Sarasota Sin

by Scott, Talyn

  For a moment, all she could do was absorb the sensation of him. She wanted his tongue in her mouth, his hands dipping inside her bra and pulling her nipples until they stood proudly for his tongue and teeth. Not for the first time, she wondered how she would feel with all his weight pressed against her needy core, his hips grinding and rolling between her thighs similar to the way he danced onstage. Then her thoughts drifted, replacing one face for another. There was someone she wanted beyond Noah Wyatt. Someone who made Noah look like a halo-wearing, wing-flapping choirboy. But where she considered Noah off limits, Dylan Easton would be a head-trip through an erotic underworld, one that should never be considered much less taken by someone such as her.

  When Noah’s mouth advanced dangerously closer to hers, she forced her mind back to the work at hand. “Time’s wasting and these bolts aren’t budging.” Gently, she pushed at his chest. “Right now, we have to figure out option B.” Ignoring the deep, sensual clenching she felt all the way to her toes, she drew in a steadying breath and scooted from beneath the kitchen cabinet.

  “Fine.” He followed her out, uncurling his long body from the tight confines before stretching. When a sliver of stomach showed between the bottom of his shirt and his board shorts, she faced the wall and dialed maintenance. “Hey, Bill,” she greeted. “It’s me. No, don’t hang up!” Bill was nothing short of temperamental, felt unappreciated unless everyone lavished him with praise and baked goods. “I know you’re unappreciated by everyone except me. In my eyes, you’re a,” she stalled out, turning around and waving a helpless hand at Noah.

  “Well, why do you want my opinion?” Noah snapped. “I’m just a typical horny guy. Remember? One who doesn’t know one woman from another? Is out for one thing, whenever and wherever I can get it.” He shrugged with forced casualness and grabbed a hammer to remove rusty carpet tacks from the concrete. “Promise him a blow job,” he hissed. “What man wouldn’t work for that?”

  Payton scowled right before she brightened “That’s it!”

  Noah nearly dropped his hammer. “Don’t make me kill him.”

  “Bill,” she implored into her phone, wagging her finger at Noah. “I need you to bring a small blow torch to apartment B, please.” She watched Noah position himself on all fours, yanking at the wooden strip attached to the corner. Such a tight ass was a sight to behold. “Do you think you can do it afterwards, then?” Suddenly, Noah glanced back with smug satisfaction, catching where her eyes were fixed. Instant heat flared across her cheeks, when Payton looked away. “Listen, we have our second inspection in six days. Six. Days. Repairs are your job.” She stomped her foot and thickly green water spattered her shins. “Hello?” Looking down, she sighed at the mess running down her legs. These particular bacteria didn’t look like the beneficial kind. “Bill?”

  Noah stood. “You can’t blame Bill. He’s the only one left in our so-called maintenance department. Everyone else ran when we lost street accessibility, and now he’s losing faith.”

  Sliding her phone in her pocket, she grumbled, “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “It’s only a matter of hours before our benefactors and artists get wind of the Eastons claiming our easement and parking. How can we run the art gallery downstairs without a freaking parking lot? And we’ve already rented out half of the apartments, though our new tenants don’t yet realize they have nowhere to park.”

  “Again, tell me something I don’t know. But I’m not giving up,” she professed urgently, stretching her arms wide. “This is my dream.”

  He curled his finger under her chin, lifting her face towards his. “This place is part of my dream, too, but it’s becoming a nightmare.”

  She took a calming breath, going deep, cleansing her mind…and gagged. “What is that smell?”

  “Both of us.” Noah sniffed his shoulder, and then the top of her head. “There’s a leak you didn’t spot.” He gestured towards the open cabinet beneath the kitchen sink. “We soaked up something interesting there.”

  “If my hair turns purple again…” she groaned, pulling the end of her auburn ponytail to her nose, sniffing, and nearly puked. She needed a bagel or something dry to settle her hangover-stomach and a long soak in the tub

  “Jump in the shower,” Noah suggested, checking his phone messages.

