by Lane Martin
I changed out of the slacks and blouse I had thrown on this morning in my rush to get to school on time and exchanged them for a pair of black yoga pants and a t-shirt I had bought myself when I was in New York last year to perform at Carnegie Hall. I had a massive collection of t-shirts I’d bought on my travels. The crazy thing was, I’d never worn them before. My mother would give me one look if she saw what I was wearing, and without a word, I would dutifully return to my room and change into something more appropriate, even if I wasn't planning on leaving the house. But mom wasn't there, and I was comfortable. She would probably stroke out if she realized I didn't have a bra on.
I slipped my bare feet into a pair of fluffy, leopard print slippers resembling a pair of sandals and secured my hair in a messy knot on the top of my head before heading out to the trailer to get my stuff before Carson came home. I sat down at the table and looked over my budget again. I was proud of the decisions I’d made. I wanted the house to fit in with the rest of the neighborhood. Unlike my parents, I didn't need the biggest and best house on the block. I wanted a place I could relax and enjoy. I wanted to entertain friends and for them to be comfortable. I didn't want to sell the house or use it as an income property. I wanted it to be my home, a place where I could be content. I had purchased the house for three hundred forty thousand dollars and had given myself a hundred-thousand-dollar remodeling budget. The money would mostly be used to remodel the kitchen and two bathrooms. The out-of-date rock on the exterior would be removed and a more current stone would replace it. Paint, new floors throughout, and resurfacing the ugly rock fireplace would complete the project.
Luckily, the windows, roof, and central heat and air had been recently updated. Now I could breathe a sigh of relief, knowing the pool wasn’t going to cost a fortune to repair or replace. I set the paper down and looked around Carson's space, then stood. On his bed was a folded-up sweatshirt. I lifted it to my nose and inhaled the clean scent before slipping it over my head, leaving the hood up. I swam in his hoodie. His bed looked so inviting and I was so exhausted I couldn't help myself. I promised myself I would only rest my eyes for five minutes as I laid down and Rascal hopped up to curl up with me.
Chapter Eight
CARSON
I t was hard to focus on Penny's budget when she was curled up in my bed wearing my sweatshirt and those tight-fitting exercise pants women wore to torture men. I didn’t think I’d ever been so tempted. Part of me just wanted to sleep with her and get it over with. The other part of me knew Penelope Anderson wasn't the kind of woman a man could fuck and forget.
Penny stretched and her honey-colored eyes blinked open before she bolted upright in my bed and caught my stare. "Oh, shoot!" She didn't curse frequently. Always so proper. Her cheeks turned an alluring pink shade and I couldn't help but think of other parts of her body. Would they be the same lovely hue? I lowered my gaze to the table and tried to redirect my thoughts while I adjusted my pants. That woman had my dick's complete attention. It was like I couldn't help but get hard in her presence. Penny awkwardly scrambled to get off the bed like she had been caught doing something wrong. Nothing could be further from the truth.
"I'm so sorry, Carson. I swear I only planned on closing my eyes for five minutes. I don’t know what happened. I must have fallen asleep. Please don't be mad." Shit, is that what she thought? How could any man be mad at finding a beautiful woman asleep in his bed and wearing his clothes?
I stood from the table, hating the look of uneasiness she wore on her face. I liked her being there. She didn't make the small space feel cramped; she made it feel comfortable. She looked like she was about ready to bolt out of my trailer, so I caught her arm and pulled her against me. She sighed, and I loved the way she instantly relaxed into me. The top of her head was even with my lips and I fought the urge to press them against her. When she looked up at me, I gave up the battle, lowering my lips to hers. Her body tensed for a beat, then Penny raised her arms around my neck before weaving her fingers through my hair. When she parted her lips with a moan, I took advantage by swiping my tongue into her mouth. She tasted like cinnamon, which became my new favorite flavor. She tugged at my hair as I lowered her hood and loosened the knot at the top of her head, causing her long brown locks to cascade down her shoulders. Our bodies were so close together. I knew she could feel my erection straining against her. Good, I wanted her to know what she did to me as our tongues dueled. As much as I wanted to kiss her forever, I knew we had to stop before I laid her out on my bed and tasted more than just her mouth. I broke the kiss and she lowered her head into my chest to hide from me.
