by Ivy Layne
My stomach was in my throat as I watched Tracy snip away what felt like yards of hair. We decided on an edgy, layered bob only a few inches longer than my chin.
With my hair's natural wave, I could let it air dry for a messy, unstructured look or I could use a flat iron for something sleeker and more grown-up. It sounded perfect, exactly what I wanted.
I loved it when I saw the picture in the book. I'll admit I felt a little queasy once her scissors started clicking away and I watched my hair falling to the floor.
It'll grow, I reminded myself. If I don't like it, it'll grow.
When Tracy was done, she gave the new style a quick hit with the blow dryer, twisting and messing it up with her fingertips to show me what it would look like when it air dried. She spun me around for the final reveal of my new look and I barely recognized myself.
My eyes were huge in my face, and the auburn of my hair seemed brighter, the shade more red than brown now that there was less of it and it wasn't tightly wound into a chignon.
It floated around my face in shiny waves, making me look younger. Carefree. Everything I hadn't felt in years.
I let out the breath I'd been holding, feeling something in my chest unwind and relax. I looked at the piles of dark hair on the floor and thought, good riddance. Charlie stared back at me in the mirror, imperfect and a little reckless, but far more willing to have fun than Charlotte had ever been.
I went just a tiny bit crazy after that. Just a tiny bit. Like I said, I needed to watch my budget if I was going to pull this off. No way in hell was I asking Aiden or my family for a penny. He probably thought he could fire me and just take care of me until I figured myself out. He probably thought that was sweet and protective.
And if I had run into a hard time on my own, it would have been, and I would've been grateful. But firing me from a job I'd worked my ass off for was bad enough. I didn't need Aiden to take care of me. I'd worked hard and saved money for years. I could take care of myself.
But I did need some basic necessities. And, unfortunately for my budget, my salon was across the street from a shopping center filled with big box stores. I could get everything I needed there, from the supplies to paint stripper, to a coffeemaker, to something to sleep on.
I was pretty responsible when it came to the mini-fridge and a set of sheets and towels. Everything I got was either the least expensive model or was on sale.
Ditto for the paint stripping supplies. From what I looked up on the Internet, it seemed like that job had more to do with elbow grease than expensive equipment anyway. But I did go a little overboard on the coffeemaker and the futon.
I tried to get the least expensive coffeemaker. I really did. The one I ended up with was not the top-of-the-line. It was somewhere in the middle and about twice what I'd planned on spending. But coffee was an essential ingredient to a happy Charlie. I figured that was an investment in my future.
The futon?
Okay, here's the thing. I was going to buy an air mattress. I was.
I had it in the shopping cart. And then I thought about Lucas and that kiss and how much I'd wanted him to roll me over onto my back, strip my clothes off, and fuck me.
A very un-Charlotte-like thought. If I were being honest with myself, and I was trying to be, I had definite thoughts about finding myself naked with Lucas Jackson, at some point in the future.
I didn't want a relationship.
I was not looking for a boyfriend.
The last thing I needed was to get mixed up with some guy. Sex was another story. I didn't want to try to remember the last time I'd had sex.
Counting back that far would just be depressing. And I definitely couldn't remember the last time anyone had kissed me the way Lucas had.
Charlotte would never have an affair. But maybe Charlie would.
Who knew if Lucas was even interested? Once I got the thought of an affair with Lucas stuck in my head, I couldn't make myself buy that air bed.
I couldn't have sex with Lucas Jackson on an air bed. For one thing, he was huge—six and a half feet tall and packed with muscle. He'd probably roll over and the thing would explode.
I wasn't buying a real bed. That would be an irresponsible waste of money. Eventually, that room was going to be my office so it didn't need a bed.
But a futon . . . a futon was perfect for an office, especially one with a full bath right next door. It could be an extra guest room, I reasoned, ignoring the fact that there were plenty of bedrooms on the second floor of the house and any family guests would just stay with Aiden, at Winters House.
Never mind that. A futon was practical.
That was my story and I was sticking with it, especially since there happened to be a futon store on the other side of the shopping center and for an extra fee, they did same-day delivery.
Fate had wanted me to cut my hair, and now it seemed that fate wanted me to buy a futon.
So I did.
See? Just a little bit crazy.
CHAPTER FOUR
CHARLIE
Prying the rotten boards off the front porch was both easier and more difficult than I'd anticipated. The wood was in such bad shape that it came up without too much effort, which was a good thing.
I wasn't exactly muscle girl.
Unfortunately, once I'd gotten the boards up, they left rusted, bent nails behind, each of which I'd have to remove before we could lay a new floor.
I could pry some of them out with the hammer. On a few, the heads popped off, leaving me with only a spike of rusty nail to work with. Also, as I removed the rotten boards, I started running out of places to stand.
The ground beneath the front porch was uneven and littered with decades of trash. On top of that, every time I managed to pull up a board, I had to lug it to the front yard for the contractor's crew to haul off later.
It was messy, slow, and frustrating. Seeing the change to the front of the house made it all worthwhile. It looked raw and unfinished without the decking there, but my imagination filled in the blanks and I could envision how it would look when it was done.