  “Ted just called and quit without notice.” Libby walked in with her tablet in hand. “He was furious when he couldn’t get his one-ton loaded with pavers within fifty feet of the premises.” She stopped when she reached Payton and Noah, inhaled, and then stepped back several feet. “I asked him to use a wheelbarrow and bridge the distance, and he didn’t find my suggestion appropriate.”

  Payton met Noah’s eyes, fighting not to roll hers. A quarter of the facility was held together with aluminum foil, pipe cleaners, and wishful thinking. Presently, garden pavers were on the back burner. “Since were using pavers instead of concrete, I don’t think the patio will need to be finished in order to pass inspection, so let’s move on to rougher waters.”

  “In a bit, I have an offsite meeting at the city manager’s office.” Libby glanced at her watch and then her phone buzzed. “Hello.” She looked at Payton. “Oh, she’s right here. I’ll send her down.”

  “Tell me the electrician is here.” She nearly jumped up and down. Good news was rare.

  “Yes. His name is Paul Johnson and you have him on loan from the Sarasota Historical Fund for three days. I stress only three days. Then he’s back on their current project. Concentrate on necessary areas, not this.” She gestured around the apartment.

  “No problem.” Payton borrowed Noah’s earlier words. “I’ll take whatever I can get.” Wiping her hands on a rag, she handed Noah the toolbox. “Is he in the main gallery?”

  “No, he’s waiting by the children’s outdoor exhibit, or should I say where the outdoor exhibit should be.”

  “Later, Noah.”

  “Good luck, Pay,” he said, grabbing a paint can and heading toward the smallest bedroom off the great room. Libby answered another phone call while Payton pulled her long ponytail through the back of her cap and adjusted the brim against the Florida sun. She strode across the South walkway, doing a mental rundown on everything she needed accomplished with an electrician on loan for only three freaking days, when she stumbled, nearly falling flat on her face. She righted herself and froze, her eyes landing on the half wall that divided the children’s outdoor exhibit from the walkway. A mural of a Blue Whale leaping from an angry ocean was recently painted. The artwork would have cost thousands. An impossibility considering the facility’s budget, but Payton had narrowed down the cost to one hundred twenty dollars and fifty-two cents, all going to paint supplies, since she had begged the local art schools’ graduating students to leave their mark on the facility free of charge. She took furious steps and traced her fingers across the mouth of the whale with a snort of exasperation, her eyes following the freshly added cartoon bubble filled with the words, ‘Feed me more Twinkies’.

  A shadow fell over her, tall, blocking most of the sun. Then a clean smell followed, freshly showered man and nothing more. He propped a black, silk-clad shoulder against the wall, leaning casually. “Disgruntled employees,” a richly articulate voice asked, deep and sultry, “or bored and misguided teens?”

  “Neither, I think someone up there is simply trying to torment me.” Payton knew what she would find when she turned her head. No one had that kind of a voice without a face to match. She stepped back, not meeting his eyes, and focused on his throat. His olive complexion was smooth, apart from some odd scaring, the column of his throat long. Above, she found a powerful jaw, his chin marked with the slightest cleft. What a shame he hadn’t shaved, because his black shadow of stubble was entirely…unprofessional. Damn and double damn. “You must be Paul. I’m Payton, director of…I guess about everything around here this week.” She reached out her hand. “Thanks for coming on such short notice.” Lifting her eyes higher, she found his straight
nose centered between high cheekbones, the sun casting shadowed relief in the hollows of his cheeks. Still, she avoided his eyes. “I realize the historical fund is allowing us three days, but I’m grateful for every hour and I won’t waste your time.”

  “Grateful,” he repeated, clasping her hand.

  She inhaled slowly, watching the muscles of his forearm work as he gently pumped her hand once. Payton wasn’t the least bit petite, but his hand easily swallowed hers, his skin warm and smooth over hard strength. “Libby wanted you to start at our smaller, adjacent building.” She gestured behind her, still not meeting his eyes, and adjusted the brim of her hat. “The pottery loft is set there, and also a small gallery.” Walking forward, she looked both ways before she crossed the small intersection. “It is kind of a pain, but some of the firehouse’s property was donated much later and this street is a necessary roadway the city refuses to close.”

