by Elley Arden
She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and turned her back on him. The picture of obstinacy and independence — an attractive combination if the quickening of his pulse was any indicator.
Grey headed back to his corner of the room, using the distance to cool his libido, reminding himself two months wasn’t enough time to renovate a house and convince a stubborn woman to mess around with him. And that was a good thing.
If Nel let her guard down, he’d only end up pushing her away.
CHAPTER FOUR
They worked in relative silence for three whole hours, which was fine by Nel. She preferred the meditative quality of manual labor, over dealing with the unnamable vibe that came from Grey. Was it shyness? Stress? Anger? Maybe Rena was right about him struggling with his father’s death. Being in this house, making these changes, maybe it was all too much for him. Maybe he did need a friend.
Nel wasn’t his friend. She was his realtor, and she knew better than to get cozy with a client. It skewed the working relationship; made it harder to remain objective, which in turn made it harder to sell a house. She didn’t need any more odds stacked against her when it came to selling this particular one.
Tossing the last box of broken tile into the dumpster, she headed back inside. Her stomach growled. A cheeseburger would be nice. And a beer. Something about pushing a broom and being covered in construction dust had her jonesing for bar food.
“Why are you so interested in this house?” He met her at the top of the stairs, a bottle of water inches from his lips. His words were curt and his eyes like slits. “There’s got to be other houses you can list that need less work than this one.”
Nel tried to tell herself that some people’s curiosity was more aggressive than others, but his inquisition still startled her after hours of silence had lulled her into a false sense of security. He was a stranger with a gruff side, and now he’d turned that gruff side on her.
The impulse to fight back puffed her chest, and she forced an exhale to relax, which wasn’t easy. Telling Grey she needed this house because she couldn’t manage to claim a listing over the one-hundred-thousand-dollar mark wasn’t going to reassure him she was the best person for the job.
“Why do you need to make a million dollars?” she asked, turning the heat on him instead.
The question seemed to startle him. He shifted his weight back, putting more space between them, and he dragged his fingers in a V-shape over his bearded chin.
He blinked, blinked again, and then shrugged. “I want to make a million dollars. That’s all.”
Nel nodded, only partially disappointed by his lack of meaningful answer. “Fair enough. I want to list this house. That’s all, too.”
His lips twitched, but then he walked away, into the kitchen, where he set the bottle on the counter and picked up his phone. “How long were you planning on staying?”
Awkward. He didn’t call her an interloper, but his words sure made her feel like one. She walked deeper into the room until she could glimpse the great room, sans atrocious tile. Stripped down to the subfloor, it looked like a war zone instead of a million-dollar property. The irony of progress, and they still had so far to go.
She would stay until the job was done.
“I was hoping to start on the wallpaper tonight. My steamer’s in the car.” Nel nervously flicked her wrist over her shoulder in a mindless motion toward the front of the house. She half hoped he would kick her out so she could head home to a warm shower, but not before stopping off for that burger and beer.
“Then I’ll order something to eat while we work. Got a preference?”
She smiled at the stroke of luck. “Actually, I do. A burger. I know this little place down the street. They don’t deliver, but it won’t take me more than ten minutes to pick it up.”
“Fine,” he said, nodding. “I’ll pay.”
She was stunned silent for a moment by the motion of him bending an arm to slip his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans. At some point during the floor demolition, he shed the long-sleeved flannel, leaving him clad in a simple black T-shirt that stretched across his chest, shoulders and biceps, but gathered loosely around his waist. She knew he was built. He was a professional athlete, for cripes’ sake, but her brain knowing didn’t translate to her heart keeping a steady beat.
He held out two twenties pinched between his thumb and index finger. She followed the thick chord of muscle in his forearm all the way up to the crook of his elbow before sanity kicked in and she waved him off.
“I’ll pay,” she said. “I can write it off as a business expense.”
He narrowed those dark eyes, peeling away one twenty-dollar bill. “We’ll go half.”
That was reasonable. She always went halfsies on dates these days. It kept her in the clear, not owing the man anything. Not that this was a date. She simply didn’t want to owe this man anything more than the million bucks she already promised … that was plenty.
“Fine,” she said, taking his twenty. “But I get double American cheese, and they charge me an extra seventy-five cents, so it won’t be exactly half.”
He smirked. “Then order me double cheese, too.”
Her stomach tumbled. She was hungry. Famished, really. But she knew the hollow in her belly had something to do with Grey, too. She just decided to ignore that little tidbit.
Once Nel ordered the food, they got back to work, scoring the wallpaper in preparation for steaming. Again they worked in silence. This time it bothered her more. At times he seemed receptive to conversation; she even saw a hint of dry humor now and then. But it was probably hard to maintain talkative and happy in his father’s house, knowing his father was dead.
Maybe he needs to be consoled. Rena’s voice nagged in Nel’s head all the way to the pub and back again. If she were hurting, like Grey might be hurting, wouldn’t she appreciate a sympathetic ear? Forcing a little more conversation as they shared a meal couldn’t hurt.
Too bad she didn’t know where to start.
