“How’s the house? No broken pipes or holes in the roof?” she said and then let out a moan.
I had caught her during her daily massage session. She acquired hot model-esque male masseuses like most people collected art work. Only, she didn’t keep them on display. Babette made sure they earned their price.
There were rumors that one of the massage experts knocked her up ten years ago, but I had learned that rumors were only started to hurt people.
“Nothing is broken . . . yet.” I glared at Tyler as he walked into the room. “But there’s a problem and he’s six foot one.” Tyler held up two fingers. I rolled my eyes and made the amendment. “I mean, six foot two and has verbal diarrhea. And not the funny kind, either.”
“I don’t understand. Is this a masseuse you’re selling me on? Is he sexy?”
My eyes scanned his body. Yes, Tyler was super sexy, but I wasn’t about to admit that out loud to anyone.
“No, he’s not a masseuse.” I realized I didn’t know what Tyler did for work. I pulled the phone away and asked, “What’s your job?”
“I’m the town vet.”
Maybe it’s the way he shoved his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans or how the corner of his lips curled as he leaned against the dark wooden fireplace mantel, but that was hot. A tall hunk of muscle who took care of kittens and puppies all day? Christ, Tyler had turned into a wet dream in the last eleven years.
I was now picturing him shirtless performing CPR on a tiny, furry kitten. With sweat dripping down his brow, he tried everything to keep the animal alive. At the last minute, as he was on the verge of crying out in frustration and anguish, there was a minuscule meow and he breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that feline wouldn’t die that day.
This needed to be a show to binge watch. It would beat Game of Thrones in views.
“He’s a vet,” I said bringing the phone back to my ear.
“Why do you sound breathy? Are you running?”
I cleared my throat. “No. Never mind . . . The vet claims he owns the house. And I’ve seen the paperwork; it looks legal. He said he signed the paperwork yesterday, same time as you.”
There was silence, which wasn’t at all like Babette. She always knew what to say and how to say it.
“Give me a minute, I.D. I’ll call you back.”
She ended the call and for a moment, I worried that Tyler was in the right. That I would be the one leaving this house apologizing, not him.
I thought the worst-case scenario coming back here was running into him. When Babette told me yesterday that she bought my old house in my hometown, I wanted to run in the opposite direction. It turned from bad to worse when Cara explained that she’d have to take care of things in Hollywood before she could come out to be with me on the East Coast. Being here alone was a fear but not my worst fear. That was running into Tyler Ferguson—the man that took my virginity, told me he would never let me go, and then ghosted me.
Never had I imagined that it would be worse by him walking in on me naked in the bathroom and kicking me out of my house.
I longed for the innocence of an hour ago.
“If you think you can sic your Hollywood lawyer on me—”
“That was my agent. She’s the one who bought the house. She’s letting me stay here for a while.”
He pushed back from the mantel and smiled. “You mean you don’t even own the house? That’s wonderful. I can deal with her directly and you can leave.”
“Leave? Oh, I’m not leaving.”
I wanted to leave. Go back out West where at least I fit in with the weird bunch of glittery misfits. They all had some painful past that they were trying to appease with fame. As if celebrity status suddenly made them truly loved or something.
I wasn’t looking for love. That was a joke. Love didn’t actually exist. At least, not the kind that was fulfilling. If a person was stupid enough to be entangled by love, whether from one person or several people, then it would only cause pain. They all left in the end.
Tyler stepped forward but this time, instead of being ensnared by his hypnotic scent, I backed away until my shoulders hit something hard—the fireplace mantel.
That had been updated, too. No longer the simple red brick with a black grate in front, but now a light gray slate with a black wooden mantel.
Everything around me was reminders of my past. Since I left, life had moved on and improved, except for Tyler. On the outside, he appeared to be the handsome and fit man I always thought he’d turn into, but inside, his once fun-loving personality had wilted into a jerk.
I shrugged. “I got here first.”
Petty, I knew, but I wasn’t going to let this man take what belonged to my agent. He hurt me. Fine. But he would not go after the people who were like family to me. Babette may not be lovable, but she was fiercely protective and smart. Not a bad person to have on your side.
“It’s not about who got here first. I have the legal documents and you don’t.”
He moved as quick as the beat of my heart and I was pinned. Behind me, the fireplace, the mantel digging into my back. In front of me, a wall of hot man. I lifted a finger and poked his chest. It was hard, and that did something to me. Not the thing I wanted it to do like bring up my woman shield to prepare for attack. If anything, it weakened me. My legs felt rubbery, and I hated them for it.
“You are in my space.” I poked him again.
He didn’t even flinch. Tyler grabbed my finger and held it against the mantel, leaving only my other hand free. I wanted it to run and get help, but it was tied to my body so no chance of that.
His eyes dipped to my mouth. “You are in my house.” It was the way he stared at me that caused my body to fight all logic. I should shove him away. His grip wasn’t tight, it was laughably loose. And he hadn’t really pinned me, more like he was in my space. I could slide to the side and step away from him.
The humiliating part was, I wanted him to pin me. I wanted his stare to turn into his lips. To pin me down with his mouth. I wanted dirty, filthy things to fall out of his mouth right before he took me.
