Young Love

by Alyson Santos

  Also not fair.

  “Thanks, Ms. Porter. If it’s okay with you, we’d like to get started,” Louis says.

  Right. My color deepens with guilt. “Absolutely. I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”

  I must be losing my mind because I swear that aqua gaze stays locked on me as I retreat to the safety of my study.

  Hiding behind my computer would’ve been a good plan if not for the window by my desk. Lots of natural light, the realtor boasted when we bought the house four years ago. Perfect for a home office or study. After a morning of watching Louis and Jace access their truck, I beg to differ. No spreadsheet in the world can compete with the sensual power of that man when he moves—Louis, of course. Louis.

  I offer snacks around lunchtime, but Louis is a pro. His truck is stocked with water and a cooler of sandwiches, he assures me. All well enough, until the blaring June sun proves too much for his son. Heat spreads over my own skin when the younger man pulls his shirt over his head and wipes at the sweat on his face. Toned muscle etches hard lines in his back, framing a tattoo between chiseled shoulders. A larger design spreads over his right shoulder and continues to his chest, I discover, when he turns. My lungs seize a bit. Jeans hanging low on his hips, body stretched in a casual stance against the truck, his bare torso is cover bait, as Karen would say. She never explained what kind of cover, but honestly, there’s no publication I know that would pass on the image forever seared into my brain. Hot blood just wants to touch. Taste. Own.

  Damn pheromones.

  I slam my laptop shut and escape to the kitchen to cobble together a meal and regain the sanity that’s obviously slipping away. I’ve just poured a glass of iced tea when the rumble of an ignition interrupts my peace. Surprised, I hurry back to the front window in time to see the truck pull away. Odd. Even stranger, the knock at the door seconds later.

  “Hey,” Jace says when I open it. “Louis went to pick up a few things and check on another site. Mind if I cool off inside for a second? It’s hot as hell out here.”

  “Uh… sure. Of course.” I wave him in.

  He nods a thank you and steps past me. That smell again, this time a mix of spice, sun, and sweat. My stupid hormones love that combination even more.

  “New shirt?” I blurt out. Crap.

  He glances down, maybe looking startled before a sly smile spreads over his lips. “Yeah. Didn’t think you’d want sweaty men stinking up your place.”

  “You don’t stink.” Really, Sienna? Really.

  The smile grows ruthless, and I clear my throat. “Anyway, I was just having some iced tea. Want some?”

  Iced tea, now? What about milk and cookies? See if he wants to play Pinochle, Granny.

  “Sure.”

  He follows me to the kitchen, while I concentrate on not thinking about what’s under his new shirt.

  “You’ve got a nice place,” he says.

  “Thanks. My husband and I bought it four years ago.”

  “Oh, you’re married?”

  I glance back. Was that a flicker in his eyes?

  I focus hard on filling a glass. When did pouring liquids become so complex? “Not anymore. Here.”

  My skin ignites where our fingers touch. Warm. His eyes hold mine through the contact. It’s too much. Not enough.

  You’re losing your mind. Stop it!

  “He’s an idiot.”

  I almost choke on my tea. “Excuse me?”

  Jace shrugs. “Just, if I were married to a woman like you, I’d work my ass off to keep her.”

  “You don’t even know me,” I laugh. Flustered, flattered, floored, all the words because what the hell is happening right now?

  “No. But I saw you working. You an accountant?”

  “Kind of. I’m a CPA and also do general business consulting.”

  “That’s cool. Must be nice working for yourself. No one holding you back?”

  “Right. It is.”

  Something passes over his face before he turns. “What about this?” He waves at the framed drawings on my wall. “You do these?”

  I suck in too much tea for a normal swallow. Eyes watering from the effort, I can only nod. A long time ago.

  “I knew it. See? You’re clearly interesting and accomplished and fucking hot.” His gaze moves over me in my workout ensemble like I’ve done to him so many times already. He must be teasing me. “Don’t tell Louis,” he says before I can argue. “He’d murder me for saying that to one of his clients.” His laugh is easy, like this conversation is normal. Like it’s okay for two consenting adults to do things they want instead of what they’re supposed to.

