My Mistake (Stories of Serendipity #7)

by Conley, Anne

  Stories of Serendipity

  Anne Conley's

  My Mistake

  Anne Conley

  Text copyright © 2014 Anne Conley

  License Notes

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of a brief quotation embodied in critical articles and/or reviews.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Vanessa Booke

  Edited by:

  Jessica Ramirez at Short Side of Tall Editing

  Table of Contents

  Books by Anne

  Acknowledgments

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  About The Author

  Contact Anne

  For The Reader

  Anne's Serendipity Bookshelf (in order)

  Books by Anne

  (in order)

  Neighborly Complications

  Dream On

  Chef's Delight

  Hot Mess

  Falling for Him

  Gambling on Love

  My Mistake

  Acknowledgments

  A huge thank you goes to all of the beta readers who helped with this, as well as NJ Frost and Suellen May. You guys have no idea how helpful your suggestions and input are. Integral part of the process. Integral.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my brother. Even though you don’t read my books, (and I get why, no big deal) your support and encouragement has been one of the best parts of this whole endeavor. I love you, and I know you don’t realize just how much, but you’re a huge part of my world and I don’t know what I would do without you in it.

  Chapter 1

  Eyes collide as sweat-soaked skin slides together. Hot gasps tear the air to shreds. Fingernails grip backs, buttocks, nipples. Flesh held captive by lace and satin is suddenly freed. Teeth graze flesh and toes curl. The scent of candle wax and body oils are no match for the lust and desire in the air. Souls collide in a mesh of desires, if only for a brief period in time.

  These were the types of thoughts that travelled through Casey’s mind every time she looked at the man down the street, working on the roof of Mr. Jackson’s house. Of course, he didn’t realize she’d been undressing him all week long, as she sipped cold beer on her porch. But it was okay. It wasn’t like anything was going to ever happen in her lifetime.

  She sighed as today, for the fourth day in a row, she watched him climb the ladder, a package of shingles slung over his shoulder like a rag doll. His tan muscular shoulders, completely visible through his sweat-soaked T-shirt, flexed and bunched with the movement.

  Licking her lips, Casey took another sip of her beer, drinking in the sight of the nameless worker down the street. Once he got up on the roof, he dropped the shingles and stood there, wiping sweat from his brow. A gust of wind blew by, and Casey pushed her hair back out of her eyes, so she could keep watching him.

  Except now, she saw he was watching her.

  His movements stilled, and he put one hand on his hip, standing on Mr. Jackson’s roof, jeans slung low, T-shirt a little too snug for polite company, casting a shadow over his features with a hand to his brow to block out the sun. He looked at her for a little while, then seemed to come to some conclusion, as he tossed Casey a casual wave, and squatted to get back to work.

  He knows I’m watching him now.

  But she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the power that emanated from the man on the roof. She knew she was being stupid, fantasizing about a stranger. Crazy, even. Stalkerish.

  But she couldn’t help it. He looked familiar.

  She wasn’t close enough to see his features clearly, but there was something about him she recognized.

  Casey sat there, legs crossed to ease the ache in her loins. Her arms brushed across her nipples, which were as stiff as pencil erasers, straining against her tank top, every time she raised her beer bottle to her lips. This guy made her hot. Hotter than the Texas heat. The sweat above her lip and on her hairline could have been caused by the sun, but she chose to think it was him.

  Because it wasn’t just her skin that was on fire.

  Watching him work made her insides burn with an intensity that was undeniable.

  Casey had read that book. The one that had been featured on Oprah a few years back about visualization, The Secret. The fact was, she had always been one to obsess over what she wanted. When she’d read the book, she’d realized that if she put enough focus and energy into something, her chances of getting it improved. It seemed to work with her professional life, at least for a little while, but it had yet to work with her love life. Men were definitely the most fun to fantasize about, certainly more fun than jobs. And if she’d come to any conclusions about her life in the last few weeks, it was that she was going to start doing stuff for herself. So here she was, about to fantasize about a strange man… having him here… in her Mom’s house… just for her.

  As she finished her beer, she continued watching the man down the street. Silhouetted against the sunset, a brilliant display of oranges and pinks, she could see his body shimmering in the heat of the dying day. He was packing up his things, so Casey decided it was probably time to go inside.

  She stood in front of the AC window unit, feeling the frigid air hit her body, as she closed her eyes and thought about the vision of the man on the roof. He’d taken his shirt off, and tanned muscles stretched and flexed as he hammered, bent, and reached. A sheen of perspiration coated his skin, and Casey’s tongue snaked out to lick her lips.

  She decided a little fantasizing wouldn’t be out of line. If she wanted him, she should put her thoughts and energies into getting him, shouldn’t she?

