by Lila Kane
Falling for You
LILA KANE
Falling for You
Copyright © 2017 by Lila Kane
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This literary work is fiction. Any name, places, characters and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental. Please respect the author and do participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials that would violate the author’s rights.
Table of Contents
____________________
Title Page
Copyright
Summary
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
Epilogue
Sneak Peak: Fiancée for Sale
Summary
Long days. Hot nights. And a man good with his hands.
When Libby catches Carson squatting in her house, she almost calls the police. After all, he’s breaking and entering, and he scared her to death. But when she finds out where he really comes from and what he can do for her, she has an idea. Have Carson help her flip the giant beat-up home she’d purchased on a whim. He might be down on his luck, but he has enough experience to make her project a masterpiece.
Spending long days and hot nights in the old house with Libby is driving Carson crazy. She’s organized, driven, and sexy as hell. But she thinks she has him pegged. A cocky man who’s scared of commitment. Carson is ready and willing to prove her wrong. And his first step? Show her just how good he is with his hands.
CHAPTER ONE
CARSON
It’s hotter than hell out here, and it’s the middle of the night. How had I gone from a swank air-conditioned penthouse to homeless and poor in a matter of hours?
Oh yeah, my piece of shit ex-best friend and business partner cheated on me with my own lying girlfriend.
They deserve each other. Fucking behind my back and laughing about it. But really, despite losing Denise, and despite the betrayal of my best friend, what hurts even worse is losing our prospective business.
Kyle and I were flipping houses together. We’d just landed a big one—the old Devereaux mansion on the edge of town. The place oozes southern charm—at least from the outside. On the inside, it’s a whole different story. Suffice it to say, the place has been left for dead.
I’d been out of town when Kyle made the deal, but I know it needs work. Lots of work. It’s perfect—and I have to admit, a house I had my eye on for a while. Once we got this under our belt, we’d have something to show other clients—a completed masterpiece that’d make everyone want our business.
Of course, that was until Kyle made the deal behind my back and negotiated payment without me knowing. Without putting my name on any sort of contract.
Which means all the money is going to him. Which means I don’t have a job.
And I don’t have a girlfriend, either. She didn’t exactly kick me out, but she told me Kyle is moving in—and as I was seeing red when I discovered their betrayal, the last thing I wanted to do was stay and hash out who gets what.
I grabbed a duffel bag, shoved it full of clothes, my laptop and other electronics, and got the hell out of there. It’s too hot in the city anyway.
But several blocks out of town, it still feels sticky. Annoying.
I don’t know what makes me drive this way, but within minutes, I’m parked in front of the Devereaux house. The lot it sits on is a decent size. But it’s full of overgrown bushes and weeds and trees that are drooping so low, their leaves brush the ground.
Like an abandoned cemetery. And the house is the tomb.
Shit. I was really looking forward to working on this place. Kyle is more businessman—which was why I let him make the deals—and I’m hands-on. I like getting in there in the thick of it all, working up a sweat and making something old new again.
I would have scooped up this house on my own if I’d had the money.
I check the time. One a.m. And I have nowhere to go. My family lives several hours north, and they’re asleep anyway.
I look to the house again. Kyle said the woman wasn’t going to be by anytime soon. She had a family function or something like that—and the plan wasn’t to get started until later in the week at the earliest.
Which means the house is empty.
No one will know if I go inside for a bit. Maybe take a nap. Maybe even stay for a day until I have a plan.
I tap my fingers against the steering wheel, debating. It’s breaking and entering what I’m thinking of doing here. But no one is going to know. And it’s not like I’m stealing anything or damaging the place. I’m just sleeping there and then leaving things right how I found them.
Decision made, I pull the car around to the alleyway in back and then park down another several feet. It’s hidden back here so odds are no one will ever see the car, let alone link it to someone squatting in the Devereaux mansion.
Grabbing my duffel bag, I jog toward the house and sneak through the rusted gate in the back. It needs to be replaced because it takes me all of two seconds to jimmy off one of the metal bars to get through.
There’s a screened-in porch on back and that’s just as easy to get into considering the screens are falling apart. Once I’m inside, I pull out my small tool kit to get into the door, but I find it’s unlocked.
Shaking my head, I step inside. The woman who bought this place—what’s her name? Lizzy? Izzy? She’s really going to have to get better security. And some new landscaping in the backyard is a good idea. Also—
I shove aside that train of thought. It’s not my problem because this isn’t my place. I’m not helping out here anymore because that fucker Kyle screwed me over.
