by Aleah Barley
“I took a long lunch. It’s one of the benefits of being your own boss.”
“Good for you, but I can do it myself.”
“Uh huh.” He righted himself. “If you’re going to get a good price for this place, it needs some work. I’ll make a list of what needs to be done, and we can talk it over.”
Uh huh. They’d talk it over, he’d see the error of his ways, and he’d leave.
No one was going to tell her what to do in Papa Billy’s house.
Nick was already moving. She followed him, crossing her arms in front of his chest when he pulled a pad of paper out of his back pocket and started to make notes. By the time they moved from the living room into the dining room, he’d written down ten things. Walking up the stairs, he turned the page.
“The structure’s pretty good.” He turned on the lights in the upstairs hallway. “But Bill wasn’t updating the house even before he let it fall into disrepair. This place still has knob and tube wiring. I can help you fix it, but it’s going to take a while. It might be better just to sell the place as-is and leave the problems for the next owners.”
He moved down the hall one way, checking in one room after another, stopping when he got to the bathroom.
“Dear lord, will you look at this tub?” Nick grinned, dimples showing at the corner of his mouth. He moistened his lips with his tongue. “Have you ever had sex in water?”
With one notable exception, Anna had only ever had sex in her bedroom, with the curtains closed and the lights off. Her private life was private, and that was how she wanted it to stay.
She shook her head, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks.
Either Nick didn’t notice or he didn’t care. He moved back down the hall the other direction until he got to Anna’s room. Staring in at the pink wallpaper and the dusty posters, he sucked in a breath.
“Billy really loved you.”
“I know.” She’d asked Papa Billy to come live with her in Los Angeles once, seven years earlier when she first moved out of her mother’s house. He’d turned her down, but he’d said that there was always a place waiting for her in Mill City. She’d meant to visit—she’d always meant to visit—but somehow time had gotten away from her.
She didn’t realize that she was shaking until Nick put a hand on her arm to steady her.
“It’s going to be okay.” He led the way down the stairs through the living room that was still a complete mess, then into the kitchen where calm reigned.
“This is more like it.” He started puttering around, washing the mug she’d discarded by the sink and pulling a tin of coffee beans out of the cupboard. He moved while he talked—the same way he had in his own kitchen the night before—keeping busy. “I can do most of the work myself, but—”
“No,” Anna waited a moment before repeating herself, “No, thank you. I’ll do the work.”
“You know how to fix plumbing? The water pipes upstairs are corroded. They’re near the top of the list.” He shrugged. “The heating is completely gone. It’ll be bone cold come winter time, but I figure there’s still a few months away,” his voice was low, lilting, like he was trying to convince her of something. “If you’re planning to stay that long.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Who the heck fixed heaters? Plumbers fixed plumbing but the heating system was something else entirely. Didn’t it have something to do with oil or gas? Anna’s teeth dug into her bottom lip. “I can hire it out.”
“Let me help you, Anna. This is what I do.”
“I thought you were a landscape designer.” She frowned. “Don’t you mow lawns and plant trees?”
“Sure.” His boyish grin was infectious. “But I can also do home repair. This is a beautiful old house, let me help you fix it up.”
“I’ll pay you—”
“I don’t want your money.” His gaze drifted down across her body, leaving little doubt as to what was on his mind. “Although I wouldn’t say no to a—a little neighborly consideration.”
“Neighborly consideration.” She narrowed her eyes. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
“It would be a good time.”
Puttering around the kitchen, rinsing a dish clean, there was something compelling about Nick’s comforting domesticity. Something downright sexy. She took a deep breath, enjoying the view. The way his blue jeans cupped an ass firm enough to bounce a quarter on and strained over muscular thighs. When he bent to pick up a piece of discarded newspaper, her breath caught in her throat.
There was just something about him.
Anna could feel her skin growing hot. It took every ounce of self-control she had not to lunge across the room, pushing him back against the kitchen counter and tearing off his shirt.
Instead, she slowly, sedately, walked across the room. One hand reached out and she ran fingers across Nick’s jacketed arm. Working outside definitely agreed with him. His biceps were firm, toned. Her breath caught in her throat. Her heart slammed against her chest. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She was a strong, successful woman who’d survived a teenage marriage and a Hollywood divorce.
Men didn’t make her nervous.
Not even a man who’d kissed her silly when she was fourteen years old, before the magazine profiles, the fancy clothes, and the platinum records.
Nick turned towards her, wiping his hands dry on the front of his jeans. “What are you thinking about?”
“Neighborly consideration.” She pushed herself up onto her tiptoes, her lips brushing softly against his. Kissing him was like something straight out of a movie. No, most of her life was like something out of a movie.
This was different.
This was better.
It was like something straight out of real life.
“It wouldn’t be a good time. It would be fantastic.”
“At least until you leave town.”
“Right—of course.” Cold reality intruded on her hot surge of lust. It was just a fling. It could only ever be a fling. She sucked in a breath. “Just until I leave town.”
