by Anna Argent
Irritation raced along his skin, making his tone sharp. He took her hand and thrust the bag into it. "Just take the damn thing. You need a phone and I need mine back. People have been trying to reach me today."
She took a step backward as she dug in her pocket and pulled out his cell. "I didn't answer any of the calls except Declan's. I swear."
"I don't care if you answered or not. I told you I have nothing to hide. But I do need to be reachable in case my family or employees need me."
"Or your girlfriends," she added.
Was that jealousy he detected?
"I don't have one at the moment."
"For a man without a girlfriend, you sure had a lot of women call you."
"Jealous?" he asked, grinning.
A warm, satisfied feeling suffused his chest as he realized she was. He could already see her gearing up for a denial, but the truth was right there on her pretty face, plain as day.
"No," she said, and even a child would have known it was a lie from her tone of voice alone.
He moved closer, drawn to her in a way he didn't understand. The need to touch her skin, to slip a silky strand of hair behind her ear—it was a living, thrumming beast inside of him that wouldn't stop until it got what it wanted: his hands on her body.
He reached up and plucked a bit of dry grass from her hair.
She flinched until she saw he'd had a reason to touch her, then relaxed slightly. Her lips parted, and her cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink.
In the dusty light filtering through the upstairs bedroom, he could see the faint lines of strain around her eyes and mouth. With one finger, he traced the crease between her brows, following the narrow contour of her nose.
Her eyes fluttered shut, and a deep exhaustion settled over her.
She'd worked hard today. Too hard. He didn't know if she was used to this level of physical activity or not, but even he would have been worn out after accomplishing what she had today.
When she opened her eyes, revealing their pretty gray centers, he could see a frosty ring of ice blue chips floating near her irises. A single black fleck marred the perfection, but even that only served to make her more intriguing.
She stood completely still, her body poised on the edge of fleeing. A slight tremor shook her shoulders, and there was no way either of them could mistake it for a chill.
Afraid? Aroused? Excited?
He couldn't tell, but all of those options invited him to move a little closer to find out.
Everything about her appealed to him, all the way down to the layer of dust coating her long fringe of dark eyelashes. And even after hours of hot, sweaty work, she still smelled good. He didn't know what kind of girly secret caused that magic to happen, but whatever it was, it was powerful.
She smelled like sunshine and rain all mixed together, with the slightest hint of something wild and sweet, like blueberries. It was such a striking combination that his mind spun, trying to figure out the secret ingredient that drove him crazy.
He wondered if she'd taste half as good as she smelled. If he kissed her, he'd know. Mystery solved.
Her gaze dropped to his mouth as if she was thinking the same thing, only she couldn't be—not after all that talk of keeping their relationship professional.
No dates, no sex, just work.
He'd agreed, and was kicking himself for it now. He didn't know how to be around her without wanting more.
His hand moved to the side of her face, barely touching the smooth skin beneath her cheekbone with his thumb while curling his fingers through the warm, damp hair behind her ear.
She didn't move away. If anything, she leaned into his hand, making the contact firmer.
His animal instincts cheered and urged him to back her up against a wall and pin her there. Hold her still so he could touch her more, wherever he wanted.
"Have dinner with me," he heard himself say before he could stop the wayward thought.
She gave her head a slight shake, but even she didn't seem convinced.
"You have to eat."
"I can't," she said.
This was the part where the gentleman backed up, respecting the lady's wishes. This was where he gave up his pursuit and left her alone. He was supposed to drop his hand from her face where it nestled perfectly, all warm and cozy against her soft skin.
But none of that happened. He knew the script, but couldn't make his body follow along.
It wanted her. Too much.
He lowered his mouth to hers, hovering just above so that only their body heat touched. He could feel her breath rush across his face, as fast as if she'd run up ten flights of stairs. A tiny tremble vibrated through her, shaking him to his core.
She was as affected by this as he was.
Her eyes fluttered shut, and her hands crept around his waist.
That was his undoing.
Nate completed the journey, pressing his mouth fully against hers in a kiss. It started as a soft press of flesh to flesh, but ignited into a firestorm within seconds.
She opened for him, her tongue sweeping into his mouth as if desperate for his taste. Her lips moved over his in frantic need, while her gloved hands clenched and dug into the muscles riding along his spine.
Before he realized what he'd done, he had her body pinned against a crumbling wall, lifted high so he didn't have to bend to reach her hungry mouth.
She tasted better than she smelled—something he would have said was impossible only seconds ago. But the truth of it hit him hard, making him reel and sway on his feet.
He leaned into her harder, using his weight to keep her captive. Her feet dangled above the floor. His hands slid down over her curvy hip, past the bunched cotton of her shorts, onto the smooth, warm flesh of her thigh.
She let out a low, desperate sound and lifted her knees up high until her ankles were locked behind his ass and the damp heat of her pussy was right there against his fly, scalding him.
So good. Too good. He knew he should stop, but there wasn't a force on earth strong enough to pull him away from her now.