  I rest the back of my hand against my burning cheek. “I should get back to work.”

  “Hey, sorry. I didn’t mean…” He stops, the smile gone. The swagger. There’s a depth in his gaze that draws me in at a dangerous speed. Crashing. That’s what’s happening in this odd and intimate moment. Hard.

  Sparks flare in my body as his eyes trace me, ask unfamiliar questions. Loneliness. Am I lonely? I didn’t think so until now, and now it hurts so much I’d be willing to fill the void with anything. Including (especially) this magnetic stranger who just shorted all my wires.

  “No, it’s okay,” I manage. Think! “So, are you in college?” How old are you anyway?

  He smirks, his beautiful eyes darting to the floor before resting on my face. “Oh, you’re serious?”

  I lean back, my own gaze narrowing on him. “Why is that funny?”

  He shrugs. Inhales a long draught of iced tea. I watch his lips work the rim of the glass. Is he buying time or is my tea that good? His lips…

  I force my attention to something less dangerous. His shirt. No, those young, hard-worked muscles brutalize the thin fabric. His jeans. Even worse, the way his position against the door frame displays a perfect V in the gap above the waistline. Shit. My own iced tea suddenly becomes more interesting.

  “College wasn’t really an option. Louis keeps me too busy anyway.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “Does it matter?”

  My gaze shoots to his again. I’m struck by the flash of gravity before he blinks into a cocky grin. “Besides, I just need to find some rich cougar to take care of me.”

  My mouth drops open, pulse pounding. I’m about to march away in a huff when he laughs.

  “Kidding! God, you should see your face.” His smile fades, and my own heart constricts a little. “Nah, college isn’t…” He clears his throat. “Anyway, this is a great place. Lots of character and history.”

  “Thanks. That’s why I wanted it. Joe always hated the house. Said it was a money pit and needed too much work. He only agreed because of the price.”

  Left extra funds for his mistress, I learned two years later.

  Jace shrugs. “Maybe, but some things are worth the effort.”

  “True. And keeps you and your father in business.” I beam at my un-bungled joke. He seems less amused with a polite smile.

  “Right. What kind of workouts you into?”

  I blister under his direct gaze. It makes no apologies for studying my attire. My uniform has become an oversized tank and partially exposed sports bra draped over yoga pants. It’s easy, comfortable, and more than adequate to impress my cats. All fine until some crazy hot contractor shows up at your door. Now? I guess I would’ve looked ridiculous answering their knock in my non-existent club attire anyway.

  “Just home stuff mostly. I have an elliptical and treadmill in the living room. I like running too. You?”

  He nods. “I like running.”

  “We should go for a run sometime.” Oh my god.

  But he doesn’t look embarrassed for me. Nope, just smiles that tempting half-smirk of validated confidence. “Yeah, maybe.”

  “Jace! You in here?”

  We both twist toward the entrance at the shout.

  “Shit,” Jace mutters, and Louis pulls to a stop when he sees us. His eyes lock on his son wi
th a heat that makes my stomach burn.

  “Outside. Now,” he growls. “Sorry about this, ma’am. It won’t happen again.”

  Jaw hardening, Jace draws his fingers into a fist.

  “I invited him in,” I rush out. My voice sounds as shaky as my nerves.

  “That was nice of you, ma’am, but he knows better. Now!” he barks at the younger man.

  My chest tightens as Jace stalks toward the door. Louis follows, and I can’t help but creep after them, guilt sweeping over me. They barely make it to the porch and close the door before Louis explodes.

  “You want to fuck around with every piece of ass in a skirt, fine! But you don’t mess with my business. You hear me? Keep your dick in your pants when you’re on the clock, got it? That woman is probably twice your age!”