No matter how much work she did on the house—fixing the paint and the plumbing—none of it changed the fact that she couldn’t stay, not permanently, and once she went back to Los Angeles there relationship would be over.
The least she could do was put the house in order before she left. For Papa Billy and for her own peace of mind.
Chapter Six
If Anna was going to clean the house, then she needed to go down to the hardware store in the middle of town and buy a big old push broom, rubber gloves, and some bigger bags. She’d need more cleaning equipment eventually, but rubber gloves were an awfully good place to start.
The hardware store was in the middle of town, too far away for her to walk back carrying a load full of stuff.
“Can you give me the number for a taxi?” she asked.
“A taxi?” Nick laughed.
“This is Mill City. It’s not like I can call a car service.”
“There aren’t any cabs in Mill City.” He raised an eyebrow. “Why do you want a cab?”
“I need to go buy some things. Cleaning supplies. Mostly.” She could stop at the department store and get some clothes while she was out: jeans, bras, underwear, and t-shirts. Sturdy clothes that didn’t rip when she sat down. No gowns. “I guess I’ll walk.”
“You could always drive.”
“Drive.”
Anna could drive.
In theory.
She had her license. The production studio had insisted she learn so she could drive a car in her first movie—the only movie she’d ever been in—she’d banged the car twice and ended up getting tangled in the seatbelt.
Since then, she’d improved.
Slightly.
She even had a car. It was small, pink, fuel-efficient, and parked in her driveway in Los Angeles. “I can drive. Papa Billy has a car, right?”
“There’s the truck.”
“Right.” The truck was an old
blue Ford with a slippery bench seat and two tapes in the glove box, Johnny Cash, and Frank Sinatra. It was manual transmission. There was no way that Anna would be able to drive the truck ten feet, let alone all the way down to the hardware store.
“How about a little neighborly consideration?” she asked. “Let me borrow your car.”
“Why would you want my car?”
“The truck’s too big, and I don’t drive stick.”
“Sure, neighborly consideration.”
H
Anna hurried upstairs and changed into the only decent thing she could find in her bureau: teeny tiny short-shorts with tiny stars drawn around the cuff, the kind she’d worn to show the boys her legs. Papa Billy had hated them, so she’d snuck the things out of the house under skirts and sweatpants.
Pulling the shorts on sans underwear, she felt like she was doing something wrong, something dirty.
There weren’t any shirts in her bedroom, but one of the boxes in Papa Billy’s room produced a stack of white button down shirts. Anna put on a shirt, rolling up the cuffs until they fit smoothly around her biceps then rushing back down the stairs.
There was nothing that she could do about the dust that clung to her hair, but at least her clothes were clean. A layer of lip-gloss wouldn’t hurt, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. She hustled back down to the kitchen.
Nick was already gone, but his keys were on the counter. She picked them up, blinking in surprise at the weight. What in the world was she doing? She hadn’t driven in months, not since the last time she’d been in the United States, and even then it had only been on the rare occasion that she couldn’t find someone else to give her a ride.
Backing down was still an option.
She could tell Nick that she’d changed her mind. Wait until he was done at work for the day then get him to drive her to the store. It would be the safe thing to do, but in the end she wouldn’t have gained anything.
She wouldn’t have proved anything… not even to herself.
Driving was normal. Going to the store for a pair of rubber gloves was normal. She could use a little normalcy in her life.
Out on the street it took her a minute to figure out which car was Nick’s. Was it the SUV on the corner or the station wagon down the street? It was a simple key, without a button she could press to make the car beep. Finally, she started trying it in car doors.
The second one she tried was the jackpot, a zippy American made muscle car with a shiny black paint job and seats that were crafted out of soft, buttery leather. It was nicer than she’d expected. She got in and adjusted the seat until she could reach the pedals.
Moving the mirror, she could see Nick behind her getting on his bicycle.
Key in the ignition, one foot on the break, the car roared to life. Anna’s mind went blank. What the heck did she do next? Her hands had an iron grip on the steering wheel. She shifted into drive and one foot moved—all by itself—onto the gas pedal.
The car began rolling forward, slowly.
All right, she could do this. She could drive. It wasn’t that hard. Any idiot could drive.
The car banged against the curb. She jerked the steering wheel to one side and hit the gas, trying to get away. It jerked onto the sidewalk, and the undercarriage scraped against the curb. The holly tree came jumped up and hit the front of the car. Her head snapped forward as the car lurched to a stop.
“Damn it!” Someone else was screaming, loudly. The car door wrenched open, and Nick grabbed her by the shoulders pulling her out onto the grass. “What the hell was that about?”
Anna couldn’t answer. She’d been going all of five miles an hour, but that didn’t make the accident any less terrifying.
Fear paralyzed her.
Tears ran down her cheeks. The air was ringing loudly, making her head spin, and through it all Nick kept yelling at her, dancing up and down like a modern day Rumplestiltskin after his name had been discovered.
Anna locked her knees to keep herself upright. She forced herself to take a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’ll pay to have the car fixed.”
