ThisTimeNextDoor

by Gretchen Galway

  “You’re angry because she has what you had. What we had was burning out but you don’t care, you want it back. You want me back.”

  “Actually, no,” she said coldly. “I really don’t.”

  “You wish I had stayed in New York. Because then you’d have a chance with me.”

  She realized she was staring at him with her mouth open. “You really believe that?”

  “If you hadn’t come out here to comfort Blair, she might’ve come back home, and we couldn’t have that. Better get her settled out here with my mother where she’d be too trapped with the baby and everything to chase after me. You probably thought I wouldn’t have the guts to come out here with you guarding over her.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “I’m right, aren’t I? You just can’t let go of what we had together.”

  “Watch me,” she said. “Thank you for carrying my bag to the car. I won’t need any more of your help.”

  He stared. Uneasiness flickered in his eyes. “It was never meant to be, Rose. What I have here, well, I want it to work out.”

  “I’m so glad to hear that. But I think you could try a little harder.” She picked up the box of books, barely feeling their weight this time, and marched past him up the stairs.

  * * *

  Luckily there wasn’t much to haul up the stairs into her car. A few boxes, the duffel, a pair stereo speakers, assorted camping backpack and gear, another suitcase. She hadn’t planned to stay in California long, not very long at all, maybe a few months past a year. She’d temp and wait for the baby to arrive, help Blair, maybe, just maybe, apply to grad school.

  It had nothing to do with scheming to get John back. Nothing. The only thing she wanted from him was to do right by Blair and the baby.

  And she had forgiven Blair. Months ago.

  She got behind the wheel and started up the engine. Then why aren’t you going in to hug her goodbye?

  She put the car in reverse.

  All right, I’m still a little annoyed. So sue me.

  Before she backed up, she couldn’t help but look over at the house currently under attack by oversized spiders for a glimpse of Mark. They’d barely spoken in weeks. His office door, in spite of Sylly’s policy, remained closed most of the time. He didn’t seem to visit the kitchen at break time and he didn’t attend company meetings.

  A lot of rumors were swirling around at work about a buyout, and she was as worried about the change as anyone. She still felt like a phony. Until she got some experience under her belt, she’d worry they only kept her around to keep their favorite programmer happy. He was obviously above the rules other employees lived by.

  The way everyone tiptoed around him at the office was very strange. Eyes followed him when he walked past, male and female, and tech guys quoted him in meetings. He had the biggest office and a reserved parking space.

  He must be a really, really good programmer.

  She braked and stared at the house. He certainly was a really, really good kisser.

  Her thoughts went back to the other house and the pair inside. It was unbearable that John thought she was pining over him. Blair must think the same.

  Mark had seen it, too, and she’d even admitted it. But in the past few weeks, she’d scarcely thought of John.

  Ever since that kiss.

  She moved the car forward and killed the engine. Licking her lips, she eyed the spiders, imagining Mark up on a ladder. She smiled and got out of the car.

  * * *

  Mark shook his hair, wet from the shower, and strode out of the bathroom towards his room. Because his head was in a problem at work, his mind running through lines of code, searching for a bug fix, he didn’t hear the sound of feet coming up the stairs. He had one hand loosely gripping the towel at his hip when he looked up and saw Rose standing only a few steps away from him.

  Her blue eyes were wide, her cheeks splotched with color. “Sorry,” she said, a little breathlessly, “your mom sent me up.”

  “I bet she did,” he muttered. His pulse tripped over itself as he realized how naked he was. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” A slow grin spread across her face. “Bad time?”

  He shrugged, tried to look casual. “Shower.”

  “I see that.”

  She didn’t have to look so amused. It was his house, after all. Which reminded him of something. “Did you find a place?”

  “I’m moving in today. Actually, that’s why I’m here. I was wondering if you could give me a hand.” Her gaze dropped down, raked across his chest and back up. “Carrying stuff.”

