by Liv Rancourt
He pulled himself up against the sink, hitting about mid-thigh and looking down over the windowsill. “What’s out there?”
“A porch.”
“Is it safe?”
She made a disgusted sound. “Nope.”
Easing down carefully to avoid the pit in the floor, he nodded at the light switch.
She almost said something about why it was important to say please when asking someone to turn on the light. Instead, she flipped the switch and bit her tongue.
He gave the room another inspection. “This place is a time capsule. You cook in here?”
“Not really, no. The power’s iffy.”
“Right on.” He stood up, heading for the back door. It also led to the basement stairs. “What’s down here?”
“Cellar,” she said, both nervous and intrigued by the idea of crawling around in the dark with young Ryan O’Connor. “We’ll need a flashlight.”
“Scared of the boogeyman?”
She couldn’t decide whether to be irritated at his condescension or nostalgic about getting teased by an O’Connor. “Don’t make fun of me.”
He made an obvious effort to stop smiling and came toward her. She caught a trace of his scent, musky with a hint of mint, like maybe from brushing his teeth, like maybe she’d taste it if he …
Embarrassment froze her, allowing him to move into her personal space, close enough to feel the heat from his skin, close enough for the low buzz of his energy to brush against hers. Close enough to kiss her.
The voice in her head stammered from a combination of surprise and desire, anticipation and embarrassment.
“Um, I’ve got a flashlight in the truck, and if you let me by, I’ll go get it.”
“Mine’s in the…” Bedroom.
She backed up quick, because if she accidently touched him she was likely to on-purpose drag him upstairs.
He jogged across the living room, leaving the door open on his way out to his truck.
She did some quick mental arithmetic. He’d been about ten when she and Maeve graduated from high school. That meant an eight-year age difference, and since she was thirty-three, he must be twenty-five. Okay, old enough that she wouldn’t be arrested for child molestation.
Still, Maeve would kill her.
A moment later, Ryan came back with a heavy-duty flashlight that gave off more light than any lamp in the house. “Let’s go check out the foundation and make sure this baby’s worth saving.”
“Are you always this bossy?” She made it light, teasing, with just enough snark to let him know she wasn’t a total doormat.
“Yep.” He rubbed his mouth with a knuckle, though the gesture didn’t quite hide his smile. “I’ve been told it’s one of my better qualities.”
Danielle hurried to the cellar door, because right then if Ryan O’Connor had told her to do anything – get on her knees, bend over, drop trou – she’d have done it without a second thought.
Random skittering followed their footsteps as they headed down the squeaky wooden stairs. The cone of light from Ryan’s flashlight swung left and right, up and down, exploring the four small rooms. The place smelled of wet cement and old metal. The dirty floor looked solid, though there were a couple cracks where white powder ghosted along the seams.
When he made a quick turn, Danielle almost bumped her nose on his chest. “Whoa, Princess, give a guy some room.” His free hand wrapped around her waist, gently moving her back.
She stayed where he put her, the echo of his touch vibrating through her shirt, through her skin, down to her core.
“This place ever get hit by a slide?”
Ryan’s question jerked Danielle back into the grubby basement. “A what?”
“Mudslide.”
“Yeah, a few years ago. The road was closed for a couple weeks.” Danielle tried to remember the year by linking disaster with her favorite heels, favorite hairstyle, favorite song. “I was, like, a sophomore in high school.”
Ryan thought for a minute, frowning. “I would have been about second grade.”
Oh. Right. Good to remember. Not something to dwell on. Instead, she made a mental note that Ryan was cute even when he frowned.
“Where’s the electrical panel?” he asked, interrupting her naval gazing.
When she managed to speak, her voice was higher than normal. “You mean the fuse box? Underneath the stairs, I think.”
He moved past her and she followed along, feeling like the sidekick on this adventure. His proximity brought to mind the details Maeve had mentioned over the years. He liked boxing, he’d gone to a community college, and he had a girlfriend. What was her name? Some kind of fruit. Apple? Clementine? Cherry? Oh yeah. His girlfriend’s name was Cherry.