In a way, I was working on the house to fill time. I needed something to do. I was used to work. I'd been working since I was eighteen. A part of my mind couldn't help worrying over the job I’d left at Winters Inc.
It's not that I thought I was irreplaceable, but I'd been in the middle of so many projects. Who was taking over for me? Did they know all the details? I'd had an assistant, and the people who worked with me were all very good at their jobs, but in the past, every time I left the office during the day, my phone rang nonstop.
Today, my phone was silent.
I won't deny that the silent phone was a relief. And that relief was annoying since it seemed to prove Aiden right.
Even if he was right, even if I was happier out of the office than in it, it hadn't been his place to make that decision for me. I was a grown woman and I'd been working my ass off for him for years.
I'd earned that job, and taking it from me on a whim based on some paternalistic impulse to do what was best for me, without asking me what I wanted for myself—it was bullshit.
I was caught between relief that I didn't have to deal with work and frustration that Aiden had yanked me out of everything I've been working on and kicked me out of my own life.
I wasn't sure how I was supposed to handle this. I knew I'd make up with Aiden eventually. He was my brother, the closest thing to a father figure I'd had since I was a child, the glue that held our shattered family together.
No question he was being an ass. I was completely justified in being pissed at him. But I wouldn't be able to hold onto my anger for long. Our family had been through too much to let a grudge drive us apart now.
I'd forgive him. But not yet. Not when I still wanted to punch him in his arrogant, controlling face.
I was adrift without my job, but was I really going to fix this place up on my own? I remembered telling Lucas that I was. And in truth, it wasn't entirely on
my own. I did have a contractor, and he was coordinating the aspects of the job I couldn't handle, which was most of it.
So far, he'd overseen the new roof, moved around the walls on the second floor, and was in the process of overseeing the new plumbing and electrical work.
All of which was way above my pay grade. He had a crew showing up in a few days to lay fresh planking on my front porch, and drywall for the upstairs was already on the schedule.
But I was going to do what I could. This was my house, and if I couldn't do my real job anymore, I had to do something productive, even if that meant hauling wood and stripping paint.
When I had most of the rotten boards pulled off the front porch, I decided to take a break. I was soaked with sweat and needed a shower. Before I could clean up, I still had a few things from my shopping trip stuffed into my car that I needed to bring in.
I took a long look at the decade-old sedan in my driveway. It was still in good shape, though it had well over 100,000 miles on it. The car had only been a few years old when Aiden had given it to me on my sixteenth birthday.
I don't think either of us expected me to still be driving it at twenty-four. I just wasn't that into cars. I'd thought about replacing it here and there, but picking out a new one, registering it, changing my insurance . . . it seemed like a huge pain in the rear-end when the car I had was nice and still ran perfectly well.
The sedan was a great car for an executive but not so practical for a woman rehabbing an old house.
As I'd walked through the home improvement store grabbing what I'd need to strip paint, I found myself eyeballing all sorts of tools and gear for other projects, most of which would not fit in my car.
What I needed was a truck. Nothing new or fancy. My budget didn't have room for either. But I'd bet I could trade my sedan for a good truck with some miles on it that would serve me much better than leather upholstery and a ten-speaker sound system.
I'd have to think about that. The hassle of organizing a new vehicle wasn't as big a deal when I didn't have my busy work schedule holding me back. But for now, I had to get the rest of my stuff out of the car and jump in the shower.
I was wrestling the mini-fridge out of the backseat when I heard an annoyed voice say, "What the hell are you doing?"
I jumped in surprise and almost lost my grip on the box. The small refrigerator wasn't heavy so much as bulky and awkward. I'd barely managed to get it in the back of the car.
Getting it back out was proving tricky. Settling its weight on the seat, I turned around to glare at Lucas Jackson.
"I'm getting a manicure," I said. "What does it look like I'm doing?"
"It looks like you're going to hurt yourself. Is that a refrigerator?"
He planted his hands on his hips and scowled at me, those clear green eyes gleaming with annoyance. For a second, I was grateful I'd grown up surrounded by overbearing men.
Lucas Jackson was intimidating, but he didn't scare me. I planted my hands on my own hips and scowled back.
"It's a mini-fridge. It's not that heavy."
"Get out of the way," Lucas ordered.
I thought about telling him to shove off, and then I looked at the mini-fridge again. I could get it in the house by myself, but it would be a whole lot easier if Lucas did it for me.
Lately, I was proving that I could be a little reckless, but I was no fool.
Stepping back, I gave an exaggerated wave toward the backseat of my car and said, "Be my guest."
Lucas let out a huff of irritation and shouldered me out of the way. He picked up the big box like it was nothing, extracting it from its tight position in the car with ease. "Where to?"
"Follow me," I said, grabbing a few bags from the backseat before shutting the car door and locking it. I led Lucas past the half-demolished front porch, around the side of the house, and through the gate to the back entrance where we'd sat the night before drinking whiskey.
And kissing.
The heat of a blush hit my cheeks when I saw the steps and remembered the way I'd jumped him. I should probably regret it. It had been impulsive and a little nuts.
