by Jorja Tabu
Away from here. Away from her.
He didn’t understand why that thought made him sad—it should just make him relieved. In his mind, he recalled seeing her outside of the museum in the tiny downtown of Monterray for the first time—she wore a fitted red t-shirt, black capris. Little rhinestones on her shoes. Her hair was red in the sunlight, gently swaying in the breeze; he’d been starstruck.
He’d never seen a woman that beautiful, let alone one that worked that hard.
Every day for a month he’d watched from the window of the café across the street as she straightened and swept and studied in the small museum. One day she’d repainted the sign that hung on delicate chains over the front door while wearing a light blue sundress, and a small breeze had lifted the hem, showing everything just below the line where her panties would’ve met her thigh.
Danny had to sit in the booth for five more minutes before he looked fit for public. Nothing had teased his cock that way before.
She never wore the dress again. It broke his heart, but he understood. Charlotte Goodtree was definitely a lady.
And Danny Sage was not fit for one. Never had been, probably never would be. Just another white trash worker, even if he was richer than the day was long. Money wasn’t what a lady like Charlotte Goodtree would want—she’d want an educated man. A lawyer, or a doctor. Hell, it was what she deserved.
He focused on his work, driving the image of her running around the house from his mind. The way her breasts jumped in her shirt with each step. Her long, slender legs pumping up and down, the baffled panic on her face elongating her plump mouth into an ‘o.’
Dammit. Make that six times.
He readjusted himself, his cock protesting mightily as he slid it down against his leg again, and went back to work.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Charlie was having a hard time. Granted, the job he’d given her was incredibly easy, but she’d still managed to put her foot through the floor twice. The boards were all in rough condition, and she was glad she’d worn pants. Not that the fabric was helping very much, but at least the splinters and snags were catching it and not her skin.
But that wasn’t the only thing on her mind—in fact, having so many things on her mind was exactly the problem when it came to keeping her feet on the floor, and not going through it. She wondered who was paying Daniel Sage to rip off the roof. She worried that the branch of her family currently content to exclude her and her sister were going to show up any minute. She fretted about the state of the place.
And she kept seeing the shape of Daniel Sage’s body in her mind—turning away from her, so that the broad muscles of his back gleamed in the light, or bending close to catch her, the stretch of his strong arms as they wrapped her tight. His scent. His eyes. His wry smile.
Oops—there she went again. Right through the floor.
This wasn’t like her at all. Charlotte had had two boyfriends in her life, one in high school, and one in college. Neither of them had made her feel the way this perfect stranger did, not even when their bodies were wound together; her high school boyfriend had taken her virginity after junior prom, and every time after, she wondered if it would ever feel special. Her college boyfriend had only lasted two months; he wasn’t anywhere near as interesting as her studies.
That was it. Two lovers. No orgasms. Not even any real desire.
Until now.
She yanked her foot back out of the floor. Her pants were getting tattered, but she didn’t care. Each moment in this house was precious, and she didn’t want to waste a second worrying about clothes. She wanted to document everything. And she still had to keep pushing thoughts of Daniel Sage’s strong hands out of her mind.
It didn’t work for long. Before she knew it, her foot was once again dangling into the dark below, and no matter how she tried, she couldn’t seem to get it out. Finally, she gave up and called his name.
“Daniel?” She looked helplessly around the room. “Daniel—I need your help!”
Up on the roof, Danny thought he was hearing things. My god, he muttered at himself. You’re hallucinating her calling your name. You need a life my friend.
“Daaaaniel!” Charlotte gulped and gave her leg another try. Her pants were caught on something below, the holes in the hem clearly snagged on something that just didn’t want to let her go. She didn’t care about tearing them any more, but the fabric refused to give way. “DANIEL!”
Oh my god, he thought, panic-struck. Something’s happened to the love of my life while I’ve been up here clutzing around—I never should’ve left her alone in this rotted old house, I should’ve just let her take her pictures...It was selfish of him, he swore at himself, making her work just because he wanted a few more precious hours to be in the same vicinity, to have her know his name.
And now she was screaming it. In the last way he would’ve wanted, had never imagined in all his wildest dreams—in panic.
Danny almost forgot to put his gloves on when he slid down the rope hanging over the edge of the roof, and ran faster than he ever had to get inside. His heavy feet were careless on the rotted floor, but he wasn’t worried about falling through. He didn’t care. He had to get to her.