The breaker box’s gray metal door squawked like a wounded crow when he opened it. “Looks like someone stuffed cotton where a couple of the fuses should be,” he said, his face angled close to the box and his voice tight. “Total fire hazard.”
He flipped a toggle at the bottom of the row of fuses and shifted to meet her eyes, though in the limited light she couldn’t read his expression. “You want the bad news first, or the good news?”
“Bad news.”
“That’s no fun.” The flashlight cast shadows in his dimples as his smile broadened. “The good news is, the foundation’s solid and the woodwork rocks.”
Okay. Things weren’t hopeless. “And…”
“The bad news is, I just cut the power, and you cannot stay here until you get an electrician to pull a permit and rewire the place.”
“Damn it.” Aggravation punched through her momentary peace, tightening the headache around her temples.
Ryan took a couple steps in her direction, and Danielle had to stop herself from putting her hands on his chest. She fought the uncharacteristic urge to lean into him and let him take over. Even more ridiculous, she had to cope with a gut level clench at being close to him. I don’t have time for this kind of bullshit.
“C’mon. We’ll go find some dinner and come up with a plan.”
She took a deep breath and blew it out loud. “We, as in you’re joining Team Jacobson?”
“Yep.” He rubbed his hands together, cracking the knuckles on one hand in the palm of the other. “All the original trim in this place it’s making my dick hard.”
Relief disabled her filter. “Dude, you’re what? Twenty-five? A gust of wind makes your dick hard.”
He shot her a sly grin. “Twenty-four, and, well…”
Maeve was so going to kill her.
Chapter Two
The bartender gave him his change, and Ryan stuffed his wallet into his back pocket. The bar at Taco Diablo was a hole-in-the-wall plastered with Harley logos, punk rock posters, and grinning skeleton caballeros. He palmed the pair of margarita glasses, holding them close to his chest to avoid getting jostled by the crowd. He didn’t want to waste a drop, because he had every intention of getting Dani tipsy.
A pretty woman in a place like this? A guy never knew what might happen.
He sidestepped a table full of happy tequila drinkers, heading back to where Dani perched on a stool in a back corner. Her thumbs flicked across the screen of her smart phone and she sucked on her upper lip, an action that might have aided her concentration but completely destroyed his. He flashed back to when he was nine years old and caught up in his first crush. He’d wanted Dani Jacobsen bad, though at nine he hadn’t had much of a clue about what he wanted her for.
He sure as hell did now.
“The hostess said it’d be about fifteen minutes for our table.” He handed her the drink, keeping his eyes on her face instead of her body.
Her naughty-older-woman smile boomeranged through him.
“I’m cut off after this,” she said.
“Lightweight.”
“I’m serious.” She took a long draw off the straw and swallowed, eyes closed, head tipped back, forcing him to shove his hand in a pocket to keep from running his fingertips d
own the line of her throat. She’d been pretty in high school, but age had taken her to a whole other level.
“If Maeve asks, dinner tonight didn’t happen,” she said. The restaurant’s sound system played an old AC/DC album loud enough they had to raise their voices to be heard.
Ryan took a drink of his margarita so he wouldn’t pop off with the first thing that came into his head. After Cherry, any woman who tried to maneuver him into something stupid jumped right onto his last nerve. He’d done a good job swallowing down his earlier irritability, and fought like hell to keep it from reviving. When he could sound like a grown-up, he responded. “Can’t stand games.”
Dani tapped her glass slowly, her mouth pinched as if remembering some past Maeve-interaction that hadn’t gone her way. “Her world. Her rules.”
He stamped down an automatic refusal. “Maeve’s always been the problem child.”
Danielle’s dark hazel eyes held his gaze for a couple beats too long. “Survival strategy.”