I took a step back and her arms fell from around my neck. I missed the connection instantly, but I wanted her to see how serious I was. Gently, I tipped her chin back up, so she was forced to look into my eyes. "Don't ever apologize for being in my bed again, Penelope." I’d used her full name on purpose. Her eyes widened with the use of it. We stared at each other in silence. You could hear the click of the clock hanging on the wall behind me as seconds passed. Her stomach took that moment to growl loudly. We both howled in response. Jeez, how long had it been since she had eaten? I knew from my tour of the house the day before, she didn't have much in it. Hell, she didn't even have a refrigerator yet. I couldn't help but laugh at how mortified she looked. She looked like one of those puppets with the hinged mouth. Her mouth opened and closed several times as she searched for what to say. I'm not sure if she was struggling with my suggestion that she would be in my bed again in the future, or if she was embarrassed by me hearing her stomach rumble. If I had it my way, I would be hearing her make a lot more noises she had no control over very soon. I decided to let her off the hook. For now.
"Let's fire up my grill and you can tell me about your budget while I cook." I returned to her place after working a twenty-four-hour shift. The sun dipped low in the sky as it began to set. My kitchen was small, so I grilled outside a lot. Plus, I liked controlling the flames of the fire. Her sleep-mussed hair made me smile, so I didn't bother telling her what a mess it was. It was cute. Somehow seeing her locks out of place made her seem more attainable. Which was kind of a crazy thought. Penelope Anderson was a world-renowned violinist and I was just a guy who put out fires. My observations of Penny led me to believe she liked things in order. It was probably the musician in her. If the notes weren't played in order, they were just noise.
"You cook?" she asked with a look of astonishment on her face. I liked the expression on her. I couldn’t explain it, but it made me happy. I wanted to keep it there for as long as I could. Penny was so different from anyone I had been attracted to before. My ex was blonde and petite and had no problem telling anyone anything she had on her mind. Or so I’d thought. Maybe I just thought I knew her because we had known each other for so long. Penny was the complete opposite. She acted like she wasn’t used to people asking her opinion. The thought bothered me more than it should have.
"Well, yeah." A guy had to eat. I shrugged like it was no big deal, but I had to admit, I liked the idea of impressing Penny. I took another step back. Now that I had tasted her mouth, it would be hard to keep my lips off hers. But she needed to eat. Plus, I really did want to hear her plans. From what I’d seen of her budget, I was impressed. She had done a lot of work—probably stayed up working on it all night.
Penny and Kara were as alike as a house fire and a wildfire. They weren’t. I couldn’t help but compare the woman I was once planning to marry to the one standing before me. I had fallen in love with Kara when I was just a scrawny kid. Maybe we both just went along with the idea that we were supposed to end up together. High school sweethearts. Prom king and queen. We were the couple everyone else wanted to emulate. Only somewhere along the line something changed. I wasn’t mad at Kara anymore for leaving. Honestly, I thought she was brave to walk away.
Hey." Penny lifted her hand to the side of my face. I leaned into her soft touch and tried to focus on her concerned eyes. "Where did you go, Carson S
t. James?" I loved the way she whispered my name as she touched me.
Bark.
I was being Rascaled again. I needed to have a serious conversation with my dog. Penny sniggered as he nudged his way between us.
"I guess he wants to eat too." Penny giggled and I couldn't be mad at Rascal. He was acting the way he had before the fire, and I was sure it had to do with the spectacular woman whose laugh made me feel more optimistic than I had since everything in our world had been turned upside down.
I threw a couple of foil potato packets on the grill when I fired it up. Penny watched in awe as I placed the spuds on two pieces of aluminum foil, added some olive oil, salt, pepper, and a few spices before sealing the bags. It was probably the same way I watched her play the violin. Penny asked if she could help and I tasked her to make the salad. I had never seen someone so excited to be asked to put together a bag salad while I kept an eye on the steaks. It was like she hadn’t known such a thing existed.