Twice.
“Damn it,” I hiss in the darkness when my shin knocks into something hard. The stove.
What the hell is a stove doing in the middle of the kitchen? Shit. This place needs way more work than I thought.
Kyle has no idea what he’s in for.
I sneeze and curse again, but the idea almost makes me feel better. Kyle is in this for the money, but he lost his most important asset.
Me.
I’ve been fixing up houses since I was a kid. I know my way around every single room you could set me in, and then some. I can do electrical, duct work, install a damn water heater and furnace. You name it, I have experience.
And what does Kyle have?
My ex-girlfriend, sure. And the house and client of our dreams. But who’s going to do all the heavy lifting?
I wander farther into the house until it gets so dark I have to pull out my flashlight. No worries. So, I had a shitty day. I’ll get back on my feet. I have a few leads, a few small jobs I can do and I’ll work on landing a big one just like this house.
If Kyle can do it, so can I.
And then we’ll
see who starts landing the big jobs. Then we’ll see who comes out on top.
I settle for a dusty pile of sheets by the front window. That way I’ll be able to see headlights if someone pulls up, or hear the door if someone tries to come in.
Just for tonight.
And then…
I sneeze again and frown.
And then…I’ll start over.
CHAPTER TWO
LIBBY
What a snake. I mean, I know he’s my dad, but come on. The guy’s a player.
Fifty-five years old and he still thinks he’s in high school.
I thought I was going to a nice family weekend with my dad and his current girlfriend. Instead, I get there just to find out that he dumped his current girlfriend to date another woman who’s practically my age.
I pull into the parking lot at the coffee shop just a block from my new house, and grab my purse.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have anything against my dad dating a younger woman. But I do take offense at the premise behind it. He wants a hot young lady to make him look and feel younger, and she wants the money. The security.
It’d be one thing if they were in love, but I know they aren’t. I don’t know if my dad has ever loved anyone in his entire life—including my mom.
And even worse, my brother’s following in his footsteps. He’s never been with anyone longer than three months. To think, I let both of them bully me about buying this place—this mansion—and neither of them can even commit to a relationship.
I step inside the air-conditioned shop and exhale. Damn, it’s hot out there. And probably sweltering in the house. Oh well. I’ll take a cold shower every night if I have to. Once I get the water running.
It might kill me, but this is my big chance. My dad and brother might not be able to handle a real relationship, but they know business like nobody else—and even they were impressed with the deal I got on this place. Even if they don’t think I can handle it.
After placing my order, I grit my teeth and tell myself to think about something else. Who cares if my dad’s a player? It’s none of my business.
But then I think of Kyle Shreveport, the man I hired to help me fix up my new place, and I’m reminded of that type all over again. Kyle had charmed me with his smile and southern manners and the fact that he seemed together—to know his business just like the men in my family. But I saw the player underneath.
Still, he had great references and said his partner knew the history behind the area and assured me the place would look perfect after they were done.
Even better, he’d said he could start right away.
I pull out my phone to give him a call. He probably meant next week, but since I’m here early and he said right away, no sense in waiting, right?
The barista slides over my cup and I thank her. I sit inside at a quiet table in the corner while I make my phone call.
After way too many rings, Kyle answers. “Shreveport Consultants. This is Kyle.”
“Hi. It’s Libby Porter—we’ve been in touch about the renovation over—”
“Oh. Yeah. The Devereaux house. What can I do for you?”
“I’m in town early and I thought we could get started. Like you said, right away. I’d love to meet at the house and go over the first step.”
“The first step…” He sounds like he’s flipping through papers. “Right. I thought we agreed to start next week at the earliest. Or…was it the end of the month?”
“No. You said right away. I can wait until next Monday, but the sooner the better.”
“Uh, well…” More papers shuffle. I start to think maybe he’s searching for an excuse more than he’s searching for something in those papers. “There’s this other client who needs their place done ASAP and I promised him we’d get going there later this week.”
“So when are we going to start?” I ask, my hand clenching on the phone. Oh no, don’t let him bail on this. This is my first house all by myself. My chance to prove I can do this on my own.
My dad has been buying, flipping, and selling homes for the last two decades and making a fortune from it. My brother joined in five years ago and he’s well off now. But I want my own business. I don’t want condos and super fancy upgrades. I want history. I want old homes that need a little TLC. And yeah, I want to make money, too. On my own terms.
I worked for my dad for two years until I realized what I wanted. Now I have that chance and I can’t blow it—especially not because some contractor decides to change our agreement.