Damn, but he wanted to take a bite outta Dani’s apple in the worst way. He liked her wide mouth and pretty lips. He liked the way she carried herself, all polished and classy like a model or actress or something.
If only she wasn’t Maeve’s friend, and if only he hadn’t just been ripped raw by another one of his sister’s friends. He and Cherry had dated all through high school, but once she was old enough to go out to clubs, she turned into Maeve’s BFF. He’d have to be stupid to make that mistake again. Stupid or flat-out crazy.
“All right, then. Dinner tonight is our secret.” Ryan raised his glass. So did Dani. The clink of their glasses cued a goodly portion of his blood to head down south, leaving him lightheaded. “Right.” He exhaled hard. “The house…” He fought to get back on track, because he really wanted to have a conversation with her before his cock completely overrode his communication skills. “You kind of grew up there, didn’t you?”
Danielle swirled her straw, making a spiral in the slush. “More-or-less, and Gram always promised she’d leave it to me when she died.”
Ryan braced himself against the brick wall where he could keep an eye out for the hostess and still watch Dani. “She leave you a hundred grand for repairs?”
“Enough to get started.” She gave him a too-bright smile, as if he’d insulted her but she was too polite to say anything.
Ryan raised his hands palms-out. “Sorry, that was dumb.”
“No, it’s okay.” She shrugged, the graceful movement calling his attention to the curve of her breasts under her loose sweater.
He jerked his gaze away, but her raised eyebrow hinted she’d busted him.
“Maeve said you’re into old houses, and you need to know I’ll pay you for the work you do.”
“Hell yeah. You hiring? I can hook you up with an electrician and all, guys who can do the stuff I can’t.”
She raised her glass. “As long as I leave you the fun parts?”
“Yep.” He let his gaze slide over as many of her fun parts as he could see, gratified beyond belief at the rising color in her cheeks. “Just don’t stay there ’til after the power’s fixed.”
Before she could flip him shit, the hostess interrupted them, and by the time they were settled at a dinner table, her good humor was back.
“Between the head-banging music and the Day of the Dead stuff, this place is making me homesick,” she said. “It’s got a very L.A. vibe.”
Ryan leaned in closer. “You went down there for college, right?”
“Good memory.” She broke a tortilla chip into tiny pieces. “UCLA for undergrad then Palo Alto for my Masters and a few post-grad classes.”
Ryan kept his expression bland, wincing internally at the comparison with his hard-won Bellevue Community College associate’s degree. But he wasn’t insecure about much when it came to women. He knew how to flirt with pretty girls. He knew how to chat up smart girls.
The combination? Dani studied her cocktail and he studied her. That was one lesson he’d love to learn.
“L.A.’s a pretty cool place.” Her voice trailed off and she went back to swirling her straw through what was left of her drink.
He wanted to keep her talking, but before he could come up with a good leading question, AC/DC faded into Metallica and the waiter arrived, his black-tattooed-cool fitting the scene down to his ironic head bob in time with the music.
“You should get chicken enchiladas.” Ryan tapped Dani’s menu. “They’re the house specialty.”
“Quesadilla, please.”
“Chicken, pork, or carne asada?” the waiter asked.
“Carne asada … and extra guacamole.”
Ryan scuffed a hand through his hair, ordered a burrito with a couple of tamales on the side, and switched out his empty margarita glass for the promise of a beer.
“Are you always into giving orders, or is it a new thing?” Danielle caught the tip of her tongue between her teeth, like she knew exactly how her flirty tone would get to him. “You tell me I can’t stay in my own house, and then try to tell me what to get for dinner.” Her grin veered toward naughty. “I thought the oldest child was the bossy one.”
“Hey, wait a minute. Your electrical system is an explosion waiting to happen and the enchiladas here are awesome.”
She covered her mouth with her napkin, but he could tell she was laughing.
“Besides,” he said. “Niall’s a cop, so he does kind of have the bossy angle covered.”