She fit against him just right, their bodies lining up as if they were a single unit cut into two parts. Her soft curves, his harder edges—they melded together seamlessly in a way he'd never before experienced.
Hanna ripped her mouth away from his. For an instant he thought she might try to stop him, but instead, she kissed a path down his jaw and onto his neck.
Hot, stinging kisses mixed with the sharp edges of her teeth danced down his skin until the collar of his shirt stopped her in her tracks.
He pulled back just a little, intent on stripping away the offending garment so that nothing could get in her way. In that small space of time—a mere instant—she seemed to find herself again.
Her body went still, then stiff. Her hot, panting breaths seized on a gasp of shock and dismay.
Nate didn't have to see her face to know it was over. The kiss had died an early death before it could become anything more.
Her legs fell away from his hips. He eased her feet back to the floor. Her hands slipped back to her sides, and her head bowed in shame.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I shouldn't have done that."
"You weren't alone," he said, though his voice sounded too rough for the moment.
She swallowed twice before speaking again. "One of us should go, and I'm not sure I can walk yet."
His legs were a little wobbly, too, but he was too proud to admit it.
"I'll go," he said. "But first tell me you're not mad at me."
Her face jerked up then, as if his words surprised her. "Mad at you? Hardly. I don't blame others for mistakes I make."
There was still a deep flush of lust painting her cheeks, and her lips were gloriously red and puffy.
Anyone who saw her now would think she'd been fucked the way a woman should be, and all he'd done was kiss her.
In that moment, he would have given anything for more.
But more wasn't what she
wanted.
Kissing him was a mistake. He hated it, but even as he did, he knew it was true.
"I'll go, Hanna. But I'll be back tomorrow morning."
"We won't do this again," she told him, her tone one of dead ends and crushed hopes.
Nate didn't agree, but only because he couldn't right now—not with his cock aching and his skin itching for more of her mouth. Instead, he said, "I'll see you tomorrow. We'll talk then."
Before she could argue with him more, he turned on unsteady legs and left.
Chapter Nine
Mason Grace didn't have to check his cell phone to know he'd missed at least a dozen calls.
His parents, his siblings, his cousins. They'd all found out about his breakup with Diana and were all eager to help.
The only help he needed was to be left the hell alone.
His mom was beside herself with worry, and he couldn't stand to let her suffer, so he sent her a brief text.
I'm fine, just processing.
She responded immediately, asking if she could come by and see him.
Mason looked around at the dark, dusty confines of his house. The place was a mess. He hadn't realized just how bad it was before, but he could see it now.
He'd purged every bit of Diana from his life and shoved it into cardboard boxes. They still sat at the office, waiting for her to come by and pick them up.
His guess was that after she'd cheated, lied and stolen from him, she was too embarrassed to show her face.
But the act of removing all traces of Diana—digging her clothes from the closet, her cosmetics from the bathroom, and the hundred other little things from shelves, drawers and cabinets—had left his house looking like it had been hit by a tornado.
Mason couldn't bring himself to care. He couldn't even find the energy to run the vacuum or mow the lawn.
His brother Saxon had stepped up and kept the outside of his house looking tidy, but no one had stepped foot in here.
Mason's choices were to clean the place up or leave. He couldn't stand being here with all the clutter and chaos. It reminded him too much of what was going on in his head.
He'd loved Diana—or the person he'd thought she was—and she'd shit on him. He'd given her all he had to give, and it still wasn't enough. In the end, she took what she wanted, leaving him with little more than his work to keep him sane.
So work was what he'd do. It was the only love he needed, and it would never cheat on him or steal from him. It would never hurt him.
He had an office park to build, and even though he was way ahead of schedule and completely exhausted, that was where he'd go tonight. Maybe after a few more hours of pounding nails, he'd be too tired to see Diana everywhere he looked.
Chapter Ten
Hanna had slept all of thirty minutes last night, and none of those had been consecutive. She was exhausted and wrung out, but all those sleepless hours had at least done something good.
She'd made a decision.
She was going to become a nun. It was the only way to keep her and her wayward mouth away from men.
Just the memory of Nate's kiss was enough to have her squirming and clenching her thighs together to drive away the aching need drenching her pussy.
She didn't have enough clean, dry panties left for the things Nate Grace did to her.
The sun was just cresting over the rolling, green horizon when she heard tires crunching on broken concrete.
Nate was here.
The instant thrill that news caused was followed immediately by disappointment in herself for giving into her emotions.
He was her boss. A few days from now, he'd only be a memory.
A hot, sexy memory with a kiss that made her quiver all the way down to her bones.
Sweat beaded along her spine as she went out to greet him. No sense in hiding from him when it would only make things even more awkward. Better to face him head-on.
Nate was dressed in cargo shorts and a T-shirt tight enough to show off the delicious contours of his chest. In his hands were two tall paper coffee cups and a small white sack.
When he saw her, his face warmed with a smile, and she swore she could practically see him thinking about last night's kiss.
