by Jorja Tabu
All images and text Copyright 2011. All rights reserved by the author. Unauthorized reproduction or works derived therein are impermissible under US Copyright law.
DEEPER
A CONTEMPORARY EROTIC ROMANCE
BY
JORJA TABU
1.
Charlotte Goodtree made the short walk from her Prius to the overgrown fence in record time, if you didn’t count the extra three minutes she spent dragging bramble over the car. Can’t be too careful, she thought, her slender fingers creeping over the top of the fence and latching on tight. In fact, it was best to plan for the worst, really. Just in case. With that thought, she quickly scrambled up and over the knotted wood without even mussing her hair.
My sister would be so proud, Charlotte thought smugly as she surveyed her surroundings. The fence was roughly seven feet tall, and she’d deliberately crossed over using a spot without any unwelcome rot to launch herself; unfortunately the rest of the grounds appeared to be in a similar state of disrepair. Bare patches scarred the once beautiful fields stretching out behind the dilapidated mansion in front of her, and the garden she currently stood in looked more like a cemetery. Statues swathed in kudzu peeked out from a barrier of wisteria garnished stumps; nothing was left of the crisp hedges that had once formed the famous maze of Goodtree Plantation.
For a moment, Charlotte forgot herself and stood with her hands on her hips. Unreal. What bastards could have let this happen to such a beautiful site? The crown jewel of Monterray County, Goodtree Plantation had stood for almost four hundred years. The historian in her was just as pissed as the modern day woman looking at her ruined legacy.
Well, she thought, ducking behind one of the more modern statues standing mournfully behind a hacked off dogwood tree, not that the bastards would admit it. Charlotte shared her family name with some very powerful people, who also happened to be white. The light cocoa color of her dainty hands reminded her why she had to creep on to the grounds as she watched them fumble with her new DSLR camera.
Harumph. Bastards indeed.
The photos would be a lot of help as she organized herself and her organization to try and begin a restoration of the old plantation; no one could deny the current leadership had let go of the reigns. And the gardener. And the roofer, plumber, and everyone else, it looked like.
What would it take to make this old place shine again? She took a close-up shot of the sad statue next to her with the missing nose. How much money would the Foundation need to raise?
Being a member of the Monterray Historical Foundation was not much of a coup for the recent graduate, Summa Cum Laude; in fact, several of her school friends begged her to join their hot pursuit of PhDs and cushy teaching gigs, but she’d declined. First on her list was taking over the Memorial Project at the Foundation, and an immediate second was saving Goodtree Plantation. PhDs could wait.
Her sister hadn’t liked that plan, of course; Charlotte took some distance shots of the roof of the mansion while reliving the dark look on her beloved sister’s face. “Why would you want to save the place where our great-grandparents were slaves?” She’d scowled viciously and poked Charlotte in the chest with a boney finger. “You can’t change history, Charlie, no matter what nonsense they told you in class.”
But Charlotte hadn’t wanted to change history; she wanted to make it. If the Memorial Project was hers, and Goodtree Plantation belonged to it…then all this would be under the care of the people who’d lived and died here in droves, centuries ago. People that were ignored, deprived of identity and belonging…no more.
Mandy had been much more amenable to teaching Charlotte how to hurdle a fence after this discussion. Click! Another shot of the broken stairs, once a majestic entrance, and she’d jump right back over that fence and be gone again. Click!
Something caught her attention—shingles began sliding off of the side roof, angling sharply towards the ground and stark against the bright blue sky. Charlotte couldn’t help but dart towards it, trying to capture the tragedy on film. Click! Click!
She picked up speed, getting closer and closer to the mansion—surely there wasn’t anyone inside? She’d been forced to trespass when no one representing the estate had returned her phone calls for several months, and because the building wasn’t visible from the road she’d assumed caution was necessary. But the state of the place…Well, the roof was practically raining down over the side. Charlotte lurched around the corner at high speed, her camera finger clicking away.
“Hey!” A rough, distinctly masculine voice bellowed down at her. “What are you doing?”
“Oh my god!” Charlotte stopped dead in her tracks, her camera swinging around her neck like a dead weight as her hands clapped over her mouth. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like, ma’am?” Electric blue eyes squinted at her over the edge of the slate from under a thatch of sandy hair. Sweat dripped down the man’s tan face, and he leaned back to look at her from his precarious perch on the edge of the roof. “I’m ripping the shingles off.”
