job I was here to perform. Diverting my attention, especially while operating heavy machinery could prove fatal on a job site. I forced myself to pull my borderline obsessed attention from the house next door and refocus on the task at hand. I’m going to be working this job site for months to come; I’ll have plenty of time to interact with Lexi Carter.
The day ends early since it’s Saturday. I’d never force the crew to work a solid day on the weekend unless it was absolutely necessary. Since we’re so early in this job, we’ll have the ability to gain some ground later on.
I make sure the guys do a super good sweep of the job site, removing anything that could end up in her yard if there’s a stiff breeze. I shoot over a text to the cleanup crew to have them come out as soon as they can to scrape the buildup of mud on the road just off the property.
What else did she complain about?
Oh yes, the noise.
Nothing I can really do about that, other than not work Saturdays. If everything goes as planned, Saturdays will be few and far between. I presume she leaves for work before the crew shows up during the week.
I tap out a text to Kadin to let him know our progress for the day; then I plan to head over to Lexi’s and let her know that I’ve handled her grievances to the best of my abilities. In my wildest fantasies she repays my kindness with wild sex; in reality, more than likely, she’ll claw my eyes out.
I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that her clawing at me, especially my back, sounds like something I’d be interested in.
My phone rings before I can step over the property line. I wander back toward the half-demolished house.
“Hey,” I answer. “This property will be clear by close of business on Monday.”
“Listen,” Kadin says into the phone. “They found out what’s wrong with Easton.”
“Good damn thing,” I respond. “He’s been in the hospital for two fucking days. What’s wrong?”
“Spinal meningitis,” Kadin says with an exhausted sigh.
“Fuck,” I mutter. “That sounds extremely bad.”
I slap myself on the forehead. I feel like a complete asshole for saying that. I have no damn filter. My mom’s been complaining about it since I said my first words.
“Yeah,” Kadin agrees, clearly familiar with my issue. “They’ve started him on an antibiotic therapy, but he’ll be here for a while.”
“How’s London?” I ask.
“She’s,” he sighs again. “She won’t leave his side. Fuck,” he hisses. “I downplayed this, man. If she had caved and given in when I told her he was only teething, Easton would probably be dead. This is some serious shit he’s dealing with right now.”
“Hey, you can’t think like that,” I say trying to console him through the phone. “He’s going to be okay, right?”
“Yeah,” he answers. “The doctors think he’ll make a full recovery. It’s just going to be a while before he feels one hundred percent better.”
“You have to focus on that, Kadin. Quit with the ‘what ifs’. They don’t help anyone.”
He pulls the phone away and says something comforting to London.
“What can I do to help?” I ask.
I’d do whatever it takes to ease some of the stress they have resting on their shoulders.
“I need you to watch the girls.”
Except that.
“Kegan? You there?” Kadin asks when all he gets is silence.
I had nightmares after the girls went home Thursday evening. How Kadin and London trust me with their children, I’ll never understand.
“What’s the game plan?” I ask reluctantly.
“After church tomorrow. You can grab them from mom and dad’s house. They have a luncheon they can’t get out of. You can drop them back off there at five or so,” Kadin explains.
I do the math in my head. That’s over four hours. I shudder at the things those two girls can accomplish in that length of time.
I look over at Lexi’s house, and an idea pops into my head when a shadow crosses in front of the window facing the job site.
“Sure, man. No problem.”
“Really?” Kadin asks, his voice marked with suspicion.
“Anything for you guys,” I answer.
I hang up with Kadin as I walk toward Lexi’s door. She loves kids; she’d never turn down an offer to help a desperate man in need.
I don’t even try to hide the smile on my face when old school Salt ‘N Pepa hits my ears. The front door is open, and the cool fall air is permeating the house through the front screen door.
I tilt and angle my head, trying to catch a glimpse of her before I knock. It’s not really as creepy as it sounds, honestly.
Rather than seeing Lexi in the house, a loud crash echoes out of the door followed by her obscene curse.
“You stupid motherfucking cunt!”
My eyes widen at her foul language. She is a kindergarten teacher after all.
“Lexi,” I say into the house, getting no response.
I say it louder, and it still goes unanswered.
Expecting the worst, I open the screen door and step into the house. Looking around, it’s like I’ve traveled back in time thirty years.
“Lexi!” I yell.
“Back here!” comes her response from the right.
I follow the long hallway until I find her standing with her hands on her hips looking down at a mess of splattered paint and an overturned ladder.
“That’s not good,” I say without thinking. I chuckle when I look over at her. Her legs and almost indecently short cut-offs are covered in a thin layer of lime green paint; the same paint that is all over the hardwood floor and two of the walls.