Damn it, I wanted that kiss I was promised so long ago.
Perhaps if I had more of a social life, then my mouth wouldn’t crave the lips of a man refusing to leave my home. A man who I desperately wanted to hate, who I had despised for eleven years, but somehow, standing so close didn’t seem that bad.
At least to make out with and maybe rub up against each other in an intense way. And if our clothes caught fire and we had to remove them, that wouldn’t be so bad, either.
Tyler was reading my mind because his lips were within stink range—that’s when you can smell a person’s breath because of your proximity to their mouth.
Most actors and actresses prepare for stink range filming by having a clean mouth, not eating bad breath inducing foods, and sucking on breath mints. Except for Albert Harston, who did the opposite because he had the mentality of a squirrel.
Tyler, who had no idea we would be within each other’s stink zone, had surprisingly pleasant breath. It only made the idea of kissing him that much more attractive.
“Then make me leave,” I said but couldn’t actually claim ownership of the line . . . It was from a scene where I played sorority girl number two in the teen comedy Rush Week. I was the smart girl in the sorority. The audience could tell because my character wore glasses.
Tyler blinked a few times. I thought he was about to say something but instead, he leaned closer. He was so close that his mouth did something that I had wanted since I was eighteen. His lips brushed against mine and it was like an electrical storm raged around us. I wouldn’t have been surprised to glance in the mirror and find my hair standing on end.
He felt it too because no man made a sound like he did unless something glorious hit their lips. It’s usually some form of dessert, at least in my case it was, but this time it was the taste of my lips.
The vibration from his groan reached so far down inside me, I
wanted it to stay there forever, but it wasn’t meant to be.
Because there was a knock at the door. Whoever stood on the porch would be known from here on out as the killer of kisses.
Tyler straightened and gave his head a slight shake. It wasn’t hard to tell from the way he gazed at me that the almost-kiss wouldn’t happen again. I knew this because it was how he looked at me the last time I saw him. Back then I was naïve enough to believe it meant longing or love or some other nonsense.
I made the decision many years ago to avoid romantic entanglements and only sleep with men. My life was busy enough that I haven’t had a lot of one-night stands, but enough to keep me satisfied.
“Don’t answer that,” I said and had never meant anything more in my life.
Tyler turned his head. I don’t know if he was waiting for another knock or not, but I was hoping the person would think no one was home and go away.
Another knock.
His shoulders slumped. Was that from relief or disappointment?
I shook my head, hoping he wouldn’t answer. But with anything involving Tyler, the outcome wouldn’t make me happy.
Instead of moving toward the door, Tyler said, “Things have changed for me. We aren’t teenagers anymore. We can’t just—”
I refused to listen to him. Maybe someone did need to answer the door. If there was one thing this man was good at, it was taking happiness and pointing out all that’s wrong with it.
I held up a hand. “Stop.”
Moving away from our emotionally twisted moment, I went to the front door, my fingers gripped and pulled the knob like I wanted to do with Tyler’s neck.
A man stood on the other side. He was tall, handsome, with perfectly styled, thick black hair, and a bewildered look on his face.
“Maybe I have the wrong address. Is Tyler Ferguson here?”
My eyes skimmed his body, assessing for a possible idea that bubbled up in my head. Despite not having a hair out of place, he had a ruggedness about him. Maybe it was his unusual eyes—one was blue, while the other was a greenish-hazel. It made him seem like he wasn’t all that he appeared.
More importantly, he’d be perfect for a one-night stand.
“I didn’t catch your name,” I said as I leaned my head against the edge of the door with an inviting smile.
The rosiness of his cheeks intensified as he stumbled to remember his name. “Uh, it’s, um, Goode. I mean, my name is Austen Goode.”
“It’s wonderful to meet you, Mr. Goode. I’m I.D. Please, won’t you come inside? It’s a warm day outside and you look so hot.”
FOUR
Tyler
“Looks like you need a lot of help here,” Austen said with his eyes stuck on Iona.
She laughed. It was deep and sensual, and it did things to me. Confusing things like wanting to pull her into my arms and kiss her until she ran out of breath. But that laugh twisted my heart.
My best friend gazed at Iona as if her laughter belonged to him. Little did he know she would make him pay for that thought.
She hadn’t been in my life for more than an hour and it hurt just to watch her. My father was right, which was unusual because he was always wrong. If he placed a bet on something—which was almost every day—he lost every time. He should have bet on himself losing, at least then he would have won once.
But when it came to Iona, he explained no good would ever come from a girl like that—someone with stars in her eyes. She desired fame, so honest love from the heart of an eighteen-year-old boy would never sway her.
“You could say that again,” Iona said as her hand gently tapped his shoulder. She led him inside and he moved as if there was no ground beneath his feet.
Austen was a smart man. He may be a bit conservative on his views of how to live his life and how others should live theirs, but Iona was more intelligent than anyone in Fire Lake, even me.
I stepped closer and pushed the door from Iona’s hands, closing it. “Perhaps you can help, Austen.” Austen was so lost in her presence that he hadn’t realized I was standing next to her. Even as a child when she smiled or held someone’s hand, they became eager to keep her happy. I wondered sometimes if she was the devil in disguise.