“Don’t! Oh please—these are ancient, this is history, we’re talking about—“
“--No it’s not,” the man said, waving a thickly gloved hand. The taunt muscle in his bicep jumped, and Charlotte found her dismay was slightly alleviated when her eyes wandered over his bare chest. Dirty from hard work, his heavy musculature was starkly outlined from sweat rivulets as they ran down his frame. He didn’t seem to notice her staring. “Whole roof was replaced in the forties. No use in saving them.”
Of course. How silly of her. “That’s all you’re doing? Replacing the roof?” Her eyes tore away from his lovely build to the rest of the house, and he shrugged, pulling them back with each casual movement.
“No,” he said, looking shrewd but amused. “You want to tell me how you got over that fence?” A slow, southern drawl drew his words out, and Charlotte’s face grew hot. Oh shit, she thought. I better get out of here before he climbs down and throws me out.
“I’m with the Foundation,” she said carefully, backing away. He registered her movement by tucking his head down and narrowing his piercing blue eyes.
“I know,” he said with a small smile, and then she watched in horror as he casually threw a length of rope over the edge of the roof and swung with unnatural ease along the length of it. The muscles on his back and arms rippled like liquid steel as he maneuvered down like a mountain climber, landing softly by her side. “Well, how d’you do?” Even though the words were somewhat humble, he still looked a little too amused for her taste.
“I don’t like your tone,” Charlotte said haughtily, trying to salvage some dignity and beat a quick retreat at the same time. She began backing away from him, picking up speed as she went.
“Well, I don’t like trespassers,” the man said, catching up to her with two long strides. He was very close to her now, and the smell of his sweat moving around her like a gentle but fierce cloud. He was at least six feet tall, with broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. She noted, in spite of her fear, that her nipples were suddenly hard beneath her shirt.
He was incredibly handsome, and practically dripping sex.
“I was just leaving,” she gasped, and turned to run towards the fence. A large, firm hand landed on her arm and gently spun her back around.
“And I was just saying,” he continued, his face inches from hers, “that you should call next time you want to visit, Miss Goodtree.” He let go of her arm but didn’t move, a devilish quirk in his eyebrow. His eyes sparked a fire inside of her belly, causing a terrible inner fight. How could she think these things about a perfect stranger—for all she
knew, this could practically be her cousin! The sober thought cooled her jets and she took a measured step away from his scent, refusing to dwell on the minted smell of his breath, or the way the light was dancing in his hair.
“I did,” she said, once again finding that haughty voice. “But next time I’ll just leave a message saying when I plan on breaking in.”
“Good,” he returned, his hands tucking into the battered jeans as he leaned back, coolly assessing her once again. “Do that.” His mischievous eyebrow quirked up again. “Unless…”
“What?” She crossed her arms in front of her chest, determined not to let him see the effect he had on her body. The last thing she wanted was to endure the humiliation of him knowing he turned her on as he threw her out.
“We could work out a trade,” he said softly, watching her. “I gather you want to get an idea of what’s going on with the plantation, huh?”
“Of course,” Charlotte said, retaining her haughty tone. “It’s my business what happens to the plantation, isn’t it?”
He didn’t answer her question, and instead just moved around to look at the building, giving her a good view of his broad back. “If you help—do a little work here—you can stay and take your pictures.” He turned towards her again. “I could use a hand.”
“Who are you?” She wasn’t going to get into a new slave agreement with her unscrupulous relatives, thankyouverymuch. If he wasn’t in the family, maybe she’d have some wiggle room.
Maybe she could talk him into helping her.
“Daniel Sage,” the man said, smiling. “We’re not related,” he finished, meeting her eyes in a way that made her temperature rise. “So don’t worry about that.”
“I wasn’t,” she shot back, hands still crossed over her chest. His teasing was just going to make this easier for her. “I was just wondering what exactly you needed a hand with.”
“Oh,” Daniel said smoothly, running a calloused hand through his unkept hair, “this and that. You have any experience?” He met her eyes again, and she refused to look away.
“Doing what?” She bit her lip. The truth was, she had very little experience outside the realm of books.
No painting experience, no construction experience--never ripped down a roof, for example.
But then, maybe that wasn’t what he meant…
Never ripped off her clothes, rubbed the ache out of her nipples on a man’s bare chest, and had an orgasm within ten minutes of meeting someone.
She knew which task she would prefer to master.
“Construction,” he said slowly, that small smirk once again on his tanned face, the blue eyes traveling over her body until he seemed to realize how that looked. “You don’t seem the type.”
“I’m not,” she said firmly. “But I can learn. I belong here.” She didn’t need to emphasize that he didn’t, but.