  He swallowed and hoped she didn’t look any lower. Why did she always wear such tight, provocative clothing? She was big, but half of America was bigger than her; she could find a baggier T-shirt if she wanted one. One that didn’t let him see the outline of each full breast. One that was navy, maybe, not this bright orange one with black horizontal stripes that demanded he look below her chin. For a while.

  “So, can you help?” she asked. “I’ll buy you lunch afterwards. And, well, I thought you might like to see where I ended up.”

  “I’d like that.” He cleared his throat. “Give me a minute to get dressed.”

  Another grin. “Oh, all right. If you must.”

  He went into his room and locked the door. Then he wondered why he locked it, since his body would like nothing more than for her to come inside with him.

  If I must?

  Was she flirting with him?

  Wildly scanning his closet for freshly ironed jeans and a dryer-sheet-scented polo shirt, Mark reminded himself of the couple next door. She must’ve just been over there, seen the lovebirds as she got her things. Blair was smiling a lot more, and John doted on her, always home, following her around.

  Rose must’ve seen that, and then came straight over here.

  To the guy with all those points to make.

  He got dressed in his oldest jeans and a T-shirt from college and went out into the hallway. “Aren’t you afraid I won’t approve of your new home?”

  She was studying the pictures on the walls. “Terrified.” She turned. “Shall we go?”

  If she was disappointed in his humble outfit, she didn’t show it. He followed her down the stairs and out of the house. His mother, naturally, had disappeared.

  The front seat was shoved all the way forward to make room for the cargo in the back. Mark had to fold his knees up to his chest and hold his breath to get the door closed.

  She settled beside him, backed up into the street. “It’s a short drive. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m fine.”

  She patted his left kneecap, which was only inches away from his left ear, laughing. “You’re flexible for such a big guy.”

  “Or highly tolerant of pain.”

  “Hang in there, it’s only a few minutes.”

  Sure enough, while they were still up in the winding streets of the hills, Rose took a left turn and went up, not down. “It’s up here?”

  “Shh.” She was still smiling.

  “I thought you liked the hustle and bustle of the flats. The great metropolis.”

  “The shopping,” she said.

  “Yeah. What happened to that?”

  She shrugged. “Wait until you see it. You’ll understand.”

  After about five minutes she slowed in front of a very modern house with a closed gate blocking the driveway. She pulled the visor down and hit the button on a remote clipped over the mirror. The gate glided open and she drove in.

  He turned to her, the question in his eyes.

  “I know, huh? Wait until you see the inside,” she said.

  The houses of this street were on a more gentle slope than Mark’s house, each set far enough back from the street and each other to have gardens, yards, full driveways.

  “Will you be living in the servant quarters?” he asked. The houses on this street had to average in the millions.

  She laughed and got out of the car. “Come on. Stretch those long legs of yours a
nd see my palace.”

  He stumbled out, rubbing life into his limbs, and watched her hips sway as she strode across the flagstone pathway to the oversized red front door.

  “Or is this where you pick up the keys for your one-bedroom hovel off Telegraph Avenue?” he asked.

  Without turning, she pushed the door open. “Come on, you haven’t seen the best part.”

  He stomped his feet and followed. The house was modern, but warm, welcoming. Lots of wood trim, walls painted earthy colors, vaulted ceilings with stained glass skylights, a private deck with a panoramic view.

  And furniture. Pillows, art on the walls, plants. Obviously, somebody already lived here.

  “How long do you get to stay?” he asked.

  “As long as I want.”

  He blinked at her. “Shall I call the authorities, or is your sexual servitude voluntary?”

  “Thanks, Mark. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all day.” She walked over to him, eyeing him suggestively.

  He took a step back. “You were supposed to be offended. I just called you a prostitute.”

  “More like a kept woman.”

  He took another step back. “You’re welcome, then.”