“The car?” Nick shouted. “The car isn’t what I’m worried about. You could have been hurt. Damn it, Anna. You could have died.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. It was the least she could do. She glanced away from him, unable to meet his gaze. “I’ll pay to have your car fixed.”
“I’ll take care of it,” he insisted. “First, let me take care of you—“
“Like hell.” Anna jerked backward. Nick was a great guy with a good life, but Anna didn’t need him. She didn’t need anyone who couldn’t believe in her. She turned and walked away.
Chapter Seven
Screaming at Anna had been a mistake, Nick knew that.
But watching the car run into the tree had been one of the worst moments of his life.
A day had passed since the accident, but it had been less than an hour since he’d picked his car up from the garage. The engine was in great shape, but the fender still told the story of everything that had happened the day before.
Walking up to Anna’s front porch, enjoying the blinking lights of fireflies all around him, Nick felt like no time had passed at all. He was still angry, mad at her for running his car into the ugly holly beside her house, pissed that she’d put herself in danger by telling him that she could drive. What if she’d actually made it to the open road?
Forget neighborly consideration. He’d wanted to ring her neck.
Still, that had been an entire day ago. She had to be over it by now.
Old wood scraped against his knuckles, the door could use a fresh coat of paint. He knocked hard, praying that Anna would answer. All day at work, he’d been rehearsing what he was going to say to her, but it all depended on her opening the door. He knocked again, louder this time. Pounding hard against the door with an open hand.
What if something had happened to her while he’d been gone? She’d been in a car accident. She could have had a concussion. Worse, someone could have broken into the house to take her hostage and do horrible things to her. The place wasn’t exactly secure, not with the broken front window that advertised her vulnerability to anyone who passed by on the street.
He could fix that. If she let him, then he could fix everything. She’d claimed that she was going to hire people to get the work done, but he’d been helping his father take care of his house since he was a kid. When he’d moved back home, he’d redone his old room for Adam. He had all the tools to make sure the job was done right. There was no reason for her to waste her money on workers, not when she needed it for fancy shoes.
The door slammed open, hard, before he could turn the handle.
“Nick Maddox.” Anna’s eyes gleamed, fiery in the dying light.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I—” Nick couldn’t remember. The only thing he could think about was the way her buttoned-down shirt fit over her curves. The shirt was too big for her, the sleeves rolled up her arms, the crisp cotton rustling every time she moved. When she leaned forward to give him a piece of her mind, her breasts bounced. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Then there was the way the hem of the shirt skimmed across her golden thighs.
When her hand dipped down, toying with the white cotton, and his breath caught in his throat.
“Are you wearing anything under that shirt?” No answer, he reached out to rest a hand on her hip. He could feel her stomach muscles tensing under his touch. Then something else, a shudder. His thumb made a circle over her fabric-covered belly, and she let out a hungry gasp.
“Tell me the truth, Anna, you’re not wearing any pants.”
“Shorts.” Anna flushed.
“Nobody wears shorts that short,” he taunted. “Prove it.”
There was a long pause. This was the moment where he should have been down on his knees begging her to forgive him for what he’d said. Adam’s mother would have made him beg. She would have made him cower then buy her somethi
ng pretty to prove how guilty he felt.
Anna just stared at him, her gaze wide, her lips pursed. Her brow furrowed slightly, as though trying to decide what to do next.
The hand at the bottom of the oversized shirt curled upwards slightly, tugging the fabric upwards to reveal more of those glorious legs. Strong, capable, just perfect for wrapping around a man’s waist. They were tanned a deep golden color. Just right.
The shirt moved up a little more, and all he could do was stare at the tiny chocolate mole on her left leg. Someone else might have accused the mole of marring her perfection, but for Nick it served to make her all the more real.
There was no way that she was wearing pants, another inch, and her most private place would be bare in front of him, naked and exposed. A soft groan passed over his lips. His pants were too tight.
Anna laughed, pulling the shirt further up her body to reveal a flat, muscular torso and a pair of tiny shorts. He’d been wrong. He’d seen panties that covered more, but the shorts were definitely dark denim.
Nick let out a low, ragged breath, “Where the hell did you get shorts like that? They’re obscene.”
“You used to love them, remember?”
Now that he knew what to look for, he could see the faded stars on the bottom of the shorts. Those were definitely Anna’s shorts, but he didn’t remember them being quite so brief. No wonder he’d been fantasizing about her for so many years. The pants had a button fly, three silver fasteners were all that stood between him and glory.
He’d spent all summer running around with his tongue out like a dog after a bone. Those damn shorts had caused him more pain than he’d like to think about, and made him take enough cold showers to drain the Atlantic. He’d always imagined that she wore them without panties—at least he’d never been able to spot any fabric underneath—but she’d never allowed him to find out definitively one way or another.
“I like your shorts.”
The tension was gone. Anna still looked disgruntled, but she wasn’t angry. Not anymore. She was even smiling a little. “What do you want?”