Sitting in a heinous black lacquer dining chair Grey brought out from another room, Nel balanced a white foam container on her lap. She brought the burger to her lips and sucked in the chargrilled-scented goodness hanging in the air. She took a bite, savored the juicy flavor of meat drenched in cheese, and chewed longer than necessary, swallowing slowly, swallowing again even though nothing was there.
When she couldn’t put off talking any longer, she cleared her throat. “Did you grow up here?”
He stared at his burger and frowned. “No. Milwaukee, Wisconsin.”
That was it. He asked nothing of her in return. Simply bit into his burger and shut down her attempt at conversation. It didn’t surprise her. He wasn’t a man of many words, but oddly enough, the few he said encouraged her. At least he answered her question instead of telling her to go to hell.
She looked around the dusty, destroyed great room and figured she might already be there. If not for the delicious burger in her hands …
“Are you from Pittsburgh?”
The fact that he asked the question surprised her enough to make swallowing her last bite painful. Nel nodded and smiled past the burn in her throat. “Yep. I left for college but came back. That happens a lot around here. All four of my brothers moved away at different points, and all four ended up right back here.”
He stared at her, the intensity causing her to squirm in the uncomfortable seat. She looked at her burger, studied the bite marks, and picked at a loose piece of lettuce — anything to settle the ridiculous nerves he stirred in her.
“Are you close with your brothers?” he asked.
“I am,” she said, allowing herself a little relief that he was keeping the conversation going.
“Are your parents still married?”
“They are.” She looked at him, because some
thing about the question sounded off.
He wasn’t looking at her. His head bent forward as he picked sesame seeds off the bun in the box on his lap. And then he stood, dropped the box of half eaten food on the kitchen island and walked away from her, back to the great room, where he switched on the steamer and went to work.
Oh well, at least she could tell Rena she tried.
• • •
Lindsay’s parents had been divorced, like Grey’s. Her father remarried and had a second family Lindsay never got to know. Their resentment toward their parents and the siblings they saw as better off somehow bonded them during study hall senior year. Apparently it didn’t bond them enough to keep her from cheating on him with his own damn father.
Grey held the steamer in one spot a little too long, allowing a backup of steam to scald his hand. He didn’t even flinch. The anger bubbled, but he did his best to ignore it, peeling strands of slimy paper off the wall until his fingers cramped with pain.
Nel worked alongside of him, using a scraper to lift whatever remained. More than once he glanced over at her, catching a twisted expression on her pretty face. Had he put it there with his moodiness? Probably. A twinge of guilt mixed with his earlier anger, and the emotions hardened beneath his solar plexus, putting pressure on his lungs. He didn’t ask her to go digging around in his past. Hell, he didn’t ask her to be here.
Another blast of steam, and his fingers were burning again. This time a growl pushed past his lips, releasing some of the pressure inside. A man could only take so much, and honestly, he was damn near the end.
“Trade me,” Nel said.
She was angled toward him, offering up the scraper.
“Why?”
“You’re getting frustrated, and I don’t blame you. This sucks.” She lengthened the last word. “Wallpaper should be illegal. Maybe it will help if we switch every so often.” She thrust the scraper toward him. “Come on; give it. We’re wasting time.”
There it was again. That thing about her — whatever it was — that made him want to let down his guard and let her in. Who knew he had a thing for bossy women? Not him. He only ever let himself have a thing for one woman, one woman who screwed him over and ended up dead before he ever got the chance to call her a bitch to her face.
“Never mind. If it means that much to you, steam your little heart out.” She went back to scraping.
He was a complete tool. With a grunty sigh, he nudged her upper arm with his elbow. “Take it.”
“Not if it’s going to make you blow a gasket.” She bit into her bottom lip, looking nervous.
He’d noticed that about her, too. Quick with the take-charge words, but a bit of worry while she waited to see how they’d be received.
Maybe he could try being normal for a change. “I’m not going to blow a gasket.” Christ, if he hadn’t already with everything he’d been through, he wasn’t going to now — over a wallpaper steamer.
She wasn’t convinced. A perfectly arched brown hitched while one side of her face scrunched comically. “You sure looked like you were.”
“I was just … thinking. About something else.”
“Yeah, well maybe you should try talking.” Her eyes lifted over his face. “It’s like a pressure cooker in there.”
“Tell me about it.”
“No.” She put her hands to her hips. “You tell me about it, so we can move on and be productive. Two months isn’t enough time under the best circumstances.” Her expression softened, her lips parting. He wouldn’t have been surprised to hear her sigh. “I’m sorry about your father — I am. I can only imagine how hard it is to be in this house without him. I’d be sad and angry, too, if my dad died.”
Grey couldn’t be that normal; he wasn’t that normal. He felt the muscles in his face tighten and the blood rush to his head. “Yeah, well, I’m glad my dad died. He was a bastard.”
The scraper fell from her hand, smacking the subfloor, while her brows rocketed to her hairline and her mouth formed a perfect O.
It was going to be damn near impossible to “move on and be productive” after that pronouncement.