“The ladder fell over,” she says pointing as if I couldn’t deduct that from the scene in front of me.
“Clearly,” I say.
“Can I help you with something?” She uses her forearm to swipe at her forehead leaving behind a thin streak of green paint. My fingers tingle as I fight the urge to wipe it away as an excuse to touch her.
Maybe it’s the lifelong construction worker in me, but seeing her in a tank top covered in splattered paint has my cock straining against the zipper of my jeans. This is the kind of dirty I’ve always fantasized about but never had the privilege of enjoying.
The women I go after are always dressed to the nines, enjoying a night out on the town. Interrupting a beautiful woman while
she does home improvement tasks has never been offered to me before. Not that she’s offering. Telling by the glare on her face right now, she’s pissed I’m in the house.
“I heard the crash,” I say pointing back to the front door. “I called your name, but you didn’t answer. I was afraid you were hurt. Especially after your outburst.”
I watch her cheeks flush. She’s embarrassed I heard her use that type of language.
“I need to get cleaned up,” she says dismissively as she kicks her sneakers off before leaving the room.
I follow her through the house because she technically hasn’t asked me to leave yet.
“The lime green back there doesn’t really go with the décor in here,” I observe out loud.
“What are you some interior design specialist?”
“No,” I huff. “That’s a woman’s…”
Her eyes shoot up to mine, halting my declaration.
Note to self. Keep the sexist shit quiet.
“I just mean lime green doesn’t coordinate with your corduroy, floral print couch.” I offer. “The green seems like you. The outdated furniture, not so much.”
Like a lost puppy trying to find a home, I continue to trail her into the kitchen where she wets some paper towels and begins to wipe away the paint on her legs. I bite my tongue to keep from offering to help her clean up. Hell, I’d lick her clean and risk being poisoned from the paint if she’d let me.
“I inherited this house from my grandparents. I’m refurnishing one room at a time. I haven’t made it to the living room yet,” she explains never raising her eyes from her task.
“That makes sense,” I say entranced at her hands wetting her long, tan legs.
“I started upstairs with my bedroom since that’s where I spend my most time.”
“I’d love to see it.” I lick my lips at the idea of entering her bedroom, of entering her.
“Fat chance, Romeo.” She tosses the now green covered paper towel in the trash and stands to her full height.
She walks through the house again, this time stepping into the living room. It’s almost like a time capsule in here.
“I use the den mostly,” she explains. “Well, that was until I splattered it with paint.” She frowns as she looks around this room, which is clearly her grandparents’ taste and not that of a vivacious twenty-something woman.
“Your grandmother and grandfather?” I ask pointing to a large picture over the mantel.
“Yes,” she says sadly. “They’ve been gone for just over three years now.”
“Together?”
She nods.
“That’s horrible,” I say without thinking.
She huffs a sad laugh. “Yeah. Car accident. Drunk driver.” She offers nothing else.
I step closer to her, regretting opening my stupid fucking mouth since remembering her grandparents’ death is bringing her distress. I cup her jaw in my hand and tilt her face up to mine. I lean in slowly to kiss her just as I realize how fucked up it would be to take advantage of this situation. Sad, broken Lexi Carter is not who she normally is. I’m an asshole most days, but today won’t be one of them.
She blinks slowly as if accepting what I want to offer, but I take a step back instead. Her cheeks flush again as embarrassment hits her.
I really want to ask her details about the accident. My uncle’s drunk driving accident was almost three years ago as well. The last name Carter isn’t familiar to me, but just the thought that it could be the same crash makes my stomach turn.
I clear my throat, my mouth suddenly dry.
“What did you want?” she all but snaps in my direction.
There’s the feisty woman I want to spend my time with.
“I’ll have the girls again tomorrow afternoon,” I begin. “I was hoping you’d tag along, so they don’t murder me.”
She laughs good-naturedly. Her change in mood relieves some of the tension in my shoulders. “Those girls don’t have a devious bone in their bodies.”
“Wolves in sheep’s clothing,” I mutter.
She frowns. “You don’t have much experience with children do you?”
I shake my head. “No real desire to gain any either, but London and Kadin are in a pinch at the hospital and my parents have plans. That leaves Uncle Kegan. Believe me; I’m their last resort.”
She gasps and holds her hand to her throat. “Easton?” I nod. “The girls have been scared for him.”
“Spinal meningitis,” I confide.
Her eyes sparkle with unshed tears at my news.
“I just need to keep them entertained for a few hours until my parents get back home. Want to help me out?” I smile wide and plead with my eyes. There also may have been a wink and smirk filled with innuendo thrown in for good measure.