Glancing behind me and watching Lucas carry the heavy box, his muscles bulging, his dark hair sliding into his eyes, I couldn't find even the tiniest bit of remorse. It would've been foolish not to kiss that man.
He followed me into the house saying, "You shouldn't leave your door unlocked."
I didn't answer. He was right. I shouldn't have left the door unlocked. I was used to living behind walls and gates. This house had deadbolts on the doors but no security system. Definitely no walls or gates.
I had to remember to be more careful. I'd never been a woman living alone before.
Lucas put the box down in the middle of the empty kitchen. "This where you want it?"
"This is good," I said. "The outlets next to the back door still work. I can plug it in there."
I took off my baseball cap and shook out my sweaty hair, running my fingers through it to cool my scalp. At the sight of me, Lucas's eyes widened.
"What did you do to your hair?" he asked.
"I had it cut," I said slowly. "Why? Is it awful?"
His green eyes studied me and I looked away.
I wasn't vain most of the time. I was too busy to spend a lot of energy on the way I looked. And based on the way Lucas had kissed me last night, it hadn't occurred to me that the attraction between us was ephemeral enough to disappear after a haircut.
But what did I know? Maybe he was really into long hair.
Or maybe I looked horrible with my hair short. My shoulders slumped. I'd thought I looked pretty cute when my stylist was done with me. Then again, I'd spent the last few hours sweating, my hair jammed under a faded baseball cap.
I doubted there was any makeup left on my face, not that I'd been wearing a lot to begin with, and I already knew I needed a shower.
Shit.
So much for my plan to have an affair with Lucas Jackson.
"It looks fine," Lucas finally said. "I was just surprised."
"Oh." I shrugged. "Well, thanks for your help with the fridge."
"I'll get it set up for you." He started to tear open the cardboard box, his strong fingers making quick work of the job.
"You don't have to," I protested.
Lucas didn't answer. He just finished unwrapping the refrigerator, lifting it out of the box and plugging it in. It kicked on with a low hum. It was pretty small, but I didn't need much room—just enough to hold leftover take-out, yogurt for granola, and half-and-half for my coffee.
I took advantage of Lucas's distraction with the refrigerator to step into the bathroom and splash water on my face. It felt good against my hot cheeks. A shower would feel even better. Soon.
I came back into the kitchen to find Lucas standing in the middle of the empty room, arms crossed over his chest. I tried not to notice the way his shoulders stretched the worn fabric of his T-shirt. Or the lush curve of his lower lip.
Looking everywhere but at him, I said, "Well, thanks."
"I have your key," he said.
"Oh. Why do you have my key?"
I pulled my keys from my back pocket and belatedly noticed that only one house key was on the ring.
"I locked up after you passed out last night."
I hated blushing. I didn't do it very often, but when I did, I turned bright red. Looking everywhere but at Lucas, I held out my hand and said, "Thank you. I'm sorry about that. It was a bad day."
"Yeah, no shit. Any day your brother fires you from the family company is a bad day. You were due a little whiskey. Though your brother may kill you when he finds out what you were drinking."
"He's not going to be happy," I agreed. "And I regretted it when I woke up this morning."
"Hung over?" Lucas asked, one dark eyebrow raised.
"Not now, but I was earlier. I don't think I'll be drinking for a while."
"Do you regret everything you did last night?" Lucas asked, those vivid g
reen eyes locked on mine.
A bolt of awareness shot through me at the neutral yet flirtatious question.
He was giving me an out.
I could laugh and shrug and blame the whiskey. He'd give me my key and walk out the door, and we'd both be off the hook.
I'd assumed he didn't want me, but maybe Lucas Jackson liked to play his cards close to the vest. He wasn't going to put himself out there, but he wouldn't have opened the door for me if he wasn't interested in walking through.
I held his eyes, seeing the intensity behind his casual question. Lucas wasn't an easy man. He'd probably be a nightmare as a boyfriend.
Calling Lucas Jackson a boy-anything felt wrong. He was all man, more than a little dangerous, and probably too much for me to handle. The men I was used to dating were nothing like Lucas. Refined, clean-cut, and appropriate.
None of those men had ever kissed me like Lucas.
I wasn't looking for a relationship. I didn't want Lucas to be my new boyfriend. I had to figure out what the hell I was doing with my life, and I didn't need the complication of a new man added into the mix.
Why did it have to be complicated?
I'd never had an affair before. I'd had sex, of course, but always with someone I was dating. Someone I'd been dating for a while before we got to the naked parts. I didn't know if I had the guts to tell Lucas what I really wanted.
There was only one way to find out.
Before I could lose my nerve, I smiled and said, "No. The only thing I regret from last night is finishing that bottle of whiskey."
"You sure about that?" Lucas asked, dropping his arms to his sides and taking a step closer.
I hooked my thumbs in the back pocket of my jeans and took a step toward him myself.
Now only a few feet apart, we eyed each other. I was reminded of shows I'd seen on the Nature Channel—two wild animals, cautiously circling, looking for an opening.
After the way I'd jumped Lucas the day before, the comparison wasn't too far off.
"I'm sure," I said, taking another step closer.
Cocking my head to the side, I reconsidered my words. "On second thought, I take that back."
