Melting into You

by Trentham, Laura

  She took the tile from him, their fingers brushing, hers shaded with paint remnants that had defied her washing. “It’s lovely, but I looked at tile like this, and it was way out of my price range.” The corner of her mouth pulled back with her sigh, and she handed it back to him.

  “I can get it wholesale. Don’t worry about that.” Even wholesale the tile would probably be too expensive, but she didn’t need to know that since he planned to pay for it anyway. Somehow that made asking for help easier. Help wasn’t something he was used to needing, much less asking for. He’d worked hard the last few years to make sure he was a hundred percent self-sufficient—monetarily, physically, emotionally.

  “Look, Alec, if this is a guilt thing because of”—she flicked a finger between them— “then please don’t.”

  Alec’s worries for Hunter had superseded his own, but her reminder his problem hadn’t disappeared and might even be growing by the day made the pizza burn back up his throat. “It’s not . . . that. I need to keep Hunter occupied and out of trouble. He has enormous potential on the field and could get a major scholarship, but only if he stays out of his brother’s trouble.”

  “I know how good he is. I come to all the home games.”

  “You do?” The traditional alpha-male pomp of Southern high school football didn’t mesh with her carefree, bohemian artist vibe.

  “There’s not much else to do on a Friday night. The noise from the stadium carries to the house. Anyway, I’ve always liked football. Hunter reminds me of when you played at Alabama. The crowd loved you.”

  “You saw me play in college?”

  Her eyes widened.

  “But you went to school up north, right?”

  Her mouth opened and closed, her gaze dropping to the tile in his hands. “I’ll need a pretty steep discount on that tile. That bathroom is small but my forbearers slapped pink tile on anything standing still.”

  What was she hiding? Before he could formulate a question, Hunter shuffled into the room, tucking his phone into his back pocket and rubbing a palm down the front of his jeans. His voice cracked from unsure adolescent into prideful grown-up. “Look, I’m not a charity case. I don’t want—”

  Lilliana barked a laugh. “You’ve seen the bathroom you’ll be working on. Now, tell me who’s the charity case around here? If you and Alec don’t help me”—she threw her hands up— “I won’t ever get this B&B off the ground. And, if that doesn’t happen, I’ll probably have to sell. Not only will I never be able to show my face at another family reunion, I’ll probably be excommunicated from the Falcon First Baptist Church.”

  Hunter’s shoulders relaxed. “Coach and I won’t let that happen, Miss Lilliana. We’ll get started tonight, right Coach?”

  Alec wanted to pull Lilliana into his arms for a hug for many reasons, but the biggest right now was making Hunter truly believe he was the one doing her a favor.

  She continued. “Of course, I’ll pay you. You can come on over after football practice and I can feed you while you work on your schoolwork. Then, in the evenings, you can chip away at my pink-tiled nightmare. What’s the going rate for subcontractors these days, Alec?”

  She flipped her braid off her shoulder and directed flirty side-eyes toward him. Although, he suspected she wasn’t trying to be flirty. Her almond-shaped eyes were naturally sexy and come-hither. The slash of red paint on her cheek only added to her exotic appeal.

  Lilliana cleared her throat and stared at him expectantly.

  What the hell had they been discussing?

  9

  Hunter’s phone rang. Lilliana switched her attention from slack-jawed, dead-sexy Alec to suddenly tense, stressed-out Hunter. The undercurrents the two men were putting out were starkly opposite.

  After glancing at the screen, Hunter silenced the ringer and slid the phone back into his pocket.

  Lilliana glanced back at Alec. Blank emotionlessness had replaced his I-want-to-sex-you-up eyes. Had she imagined it because she wanted to sex him up? She shifted. Nope, her still-tingling lady parts had not misread the signals.

  “I’m ready to get to work if you are, Coach.” Grim determination underlay Hunter’s words. Alec nodded, mumbled something about tools, and led Hunter out the door.

  Alec returned with a clanging toolbox while Hunter palmed a sledgehammer and grinned at her like a kid with a new toy. She retreated to the kitchen for another slice of pizza to cover the fact tears stung her eyes. Alec had morphed from a hated one-night stand to a layered, sexy man with a big heart, and she wasn’t sure how to process the abrupt shift.