“I can do…two weeks from next Monday,” he says.
I straighten my shoulders. First rule in running your own business. Be the boss. “We agreed to start right away. I can do next Monday with a consult in between so I know where we’re going to begin.”
After all, I want to get in there and learn the ropes, too. Which means I plan on being on-site for the entire job. The whole six months. And I’m sticking to my timeline. I can’t afford to pay the mortgage on this place any longer than that.
Kyle clears his throat. “I’m going to have to get back to you on that.”
He hangs up the phone before I can respond. I stare at it like the phone tried to burn me. Seriously? He just hung up on me?
“You little…” I dial his number again, but the call just goes to voicemail. “Shit.”
My heart clutches. I can’t let this happen. My dad told me it’s hard for women in this field—that some men just aren’t going to respect me. And guess what? I’d laughed in his face.
Sexist, I thought. People who think like that are still out there, sure, but I’ve never encountered one. You do your job regardless of your sex and be professional. It’s as easy as that.
Or it should be.
I blow out a breath. Okay, sitting here stewing isn’t helping. But I need to blow off steam. I tie my hair up in a ponytail and put my jacket in my car. With my coffee in hand, I walk toward the house.
The walking will cool me off and remind me why I bought the house in the first place. Also, I need to scope out the neighborhood, see what features other houses have that I need to be sure to include on mine.
I make a mental note to call my friend Cheyenne, who’s a realtor, to get specs on the houses nearby. She didn’t sell me the house, but she got me in touch with the realtor who was selling it and walked through with me. Made sure I was getting a good deal.
Even if she tried to warn me how much work it was going to be.
Hell. Didn’t anyone think I could do this?
I reach the house and stand across the street for a long moment. And fall in love all over again.
This house has so much potential. And structurally, it’s very sound. It just needs some love and attention. And a creative mind.
I walk across the street and take note of the bushes trying to overtake the sidewalk. Those will have to be dealt with immediately. Then I can start on the inside.
“And hire a new contractor while I’m at it,” I mumble under my breath.
Fortunately, I haven’t signed anything with Kyle Shreveport yet. Maybe he’ll still follow through.
I roll my eyes. Yeah, right. Even if he does, do I want someone like that working for me?
Walking up the steps on the front porch, I take note of the broken light by the door. I’d noticed it before, but now I’m really here. And hopefully going to be living in this place while it’s being fixed up. Which means I need to deal with safety and security issues right away, and make sure I have somewhere to sleep right after that.
And, God, hot water would be nice. I could use a bath. And a glass of wine.
I use my key to open the door, and then pause when I hear a noise. Creaking from upstairs. I angle my head and then grimace. It’s probably some sort of rodent.
“Please don’t let it be a rat,” I whisper to myself.
I round the corner and then hear the noise again. My gaze whips up to the ceiling as my heart starts to race. I fumble in my purse for the pe
pper spray I keep there. Can’t be too careful.
And when I turn to set my coffee down and see a duffel bag on the floor, I freeze. Shit. Someone’s here.
I think to call the police, but what if I’m wrong? What if some homeless guy stopped in and he left?
But what are the noises?
Again, can’t be too careful.
I reach for my purse to grab my phone, but then I hear footsteps. They’re coming down the stairs. I glance around and find a thick board. Snatching it up and holding out my pepper spray, I prepare to face the intruder.
CHAPTER THREE
CARSON
I held back a whole hour this morning, but then I couldn’t help it. I needed to explore this place. To check it out and see what treasures it was holding.
Fuck yeah. Hardwood floors under the carpeting upstairs. Jackpot.
“How the hell does Kyle get a place like this and I get screwed?”
I hear a noise downstairs and pause. Probably just the house settling, but still…I shouldn’t have gotten distracted. I was supposed to be gone by now. And yet, here I am, still trespassing, and not even paying attention to who might be coming inside to catch me.
The noise sounds again, and I walk quietly to the top of the stairs.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
Maybe they’ll go away. When I don’t hear anything else, I walk down a few steps. It’s hard to be quiet in my steel-toed boots.
I pause again to listen. But this time I hear the last thing I expect to hear.
A female voice.
“I know you’re up there, so you might as well get your ass down here.”
I close my eyes briefly. Shit. I’m caught.
Nothing to do now but go down and try to minimize the damage.
I take the steps cautiously, one by one, until the woman comes into view. She’s got a hefty board in one hand and something else in other. Pepper spray?
Holding up my hands, I say, “I’m coming down. Don’t spray me with that.”