  Casey imagined him, walking down his ladder, the T-shirt he’d taken off tucked into his back pocket, tool belt slung low on his waist, carrying his sack of larger tools over one shoulder. He slings the tool sack into the bed of his truck, and looks over to her house, question in his eyes.

  What color were his eyes? She hadn’t seen him that closely, so she should make up a color. That would make the fantasy more real.

  His hair was brown, so his eyes probably were, too. A dark mocha color. Yeah.r />
  His mocha colored eyes squint in question, as he thinks about what he should do. Nodding to himself in answer, he squares his shoulders, and looks down to unbuckle his tool belt. Strong, thick fingers work the clasp as he deftly releases the belt and tosses it into the back of the truck, before throwing in his tee shirt as well. Shirtless, he strides across the street with purpose and marches up Casey’s lawn.

  When he gets there, he knocks.

  Casey looked down at herself. Some basic hygiene wouldn’t be remiss for her fantasy.

  Clad only in a bath towel, she opens the door. As the stranger’s gaze falls on her, his mocha eyes burn with an intense heat that makes Casey’s insides quiver.

  He doesn’t say a word, just takes a step inside the house, kicking the door shut behind him, and the need that has consumed him on the walk to her house takes over. He pulls the towel from her body, eliciting an excited gasp from her, before ravaging her mouth with his, while his hands roam over her contours: grasping, stroking, tweaking. Casey is a raging inferno, and this man is stoking her heat.

  Casey realized her fantasy had gotten really hot, really fast. The AC unit was not doing its job, maybe a cold shower would.

  With one more glance out the front window to see what the mysterious stranger was up to now, nothing, he was by the truck, she went to the bathroom to start her shower. She figured she could continue her fantasy after her shower, maybe in bed with a toy.

  Before she could turn the nozzle, a knock at her front door surprised her. She walked back to the front of her house, her stomach fluttering.

  Could it have worked? Did her fantasies actually make him materialize at her doorstep? But she had specifically worked a shower into her fantasy, so she’d be clean. Right now, she was still all sweaty from sitting on the porch staring at him all afternoon in triple-digit temperatures.

  She steeled herself for a proper mauling, then opened the door, beginning her gaze at his feet. Scuffed, worn leather work boots tucked into scruffy, tar-stained jeans with a small hole in one knee, widened out to the too-tight T-shirt that outlined muscles too numerous to name. When her gaze landed on his face, she saw what color his eyes were, and her breath came out in a whoosh. Gun metal gray. Tabby-cat gray. Smokey gray. Brent Baum gray.

  Fuck. Me.

  Her voice came out of her mouth sounding like a choking wheeze. “Brent?”

  Chapter 2

  “Hey Casey.” Brent had no idea what he’d expected when he came over here, but what he saw exceeded everything he’d ever hoped for. Casey Stewart was all grown up now.

  She stood in her doorway wearing short cut-offs that showed off a long expanse of smooth tanned legs. Her tank top was tied in a knot under her pert breasts, and the sweat spot on her chest made him think of sleepless nights doing dangerous things. Her brunette curls were piled up on top of her head in a tousled nest that he’d always longed to touch. Her face was flushed, and her eyes widened with recognition when they finally rested on his face after their slow climb up his body.

  He wasn’t exactly sure of the protocol here. They hadn’t seen each other in almost twenty years, but he’d thought of her often in that time. Too often. He wanted to take her in his arms and fulfill all kinds of fantasies with her right here and now, but not having a clue if her mind had turned to him once since high school gave him some decorum.

  “I was wondering if your mom still lived here.” Suddenly awkward, he looked down at his feet, cursing himself for coming over here filthy.

  “Yeah, she’s out of town right now, though.” Still looking at the ground, he saw Casey’s bare feet, adorned with pink toenails and a silver ring, step back into the doorway. “Come on in. You look hot.” His eyes snapped back up to her face to see a flush deepen across her cheeks. “I mean, it’s like a hundred and two out there today. You want some water? I’ve got more beer, too.”

  She had widened the door in invitation, and Brent stepped inside the house, barely cooler than outside. He looked around the living room, noticing that not much had changed. The window unit and ceiling fan were blowing full blast, stirring the drapery fabric. The faded couch and rugs were clean, if not completely threadbare. The magazine rack held newer versions of the same magazines he’d seen there before.

  “Water would be great. Thanks.” He stepped further into the room, checking to make sure he wasn’t tracking anything in behind him on his boots. “Am I interrupting anything?”

  “No! Have a seat and I’ll be right back.” She disappeared into the kitchen, and Brent sat on the sofa, resting his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands in front of him and resting his chin on them. The TV was new, although not that big. He wondered if her dad was still around. He hoped not, for Casey’s sake.

