by Elley Arden
Grey opened his mouth to speak or breathe, but the cold air tightened his throat and chest.
The dogs ran back to her.
“I’m sorry. They belong here, don’t they? The county gave me the address based on their license numbers.” She bent forward, wrapping each hand around a dog’s neck. She looked even smaller in their presence.
Grey blinked, swallowed, and nodded his head; hoping to generate some meaningful thoughts and words to counteract the surprise of seeing the dogs and her … whoever she was. “They belong here.”
“Good.” She smiled. “I’m sure they’re happy to be home. It looks like they’ve been lost for a while.” She patted their thin sides, and anger pinched in his chest. Once again his father’s propensity for living a disposable life had hurt more than him.
“Yeah, I … ” Grey walked toward her, not knowing what to say exactly, but not wanting to seem rude after she brought the dogs home. He stopped, wondering how close was too close; close enough to be recognized. “I don’t know how long they’ve been gone. I just got here myself.”
“Oh.” She looked disappointed. Her forehead crinkled and her eyebrows bunched. But when she wound her arms around her body, he figured the cold had finally caught up with her. “You don’t live here?”
“No.” He was uncomfortable with questions, so he clapped his hands and gestured for the dogs, hoping without them, she’d feel inclined to leave.
“I’m sorry to bother you. Is the homeowner inside? I can knock and let him know I’ve returned the dogs.”
“I’ll take it from here.” Maybe she was sincere, but it felt like she was digging. Then again, Grey suspected everyone of having an ulterior motive. He’d never been proven wrong. Dressed in a suit like that, she was either an overly nosey neighbor on her lunch break or someone with a business interest in the estate.
Grey didn’t want to deal with either.
She hesitated, tightening her arms around her chest, looking over her shoulder at the house, and then back at him. “Are they renovating?”
Clear blue eyes widened and the corner of her lips hitched, like his answer was something she highly anticipated. If he weren’t such a miserable bastard, he would’ve smiled at her enthusiasm — if only because she was so damn pretty.
“I parked behind the dumpster,” she continued. “Dumpsters usually signify a reno.” She pushed a clump of golden curls off her face and treated him to a blinding smile. “My name’s Nel Parker. You may have heard of me or my agency, Parker Properties. I’m a real estate agent, and houses are my passion. I’d love to see what’s going on inside … I’ve admired this property for years.”
Yeah, she was pretty, but she was pushy, too.
Grey watched the dogs tear up the hill to the dog run. “Maybe another time. I need to get them taken care of.”
“Oh. Of course, I’ll just leave you with my card, and you can have the owner get in touch with me at his convenience.”
Don’t hold your breath, Grey thought as he extended an arm and accepted her card in his hand. Her fingernails brushed the skin he could’ve sworn was frozen and beyond capable of feeling anything but the pain of frostbite. Instead, the light touch thawed him, and he wrapped warm fingers around the card, squeezing until the card creased; feeling unnerved by his reaction to a perfect stranger.
“Have a good day.” She looked around him up the hill to the romping dogs. “Be good boys; stay put.” She laughed at herself, and a gust of icy wind lifted her hair, tossing it forward, framing her face like a golden headdress.
Damn. Grey watched her turn and walk away. With her shoulders back, hips swinging and hair whipping out of control, she was like nothing he’d ever seen. Too pretty and too tiny to be taken seriously, and yet he had the feeling she wasn’t someone to mess with.
So why was the idea of messing with her so appealing?
CHAPTER TWO
That was a bust.
Nel knew better than to leave a potential listing without a firm commitment for a follow-up appointment or telephone call. Passing her business card off to God-only-knows-who and expecting a call from the homeowner was likely to be as successful as cold calling. She hated cold calling. The thought alone prompted a shudder as she wound her arms tighter around her waist and hurried to the car, still idling in the mansion’s driveway. But what else could she have done? She wasn’t about to throw herself at the mercy of Grizzly Adams just to gain entrance to the house. Even if it was a glorious house — the most glorious house she’d ever seen. And now that she’d seen it up close, she was downright salivating.
She needed to know more about the renovations. Was the house destined for sale? Had it bypassed the market and changed hands without her knowing? What if the current owner intended to stay? So many questions. Fortunately she didn’t have to throw herself at anyone’s mercy to get the answer to one of those questions.
Back at the office, Nel flipped open her laptop and powered up the machine while she sipped piping-hot green tea, trying to chase away the lingering chill. Rena was on the phone. By her snippy tone, Nel could tell the caller was someone barely tolerable. When it came to Rena, that list was long.
“I’ll relay the message. Thank you for calling.” She hung up the phone, yanked her hair at the roots and screamed.
Only one man could prompt such a reaction. “What did he want?”
“To invite you to a home-buying seminar he’s conducting at the Westin next week. He thought you could use the exposure.” Rena made a gagging sound around the last word. “Will Fortune is a hemorrhoid-riddled asshole.”
Nel couldn’t have said it better herself, and the juvenile slight made her giggle … until she remembered the asshole was also the owner of the top-producing agency in town.
And she helped him get there.