And there she was, looking every bit as scared as she sounded. “Are you alright?” He rushed towards her, gently landing next to her on the wooden slats. “Are you hurt, Charlotte—what’s wrong?” Without thinking about it, one of his hands immediately cradled her delicate face, his swollen thumb arcing along her jaw. He drew it back when he realized, immediately ashamed. She hadn’t seemed to notice.
“I’m such a goof,” she said, and sniffled. She was actually on the verge of tears—caught and unable to free her leg, she had worked up to the verge of real fear. How stupid, she scolded herself, feeling the tears well up. Don’t be ridiculous. All the same, one managed to escape the corner of her eye, and Danny watched his traitorous hand once again move to rescue it.
“Don’t worry,” he said softly. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”
“It’s not your fault I can’t even walk without falling through the floor,” she said in a guilty voice. “I hope you didn’t hurt yourself coming down from the roof.”
“No,” he said, his eyes locked on hers. His thumb stroked her cheek, and she blinked. He withdrew. “Let’s get you out of this, okay?”
“How do you know my name?” She was watching his face still, while his hands—clearly needing some distractions—attempted to wrangle her pants free from the nail beneath the floor. He needed to get down there and look at that crawlspace. She couldn’t do any more of this work, he wouldn’t stand for it—“Daniel? How do you know my name?”
“I like to eat at the café across from your museum,” he said, avoiding her big brown eyes. “I’ve seen you working there for a while now.”
“Since I finished school,” she said, nodding. “Have you ever been inside?”
“Nah,” he said, finally seizing the offending nail. He was leaning across her legs, his head unnervingly close to her lap. He closed his eyes and pulled.
“Why not?”
Even if he couldn’t see, he could smell. The effort she’d put in to the job was evident, this close, as he finally opened them again and saw the small half-moons of sweat on her t-shirt beneath each breast. Her pants were clean, but beneath the smell of cotton and fabric softener was something dainty but…musky. Something heady and intoxicating and utterly forbidden. He closed his eyes again. “Not much on history,” he mumbled, yanking as hard as he could on the nail.
Part of her just wanted to open her legs—a small, daring part. Maybe the same part of her that had jumped the fence, followed him in…Maybe the same brave part that told her a PhD could wait, and this adventure was more important right now. It would even help him out—give him a little more wiggle room. There were only inches between his broad chest and her legs. She could practically feel the harrowing strength in his body, tensed across her, as he pulled on
the thing she’d caught below. His eyes closed with the strain, and she inwardly cautioned herself against reaching out to him. Just to wipe the sweat from his brow. Just one fingertip, along one silky, blonde eyebrow, just one.
She didn’t do it. Instead, his eyes popped open, a smile as bright as the sun lit his face, and he pulled his hand out from beneath her. “Got it,” he said gruffly, and began to stand up.
“Oh my gosh, Daniel,” she said, standing with him and grabbing his hand. “You’re bleeding.”
“Not too bad,” he said, his eyes moving all around the room. Anywhere but at her.
Charlotte thought he was embarrassed for her. She’d gotten caught on a nail and it wasn’t even on the right floor, and now he was hurt himself. She felt ridiculous. How could she help? “Here,” she said, reaching down and tearing at the leg of her pants where they’d caught. “Let’s put some pressure on it, okay? And then I’ll get out of your way.”
“No,” he said, looking startled, “no, I—“
“—I’m sorry, I didn’t think this work would be hard, but I’m clearly not up to it.” She felt on the verge of tears again, but this time she wasn’t sure why. “I’ll just leave.”
“No, I was just gonna say…” He took a deep breath. “I’m glad you’re alright.”
She laughed, a little nervous bubble that almost got caught in her throat. “Of course I’m alright,” she said. “I’m not the one who actually had any face time with the nail.” She pointed at his hand again, which seemed to look a little better now. It was really a scrape, rather than a cut; the friction of pulling must’ve caused it. “Let’s try and make sure that doesn’t get worse, okay?”
She moved closer with the small swatch of fabric in her hand. He took a step back.
She took another step forward.
He almost fell in the hole. “What’s going on, Daniel?” She stared at him. His massive body went from a posture of retreat to one of casual calm.
“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head at her. His eyes gave him away, though; they were full of the warmth he’d flashed at her before, and it turned her knees to butter. “I just…I think it’s stopped bleeding.”
How could he feel this way about someone he’d barely spoken to? He didn’t have the right to want to touch her so bad, knowing that her cousin was about to sell this place right out from underneath their feet. Even worse…
He was about to buy it.
Goodtree Condominiums. Charlotte would like that, right? That’d be okay, right?