“School girl, then,” he said, and laughed, but not unkindly. “Fine with me if you want to learn the trades, on top of all your book learning. Let me show you what I want you to do today.”
She turned and followed him into the house, her camera banging on her hip.
2.
This was reckless, Charlotte scolded herself as she watched his ass move under the loose fitting jeans. She should turn around, right now, and go back to the Foundation—she had paperwork to do. She had people that needed to know where she was.
“Work permit,” Daniel said, pointing to an official looking piece of paper, protected by plastic and sealed with tape against the window on the wide front door. “Here’s my card,” he said, turning towards her and taking his wallet out in one smooth movement, walking backwards into the empty house. He held it out to her, and she managed to pluck it away without grazing his fingertips. The effort made him laugh again.
She studied his card. It wasn’t the number she’d been calling, which explained why he hadn’t known she’d be…Trespassing. Or whatever he’d said. She sniffed.
Okay. For a serial killer this would be a pretty elaborate set-up. That was definitely a real work permit, and he seemed to be a legitimate…Carpenter, it said on the card. Still, she felt a little nervous. “I have to be back at the office by three,” Charlotte said, ignoring the tremor in her voice. “My office-mate knows I’m here, and—“
“--Don’t you worry, Miss Goodtree,” Daniel said, still smiling. “I won’t work you that long.”
Damn, she thought, then caught herself. They’d already established she’d actually be working. Not getting worked over.
She wondered if every naughty thought in her head was now written on her face, and tried to look confident. Instead she tripped.
Strong arms were immediately around her, holding her aloft. “Steady now,” Daniel said softly, his voice right next to her ear. It made her shiver. “Lots of loose boards.” One hand enveloped her shoulder, and she could tell he could’ve supported her with that alone; instead his other hand wrapped around her waist, a lone finger trailing absently along the exposed skin where her shirt slid up. Neither of them moved for a second.
“I’ll be careful,” she whispered, and he let her go.
He wasn’t exaggerating; the house was full of holes—in the walls, along the stairs. Daniel requested she stick to the first floor, mapping the rotted wood so he could start replacing the boards once he was finished with the roof. That needed to be done first, if the house was to be saved at all.
“Is someone planning on moving in?” Charlotte watched him to see if he would lie; everyone in the county knew how she would feel about that. He shrugged.
“Not really,” he said, watching her in return. “Do you need some help figuring out how to use that?”
“No,” Charlie said, a warm smile signaling she’d left the unpleasant idea of someone taking Goodtree Plantation away from her forever. “I think I can handle it. Blue painter’s tape. Put it on the bad ones. Got it.”
“So you’ve got a little experience after all,” he said, smiling back, and for the first time there was no trace of amusement. The words were teasing, but his eyes were kind.
It was even more alluring than his smirk.
She blushed and walked carefully to the south side of the mansion.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Daniel Sage considered himself a cautious man. And it was his determination to keep that reputation—and only that—holding him captive on the roof. He snagged his thumb with the hammer for the fourth time in a row. “Damn it,” he muttered, and put it in his mouth to suck on it for a second.
Then he stopped. He couldn’t allow any part of himself to have a moment of sensual enjoyment—warmth, moisture—or he would get right the hell down off this scorching roof and go grab the Goodtree girl and…And what, Danny? He scolded himself. Terrify her out of her mind?
No, he answered, swinging the hammer again. He would ask if he could touch her. He would peel her sticky cotton clothes off, nibbling every inch of golden skin, sucking the sweat from beneath her ample breasts. He would beg, if need be. He would slide his hands down her thighs, trembling, and bury his face in the secret between them, pleading for a taste.
“Dammit!” Make that the fifth time he’d snagged his poor thumb. Still, he didn’t stop working. He couldn’t afford to.
Daniel Sage was a cautious man, and he knew he was playing with fire even letting her in the house. If her cousin found out…Well, he wouldn’t, Daniel swore. He didn’t have the right to tell Daniel who could work here, when he wasn’t man enough to spend five minutes on the property himself. Let alone have the right to tell her not to be here.
Danny knew it was wrong not to tell Charlotte Goodtree who his employer was, and why he was here. And that, he knew, was the best reason not to climb down from the roof and beg to fuck her raw on the ruined mansion floor. Because she deserved better, and he knew better, and it would just plain be better if they stayed away from each other. She could take her pictures, spend some time on the property that’d been forbidden her, and
he could finish this wholly unnecessarily complicated job and find another.