“Say it,” Rena demanded, spinning around in her desk chair, slapping her hands to her corduroy-covered knees.
“Say what?”
“Your face is bunched like a prune. You’re holding back some serious emotion; so say it. Get it out.”
Nel opened her mouth, sucked a mouthful of air, and let loose with a barrage of insults that started with ‘mother’ and ended with her shouting, “I hate Will Fortune!”
Her pulse had quickened, her throat was sore, and beads of sweat trickled down her back. The man made her blood boil.
Rena wrapped an arm around Nel’s shoulder. “Good girl. Feels better, doesn’t it?” And when she laughed, Nel had to admit releasing her anger felt pretty damn good.
She shook her head and leaned against Rena’s arm. “I wish he’d stop calling. He’s only rubbing it in.”
“Because you humiliated him in front of his office staff. He’s got to re-inflate his balls somehow.”
Nel swatted at her, laughing. “You’re bad.”
“I’m also right, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Nel knew the phone calls wouldn’t stop until she proved to Will that leaving The Fortune Agency to start her own company wasn’t the act of a disgruntled girlfriend, but the act of a talented businesswoman kept from reaching her full potential by the thumb of a sexist pig. “I’m not going to pout. We have work to do.”
Thirty minutes later, with the help of the tax assessment website, Nel had a last name to go along with the house: Kemmons.
“So let me get this straight. Ten years ago, somebody paid nine hundred thousand dollars for that house, and last month somebody got it for free? That should tell you it’s a hellhole.”
Nel stared at the transaction amounts and dates on the screen. “That only tells me somebody didn’t want the house anymore, so they gave it away … or they died.”
She opened another browser screen and Googled the first owner on the list, Francis Kemmons. Her eyes settled on the most popular search result: Bermuda
Plane Crash Claims Notorious Baseball Business Man’s Life. “Bingo.” She clicked.
“So he died,” Rena said over Nel’s shoulder. “And the other Kemmons inherited the place.”
“Looks that way.” Her pulse quickened. If she were a betting woman, she’d put everything she had on the house getting ready for sale.
She scanned the article, catching sentences here and there about a self-made man who acted as agent to his sons’ baseball careers. She wasn’t interested. She didn’t care how he got his money. She only cared that he made enough to buy a keystone property that was now on her radar to sell.
“I bet one of these sons owns it now.” She toggled back to the tax assessment page. “Greyson.”
“Weird name.”
“I don’t care what his name is, I just want to know if he’s selling.” Nel typed the name into the search box and waited for the page to load. “The lumberjack I talked to today wasn’t much help in the way of information, and I totally … ”
Six thumbnail images topped the search results page. In all but one shot, dark, familiar eyes stared back at her.
“You totally what?” Rena nudged her. “You wanna get with that?” She whistled. “Because I do. I would strip … ”
“Rena,” Nel interrupted, raising a hand over her shoulder for emphasis. “That’s him.”
“Who?”
“The lumberjack. I mean, he has a thick, nasty beard now, and he was wearing a stocking cap instead of a ball cap; but those eyes … ” Her gaze settled on the pale curves of his lips. “And that mouth … “ she swallowed something uncomfortable. “It’s definitely him.”
“Lucky dog,” Rena whistled. “And I’m talking about you, not the actual dogs curled up with him right now.”
Nel had to disagree. There wasn’t anything lucky about it. The guy was hardly pliable. He certainly didn’t seem interested in anything she had to say that morning. He looked at her more like a curious annoyance than a legitimate business prospect — something she was painfully used to — and halfway through their so-called conversation, she was just thankful he hadn’t thrown her off the property.
“I thought he was part of the work crew,” Nel mused. “He wore flannel; he had an axe.”
“Wait … ” Rena gripped Nel’s shoulders “ … he’s a rich, hot, professional athlete with manual labor skills? Excuse me while I change my underwear.”
Nel winced. “He’s grumpy.”
“His father died.” Rena squealed. “Maybe he needs to be consoled.”
Nel doubted that very much. There’d been a steeliness in his black eyes that told her he wasn’t open for small talk, let alone consoling. “He’s not my type.” Which was an incredible understatement. Nel didn’t do powerful, successful men … at least not anymore. All they ever did was take what she could give and steamroll what she wanted.
And she wanted to list that house.
The question was, was she willing to do what it would take to get it?
• • •
Closing her trunk on a fifteen-pound bag of dog food, Nel was convinced she’d gone overboard. They weren’t her dogs. She didn’t even know what kind of food they ate … a box of treats would’ve been enough. As it was, she looked like Santa Paws with a trunkful of dog supplies, all in the hopes of gaining entry to Castle Chaos. Certainly he had too much on his mind, what with losing his father and renovating the house, to take care of the dogs properly. She was doing him a favor. Sure, she was doing herself a big one, too, but what was the harm if everyone won? None, she thought with a nod, and it was the boost she needed to get herself to his driveway.
Getting out of the car was another story.