No. He took a third step back, careful where he placed his foot. She’d hate him, if she knew. Looking at her, he wished he could rip all those contracts apart. He wished he could go back in time.
Looking at him, Charlotte knew what she had to do, too.
It didn’t have to do with contracts, but it had something in common with ripping them apart—why be shy, she asked suddenly asked herself? Why not tear herself away from the decorum of the past…The past, her sister said in her head, is the shackle. Let everything go.
It wasn’t quite what her sister meant, Charlie knew, but…That brave part of herself seemed to think interpreting it this way would be alright.
Maybe more than alright.
Charlie took another step towards him.
3.
“Why are you walking away from me, Daniel?” She asked in a clear voice, dropping the small piece of fabric on the floor.
“I’m not,” he said, his voice husky, his bright eyes still roaming around the room. “Just getting a little bit of space.”
“A little bit of space,” she repeated, and took a deep breath. “Yeah, it is pretty hot in here.” What a cheesy line—was that really the best she could do? It was too late, she’d already said it out loud. With that she slid her hands down the front of her body and tugged on the edge of her t-shirt. “A little too hot, really.”
In one fluid movement, she pulled it over her head before she could back out.
Why not? What did she really have to lose? She knew he wasn’t a psycho…In fact, he was kind of a knight in shining armor right now. And he was gorgeous, and she wanted to…
In that instant, she knew why he was backing away from her. The shock of heat in Daniel’s eyes told her he enjoyed what he saw; hunger she’d never seen before danced on his face while he watched. She let her fingers pluck at the straps of her bra, still damp from the work earlier, and his tongue betrayed him, straying across his bottom lip as he watched her.
He couldn’t. He shouldn’t.
She unsnapped her bra, letting the lace swell as she shrugged her shoulders forward; his eyes burned as he stared at her body. With one small shake, the lace sheath dropped to her elbows, and she hooked her arms under her breasts, with her nipples—a deep, hypnotic red—aimed directly at him.
She held her breath.
He couldn’t, and he shouldn’t…but he did.
Daniel felt his hands wrapping around her waist before he could stop himself. They slid behind her, tracing the shallow cleft over her spine, and then moved down across her plump ass. He felt the pace of his heart speed up as he drew her body against his, felt her breasts—her nipples—mashed against his torso. With a grunt, he lifted her by her ass into the air and closed his eyes, letting his mouth find its way across her body.
Charlie didn’t know what to do—he moved so quickly, she was almost startled, and then she felt so exposed, so naughty, that she almost shied away. But she couldn’t when she felt his rough hands beneath her ass cheeks, his hot, open mouth on her collarbone. She let out a gasp when his lips closed on her nipple, and wrapped her legs around his waist.
The room was dangerous, he knew, somewhere in the back of his mind. He had to be careful, take good care of her; her body weighed almost nothing in his hands, and when she pressed the center of herself against him he was afraid he would take her on the floor right there. But it wasn’t right. It wasn’t how he wanted to be with her, and the part of him that wasn’t agonized over his swollen cock and the way her supple breasts slid around in his eager mouth knew it.
He carried her over to the wide staircase by the grand entrance, it’s former finery still evident in the grace of its shape. He knew these stairs were sturdy; she’d be safe here. Very gently, very slowly, he laid her down on them and tenderly kissed her lips.
Charlie felt his stubble on her chin, his tongue as it entered her mouth. She kept her eyes closed but raised herself up on one elbow, using her other hand to run her fingers through his sandy hair. He sighed into her mouth, greedily sucking her lips as she traced one damp eyebrow beneath her finger.
She’d never felt like this before.
“Charlotte, I…” His voice rasped against her throat as it escaped his lips. “I need you to tell me if there’s anything you don’t want to do. I don’t know…” I don’t know if I can stop myself, he thought, but he didn’t say it out loud. It would make it too true.
She put the tip of her index finger against his lips. “I don’t have any condoms. Do you?” Who was this person? She was scandalous. Charlotte Goodtree certainly never had condoms.
“No,” he said, his eyes locked on hers. They were electrically bright, even in the shadows over the staircase. Long lashes fluttered on his cheek as he gazed at her. “Let’s not get carried away, then,” he whispered, moving forward to kiss her; instead she pushed the tip of her finger into his mouth, and his eyes closed as he began to suck on it, almost involuntarily.
“Let’s,” she said softly, and let her tongue replace it, using the moisture from his lip to trace a damp trail down his chest. “We’ll be careful. Creative,” she whispered.
