Complete With Her

by Complete

  Evernight Publishing ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2015 Lynn Burke

  ISBN: 978-1-77233-457-9

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Melissa Hosack

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  For those of you who fear leaping into the abyss of the unknown … follow your dreams.

  COMPLETE WITH HER

  Risso Family, 3

  Lynn Burke

  Copyright © 2015

  Bastian

  Like a sick bastard, I had watched her for weeks. Being a chicken-shit when it came to women, I didn’t have the balls to approach her. Hell, even my brother, Zane, would have felt a little insecure approaching a woman like the one who lived across the street from my new rental house.

  She was a Scarlett Johansson look-a-like with all the curves and wavy blonde hair. Muscular legs disappeared beneath jean cut-offs, and watching them as she climbed her front stoop in the late afternoon sun turned my throat into an arid wasteland. Head down as usual, neighbor-girl passed through her front door, and I let out a groan.

  I’d come home early from the extension store I’d opened in Charleston, determined to finally introduce myself. A quick jerk-off over the toilet ensured I had a good chance of not popping a tent for a short time. Very short if she smelled half as lovely as she looked—even if her drab gray shirt appeared big enough to fit me.

  I stood, hand on my front doorknob, and inhaled until my lungs hurt. Letting the air hiss between my teeth, I strode outside into the bright sunlight, my focus on the other side of the street and the short walkway lined by flowers and shrubs I imagined led to heaven.

  My damn knees shook and my heart thumped like that of a love-struck teenager. I hadn’t crushed so badly since the ninth grade when I dreamed of Mia Salerno wrapping her lips around my cock. There had been a handful of women after her, but not a single one of them had given me butterflies.

  Not once had neighbor-girl turned a smile my way. While some might believe she was a snob, her slumped shoulders and avoidance of eye contact made me think otherwise. Shy? Damaged with a shit load of baggage? I wasn’t sure, but one thing I knew: she called to me. Like two lonely souls capable of filling the missing piece of each other. I hoped so, anyway.

  Zane would’ve teased the shit out of me for having such girlie thoughts. We shared the same parents, but beyond that we couldn’t have been more different.

  Pushing aside thoughts of my brother, I stepped onto my neighbor’s stoop, shook my fists out at my sides, and stretched my neck side to side. I rapped twice.

  From the corner of my eye, I noticed the window’s curtain move. My toes tapped in my sandals as seconds boomed passed with each heartbeat in my ears. The deadbolt clicked, and I put on my most charming smile.

  Beneath a furrowed brow, gray-blue eyes peered at me through the ajar door. My focus narrowed in on the mole to the left of her mouth. Although a bad scar marred her upper lip, the imperfection didn’t make her lips appear less kissable.

  “Hi.” I cleared my throat and tore my stare from the moistened, plump skin tempting my thoughts. “I’ve been meaning to come over and introduce myself. I’m Bastian Risso.”

  She glanced down at my outstretched hand.

  “I moved into the rental across the street a month ago.”

  The door opened another foot. Much shorter than I expected, the top of her head didn’t even reach my chin. “Eve Thompson.” She grasped my hand with a calloused palm.

  I almost leaned forward to breathe in whatever hidden scent clung to her skin, but as skittish as she appeared, I figured she’d slam the door in my face. “Nice to meet you, Eve.”

  “You too.” Although her voice barely reached my ears, I caught the hint of a slurred accent.

  “Nice accent.”

  She dropped my hand and scowled. “Fuck off.”

  “W-what?” She started to shut the door, but I held up my hand. “Wait. Please. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “It’s not an accent.” The words half-slurred, half-hissed from her lips. “It’s a speech impediment.”

  “Either way, it’s sexy as hell.” Heat flooded my face as my thought escaped.

  Her eyes widened. “What did you say?”

  “Sorry.” I rubbed damp palms down my shorts. “I’m not very good at speaking with beautiful women. It’s just that your voice is … well, attractive.”

  She snorted and cocked her head to the side with a “bullshit” curl on her lips. “What do you want, Bastian from across the street?”

  “Do you … um … have any oregano?”

  “Oregano?”

  “I planned on making stuffed shells for supper and realized I didn’t have any more.”

  She opened the door a little farther. “Oregano.”

  I hunched my shoulders and shoved my hands in my pockets. “Yes.”

  Eve’s gaze roamed down my body and back up. All five foot ten of me tensed beneath her inspection, but at least my cock didn’t flinch and embarrass the hell out of me. Eyes the color of a summer storm cloud met mine once more. “I’ve got fresh and dried. Which do you want?”

  “Fresh would be great, thanks.”

  She peered up at me for a few seconds before opening the door all the way and gesturing me inside. “There’s an herb spiral out back.”

  I stepped over the threshold and kept my hands buried in my short’s pockets. “What’s an herb spiral?”

  “Come on. I’ll show you.”

  The living room to the right had pillows lined up in order on both couches, and the shelves of the TV’s stand had precise piles of stacked novels and sparkling trinkets. A woman who enjoyed reading and knew how to keep a neat house like Mom. Definite bonuses.