“What’s your excuse, then?”
“Dunno. Somebody had to stand up to Maeve.” He hitched his shoulders in an apologetic half-shrug. “Niall’s older and didn’t care, and I swear Eamon’s got the Asperger’s.”
“Yeah, Eamon always was a little odd. Maeve said he’s working in some research lab now.”
“Dude’s a freak, and I can say that because I’m his brother.” Ryan stuffed a chip in his mouth and rubbed stray salsa away with his knuckle. “And when we were kids, Joey didn’t do much more than ride shotgun for me.”
“I bet it helps you out at work. Your boss probably likes a take-charge guy.”
He sputtered a laugh, because it was easier than thanking her for the compliment. The waiter brought Ryan his beer. True to her earlier prediction, Danielle didn’t want more than one, and judging by her flushed cheeks, Ryan figured she knew what she was doing. “I work for a general contractor, but I do stuff on the side, too, and your grandmother’s house would be awesome.”
“Oh, the job’s yours.”
Score one for O’Connor. Ryan muzzled as much of his grin as possible. Not only would he get to work on an old house, he’d get to hang around Dani Jacobsen at the same time. He wiped his hand on his jeans and offered it to her. “Shake.”
Her grip was stronger than he’d anticipated. He liked it. A lot.
“I feel like an idiot,” Danielle said, rubbing her cheek to get rid of the weird numbness that signified she’d reached her alcohol limit.
“You don’t look like an idiot.”
Ryan’s smile had all kinds of things to say about how she looked, most of them R-rated.
Danielle hid behind her glass. “Because my uncle calls and says, ‘the house is yours’, and I turn around and tell my boss I’m coming up here.” She slurped up the remains of her margarita and waved the waiter away. “I’ve put more thought into grocery lists.”
Dinner better arrive soon, or she might segue from self-disclosure to maudlin. Before the airport shuttle dropped her off, Danielle imagined her grandmother’s house would need a couple coats of paint and some new appliances. Nothing had prepared her for the level of deterioration she’d found. Or the guilt she’d felt. Perhaps if Mom actually spoke to me, I’d have had a clue.
“What do you want to do first?” she asked.
Ryan smirked into his cocktail.
“What?” Danielle said, half-hoping she hadn’t misread his wicked dimple. “Where do we start?”
Ryan relaxed into his seat and crossed
his arms, his biceps bulging in a most appealing way. She bet he’d be enjoyably rough in bed, forceful and strong and demanding. The combination of her imagination and the tequila made her lady parts melt.
She had no business thinking that way. Maeve’s brother. Maeve’s brother. Maeve’s brother. Maeve’s brother. Don’t touch.
“Well, there’s always…” He stopped himself and his mouth twisted. She hitched in her seat, hoping he was headed somewhere fun. Finally, he let go of a deep breath. “You need a functioning electrical panel and plumbing, along with a weather-tight roof.”
Danielle guessed he’d been about to say something different, something dirtier, something that would totally displease his sister. Better to keep him on the subject of the house. She widened her eyes and nodded, encouraging him to go on. In either direction.
Fortunately for her libido, he kept to the house, lecturing her on safety until she yelped. “Yeah, yeah, I get it.”
“You’ll have your chance to play designer. First you need to know if the roof leaks.”
She had so much catching up to do. “It hasn’t rained since I’ve been here.”
“Um, Seattle in November? It will.”
Point to O’Connor. She lifted her hands, conceding defeat. A smart girl would just sign the checks. “You really are going to make me take care of all the boring stuff first.”
“Have you thought about moving walls around to take advantage of the view?”
“No way.” She played with her fork and hoped he couldn’t see the calculations going on in her head. She’d lived with an architect and had an insider’s view of how much time and money such repairs added to a project. “I’ve only got three months to get this place ready to sell—”
“Selling? I kinda figured you’d be moving in when the project was done.”
“Nope. The unit will fall down if I’m gone for more than three months.”