  “Hmmm, and what exactly is this park?” he asked, gesturing towards the future playground for the children’s exhibit. He was right next to her, matching her pace, his long legs encased in dark pants, his thighs straining the fabric.

  “A future playground,” she explained. “We painted the half wall to break up the distance, bringing the two clusters of buildings together. So visually you have the community effect and not one of, say, a strip mall. An illusion our architect suggested.”

  “Are you fond of illusions?” He stopped short when they passed a small exhibit depicting sailors’ knots, his tanned fingers sliding over a slipknot as he made an appreciative noise in the back of his throat.

  Payton had absolutely no idea what to say to that. Instead, she muttered on about the park. “S-some patrons can picnic out here instead of grabbing something at the coffee shop, especially in cooler winter months.”

  He laughed low, following her again. “Allowing another leaky pipe in your bottom line.”

  “Perhaps.” Their bottom line wasn’t any of his business, but Payton bit her tongue. Paul volunteered his time, after all, so she could deal with his attitude until he left. She cleared her throat. “The local art school donated sculptures to break up the emptiness until we finish our outdoor projects.” Payton stared at the closest one, it looked to be circa nineteen fifty-five, nothing current in any way whatsoever. Basically, from what she gathered, the school had cleaned out an old storage facility and had given the firehouse what they would have tossed, guising the gesture under a tax-friendly donation.

  Suddenly, he grabbed her, his large hands circling her upper arms and holding her back from her next step. Her back pressed against his unforgiving chest, his clean scent invading her. What was he about? When she lifted her foot, readying to slam her walking boot onto his instep, a vision on the sidewalk stopped her actions.

  “Picnics, huh,” he whispered softly next to her ear, his breath hot against her cheek.

  Sliding away from him, she stepped over the trio of used condoms, flushed a thousand shades of crimson, and started walking again. “Thanks.”

  “You’re not going to call anyone for cleanup detail?”

  Payton needed cleanup detail more than the sidewalk. Her collared shirt was stained, her shorts dampened with mildew water. And her hair, she still held whatever that stench was she picked up beneath the sink. “We have one person left in maintenance, and Bill’s not speaking to me.”

  “Is it because you won’t look at him?”

  Nearly stumbling, Payton reached out and opened the center glass door leading into the pottery loft. “What?”

  A solitary finger met her cap, hooking beneath the brim, and slowly lifted it up her forehead. “I’m wondering what you’re hiding under here.”

  She held still, one hand clutching the door, the other fisting at her side, as her eyes finally met his. His were a scorching hazel. The heat of them so potent with raw sexuality, drinking her in with such a strange curiosity, they widened with every visual pass he made over her face. Chin to forehead. Again. Chin to forehead. For the most part, he appeared horrifically startled. Long seconds passed before he released the brim of her hat and then shoved his fingers through his midnight hair, yanking at it a tad before he dropped his hand to his side. His breathing had changed, the pulse at his neck pounding.

  He swallowed a couple of times, went completely motionless, and uttered, “Christ.”

  5

  What was this? What was his expression, bewilderment?

  “Um.” Payton opened her mouth and forgot what she was going to say. Paul was just as she suspected, his voice matched his eyes. He was masculine yet beautiful, impossibly beautiful. Finding it hard to look away, her eyes got all tangled up in him. He had to be a good six feet four, his age around thirty, but his eyes flicked with gold spoke of an ancient soul, a soul who had seen too much to be happy.

  He opened his mouth, shook his head, and then closed it. The few walking the sidewalk were starting to notice, and Payton was horrified to realize they were standing there staring at one another, just staring. She heard her heart pounding in her ears. After another beat, the sounds of the road rushed in, then a child screaming for his wayward balloon jarred her to break the trance. Payton put distance between them by walking inside the building, relishing the burst of cool air across her overheated skin. At least, the air conditioning was working.