“No,” she responds without even giving it a second thought.
My brows knit together. Not the answer I was hoping for.
“Okay.” I turn toward the door feeling thoroughly shot down. A woman immune to my charm? I guess unicorns are real.
“But,” she says halting my feet in their tracks. “I will go to help them out. There’s no telling what kind of trouble you’ll get them into.”
I wait until I’m out of her line of site and back at my truck before I fist pump the air.
Chapter 8
Lexi
What the hell am I thinking?
I don’t mind helping with the girls when Kadin and London are in a pinch. I’m now Lennox and Anastyn’s teacher, but I’ve known London for a while. I’d even consider her a friend. She and Jillian worked together for a while at the law firm Hawke and Justin own.
But, I know for a fact that help with the kids isn’t all Kegan has on his mind. Still doesn’t explain why he stepped back instead of kissing me. I could see the desire in his eyes. He wanted it, but something kept him from following through.
I cup my hand over my mouth and breathe into it. Nope, my breath is fine. Maybe the mood was wrong in my grandparents’ mausoleum of a living room?
The bigger question is why am I even worried about it?
Did I want him to kiss me? I can admit that I had a weak moment and thought for a brief second that his lips on mine were the way to go, but I know I can’t act on any type of ‘extra-curricular’ activities with Kegan Cole.
I shake my head, trying to get his blue eyes out of my head as I walk back to the kitchen and grab a container of Clorox wipes. I’m not looking forward to the mess in the den.
I try not to think about the disappointed look I know I’d see in my grandfather’s eyes if he saw what I’ve done to his hardwood floor. After two hours of scrubbing every single dot of neon green paint off of the floor, I don't even have the energy to actually try to paint the walls. Besides, I’d have to run back to the hardware store to buy more.
So I do what I do every time I get bored, I call Jillian.
“What’s up?” Jillian says as she answers the phone.
“Why are you breathing so hard? Oh God, did you answer the phone in the middle of sex again? Jillian, I told you to stop doing that!”
She laughs loudly. So loudly, in fact, I have to pull the phone from my ear until she calms down. “No. I’m at the gym. But there is a guy here who seems like he might be down for an afternoon romp.”
“Romp? Seriously, Jillian?” I sigh and settle on my bed.
“Don’t judge me,” she says firmly, but I can hear the smile in her voice. “Just because you’re all dried up doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun.”
“A little fun,” I say with a laugh. “I’ve known hookers who are less promiscuous than you!”
“Hey!” she yells indignantly. “Enough with the slut shaming!”
“Okay, okay,” I agree. This is another conversation we seem to have fairly often.
“Are you calling to try to make me feel bad about my healthy sexual appetite? Because you know that will never happen.”
“I would never shame you,” I say.
/> I’ll never tell her that I’m actually jealous of her ability to go out and have a good time without feeling regret and reproach. Don’t get me wrong, I do it on occasion, a girl has needs, but I don’t live my life seeking the next man in my bed like Jillian does.
“Hey, handsome,” Jillian coos at her next target.
“Jill,” I sigh into the phone. “Did I tell you that I met Kegan Cole?”
“You didn’t,” she says returning her focus back to our phone call. “He’s a fine specimen. I’ve seen him a few times in the office over the years. I think London told me her girls go to your school.”
“Both of them are in my class this year,” I confirm. “Kegan brought them earlier this week.”
“Like what you saw, didn’t you?”
“He just left my house a few hours ago,” I say toying with her, knowing her mind is going straight to the gutter.
“You dirty bitch,” she says in a hushed tone. “I’d climb that man like a stripper pole!”
A sick feeling hits my gut. “Have you? Did you and he hook up?”
“What? No! He’s not really my type. You should know that,” she argues.
I know what her type is, and I also know what type she pretends is her type.
“He’s a construction worker, rugged, and hot as sin. That screams your type.”
“He’s a businessman and his family has more money than Croesus.”
And there lies the problem. Her taste in men is very singular. Well, her ideal man is actually one man, Hawthorne Pratt, a lawyer, a businessman. So Jillian pretends her tastes go to the opposite of that, the antithesis of Hawke. She seeks out the tatted up bad boys, the men she’d never risk losing her heart to.
I remain silent because Hawke is a conversation we avoid at all cost, while we’re sober at least.
“So no, I haven’t touched Kegan Cole, but from the tone of your voice, you sound like you want to,” she says.
“I’m helping him with the girls tomorrow. London’s little boy is sick, and Kegan doesn’t seem like he can handle the girls by himself,” I explain.
“You have a date with him tomorrow?” she asks.