“I don’t know what to say.” She found her voice much faster than he expected.
He shrugged and placed the steamer to the wall. “You don’t have to say anything. We’re supposed to be renovating a house, not spilling our guts.” He hated spilling his guts.
“But … ” In his peripheral vision, he saw her bend to pick up the scraper. “How can you drop a bomb like that and then not explain yourself?” she asked.
The scratching of the scraper against the wall mixed with the gurgling sound of the steamer. There were two things wrong with her question. One, it wasn’t a bomb — not to Grey. He’d been living with the truth for so long now he was numb to his father’s failings — at least he liked to think he was. And two, he didn’t owe her an explanation. His life outside what he did to this house didn’t concern her.
“So the money’s some sort of retribution, isn’t it? You want to make as much off him as possible, because you hated him.” She was angled toward him again, lips twisted, skin bunching at the top of her nose.
You don’t owe her anything, he reminded himself, and yet words formed in his head. What was the worst that would happen if he told her? She’d ask even more questions, and he’d have to relive every gory detail he’d been trying to block out. She’d also see him for who he really was — half a man, because only half a man could lose a woman to a man twice her age.
Nel waited, nostrils flaring. He didn’t understand why she looked so pissed, unless having a normal, loving relationship with her father made her some sort of champion for dads everywhere. He wanted to tell her everything then. Letting her think he was half a man was better than letting her think he was the kind of man who unjustly hated his father.
Besides, it wasn’t like nobody knew. Jordon knew. A few guys on the team knew. Of course, they took what little Grey gave them, and were satisfied with it. They didn’t push for more, like he suspected Nel would do. Guys had about as much interest in knowing the ugly emotions of the events as Grey had in reliving them. Women were different; they liked to commiserate and help each other heal.
Grey just wanted to forget. And yet, he had a feeling his best shot at peace was to tell the story quickly, like yanking a bandage from a forearm scab.
He winced. “My girlfriend cheated on me with my father.”
Again with the arched brows and O-shaped mouth. “No,” she finally managed.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.” She set the scraper on the floor and flipped the switch on the steamer, plunging the room into deafening silence.
Grey tightened his grip on the steam plate until his fingers ached. “She was on the plane with him when it crashed.”
“Oh my God.” Nel slipped the ball cap from her head and squeezed her scalp, probably trying to let the ugly details work their way in.
Standing there, watching Nel process his words, he realized he’d never shared the story with a woman before — not even with his sister-in-law, despite her being a psychotherapist, despite Jordon’s nagging him to sit down and talk to someone, like Maggie. Nel’s reaction wasn’t quite what he expected. She looked shocked, sure, but she didn’t shower him with pity. At the moment, with her thin, pale hands wringing the hell out of her baseball cap, she seemed mad.
“Who does that?” she asked, contorting her face. “I mean, what kind of father does that?”
And then their eyes met, and she calmed down, slipping the hat back on her head without pulling the curls through the back. He liked her even better this way.
“I’m sorry.” She shrugged. “I got carried away. You don’t have to answer those questions.”
“Okay.” His lips hitched to one side.
“Good.”
She bent to pick up the scraper. “We have work to do.”
When she straightened, she wrapped her free hand above his on the steamer plate, her smallest finger brushing his thumb. They were barely touching, but the skin-on-skin warmth had his body buzzing. He loosened his grip, allowing her to take the tool, but not before he hooked his thumb around her pinky in an odd sort of intimacy, one that caused her to freeze mid-motion. Their eyes met again, and his mouth went dry. He had the craziest urge to close his hand around hers, draw her in and wet his lips with a kiss.
“You really have a thing for this steamer, don’t you?” A grin erased the wary sparks in her eyes.
This time, he let his lips curve completely. “Maybe I do.”
He sure as hell wasn’t talking about the steamer.
CHAPTER FIVE
Nel looked to her phone for the time, and then to Rena, who perched on the edge of her desk waiting for details about Nel’s hours spent at the Kemmons house. Rena loved getting juicy details, but she was going to have to wait a while longer.
“I need to finish these contracts before the Smiths get here,” Nel said, patting her palm atop the papers on her desk.
“You’re trying to change the subject.”
She was, but she wasn’t going to admit it, because she didn’t want Rena to know how confused Grey made her feel.
“I promise to give you details as soon as the Smiths sign on the dotted line and leave the parking lot.”
Rena huffed and slid into her chair. “You’re going to bore me with details about wall color and flooring, aren’t you?”
“It’s exciting, Re, watching this house come back from the bowels of hell,” Nel said, a little heavy on the enthusiasm.
“Yeah, yeah. It’d be more exciting if the whole process involved a naked baseball player … or shirtless. Yeah, shirtless would do.”
Nel rolled her eyes, trying to scatter mental images of Grey without a shirt; all lean athlete, the hard plains of his chest softened by a blanket of dark curls. Air fluttered in her throat, and she did her best to keep her breathing in check. Rena was a hawk, and if Nel’s shoulders rose and fell too much, she’d swoop in for the kill.