  Laughing, she put a hand on his arm and pulled him, reluctantly, deeper into the house. Its long, western-facing side was a wall of glass to drink in the view of the Golden Gate, San Francisco, Alcatraz on its rock in the middle of the bay, the soft golden hills of Marin.

  Her warm, lush hip pressed up against his thigh. Although his body was responding cheerfully, he knew she was up to something he didn’t trust. Digging his heels into the wide, distressed plank floors, he wiggled out of her grip and scowled at her. “What are you doing?”

  “Showing you the spa. And not just the tub. You’ve got to see it.”

  “Why?”

  Her smile fell slowly, some of the spark fading from her eyes. “It’s cool. Or, actually, hot.” She folded her arms over her chest. He would not look at the cleavage, he wouldn’t. “It’s a sauna.”

  “Inside the house?”

  “Right off the master bath.” A fragment of her smile returned. “Want to see it?”

  “I believe you.” There was a sun porch off the hallway to their right, separate from the main living room, in a corner of the house that gave it two and a half walls of windows. Glossy-leaved tropical plants hung from the ceiling and a mature, ten-foot ficus arched out from the corner. He stepped inside, observing and thinking, the facts falling into place. “You water the plants,” he said.

  “Among other things. There’s an aquarium.”

  “When does the owner get back?”

  “No owner. At least, not who lives here. They’re looking for a buyer. I keep the place looking nice while it’s on the market.”

  “So you could be homeless again at any time?”

  “I’d have at least a month warning if it goes into escrow. At least. And it’s been on the market for over a year, so what’s the chance of that?”

  “Market’s picking up. You could—”

  “So? It beats the Holiday Inn. In the meantime I’ll get to live here. Look at it. Isn’t it gorgeous?” Her gaze dropped down, raked over him, lower, back up. The interest in her eyes wasn’t as playful as before, and he felt his temperature rise.

  He’d been thinking about her for weeks. Not Blair—her. The feel of her, the smell of her, the sound of her voice. The taste of her in his mouth. His legendary productivity as a computer genius had taken a hit as he spent half of every hour imaging what almost had happened in the kitchen that day.

  But even if he’d been thinking about her, why should he believe it was mutual? John, selfish prick though he was, also happened to be rich, tall, and good-looking, and she’d obviously still had a thing for him.

  Mark was just the hired help, convenient for some ego stroking. Not the kind of stroking he had in mind.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you see John when you went to the house?”

  Her lips flattened. She nodded, looked away.

  “Let’s get your stuff,” he said, and went out to the car. He lifted a backpack on his shoulder, hefted up a suitcase, and strode inside with them as she was walking out.

  She glanced at him but said nothing.

  He dropped the backpack in the hall, carrying the suitcase towards the master bedroom, but she strode past, pulled open a hall closet. “Just put that here for now.”

  “Why not the bedroom?”

  “I’ll probably end up sleeping on the sofa.”

  He snorted.

  “Hey, it’s my choice. The pillows need to be arranged just so every day in case there’s a showing scheduled and, well, the master bedroom has a lot of pillows.”

  He peeked inside and choked. Red and gold squares and rectangles were arranged against the king-sized headboard in a mountain range of puffed satin, velvet, and tassels; big ones at the bottom, small ones on top. A cream blanket was folded across the foot of the bed, on top of that a silver tray with a teapot, cup, saucer, and vase with a single white rose.

  “Holy shit,” he said.

  “They gave me photographs to help me remember how to put everything back, but I decided I’d rather sleep on the couch than deal with that every morning.”

  “It’s like a movie set.”

  “Yeah.” She closed the door, them out in the hallway, as if sealing the fantasy boudoir off from contamination. “That’s why they call it staging.”

  “Do people really fall for that stuff?”

  She grinned. “Not yet. Let’s hope they don’t for at least another six months.”

  He noticed then she had little silver broomsticks hanging from her ears. And a black cat with white feet dangling on a black ribbon around her throat. Very cute. He had an absurd love of Halloween and approved of her holiday spirit. Smiling into her eyes, he tried to remind himself she was using him but couldn’t remember why he minded.