  The destruction of her bathroom went on for two hours. The pounding made it difficult to concentrate on her book, much less the silence she preferred for painting. She was into the fine brushwork on the portrait, and any jostle could prove disastrous.

  Around nine thirty, she tiptoed up the stairs and into the guest room to check their progress. A tarp covered the floor, catching the larger pieces of crumbled pink tile, but a hazy pink fog of dust hung in the small room. Hunter and Alec had on masks. The space looked even smaller with their bulk. They’d removed a majority of the tile, revealing discolored, pocked sheetrock.

  She knocked on the doorjamb, waving her hand in front of her face. “It’s getting late, gentleman. Hunter has school and you both have a game tomorrow night. You want to crash in here, Hunter?”

  Hunter pulled the mask to hang around his neck, glancing at the bed. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I’d better not. Will wants me home tonight.”

  Alec was staring at Hunter, his eyes crinkled, obviously worried, but he nodded nonetheless. “How about you plan on working with me Saturday morning. That okay, Lilliana?”

  “Yep. If you get here before nine, I’ll even cook you breakfast.”

  Hunter’s smile erased a portion of the tension from his face. “Bacon?”

  “Of course,” she said as if he were crazy for even asking. She saw them out the door. Alec stopped at the top of the stairs, turning to look over his shoulder.

  “I’ll swing back by and haul the old tile out to the truck if you’ll still be up.”

  “Sure. Whatever.” She bobbed her head as if being alone with him was not big deal.

  Once his truck rumbled off, she sprinted to her room and took a quick shower, scrubbing at the red paint on her cheek and reducing it to something that resembled overzealously applied blush. A blast of the hairdryer left her hair in damp waves down her back. Standing in white cotton panties and bra, she riffled through her closet.

  He would expect casual attire not a sequined cocktail dress or a lace teddy. She settled on yoga pants and a T-shirt. A knock sounded on the door, followed by his voice as he let himself in. “Lilliana?”

  “Up here.” She quickstepped to the top of the stairs. He didn’t say a word, but his gaze travelled from her feet to her face on his climb. He stopped a couple of steps down, leaving them face-to-face. Something broke the stoniness of his expression, maybe appreciation, maybe lust, maybe simple friendship.

  His mouth parted and his tongue darted along his bottom lip. She wet her lips in response. His gaze dropped to her mouth and then lower. Instead of pulling at her T-shirt, she forced her hands to stay down. The Alec in front of her wasn’t the same one from college. He hadn’t run away or blabbed all over town. He was here, so close she could lean forward and kiss him without even craning her neck. She swayed, like a pendulum gaining momentum.

  “Do you”—his voice was all sexy-gravel—“have any pizza left?”

  “Yes.” The word hissed out of her mouth before his question registered. Not, can I kiss you? Not, can I take you to bed? He wanted pizza, not her.

  “In the fridge. Help yourself.” She cleared her throat, rounded her shoulders, and fingered the hair at her nape, her arm over her breasts to hide her traitorous nipples.

  After patting the heat from her cheeks, she joined him in the kitchen, rising on her tiptoes to reach a can of cat food in her pantry. Feeling like he wa
s stripping her naked with his gaze, she bobbled the can. It hit the floor and rolled into his foot. He popped the last piece of crust into his mouth and picked up the can.

  With him in work boots and her barefoot, he’d gained another inch on her, impossibly tall and broad. She was acutely, uncomfortably aware of all of her curves. He was not here to date her or hook up with her or fulfill any of her erotic-laced dreams. She made sure not to touch him when she retrieved the can.

  “What are you going to do about your little family in the attic?” he asked.

  “Talked with Dr. Martin this morning. He said to slip Ghost food so she’ll be strong enough to nurse. The kittens can wean in about a month, and I’ll find homes for them. Or keep them.”

  “What about Ghost?”

  “He wants me to trap her so he can fix her. Told me not to waste my time trying to tame a feral cat.” She bit the inside of her mouth and stared at the logo on his shirt. The thought of abandoning the cat was unbearable.

