Flint

by Kali Hart

  Flint

  Ryan Brothers Renovations Book 3

  Kali Hart

  Flint is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 by Kali Hart

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without express written permission from the author/publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Epilogue

  1

  AMBER

  “Guess we don’t have a murder to report,” Flint Ryan chuckles, leaning into the island counter separating us in my sister’s kitchen. We both lock eyes on the sledgehammer leaned up against the wall. The same one I failed to wrestle out of Emma’s hands before Easton—Flint’s brother and Emma’s now fiancé—showed up.

  “I was worried there for a moment,” I admit, my voice suddenly wobbly.

  He doesn’t know who I am.

  “I won’t lie. Me too.”

  Flint turns his entire body to face me in the too-small space, assessing me without discretion. “I don’t need to worry about you picking that thing up next, do I?” Though he wears a hardened expression that only makes his chiseled face even sexier to me, the twinkle in his eyes promises he’s teasing.

  “No promises. But stay on my good side, and your odds are decent.”

  His low, rumbly laugh awakens something inside me. Warmth spreads through my chest. “What do I have to do to stay on your good side?” he asks.

  I want to groan. That was so obvious. So lame. Everything I really want to say is lodged in a heated tangle somewhere in my throat.

  Come on, Girl. Let’s get real. I’m not brave enough to put those fantasies to words. And if I’m being honest, I’m not stupid either. Not if I want to form an alliance with the Ryan brothers. And I need this alliance if I want to take that top spot at the number one listing agent.

  Flint takes a step closer, reaching out a hand. Is this gorgeous man I just met going to kiss me?

  Well shit. In two seconds flat, I’m completely swept away by the fantasy of being the next Benson sister to be carried off to a bedroom. Like Emma was just minutes ago. It’s the very reason Flint and I are left alone in her kitchen.

  My falls eyes fall shut. My mouth parts. I should probably stop what’s happening. I don’t even know how any of this is possible. But Flint’s proximity reminds me just how long it’s been since I’ve been kissed.

  I feel the gentlest brush of his fingers on my shoulder.

  Then … nothing.

  “Paint chip. On your shoulder,” he says. “It’s gone now.”

  My eyes flutter open, my face hotter than the oven that’s still on from earlier. I don’t know what Emma was planning to make since it’s empty, but I turn it off now. It gives me an excuse to step away from the sinfully hot man in a tool belt and Wranglers. Maybe find my senses while I’m at it.

  For weeks, I’ve been leaving Flint Ryan messages—messages he never returns. He handles all the purchasing and selling of the homes he and his brothers flip. I’ve been offering to use my real estate network to create a partnership with Ryan Brothers Renovations. I’ve seen his face on their website, but meeting the man in person elevates his hotness to another level.

  A level that makes it so damn hard to concentrate. It’s off-putting. I’m usually focused on my goal. Never distracted by good looks. But Flint Ryan is giving me a run for my money.

  “Did you—” Flint is interrupted by a loud moan and bang from down the hall.

  “Well, this is about to get awkward,” I mumble, reminded that my sister is in her bedroom with her new fiancé. I doubt she’ll be interested in my company before tomorrow. Maybe not even then. “Want to grab a bite to eat? Maybe somewhere that’s not here?” I’m hoping if I can get him alone and relaxed, I might be able to have a conversation about that partnership. One he can’t so easily ignore like a voicemail.

  “You asking me on a date?” Flint teases.

  Finding control of my heartrate again—and a little of my wit—I reply, “Don’t flatter yourself. Emma was supposed to feed me tonight.” Another loud moan emphasizes my point. I’m happy for my sister, but there’s a part of me that’s a little jealous too. “I just want to eat without the pornographic sound effects.”

  Again, that low, sexy laugh. My nipples respond to its alluring tone. “Not so fun when those noises aren’t your own, huh?” Flint says, that mischievous twinkle dancing in his hazel eyes.

  Is Flint … flirting with me?

  Scanning the room, I spot my purse stuffed in a corner of the crowded kitchen counter. I hook the strap over my shoulder. “Know anywhere good to eat? My treat.” I know plenty of places with tasty menus. But I want to know what Flint likes. I’m hoping it’ll be somewhere new I’ve never tried.

  I’m the number two ranked listing agent in my company—something that didn’t come without a lot of hard work and dedication. But what I really want is to be number one. To beat the weasel who’s consistently stolen that title from every other listing agent for the last two years running.

  Making sure Flint is somewhere comfortable before I reveal my true identity is important to achieving this goal.

  At least, that’s what I tell myself.

  Because this is not a date. Right?

  “I know a good place.” Flint meets me at the door just in time for a series of crashes and erotic cries to assault our ears. We rush outside like the house is on fire. “But it’s my treat.”

  FLINT

  Maybe it’s a bad idea to take my brother’s new fiancé’s sister out for a bite to eat. The two of us alone … Amber is incredibly attractive. Those sapphire eyes, that killer smile, and all those damn delicious curves. A man can only stand so much.