  “We were just—”

  “Please. I know what you were doing. The only thing you’re fucking good at. Go get my shit from the truck and if I ever see you so much as looking at any of my clients again your ass will be on the street. I don’t care what your mother says.”

  I can’t see Jace’s face, only his back as he storms to the truck. I’m about to be sick.

  If sun gods distracted me in the morning, it’s demons that haunt me in the afternoon. For his sake, I don’t dare to approach Jace again. I watch, though. The way his body locks with each rigid movement. The way he keeps a careful distance from the older man. Even through my office window, I feel the heat radiating from him. But he never says a word. Head down, jaw set, he works with a fire in his eyes only rivaled by the blazing afternoon heat. If he runs out of tasks to keep him outside, he sits on the top step of the porch, elbows resting on his knees, staring at something only he can see. My heart hurts at the sweat soaking his shirt, dripping from his longish hair down his temples. Sometimes he leans his forehead on his fists, and I long to know what’s going through his head. While his son waits in the brutal heat, Louis works upstairs.

  At quitting time, Louis does all the talking. His updates are lost on me as I struggle with a face that’s suddenly ugly. There’s nothing I like about him anymore as he rattles on like nothing’s happened.

  Jace is distant. His eyes trace the planks on the porch, the doorframe, anywhere that keeps them safe from a connection with mine. I wish I was as good at that, but my gaze doesn’t miss a thing about him. I thought I’d solved the simple equation of the young Jace Williams. Now, I’m afraid I couldn’t begin to start.

  “Same time tomorrow, Ms. Porter?” Louis asks, his smile passing for courteous.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “Sorry for disturbing you today. It won’t happen again.”

  Jace snaps a glare at Louis, but the man doesn’t acknowledge him.

  “There was no disturbance. I’m nothing but impressed by your son and his work ethic.”

  Is that amusement on the older man’s face? Heat shoots up my neck, flushes my cheeks.

  “Yeah? Most women are. See you tomorrow.”

  Mortified, I try to send Jace an apologetic look but he’s already stalking toward the truck.

  I know what you were doing. The only thing you’re fucking good at.

  Who says something like that? I’ve asked myself that question dozens of times since they left. Forty-two to be exact. While fixing dinner, vacuuming my bedroom, running on the treadmill, feeding Rosie and June. When I jump into the shower, I still don’t have an answer. Those aren’t the words of a father. Not the words anyone should grow up hearing. Our kitchen conversation comes flooding back. The look in Jace’s eyes when I asked about his education. The only thing you’re fucking good at. Is that why he never thought about college? God, it hurts as I picture the way his face fell, the way his body tensed with mortification. Made me want to draw him into my arms and—

  I’m feeling protective, right? Right.

  The water temperature seems to increase on its own as my thoughts take a dangerous detour. Tan skin glistening in the sun. The casual ripple and flex of defined muscle. Aqua eyes that cut deep. Then, brief moments of vulnerability. Depth. Hidden secrets.

  “Jace.”

  His name sounds forbidden on my tongue. I squeeze my eyes shut and turn my face into the water. What is wrong with me? That woman is probably twice your age! Not exactly, I’m sure, but might as well be. As the water streams over me, air comes tighter into my lungs. A fire blazes low in my belly. Hot. Deadly. Too much for me to deny. What if? And suddenly I can’t stop my mind from rewriting the scene in the kitchen.

  “I should get back to work.”

  He places his glass on the counter. Steps toward me. Takes mine.

  The transition is so smooth, so practiced for him. How many women has he had like this? Whenever and however he wants them. No introduction necessary, no formalities, just want and take in the same breath.

  My eyelids slide closed as he presses me against the counter.

  I could say no. Should. I’m not the type who does this. Does what? Gives in to what she wants? Because I want. God, do I want.

  I reach under his shirt for that hard flesh I so admired. Young, vital, virile—the sensation of his skin on my fingers is poetry. When his hardness presses into my hips, a moan rises from my throat.

  Stop! I’m a mature, responsible woman. He’s—never mind, it’s just not right.