  “You’ll still try though, won’t you?”

  The warm humor in his voice drew her gaze up. The scratches along his face had faded, and the stubble of a beard had broken over his jaw. The swirl of colors in his eyes was like a kaleidoscope, different every time she looked.

  “I can’t give up on her. Not yet.”

  “I have the feeling you’ll never give up on her.”

  She half-smiled. “Like you won’t give up on Hunter?”

  He propped his hands on the counter at his hips and looked toward the ceiling. “I have no idea if I’m doing the best thing for him. I wanted to insist he stay here tonight, but I’m afraid I’ll alienate him if I push too hard.”

  “He seems like a great kid, but Mill Town has been a problem since I can remember. What do you think Will has gotten himself mixed up in?”

  “Word is that he’s moved from dealing pot to dealing meth. And weapons. Some middle-aged druggie named Bone-man is living with them. He might be their mother’s boyfriend. I can’t figure it. Logan has feelers out. As far as I can tell, she’s the only one who has a regular job, and it’s a night shift.”

  “Have you talked to her? Does she know what’s going on?”

  Alec blew out a long breath. “How can she not? I could smell the pot coming from their house from the sidewalk.”

  “Smoking pot is different than selling hard drugs.”

  He rolled his eyes but his voice resembled that of a disciplining coach. “It’s still illegal in Alabama and could ruin Hunter’s prospects with recruiters.”

  “Why don’t you talk to Hunter’s mother, and I’ll talk to Hunter Saturday morning when he comes around to work. Then, we can pool information and decide the next step together.”

  His sigh relaxed the tight lines around his mouth. “I shouldn’t have pulled you into this mess, but I appreciate the help. I’m feeling a bit lost, to be honest.”

  “Most people are fumbling through life hoping they don’t accidently fall off a cliff.”

  “Like lemmings?” He flashed a brief smile, but a crinkle appeared between his eyes. “I’m worried Hunter will follow Will anywhere. You saw what happened tonight. Will texts and Hunter goes running.”

  Lilliana let her eyes flutter closed as her mind sifted through memories of reading book after book during her summers with Aunt Esmeralda. “The way I need you is a loneliness I cannot bear.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Her eyes shot open. Alec’s entire body had gone stiff, his expression somewhere between disbelief and panic.

  “The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter?” Her lilted question didn’t seem to relax him. “It’s a quote from a book. Carson McCullers?” Her entire body bloomed with heat. “When you mentioned separating them . . . They’re twins, aren’t they? Special bond. That wasn’t me, telling you . . . Ohmigod.”

  His grip on her marble countertop loosened, and he ran a hand through his hair, the beginning of a smile hovering around his lips. “You had me worried there for a minute. Here, I’ll take the food to the attic. I’m still dusty.”

  He took the can out of her hand, his fingers brushing over hers in a near caress. The embarrassment at her verbal slip gave way to anger-tinged confusion. If his motivation for helping her with the bathroom was only guilt over a possible pregnancy, then why had he brought her dinner—twice—installed the surge protector, asked her to help with Hunter, and seemed to want to hang out with her beyond any of that.

  And while he’d been gone when she awoke that morning, she was sure she hadn’t imagined his hard, warm body pressed into hers during the night. Then, one accidental mention of feelings made him act like she’d ordered his execution.

  The conflicting undercurrents and his lack of transparency were frustrating. She missed the simple days of passing a note asking “Do you like me?” with a simple “check yes or no.”

  She trailed him up the steps. He disappeared into the attic. His curse punctuated a growling hiss. He descended the ladder sucking the side of his thumb. “She scratched me.”

  “I should have taken her the food. Ghost and I have a certain level of trust you haven’t earned yet. Let me see the damage.”

  He held out his hand, and she took it in both of hers, examining it much like he’d done her hand that fateful afternoon. His hand was huge and tanned compared to hers. She ran her thumbs down his palm in a massaging motion. His fingers twitched before tightening around hers.

  “Barely broke the skin. You’ll be fine.” She tamped down the urge to brush her lips along his skin and dropped his hand. “You know, it’s almost too bad Beatrice isn’t really haunting Hancock House. A ghost would have been great for marketing.”