  Eve turned left into the kitchen, and I ambled along behind, enjoying the opportunity to check out her flaring hips and bitable ass.

  “You’re from Boston,” she said without turning.

  “Yes.”

  “Your accent gave that away. Italian too, I’m guessing.”

  Feeling like an asshole again, I nodded even though she couldn’t see. “Papa is. My mom’s Irish.”

  Eve pushed open the back door. I followed her outside into a yard loaded with trees, shrubs, and thriving plants. She pointed to the right. “Herb spiral.”

  At least five feet across, a spiral made of rocks rose from the ground, herbs and other greens growing between the winding curves.

  “Wicked cool. Did you make it?”

  Eve squatted down and ripped off a bunch of oregano. “Yes.”

  I glanced around the small backyard again, recognizing most of the fruit trees and shrubs. Well, the fruits themselves, anyway. Not like I knew anything about growing food. A paver block fire pit with one lone chair sat in the middle of the oasis.

  “Did you do all this?”

  She stood and handed me the oregano, and I took care not to brush my hand against hers. “The apple and peach trees were here when I bought the place, but I planted the rest. Built the fire pit, too. I’m a little fond of s’mores.”

  “God, I haven’t had one of those in years.” Thriving tomato plants in six foot cages loomed to my left. I whistled. “You’ve got quite the green t
humb.”

  “I love gardening.” Eve’s eyes softened as she gazed around. “It’s my goal to be self-sufficient.”

  “Like grow all your own food?”

  “If I’d had that goal five years ago, I would’ve bought a bigger place. Land enough to raise a cow and pig or two.”

  “You’re full of it.”

  She chuckled and glanced up at me. “Nope.”

  “So what, you’re like a … farmer?”

  Her smile widened, quickening my breath. “I work down at Henderson’s Farm.”

  “The organic place that raises sheep.”

  “Yeah.”

  Never in a million years would I have thought the hot, little woman smiling up at me would be a farmer. “That explains your hands.” Again, my thoughts escaped, and I cursed myself.

  Eve flipped her palms upward and studied them. Her short nails had dirt under them, and the callouses I’d felt when she shook my hand grew at the base of each finger. “Not exactly lady-like.”

  Thanking God she hadn’t scowled at me, I allowed my held breath to escape. “Doesn’t bother me. It’s refreshing to meet a lady who doesn’t mind getting her hands dirty.”

  “Sorry for cussing you out.” Eve crossed her arms beneath her more-than-a-handful breasts, plumping up the plain, baggy top.

  My mouth dried, and I forced my focus back on her face. “No problem.”

  “I was born with a clef palate and lip.” A furrow appeared between her brows. “Neither got fixed very well. Made for a lot of bullying in school, and obviously I’m still pretty damn sensitive about it.”

  I transferred my weight from one foot to the other and shook my head. “The world is full of idiots.”

  “Assholes, you mean.” Eve bent to pluck a plant peeking out between two of the spiral’s rocks. “So. What brought you to West Virginia?”

  “Business.” Jitters took over my stomach as I waited for her to take the bait.

  She buried the plant beneath the straw mulch tucked around the herbs. “What kind of business?”

  “How about you come over for dinner and I’ll tell you about it.” I hurried on before she could turn me down. “And, you can tell me more about this self-sustaining adventure you’re on.”

  Standing, she shot me a narrowed gaze. “A date?”

  I didn’t bother stopping my slow grin. “Not the word I had in mind, but if you insist…”

  Another low chuckle slipped past her parted lips and her cheeks flushed. “I haven’t been asked out in years.”

  My brow rose. “Seriously?”

  “The scar. The accent.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

  “Their loss.”

  “That’s what my co-workers say.”

  “So. Dinner?” I tipped my head down to catch her gaze. “I have the perfect bottle of wine to pair with those stuffed shells.”

  Eve heaved a sigh and wrapped her arms around herself once more as her focus moved beyond my shoulder.

  I wanted to tell her how intrigued I was—how I felt this driving need to learn more about her, but I didn’t want to scare her off. She took her time in answering, and I struggled to breathe normal while waiting.

  “You’re a city boy. I’ll probably bore you to death with my country-bumpkin ways.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  Wariness crept into her eyes. “You really want my company?”

  Wanting to jump up and down like a little kid who found Tooth Fairy money, I settled for a nod. “Definitely. Seven?”

  “All right.”

  Eve

  So my sexy neighbor had a name. And blue eyes. I’d checked him out a time or two. Like every time I managed to catch him coming or going really, so I’d known the guy was hot, but damn. Dark hair masterfully messed, a clean-shaved face, and an upper lip with a perfect bow I’d always dreamed of seeing in the mirror.

  As he ambled away, I peered around the edge of the front window’s curtain. “Mighty fine ass, too,” I mumbled to myself.

  Bastian disappeared inside his house, and I made my way up the stairs.

  I’d had more than one reoccurring daydream about hooking up and having a relationship with him, but I’d learned the hard way about committing too quickly. The walls I erected to protect myself from further hurt overshadowed the wishful thinking.