  But the thought of letting her eat somewhere alone is too much.

  I’ve known her for less than an hour, yet my irrational jealousy has come flooding to the surface. If I go home now, Amber might sit down at a restaurant bar. Some guy might take a seat next to her and order her a drink. Some undeserving man might try to take her home.

  “You want me to drive?” Amber offers, shattering my string of thoughts.

  Though I have no issues with her driving, I doubt I’ll fit comfortably in that compact car of hers. Images of me trying to fold my six-foot five body into her passenger seat already threaten to give me nightmares. “I’ll drive,” I say. “I know the way.”

  “Tell me about your current project,” Amber says to me on the drive.

  “It’s a four-bedroom with a sun room. I think it has a lot of potential.” Once I start, I can’t seem to shut up. I’m grateful for the easy conversation that helps me stay focused on a safe topic. Because whatever perfume she’s wearing is swirling around the cab, threatening to intoxicate my senses. It begs me to pull off on the side of the road, lift the center console, and slide on over.

  I can’t explain this insane pull I feel to Amber. A pull I’ve felt since the moment I laid eyes on her. It’s attraction on a level I’ve never experienced.

  It’s more than attraction.

  “You and your br
others are doing quite well for yourselves,” Amber says matter-of-factly. “I see your signs everywhere.”

  “Business has really picked up,” I agree as we pull into the graveled lot of Thelma’s Bar and Grill. From the outside, the place doesn’t look like much. I watch Amber’s gaze rake over the ramshackle building, wondering if she’ll turn up her nose at it.

  “Cute place,” she says, that dangerous teasing edge to her voice. The same edge that could get me into a lot of trouble tonight if I wanted. I’ve never been a man to sleep with a woman on a first date. Considering this isn’t even a real date, I really need to behave myself.

  But this curvy beauty doesn’t make it easy on me.

  “The charm’s all on the inside.”

  “Really?”

  “No.” We both laugh. “It’s the food. You’ll thank me later.”

  I lead her inside, my hand on the small of her back. I can’t help but wonder if she thinks anything of the gesture or not. Do women even know it’s a signal? One that warns every other man in this place that she came here with me.

  “Hey Flint!” Thelma, the bar’s owner, shouts above the chatter. My favorite person in the world, she also happens to be my aunt and so gets away with a lot of ribbing. As if on cue, she winks. “Who’s this fine young lady?”

  It occurs to me, with the question still hanging in the air, that there’s quite an age gap between Amber and me. I don’t know for sure, but I’d guess at least eight or ten years. Maybe a couple more. I wonder if this bothers her. “Amber, meet my aunt Thelma.”

  The two women exchange a handshake that Thelma wrangles into a hug. I don’t bring dates here often … come to think of it, I can’t remember the last one I thought worthy of Thelma’s. No wonder my aunt is strangling Amber in her embrace.

  “Thelma, let the woman breathe. She’s hungry.”

  She shows us to a back table overlooking the sunset. It’s perfect. “Anything you two want, it’s on me.”

  “Thelma—”

  “No arguments.” She hands us both a menu. “I’ll be back in a bit to grab your order.”

  When we’re alone again, I swear I feel the air sizzle across the small table separating me from Amber. For not being on a date, I’m sure nervous as hell around this mysterious woman. I find myself desperate to know everything about her.

  It thrills and terrifies me at the same time.

  “So what do you do?” I ask Amber, unable to keep my gaze from her lips no matter how hard I try. “You know, when you’re not wrestling people for sledgehammers?”

  2

  AMBER

  This is the moment when I should confess that I’m not just a realtor, but the realtor who’s been calling Flint for the past several weeks; leaving voicemails he never returns. But I’m keeping that ace in my pocket for later. I’m not stupid. I know I’ve got zero chance of convincing Flint to seriously consider my offer unless he gets to know me first. I may be a driven, dedicated real estate agent. But I’m a person, too. A good one who really wants the best for all of her clients.

  “I like to try new restaurants,” I throw out there. It’s not a lie. I’m just usually dining with clients. They often suggest restaurants I’ve never been to, and I’ve discovered I like trying new places. Studying for my broker’s exam takes up most of my time, but sharing that tidbit now would surely give me away.

  “Is that a jab?” he teases. “Because if it is, I promise you’ll change your mind once you try the food. I don’t bring just anyone here you know.”

  A flutter races through my chest at that admission. I can’t stop staring at his strong hands, capable fingers curled around the edges of his menu. The same hands I’ve imagined roaming my body numerous times since I’ve met him. “Is that a line? I’m sure you bring plenty of dates here.” Though this is not a date, it’s really starting to feel like one.

  “This is a special place to me, as I’m sure you figured out when my aunt tried to squeeze all the air out of you.”