  Smile fading away, she turned. “Let’s get the rest and I can get you back home.”

  “You make it sound like I’m out on parole,” he said, following after. “Didn’t you promise me lunch?”

  “Yeah, sure. Absolutely. You’re… interested in lunch?”

  “I could be persuaded.”

  He saw her pause on the steps out to the driveway, continue without turning around. He took the opportunity to admire her ass. Nice as always. The metallic studs on the rear pockets were flashy and eye-catching, drawing him out to the car like a lure on a nylon fishing line.

  If she was offering a nibble, how could he not bite?

  Just as he was reaching forward to lift a box out of her arms, not sure how he would segue into said nibbling, the gates opened and a familiar emerald green Audi pulled into the driveway.

  Sylly’s car.

  What the hell is he doing here?

  Chapter 13

  ROSE DROPPED THE BOX INTO Mark’s arms and raised a hand, waving. “Hey, boss!”

  She expected him.

  Though Mark had been called a genius since he’d turned four, it took him a long, slow minute to figure out why Sylly was parking in Rose’s new driveway on a Saturday afternoon, far from the office.

  The first realization was instinctive. Male. The way Sylly’s eyes raked over Rose from head to toe when he got out of the car made Mark’s hands curl into fists, his posture stiffen.

  The other realization was rational, and therefore came last. “Why didn’t you mention this was Syl’s house?” he asked her.

  “You were grumpy. I thought you might scold me.”

  So this was the place Sylly had been renting out to WellyNelly employees for years. Finding housing was so hard in the Bay Area, offering a discounted house was a great incentive to relocating the most desirable people. Mark had no idea it was this nice, though. Or that Sylly had finally put it on the market.

  Sylly joined them next to Rose’s car, his handsome face sporting one of his controlled, professional
smiles that was meant to intimidate. “Surprised to see you here, Mark.”

  He shoved the box at him. “She asked me to help her move,” he said. “I’m the neighbor, remember?”

  “Not anymore.” Eyes lingering on Rose, Sylly shifted the box to one side, held out his free hand. “What else? Load me up.”

  Oh, big strong guy, was he? Mark looked into the trunk. Aha. Keeping his face blank, he lifted the biggest dumbbell, an iron twenty-pounder, and held it out to him. “It’s pretty heavy. Maybe you’d like to make two trips.”

  “I can handle it,” Sylly said, but his jaw was tight. Mark enjoyed watching him stagger into the house.

  * * *

  “I love having men around.” Rose picked up the sleeping bag and a black plastic bag filled with her pillows and followed Sylly through the front door.

  She didn’t understand why Mark was so unpredictable, watching her like a starving man one minute and turning cold the next, but she had a great house to live in and two strong, hot guys doing her bidding.

  John was wrong. She wasn’t angry. She could forgive him and Blair and herself, if not today, then soon. How could she not with that view to wake up to every morning? Money in the bank, a roof over her head, a Bay Area tech startup on her résumé.

  Arguing with John had been a revelation. She felt light, free, happy. All these weeks, deep down, she’d been afraid he was right, that she was pining for him, that he’d damaged her. But having him throw it openly into her face was like an antidote.

  He was wrong. She didn’t care about him at all. She should thank him for showing her that.

  Biting back a smile, she eyed Mark.

  Or thank somebody else.

  “Love the earrings.” Sylly had put her things down in the hallway and was staring at her ears. “Awesome holiday, Halloween.”

  She reached up to touch the dangling broomsticks. “I wonder if I’ll get any trick-or-treaters up here.”

  “Not many, I don’t think,” Sylly said. His gaze drifted past her and sharpened. “What do you think, Mark? Will anyone come here looking for candy tonight?”

  Rose looked between the two men, uneasy. She would’ve said Sylly went out of his way to make Mark happy, but at this moment he looked hostile.