As the only girl in a family of four sons, she knew a thing or two about being ballsy, and normally she didn’t think twice about whatever gutsy action was needed to get what she wanted. So why was she hesitating now? Maybe she was afraid of him. She stared up at the gargantuan stone house and thought about the man inside; large, dark, and distant. If he told her to get out, she’d go without hesitation. After all, what were the chances a man like that was going to listen to anything she had to say?
Oh, God. Nel caught movement out of the corner of her eye, and sure enough the object of her mental meanderings appeared from the far side of the dumpster, stocking cap in place, flannel shirt blowing in the winter wind. Underneath, a white T-shirt clung to his flat abs, and Nel’s stomach tumbled. Their eyes met, prompting a wave of panic which Nel swallowed down with a whimper. She could do this. She’d dealt with impossible people before. She had something he needed — whether he realized it or not. Her job wasn’t to do anything more than convince him to sell this house and list with her. Easy.
He rounded the front of her car, her heartbeat echoing louder with each step he took. When he came to a stop at the driver’s side door, he shrugged, like he was trying to figure out what the hell she was doing.
Funny, she was trying to figure out the same thing.
He tapped on the window, motioning for her to roll down the glass, and she clenched her teeth; holding back a groan as she eliminated the barrier between them.
“Hi,” she managed, despite the clog of conflicting emotion in her throat.
He didn’t soothe her with a greeting of his own. He simply stood there; large and quiet.
Nel looked beyond him to the house. “I was worried about the dogs and wanted to do something to help … I brought food.”
He nodded. “I appreciate that.”
Praise be to God, he sounded sincere. Nel’s exhale was a little too vigorous, and she glanced at him for any sign he caught on to her nervousness and subsequent relief.
When he grinned, her nerves returned.
“I bet you’d like payback for your generosity.” One black brow lifted until it brushed the edge of his stocking cap. “Something like a tour of the house, right?” He nodded, so damn sure he had her pegged.
Arrogance in a man usually rubbed her the wrong way, but this time it didn’t. How could it when the swagger of a professional athlete was masked with a beard, cloaked in flannel, and topped with a knit cap? Like this, it was easy to forget he was somebody much of the world would coddle to, admire, and envy.
She’d do none of the above — except take him up on the house tour.
Nel squared her shoulders and chin. “If you’re offering to give me a tour of the house, I accept. That way I can also help you carry in the food.”
He sniffed, puffed out his chest a bit, and hitched his thumbs in his jean pockets. “Do I look like I need help carrying a bag of dog food?”
Typical male. Quick to defend his manhood when in question. She wrinkled her nose, clearly not impressed. “I brought more than food. So unless you want to make multiple trips, you should deign to let me help.”
He blinked a few times, and she wondered if he was trying to figure out what “deigned” meant — a thought that prompted a little chuckle she kept hidden with a bite to her cheek. He glanced into her backseat.
“It’s all in the trunk,” she said, rolling up the window and pushing out of the car, feeling very pleased with the direction things were going. It was time to up her game. “I didn’t know exactly what to get, so I got a little of everything.” She opened the trunk and waved a hand over the contents. “If there’s anything you don’t want, I can take it back or donate it to a rescue.”
“You’re a dog lover?”
“And a shrewd business woman.” She sucked a mouthful of air as fortification. “Mr. Kemmons, I want to list your house.”
• • •
Grey dragged his gaze from the pet-shop-in-a-trunk to level narrow eyes on the blonde spitfire beside him. “How do you know my name and that this is my house?”
“Allegheny County tax assessments.”
He grunted, a feel
ing of unease hardening his muscles. “What else do you know about me?”
“That once this baseball season starts, you’ll be too busy to be tied to a home like this.”
Great. He roughed a palm over his face until his fingers tucked beneath his stocking cap, and he pushed the hat back on his head to release some steam.
It was always the same. People knowing every little detail about him before he knew anything significant about them. Yeah, yeah, he’d heard it all, how it was a fair trade for the money he made and the envious game he played, but as the years went by, he wasn’t so sure.
“Listen, I don’t want anyone to know I’m here or what I’m doing,” he warned. “It’s nobody’s business but mine.”
“And your realtor’s.” She grinned. “I’ll be completely discreet. Nobody will know this house is getting ready for listing until the sign post is driven into the front yard.”
He tugged his cap back in place, wishing he could pull it over his eyes and make her go away. But by the gleam in her eyes and the set of her jaw, he could tell she wasn’t going anywhere. She was a realtor; sniffing around his property. And here he thought she was a baseball groupie, sniffing around him.
Huh. He’d been bamboozled by a pixie in a wool suit with a trunkful of marrow bones.
“You need me, Mr. Kemmons.” She pressed her pouty lips together and nodded, making her sunny curls dance.
A spark ignited his belly, and he fidgeted against the burning, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
“I know houses, and I know this market,” she continued. “If it’s a quick sale you want, I’ll make it happen. If it’s top-dollar you need, I’ll make that happen, too.”
What if he wanted to find her naked in his bed? Could she arrange that, too?
He slammed shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose out of pure disgust. This wasn’t the time or place to be making decisions with his dick, but he was overworked and under the gun, and she was apparently an easy distraction.