  “You can still use poor Beatrice as a selling point. People tend to believe what they want to believe, whether it makes any sense or not.” His frown darkened everything about him. He took a step toward her makeshift studio and pointed. “I don’t suppose I could see more of your work?”

  Inviting him in to see her work was like peeling off all her clothes and standing under a spotlight. If she said no, he would walk away, clean up the broken tile, and leave. He wouldn’t try to bulldoze her.

  With a shot of surprise, she realized she wanted to show him her work. “Be my guest.”

  She flipped the overhead light on. The harsh yellow light wasn’t as welcoming as the sunlight that streamed in the east-facing windows in the morning, or the special lamp she used for fine brushwork. Edwin dominated the center of the room.

  Alec studied the portrait from afar, but then moved within inches. “It’s amazing. When I walked in, I thought it was a blown-up photo—but close up, I can see all your brushwork. I suppose this is the infamous Edwin?”

  She was surprised he remembered. “Yep, that’s my buddy.”

  “You’ve made him seem thoughtful, almost as if he’s staring somewhere past me.”

  “I call it a puff-up piece.” At the quizzical expression he tossed over a shoulder, she added. “Men like him commission a portrait to hang in their corporate office, maybe at their house. Every time he sees it, his chest will puff. That’s my goal whether he’s the biggest d-bag in the northern hemisphere or up for sainthood.”

  “You enjoy this type of stuff?” He waggled a finger in the man’s face.

  “I enjoy the technical aspects of portraits. They pay well, but the work is sporadic at best. Not many people can afford to be so self-centered these days.” She walked to a smaller easel and hesitated before pulling the dust covering off, revealing a flower-filled landscape. It was like performing a slow strip tease, but somewhere along the way, Alec had gained a portion of her trust.

  “I’ve been experimenting with watercolors too. Like the one in the guest room. They tend to sell better at art shows. And God help me, I’ve also been toying with sports scenes. The best ones go into prints. I could make serious money off Alabama’s football fanatics.” She pulled another cover off.

  A chaotic Alabama football stadium was captured mid-cheer. He leaned
in close to study the players on the field. A wave of heat went through her. She’d painted a scene from Alec’s Alabama heyday—the Iron Bowl against Auburn. He stood on the thirty-yard line, the ball spiraling from his fingertips, his body twisted, an opposing linebacker leaping for a tackle, but in her painting, he was unaware.

  “Is that me?” His finger brushed over the small number seven on the jersey.

  “I suppose it is. The last Alabama game I attended was the fall of my freshman year. I was in New York by spring. You were a junior, I think.” Her tone was nonchalant, but the base of her neck throbbed from the tight set of her shoulders. She’d known everything about him back then.

  His face swiveled slowly to hers. His eyes seemed to cut away the years. Dear Lord, he remembered her.

  “You were at Alabama. Did our paths cross?” His voice probed gently like assessing a wound.

  How many times had she imagined throwing his callus treatment of her in his face? Hundreds? Thousands? She’d dreamed of making him hurt like she’d hurt that night. She’d wanted him to pay for treating her like every other girl who fell into his bed. As of a month ago, the painful memories from so many years ago still festered.

  Everything had changed. His wounds were deeper and more painful than hers had ever been. He was simultaneously trying to atone for his past mistakes and protect himself from being betrayed again. If she told him he’d taken her virginity in college, and he’d blown her off afterward, his self-flagellation would be endless and destroy the tenuous friendship that had sprung up between them. Seeing the self-disgust on his face wouldn’t give her any satisfaction, only shame.

  She wanted to shield him from the truth, yet didn’t want to lie. “We might have been at a couple of the same frat parties.”

  “And I didn’t notice you?” Sarcasm weighed his question.

  She fingered the ends of her hair. “I was a freshman. You had gorgeous cheerleaders hanging all over you.” Again, not a lie.

  He didn’t deny it, only shrugged. “But you’re my type.”

  She tried to swallow down the lump in her throat, but her voice came out hoarse anyway. “Short, dumpy girls are your type?”