  Besides, I wasn’t the type of girl he really wanted: A Barbie for his Ken doll looks and, doubtless, lifestyle. No. My father made sure I never thought more of myself than the ugly truth.

  The memories didn’t keep my stomach from fluttering like mad though. I pushed the thoughts to the back of my mind and entered my bedroom.

  A date.

  God, I couldn’t remember the last time a guy asked me out in such a way. A handful had attempted to get in my shorts over the years, but Bastian seemed … sincere. Nervous as hell, sweet, and kind.

  Too good to be true.

  Maybe I’d read him wrong, and he played me for a fool. Who could mistake a speech impediment for an accent? And, he thought it was sexy?

  Snorting, I glanced out the window at the front of Bastian’s place. While the pressed suits and starched shirts he wore to work every day let me know the guy was particular, his proper speech, the Rolex, and white convertible Mercedes in the driveway revealed he’d grown up on more than ramen noodles and canned ravioli.

  A slick city boy with money and doubtless countless conquests—how could he not have looking like that—Bastian probably wanted to add a cleft palate chick to his list. Probably wanted to know how it felt to kiss disfigured lips.

  Another asshole.

  But those crystal-blue eyes and broad shoulders. The man was fine—fine enough I almost didn’t give a shit. Recalling the way he’d tucked his hands in his pockets, slouched, and offered shy smiles pushed me over the edge.

  “Screw it.” Decision made, I pulled open my closet door and chewed on the inside of my cheek while peering at the few nice articles of clothing I owned—and rarely wore.

  The stench of manure hit my nose, and I grimaced. Obviously Bastian hadn’t gotten a whiff of my animal friends on me, or he’d have grabbed the oregano and scooted.

  Jeans, a clean tank top, and flip flops found their way onto my bed. Wishing I had time to head into town for a manicure, I hopped in the shower, determined to rid my skin of the farm’s smells.

  * * * *

  Six forty-five, the clock read, same as last time I’d checked. Ready to go, I sat on my couch, bouncing my leg. I let my hair hang loose and un-styled as usual, but I applied a lick of mascara and lip gloss.

  Not that I intended to fall for him or anything.

  I stood and paced, annoyed I didn’t have control over my nerves. It would affect the way I spoke as it always had done since I was a child. While my second grade teacher had taken pity on me and invested extra time in helping me learn to enunciate better, her efforts hadn’t been enough to keep me from being teased. Taunted for being different. Ugly.

  Whenever tears had tracked the dirt on my cheeks upon arriving home, my father took up wherever the bullies left off, making sure I would always know the truth about my looks.

  More black memories of my father’s abusive words rose to mind, and I made for the front door. While I didn’t want to be too early, I was all done with haunting childhood shit for the night. I inhaled a few deep breaths of late summer’s flowers and ozone’s tang, and I marched across the street, leaving the memories behind me.

  Stepping up to Bastian’s stoop, I realized I shouldn’t have arrived empty-handed. I should have offered to whip up something for dessert.

  But if he’s like all the rest of the men you’ve gone out with, you’ll be home before dinner ends.

  Pulse thrumming in my ears, I crossed my fingers against the thought and forced my other hand to knock.

  When the door swung in, Bastian’s eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store. His grin proved infectious. “Come on in.”

  He’d changed into a pair of low-slung
jeans, and an almost too-small shirt hugged his pecs and biceps. I’d watched behind a curtain while the moving men unloaded Bastian’s belongings into the house, so I knew he had all kinds of workout equipment, but damn.

  I stepped past him into the spotless foyer as he shut the door behind me and breathed in the scent of his aftershave, the spicy undertones sending delightful warmth to a mighty lonely place.

  “Hope you’re hungry,” he said.

  I nodded and did a quick take-in of my surroundings. An arched entryway to the right revealed a portion of the living room, a navy blue recliner in the room’s center facing the bow window, a side table with three hardback books, and a lamp beside it. The oak floors, I noted while turning to follow Bastian toward the left, shone with a luster my own lacked.

  My gaze roamed up his jean-clad legs, and I enjoyed one last eyeful of his round ass as he grabbed a bottle off the island. “Wine?”

  “Sure.” The rich aroma of garlic, tomatoes, and cheese wafted past my nose, and I inhaled to my lung’s capacity while taking a peek around the tidy kitchen with its stainless espresso maker and stand mixer. “Dinner smells great.”

  “My grandmother’s recipe.” Bastian poured two glasses of red wine, and I tried not to stare at his smooth, manicured hands. If I hadn’t stalked his every move while he mowed the tiny front lawn in the front of his house, I’d have bet the man didn’t do a minute’s worth of yard work.

  “So.” He handed me a glass and motioned for me to sit on one of the island stools. “I want to hear all about your plans for self-sufficiency.”

  My fingertips brushed against his hand, and heat swept through me. Face burning, I busied myself getting comfortable on the high-backed stool. I sipped the dry wine and lifted my head. He stared at my scarred lip.

  A pang needled my heart, and I glanced away. “You first, Bastian. Tell me what brought you all the way from Boston.”