I stepped between Iona and Austen and that broke whatever evil spell she had on my friend.
“Do you mind, Tyler? I was speaking with I.D.”
Shaking my head at his foolishness, I clamped a firm grip on his shoulder. “Actually, I do mind. This woman is illegally trespassing on my property.”
He pursed his lips and gave me the same expression he usually reserved for the outrageous pickup lines I used on women. “I highly doubt that Ms. I.D. was tres—”
“She claims that she owns the home despite the proof of my deed.”
That stopped Austen right in his tracks. Whatever power Iona could yield would be no match for property law when it came to my friend. That was something he was quite particular about. Considering he was in the room when I signed the stack of papers to buy this house, he knew she had no claim.
He leaned to the side, staring at her. “Is this true, Ms. I.D.?”
“Who’s hungry?” she asked, and I knew I had won.
Iona understood there was no way for her to fight this. She thought she could lure my friend to her side as if that made her chances of staying in this home any better. But she didn’t understand Austen like I did.
I turned and stood beside him, throwing my arm around his shoulder. “Here’s the thing, Iona. Austen is my friend.” I slid my eyes to him to confirm I was right in that assessment. Because it wasn’t unheard of for me to alienate people. I’ve lost good friends over what came out of my mouth.
He nodded, so I continued, “What you don’t know about him is his job. He’s the bank manager. If anyone had ever been born for a job, it’s Austen. He doesn’t just like rules . . . he loves them.”
“It’s true that I believe it’s important to follow the rules, especially in regards to the law, but I wouldn’t necessarily say I love—”
“Now don’t be modest, Austen.” I squeezed his shoulder. “If there was one thing you clung to like a dog to a chew toy, it’s rules.”
I let go of Austen and moved back toward the mantle. Something brewed in my brain that I knew was dangerous to speak out loud. To get Austen on my side, he wouldn’t like to hear this thought, but it did prove my point and I suspected it might be true.
This was the stuff that lost friends, but it had to be said.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he jacked off in his office thinking about rules. All that pent-up sexual energy and three-ring binders filling the bookcases, stuffed with laws and rules and company suggestions. Your dick must hurt all day long.”
“What is wrong with you?” Austen said in a voice I had never heard before. He sounded like someone was strangling him—and he looked like it, too. The shade of red on his face was unnatural, and I feared I went too far but that didn’t stop me. Nothing ever did.
“Oh, come on. We all were thinking it.” I waved my hand toward Iona.
The smirk on her face as she crossed her arms over her chest brought me back to reality. I got too cocky with having the law on my side. By outing my friend, I had alienated him. He’ll go to her camp now, and I’ll be forced to fight them both.
“You may have won the battle, Iona, but the war still rages on.”
She leaned forward, directing her devil tongue toward me. “You’re insane, Tyler, you know that, right?”
“Only where it counts.” I swiveled my hips with a wink.
“Tyler, what’s going on? You’re acting strange, even for you.”
I figured Austen would try to change the subject from his Law and Order fantasies, but there was concern on his face. It wasn’t unusual for me to say something inappropriate, but I never dragged my friends down. That was wrong.
I knew what was causing me to go too far.
“Iona,” I said with an accusing tone. “That woma
n is trying to steal my house with her dazzle and charm and fancy Hollywood agents.”
“Oh!” Austen said with wide eyes. “You’re the Iona Dell from Hollywood. The mayor explained that you were moving here today. I’m supposed to show you around and make sure you feel at home. He said that anything you need, just ask. The mayor will get you whatever you want.”
“Anything, huh?” Iona was practically drooling on Austen.
Wait . . . what just happened here? A moment ago, I had the law on my side and my best friend was coming back around.
Now the mayor wanted to give her anything. It didn’t help the fact that the mayor hated me. Maybe because I egged his electoral float two years ago . . . It wasn’t actually me that did it, though. I was an adult and would never partake in immature activities like that. So I might have provided the eggs . . . but that doesn’t mean anything.
“Anything, except this house. Tell her, Austen. I have the deed. It’s a legal document.”
He held up his hands between us. “The mayor can’t give you this house, Iona. He has no say on who owns what property in the town. He could, however, rename the street after you.” He smiled as if that helped her.
She tapped her chin. “I wouldn’t mind having a street named after me . . .”
“I think that’s a brilliant idea. Then I could tell guests to go up Iona Dell’s back alley to park,” I said with an earnest smile.
“On second thought, no naming of streets.”
Austen turned to Iona. “Ms. Dell, why do you think this is your home?”
She bit her plump lip, and I stared as it began to glisten. My body was at battle over those lips, and I feared who would win.
“My agent, Babette Gotti, bought the house yesterday. She explained that she saw it was for sale a week ago and requested that her lawyer secure it.”
“If I don’t own this place—which I do—but if I don’t, then your agent does. But she’s not here.” I sauntered toward her with my best saunt and leaned close to her ear. “Does this Babette actually exist, Iona? You can tell me the truth. I won’t laugh . . . much.”
Lost and Found (books 1-3): Small-Town Romantic Comedy Page 27