  I let out a light, unguarded laugh. I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed a man’s company so much. The teasing banter, the light flirting … the swirling sexual tension that’s thick enough to slice with a steak knife. It’s been ages since I’ve been out on a date. Most of my free time has been spent trying to best that weasel Dennis Black. “I’m serious,” I say to Flint. “I’ve even dabbled with the idea of starting a restaurant blog.”

  Flint raises an eyebrow at me. “You want to be a food critic, huh?”

  I answer him with a shrug. “Not exactly. I don’t enjoy tearing anyone’s business down if I’m not happy with my experience. Seems like a requirement if you’re an actual food critic, doesn’t it?”

  “Never thought of it that way.”

  “All right you two. Have you made up your minds?” Thelma slides a couple frosted glasses of draft beer onto the table. Mine is lighter in color than Flint’s. I stare at the drink to avoid those expectant eyes. I haven’t even glanced at the menu since we sat down.

  “Willing to gamble?” Flint asks. “I know what’s good here. Bet I could pick a few things you’d like.”

  Considering there are very few things I don’t like—just black olives and sardines—I feel safe trusting Flint to order food that’ll live up to his hype of this place. “Gamble away.”

  Flint holds up his menu, pointing to different things so only Thelma can see.

  Okay hot stuff, leave me in the dark. I’m hungry enough to eat anything she brings back. I take a sip of my beer to keep myself busy. Normally more of a wine girl, I have to admit this beer has a refreshing, light, crisp flavor. Especially after the day—no scratch that—the week I’ve had.

  When Thelma leaves, I jump on the opportunity to get to know more about Flint. “What do you like to do with your time? When you’re not dominating the for-sale-by-owner market that is?”

  He raises an eyebrow at me and I fear I’ve blown my cover. I’m planning to tell him soon, but I was hoping to wait until after dinner.

  “To be honest, I haven’t left time for much else. I guess I haunt this place a bit more than is normal.” Flint takes a long pull of his beer, giving me a moment to release the breath I’d held in. Guess I’m safe for a little while longer. “I don’t just crunch the numbers and sign all the paperwork,” he adds. “I get my hands dirty too.”

  My eyes are immediately drawn back to those manly hands.

  “I’m kind of a jack of all trades. I can paint, plumb, tile, run electrical wire. I guess you could say on my downtime, I’m usually trying to learn some new skill I can use on our flips. Improve techniques. That sort of thing.”

  Now that is impressive. I’ve always had a soft spot for a man’s-man. I catch myself licking my lips. His heated gaze warns me I’m more than a little busted. I feeling zinging between my legs, fantasizing about where this night might lead.

  I’d normally never sleep with a man I just met—and definitely not one I hope to form a business partnership with—but tonight, I feel like throwing all my own rules out the window.

  FLINT

  I knew I recognized Amber, but until she slipped up with that for-sale-by-owner comment, I couldn’t place it. She’s Amber Benson. The realtor who’s called me nonstop for weeks asking to discuss a partnership. I’ve seen her face on for sales signs and on the business cards that have accompanied the couple of letters she wrote me.

  Considering I knew next to nothing about her sister, including her last name, I just couldn’t place why I recognized Amber until now. It’s tempting to call her out, but I’m enjoying this light banter between us too much to spoil the mood yet. I’m curious how long she plans to keep up the charade.

  Plus, if Amber doesn’t stop licking those lips, I might just come over to her side of the table and kiss them. I’ve been dying to taste those lips since I first noticed her at the house. Once the sledgehammer threat was eliminated, it seemed I had a helluva time not staring at them.

  Knowing her true identity doe
sn’t change my desire for her. If anything, it increases it. That determination and drive in a woman so young is incredibly sexy.

  “Here’s your sample platter,” Thelma says with a wink. She’s doctored it up a bit, just the way I like it. She doesn’t make exceptions for many customers, but she’ll always make them for me.

  “Thanks, Thelma.”

  “How brave are you?” I nod at the platter that offers four different appetizers once we’re alone again. My favorite is the bacon, cheese, and chive covered potato skins. I lift one in offering toward those kissable lips.

  She leans forward, maintaining eye contact with me as her lips graze the potato skin. Never in my life would I have imagined something so … odd … being so damn hot. I’m jealous of a fucking potato.

  “Mmm,” she says with a delightful moan. Her eyes fall closed as she savors the bite. “Simply amazing!”

  The smile that spreads across those lips when I hand her the rest of the potato skin could light up the entire city at night. It’s bright and warm. It stirs something inside me I’d considered long gone. A string of broken hearts can cause a man to grow cold. But Amber Benson—realtor or not—is warming me from the inside out.

  We enjoy a variety of specialty appetizers and share two entrees—because the ribeye and salmon are too good to pick just one. “You should be taking notes,” I tease. “For your food blog.”

  “You might be onto something.” Amber seems to ponder my suggestion. I’d give anything to know where those silent thoughts are running to now. “Maybe I need to make time for more.”

  “For more?”

  “I’m a bit of a workaholic,” she admits. I wait for the confession that still doesn’t come.