Once the food was ready, Penny and I sat in folding chairs next to the pool with our plates on our laps. I could get used to this.
"Dig in," I encouraged. She examined her plate, and I wasn't sure if her expression was one of awe or disgust. The food wasn't fancy, well-seasoned steaks, potatoes, and salad. I was usually more confident in my grilling skills, but Penny made me feel nervous—something I hadn't felt around a woman in a long time.
I peeled open my potato pouch and pretended to be focused on my food while watching her take her first bite out the corner of my eye. Jesus, if the look on her face didn't kill me, the moan she let out might have. "Fuck," I cursed, and she looked at me. "Sorry. It was hot." It was my best attempt at an excuse. But it wasn't the food that was hot—it was all her.
"Do you need me to blow on it for you?" Well, shit. I almost choked on the piece of steak I swallowed moments before. I think she was almost as surprised by the innuendo as I was. She timidly returned her attention to her food. I didn’t think Penny had any idea what she did to men, especially me.
We both continued to eat. Penny ate every single bite on her plate. I guess I hadn’t needed to worry about her not liking it. She put her plate down on the ground, leaned back in her seat, and patted her non-existent belly. "That was the best meal I've ever had."
I wasn't typically one to flush with compliments, but Penny Anderson drove a BMW X2 and when I’d asked Grady how she closed escrow on her house so fast, he told me Shelly Schmidt from the bank had told Donna at Better Buzz that she’d paid cash for it, sight unseen. God, we sounded like a bunch of gossips. All that made me think Penny probably ate at swanky five-star restaurants all the time. How was it possible the steak I’d made her was the best meal she’d ever had? "Oh? I seriously doubt that."
Penny looked at me. "I'm serious, Carson. I've never enjoyed a meal more." She shook her head like I wouldn't understand. The funny thing was, I did understand. Thinking back, I couldn't remember a better meal either. It’s the company.
"I still think we can make it better. How about we top it off with dessert and a trip to the home improvement center to look for some things on your list?" Her smile grew. Yeah it keeps getting better and better.
Chapter Nine
PENNY
I was giddy as Carson opened his truck door for me. I wasn’t sure if it was because I liked the feel of his hands on my hips when he helped me hop up or because we were going to the home improvement store. It was hard to describe the way I felt with every touch from him. I could equate it to when I played my violin pizzicato—plucking the strings with my finger or with a plectrum—to make the strings vibrate. That's what his touch did to me. I knew my body could shake or quiver, but I was experiencing an entirely new type of vibration. Heck, I felt the vibration throughout my body when he would look at me. I inhaled deeply before popping a mint into my mouth.
As he turned his attention to getting Rascal into the truck, I tried to calm my nerves by concentrating on a particularly difficult piece of music in my head, but it didn't help. The truck even smelled like Carson. This isn't a date, Penny. He's helping you with your remodel. But he kissed you! I couldn't help but think maybe he felt something between us too when I’d lifted my head and his lips had landed on my mouth. I wanted him to kiss me. I licked my lips in invitation. I would never have been so bold in the past, but I’d figured I had nothing to lose. My life wasn't going to change if I continued to do what I had always done in the past. No, I wasn't necessarily looking for a relationship, but we were both single adults. With a man like Carson St. James looking at me the way he was, I couldn’t help but notice. I wasn’t sorry we had done it. It had been the best kiss of my life. The rest of the world had faded away, and at that moment, it had only been Carson and me. The only thing that concerned me was the far-away look he’d had in his eyes when the kiss had ended. I couldn't help but wonder if he regretted it.
"Hey." I was so consumed with replaying the kiss, I didn't even notice he had gotten in. Was he sorry our lips had met? He had never answered me about what was on his mind when I’d asked, and he had taken full advantage of Rascal and my noisy belly interrupting us. Carson had been sweet and attentive as he’d made our meal, but he hadn't touched me again. When he’d asked for my help, I had been terrified I would do something stupid, like cut off a finger. Luckily for me, the salad had been in a bag. All I’d had to do was open it, pour it in a bowl, sprinkle in a pack of toppings, and squeeze out a dressing tube. Even I couldn't have screwed that up.