  He followed her, the heat of his body warming her back. Payton found her voice, moving towards the stairs. “The main issue here is the exhibit lights.”

  His voice had dropped an octave. “No elevators?”

  She knew what he was implying, that he thought she couldn’t handle standing next to him in an elevator car. “Only one and it’s on the fritz.”

  “Truly?”

  Turning on the third step, she was now level to his scrumptious face as he’d only placed one foot on the bottom step. “See for yourself,” she replied, waving a hand where a lowly downed elevator stood with two warning signs. He glanced at the signs, shook his head in disgust, his black hair dancing over his black collar. “Besides, you don’t want to ride in an elevator with someone who smells like I smell today.”

  “You don’t think so?” His hand came up, closing over hers where she held the banister. “Payton.”

  The way he said her name stroked her as intimately as a caress. She stared down, where he was holding her hand with familiarity. “What are you doing?”

  “What does it feel like?”

  “Unprofessional,” she offered, tugging away from him. Reluctantly he released her, but his eyes stayed hot, trailing up and down her body. Still he appeared almost astonished as if he were waking from a nightmare and didn’t know what to make of her. “Do you need a moment to catch your bearings?”

  “No.” Something flashed in his hazel eyes, his dark brows forming a sudden frown. “What’s your major?”

  “I’m not an intern,” she answered, looking away from the intensity of his gaze. Everyone asked her that due to her age, and it was becoming annoying. “I’m a full partner. I was supposed to lead the educational part of our facility for community projects, but my position morphed into something…never mind.”

  His brows rose. “You’re one of those caring souls, aren’t you?”

  Who doesn’t care? “On my good days,” she retorted with open bewilderment. “And apparently you do as well or you wouldn’t be here donating your time.”

  “There you are!” Libby boomed.

  Payton turned her head. “Hey, Lib, this is Paul-”

  “I think we have our wires crossed here.” She marched across the floor in record time. Payton had never seen Libby move so quickly. “Noah started Paul Johnson in the main gallery.”

  With a startled jerk, Payton eased around her impostor, swiftly finding her way to the bottom of the stairs. “Then, I’m at a disadvantage. Who might you be?” she asked passively, hiding how her thoughts churned in furious, rolling waves. Why had this beautiful stranger duped her by pretending to be an electrician?

  “Aver
y Easton,” he said in his devil’s drawl. He closed the distance between them. Once again, he held out his hand to Payton. However, she stood there dumbfounded, so Libby shook it instead.

  “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Easton,” Libby acknowledged, flicking a nervous glance between Avery and Payton. “We weren’t expecting you.”

  “Just as I wasn’t expecting Ms. Calloway last evening. Nevertheless, she wanted to meet with an Easton.” He raised his brows, keeping his eyes locked on Payton. “So here I am.”

  Here he was, indeed, in all his delicious glory. “Last night…in the tower.” Her fingertips pressed her temple. “You kissed me. You wore the mask, sent the flowers.”

  “And tucked you away safely, I might add.” He nodded, his lips slightly parted, his breaths quickening. When she remained quiet, he asked, “Would you prefer to speak with my cousin Dylan then?” He raised a raven brow. “Though, by my observations, he wasn’t receptive to …talking.”

  “No,” Payton was quick to answer, “and thank you, Mr. Easton. The flowers are lovely.” Over-the-top lovely, she mused, thinking the exclusivity of the arrangement and endless blooms must have set him back hundreds. Then she appraised his superior clothing with a sweeping glance, reminding herself hundreds were pennies to an Easton.

  Once again, he held out his hand to her, his eyes burning with…could that be open lust? And he didn’t care that Libby was looking on. “You must call me Avery.”

  Payton felt her cheeks burn as she took his hand once more. This handshake, knowing who he was and what he was about, felt far different from the one they’d shared only minutes ago. In his eyes, she could tell he was remembering last night, intently, and a mild shudder rolled out of nowhere, leaving her fingertips to surge into the warm strength of his hand. “Avery it is,” she agreed, his gold-green eyes burning into hers. When she meant to pull her hand from his, he tightened his grip.