  She returned, stirring the air around him with a floral scent mixed with intoxicating smells of her sweat, and plopped down on the couch next to him, handing him the glass of ice water. He took a sip, grateful for something to do with his hands. The cool liquid slid down his suddenly parched throat, past the lump that had formed there.

  “I thought you’d left town after high school?” Casey asked him. She’d turned her body to face his, propping a knee up on the back of the couch. The position left her inner thighs exposed, and Brent saw a flash of something pink in her shorts.

  Forcing his gaze to her face, he nodded. “I did. Nana passed away a few years ago, and I came back right before, when she got sick. I’ve been back ever since.” He took another drink of water. “What about you? I hadn’t heard you were back.”

  He was lying. He’d been stalking her Facebook page for years. She’d come back a month ago, after a nasty divorce. He didn’t know the details though.

  Brent watched the emotions flit over her face as she decided what to tell him. “I’m divorced now. A cliché.” She waved her hand in the air, as if it didn’t matter, but she was still Casey, and Brent knew the wistful smile she gave him was one of regret. What she regretted, he wasn’t sure.

  “I’m sorry. Was it ugly?”

  “The worst.” She sighed, and the smile turned to a slight frown. “He wanted kids so badly and when I couldn’t get pregnant, he moved on to somebody else and now his personal assistant is expecting. So he’ll get his baby, and I get a new life.” Blunt, as always, she ended with a forced smile. Brent knew the smile was her way of looking at life in a new light, trying to stay positive. He’d always loved that about her. Her optimism.

  Once he’d caught her smiling at her locker, and she’d explained it away by saying she’d had a rough English class and was trying to force some happiness into her heart. She was still doing it, and it warmed him and made him sad at the same time.

  “I’m sorry.” He wanted to reach for her, to hold her, to stroke away her pain, but he wasn’t sure if it would be appropriate. So he settled for a vague hand gesture.

  “It’s okay. I’m over it.” Her airy tone told him that was far from the truth, but he didn’t say anything. “What about you? What are you doing with your days, besides fixing old Mr. Jackson’s roof?”

  He leaned back, and stretched his arm across the back of the couch. “I’m just doing that as a side job for a little extra cash. I’ve started a horse sanctuary with Nana’s inheritance, but the initial expenses were a little more than I’d anticipated, and I’m doing some roofing work for Les for feed money right now. I’m hoping once I get a little more established, I can have some sponsors or something to help out, and I won’t have to do the extra jobs. But right now, I don’t have that many horses to take up all my time, and I can do this to set a little money aside.”

  “That’s awesome. You’ve always wanted to work with horses.” Her hand stretched to meet his and brushed it lightly. The jolt of heat that rushed up his arm at the contact made him jump a little. He tried to disguise it by abruptly crossing his ankle over his knee, but wasn’t sure how effective that was.

  “What about you? What did you end up doing?”

  She leaned back and closed her
eyes as if reliving a painful memory. Taking advantage of her not looking, his traitorous eyes drifted down to where her shorts were gaping open at her groin, flashing him the pink panties.

  Lace. Shit.

  “Kevin wanted me to get my degree in something that would always be in demand. So I’m a draftsman. I hate it. It’s mind-numbing work. But he was right. It pays the bills.” At his questioning eyebrow lift, she explained further, “I correct mistakes on blueprints, incorporating survey data into the engineers’ drawings. Tedious.”

  Brent almost didn’t hear her. His fingers twitched to slip inside the pink lace and stroke her, but when she’d finished talking and he hadn’t responded, his gaze snapped back up to hers. She was looking at him with a smirk on her face.

  She shifted on the couch, arching her back and opening her legs just a little wider, still smirking at him. Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead and he didn’t dare look back down.

  His emotions warred with each other. Guilt and lust with the undercurrent of protectiveness he’d always felt toward Casey swirled around his gut like stampeding cattle.

  “So…you’re done with him, then?” He wasn’t sure he should follow where his train of thoughts were going, but he wasn’t thinking clearly right now. He was sitting next to Casey Stewart, and she was purposefully flashing her panties at him, teasing him. He reminded himself that this wasn’t why he’d come over, but lust was winning in this stampede, drowning out all rational thought.

  “I don’t want to talk about him right now, Brent.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

  Unable to restrain the groan that he’d been holding back since she’d shifted next to him, he leaned over her, raising his body above hers. She arched again, pressing her hot body against his as he slowly lowered his face to hers.

  Her eyes closed as her tongue snaked out to moisten her bottom lip, before Brent took it into his mouth and suckled. She gasped and he took advantage of her open mouth as his tongue swooped in. She tasted like skinny dipping. At least that’s what memory crashed into his head as he kissed Casey. Skinny dipping in the lake on the outskirts of Serendipity, flashes of nude skin in the moonlight, breathless giggles amid splashing as he’d chased her through the water.