  But I’m also melting into need, a desire so strong I don’t remember ever feeling this way. Not even when Joe and I were horny college students trying to distract ourselves from books. No, this is something else. Something primal. Something forbidden.

  By the time his phantom mouth crushes mine, I’m already lost. Fantasy owns my body, erases all concept of embarrassment.

  I thread my hands in his hair, rocking to the rhythm of his movement until it’s everything I can do to breathe. My leg wraps around his, wrestling to draw him in.

  “Jace…” I breathe. My head falls back with a groan as he works down my neck.

  “You want me, right?” A formality really, because I’m way past want.

  I allow my hands to sample the skin under his shirt again, then latch onto his perfect ass. With a hard tug, I pull him into me at an intoxicating angle.

  “No, just…” I groan, real fingers playing along.

  He rumbles a similar response when I lower the zipper of his jeans. I reach in, claim him in a tight fist. He sucks in a breath at my aggression, surprised, and then grins before taking my mouth again.

  “I knew it. I saw the way you looked at me.” He slips his tongue in my ear, down my neck. “All morning, baby. You’re all I’ve been thinking about.”

  There is no air as his confession explodes through me. I believe him because he’s a young, scalding sex god and that’s all he thinks about. Why else would this be happening? I can’t even hold the attention of Kyle in accounting.

  “Tell me what you want. You’re in control,” he says, voice deep and smooth. That’s a lie, because I’m not. He could rob me blind at the moment, and I’d let him.

  Take my grandmother’s pearls. Just let me lick your chest.

  What the hell?

  Shower water splashes over throbbing veins. Get a grip, Sienna. Get… But I’m too close. Breaths come hard now. Rough gasps. Right there. Just—

  His thumbs slide beneath my bra, graze over sensitive skin. Higher, mimicking the pulse of our bodies. You deserve it, Karen would say. A sexy, illicit rendezvous with a young Adonis.

  So young.

  A car door slams in the distance.

  “Fuck,” my prince grunts, pulling back and resting his forehead on mine. His eyes are closed, his hips still firm against mine, and I feel every inch of the pain he’ll have to endure the rest of the afternoon. I reach down, taking what I can. He lets out a slow groan. “Can I come back tonight?” His eyes penetrate deep, as deep as I want him inside me. Need it.

  No! No no no! What am I doing? You don’t do this!

  Can I even wait until tonight?

  I feel relief more tha
n anything when I nod.

  Relief spreads over his face as well before he leans in for one last hungry kiss while I massage, pull, taste—

  Ahhh…

  “Jace.” I collapse against the glass of the shower, breathing in my painful recovery.

  It’s not hard to avoid Jace’s gaze after what we did in my head last night. God, what is wrong with me? Embarassment swells back when he nods a greeting and follows his father upstairs. It’s a two-man job in the spare bedroom today, and that insistent burning returns as my body becomes fully aware of his.

  Pathetic, Sienna! Crushing on a child.

  But he’s not a child. In those few brief looks yesterday, I saw something that made me suspect he never really was. After I’d calmed the distracting fireworks in my blood, I’d managed a more rational review of our exchanges. There’s something off about the relationship between my contractor and his son, a power struggle that makes my skin crawl. Watching the teasing, confident smile slip from his face at the intrusion of his father was downright painful. He broke into a different person right before my eyes. Where would Jace be if he’d been allowed to smile like that all the time? To be that person I’d met in my kitchen?

  And suddenly, I have to know. Social etiquette be damned. I need more of the equation.

  Everything in me screams not to do this. Confrontation makes me nauseous. Overstepping bounds—I don’t even approach them. Who am I to get involved in these strangers’ lives? Jace probably hasn’t given me a second thought; Louis is a vendor. Nothing about them is my business except how they handle my second-floor renovation. If only any of those truths were enough to stop my legs from pushing me toward certain humiliation.

  Jace is supporting a sheet of drywall while his father secures it to the studs. They both look over when they sense my presence, and heat rushes into my face.