I’d thought I would die of embarrassment when I had offered to "blow on it" in a voice I almost hadn’t recognized as my own. It sounded so dirty. I couldn't even look at the man to see if he had been affected by my words. The heat rose in my cheeks thinking about it. When did I become such a hussy?
Carson leaned over the center console of his truck and put his finger under my chin to oh-so-gently lift my head to meet his gaze. “Hey," he repeated. He wore a smile on his face as he leaned in slowly to press a soft kiss to my lips briefly before leaning his forehead against mine. My eyes were locked on his, but I could tell he was smiling. Oh God, what I wouldn't do for more of his smiles. I felt the now-familiar buzz of lust throughout my body, and a matching smile grew across my face as he stroked the side of my cheek with the back of his hand. Good thing I was sitting down or I might have fallen over.
"I should have done that again sooner, Penny." I loved the sound of his words. Not only the tenor of his voice but the genuineness with which he spoke. I was accustomed to people hiding behind their words, but it wasn't the case with Carson. "I hope you like it because unless you tell me to, I have no intention of stopping." Yes, please. "Is that okay with you?"
Was it too soon to ask for another one? Without thought, I licked my suddenly dry lips but said nothing. Sadly, Carson pulled away and buckled his seatbelt while mumbling a curse under his breath. It sounded like he whispered I was trying to kill him. I was the one who was dying. His last name might have been Saint, but he kissed like a sinner and I was desperate for more. He cranked his engine and I sat back, excited to hear what music came on his radio when he started the truck. I recognized the singer because I’d collaborated with Ryan Tedder on multiple projects, but the song playing was a new one I hadn't heard before. I leaned forward and turned it up to listen to the lyrics, very satisfied with Carson's choice of music. I couldn't relate to the lyrics about not knowing what you had until it was gone, but I hoped the part about the heart being able to bend was true when Carson backed out of the driveway, his hand on my thigh.
“Pick a number between one and forty-six," Carson challenged. His large hand still rested comfortably on my leg as we waited in line at a drive-through. It wasn't a chain I recognized, and from the looks of the building, the place had been there for a long time.
"For what?" Randomly picking a number when I didn't even know what I was choosing was difficult.
"I'm about to offer you the best of Sunnyville. Don't question me. Just pick a number." Carson wa
s smiling like he’d been given a standing ovation at Royal Albert Hall. We inched up a spot to the faded menu board and from the speaker a voice gurgled an almost incomprehensible, "May I take your order?"
"We'll have a number forty and..." Carson looked at me for my answer.
"Number six?" I didn't even know what I was ordering but he had mentioned dessert. Forty-six choices were a lot, but Carson hadn’t let me down yet, so I went with my favorite number and hoped for the best. Plus, as much as I hated to admit it, not knowing was half the fun. I didn't think it was possible for his smile to grow any bigger, so I gave my answer instead of asking more questions.
"A number six," he continued as he leaned out the window. "A large order of extra crispy fries, and a pup cup. That's it." Another squawk came from the speaker as Carson chuckled and rolled forward.
"What on Earth did I order?" I asked with a matching giggle.
"This is McCain's. Home of the best milkshakes in the state of California. Almost fifty different ways to pleasure your taste buds." God, the way he said, “pleasure your taste buds” was almost as naughty as my offer to "blow on it.” No man had ever made me blush the way Carson St. James did.
"The best?" I raised a brow at his claim. California was a pretty big state.
"Trust me," he insisted as he pulled forward and paid the cashier the seven dollars and forty-three cents for our bill when we got to the window. He put both drinks in cup holders before passing me the bag and asking me to hold a smaller third cup without a lid. I didn't have a lot of people in my circle I trusted. I wanted to believe him; he was, after all, a saint.