"Good morning," he said, eying her up and down briefly. "Brought coffee and breakfast."
Her brain perked up at the sight of caffeine—something she'd been unable to find in the little garage apartment. There was a coffee pot and filters, but nothing to brew. She'd told herself she'd live through a single morning without coffee, but she realized now just how wrong she'd been.
"My hero," she said, her voice nearly breathless with anticipation.
He sat on the steps leading up to the front porch and motioned for her to join him.
The morning air was cool and clean, with a brilliant sunrise that brought the promise of sweltering heat before noon. Not that she minded. She'd take blistering heat over numbing cold any day of the week.
He handed her a cup, and she sipped. It was perfect, with a hint of sugar, just like she liked.
"How did you know?" she asked.
"I watched you yesterday. Saw how you took it."
His attentiveness came off as sweet, rather than creepy, as it would with some men. She found herself wondering what else he'd noticed about her that she hadn't realized.
"Blueberry or cinnamon muffin?" he asked.
"Whichever you want. I'm not picky."
"The blueberry is good, but the cinnamon will change your world."
She laughed. "My world could definitely use a little change. Got a muffin that will fix Rex faster?"
He peered into the bag. "Sorry. Aunt Beth was all out of gooseberry, the official truck-fixing muffin of vehicles everywhere."
Hanna bit into the cinnamon muffin and instantly felt her world shifting beneath her feet. It was sweet, but not too sweet, with the perfect amount of spice, and a hint of something else she couldn't quite place.
She moaned in appreciation.
"Told you," he said.
"Your aunt is the queen of life-altering pastries. I bow down."
Nate grunted. "She's not my aunt, but you're not wrong about the muffins. You should try her pies."
Hanna stared at him. "So, everyone in this town is related to you except the woman you call Aunt Beth?"
"Pretty much. Everyone calls her Aunt Beth—at least everyone younger than my parents." He paused. "But now that I think about it, she might actually become my aunt by marriage if my brother Saxon is smart enough to ask Aunt Beth's actual niece to marry him."
Hanna held up her hand. "Stop right there. If you become part of the muffin empire, then I might have to marry you just to get a piece of that tasty action."
He laughed and nudged her with his shoulder. "At least you're honest about your motivations. I can respect that in a woman."
They finished their breakfast in silence, listening to the birds celebrating the new day.
The companionship was nice. Comfortable. Even her traitorous hormones had died down now that they were getting small doses of satisfaction from his presence.
"So, what's on your plan for the day?" she asked.
He pulled out an old pocket watch and flipped open the case to check the time. The piece was clearly antique, but it was polished as bright and shiny as it would have been new. "I've got most of the day free. I'm going to make a plan of attack for the old girl and create a material list so I can get some supplies on order."
"I've done that before. Want some help?"
He stared at her with wide eyes.
That pale green was the same color as the new blades of grass poking up from the rich earth. And like those tiny plants, his gaze was filled with optimistic hope.
"Seriously?" he asked.
She nodded. "Sure. Back in a former life I did a bit of restoration work. My specialty was restoring intricately carved wood—old furniture, mantles, picture frames—that kind of thing. But I've done some bigger jobs, too."
>
She'd wanted to do more, but Jack had made sure that would never happen—at least not in Cincinnati.
Hope turned to scrutiny. "You never told me that."
"You didn't ask. You wanted me to pick up trash, so that's what I did. Which reminds me, I am about two rooms from being finished with that."
"How late did you work last night?"
Hanna hesitated. She needed the money from the hours she worked, but she really didn't want him knowing she'd stayed up late because she couldn't get him or that steamy kiss off her mind.
In the end, she went with need over emotion. "I quit around two this morning." When the battery-powered lantern she'd been working by had started to fade.
Concern creased his wide brow. "Oh, Hanna. That was too much. You should have gotten more sleep. Why don't you go back to the apartment and get a nap?"
"I'm fine. All sugared up and ready to go."
He stared at her for a long moment before nodding. "You'll quit early today. I don't want you killing yourself—not when you've still got a long drive ahead of you."
"I'm tough," she said. "No need to worry."
"What did Declan say about your Rex?"
"It's going to be a couple of days. He has to ship in a part from KC."
Nate nodded. "I'd better pick your brain while I can, then. Let me grab some supplies and I'll meet you inside. We'll start in the attic and work our way down."
***
Nate wasn't sure if he was more impressed by Hanna's work ethic or upset that she pushed herself so hard.
As he made his way up the three flights of steps, he glanced through open doorways, inspecting her work.
All the trash was gone. The broken plaster and lath had been removed. Even the dust and cobwebs had been swept away.
It would have taken a crew a couple of days to do what she'd done by herself in just one.
His respect for her ticked up a notch as he cleared the landing and found her standing inside the door of the attic.
"I found a few things that didn't look like trash, so I saved them for you," she said. "They're in that box."
"What are they?"
"Old photos. A couple of newspaper articles. A set of skeleton keys. An antique wooden duck decoy. Kinda neat."
