by TARA GALLINA
"Sorry," she murmurs, her sweet breath fanning my lips and causing my dick to stir again.
Her brows tighten like she's debating her next plan of action but isn't sure how to approach.
"Let me help." I clutch her waist, so small compared to my big hands. My palms meet her soft skin where her shirt is cropped as I push her upright.
"Hey. I'm taller than you," she blurts like this is a huge achievement. Her gaze shifts from over my head or my hair to the ceiling. She giggles.
"You're laughing," I say although it's more of a question.
"The light." She points at the string. "It's in the middle of the stairs."
I follow her gaze to the bulb mounted to the sloped ceiling. "It's an old house. I’m sure there's a reason for it. Electrical wiring or something."
"You sound like my dad."
I glower. "Your dad?"
"I mean, he works on old houses. Well, he used to, and what you said, it sounded like something he'd say." Cheeks reddening, she pulls in a deep breath and mutters, "Never mind."
I follow her the rest of the way up the stairs to my room. After a few steps, she stops to take in the space. The desk lamp casts a yellow glow over the kitchenette and TV area. While visible, shadows cover most of the side with my bed and dresser. Even the large arched window behind my bed offers little light from the night sky.
She studies every inch of my space, making me curious of her thoughts, and then turns to me. "Whose room is this?"
"Mine." I almost laugh at the question. "Well, when I'm here it's mine," I add, since I have a room at my father's house not far from here.
"So … you don't live here full time?"
I smirk. "Full time?" Like a student?
"All the time?" she amends with another blush.
"As much as I can, I do. How's that?"
"It's an answer. A cryptic one."
While I keep my life private for necessary reasons, with her it's a bit of a game—a fun one.
"Want something to drink?" I open the mini fridge.
"Like what?" She leans around me to look inside. There isn't much. Coke. Beer, and one bottled water. She points. "Can I have that?"
"The water?" I guess, since she's not aiming at one particular drink. When she doesn't refute me, I straighten with a grin. "Good choice. You don't need any more alcohol. You might start taking off your clothes again and then I'd have to keep you up here."
She swallows deep in her throat and the blush I was hoping for reappears.
"Heads up." I toss the water to her before thinking better of it.
She lunges for it, her fingers spread in typical girl fashion. No way she catches it. The bottle hits her palms and slips to the wood floor with a thud.
"Sorry." She scoops it up. "I’m not athletic, unless dancing counts as a sport."
So she's a dancer. "I wondered where you learned to roll those hips." I swipe a napkin from the counter for her to hide my grin at the memory of her stripper moves.
Taking the napkin, her shoulders slump and she sighs. "You're not going to hire me just to laugh at me, are you?"
What? "You think I laugh at you?"
"You're doing it now." She points at my mouth and sure enough that grin is still in place.
I open the beer I got from the fridge and shake my head, feeling like a dick. "I shouldn't have thrown the water at you. I’m not used to girls being up here. And I'm not laughing at you. I swear. I think you’re funny, cute funny. It's different, entertaining."
She frowns. "Gee. I feel so much better now."
My grin returns in an instant. "See," I say. "You're doing it again. Giving my cheeks a workout by acting so cute."
She sets her unopened water on the desk, appearing unamused. "You wanted to talk?"
"Yes." I stroll over to the sectional and drop down. "Sit. Bring your water." She can't leave yet.
"Already bossing me around?" She snatches the plastic bottle and joins me on the connecting piece, a couple of cushions away. The couch is huge compared to her petite height. I had it custom made to be oversized for me and I'm six feet tall.
She shifts and bounces as she struggles to get comfortable on the deep cushions. Even with her sexy high-heeled boots, her feet don't touch the ground.
It's impossible for me not to smile around her. I open my mouth to comment but she cuts me off.
"If you say I look cute one more time, I'll …?"
Once again, my first instincts back when I met her in the campus parking lot, were right. She doesn't like the word cute. The fact that she's threatening me makes this even better.
"You'll what?" I set my beer on the coaster on the glass coffee table and rest my elbows on my knees. This I got to hear.
"I'll …?" Her brown eyebrows pull together with thought, her gaze wandering until it lands on my chest. "I'll give you a titty twister."
A titty twister? I can't fight the laughter bursting from me. What are we in, eighth grade? And why does the idea intrigue me? "That is the funniest threat I've ever heard," I say nearly out of breath.
Her features screw-up like she's annoyed with me. "Because you've heard other threats?"
There's that feisty side. She's angry all right and not afraid to test me for information. Calming myself, I sigh and rub the moisture from my eyes. When was the last time I laughed that hard?
She leans forward and puts her finger and thumb in a pinching position. "Some people use humor to hide their fear."
So testy. I try not to grin. "Is that so?"
"Yep."
"Well, I'm not afraid of a titty twister."
"No?" She stretches her arm closer to me.
I recline into the cushions and rest my arms along the back of the couch, opening my chest to her. "Nope."
"Everyone is afraid of titty twisters. They hurt."
Hurt me? I almost laugh again. "If you say so."
"Never had one before?" She arches a challenging brow.
I've had my nipples twisted but not in the way she thinks. I also wouldn't mind giving her a tweak or two, not that she'd let me.
She must see something in my eyes because her cheeks darken, even though I haven't said a word. "You should be scared." Her voice wavers a little.
"So you keep saying." I give a pointed glance at her hand that hasn't moved any closer.
"I'm going to do it," she says with a stubborn huff.
I bet she won't. "Okay."
"I won't go easy on you either."
"I wouldn’t expect you to."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
"You asked for it." She scoots onto the corner cushion so she's sitting right beside me. "Prepare yourself for pain."
"I always do." Truth.
"What does that mean?"
I yawn, feigning boredom.
Anger sparks in her green eyes. She moves her finger and thumb so they touch the soft fabric of my shirt, a pinch away from her goal. My pulse jumps at the subtle contact. Right then I decide if she twists my nipple, I'm going to return the favor with my mouth.
I wait, hold my breath. Do it, sweet Ainsley and see what happens.
"I can't." Her shoulders drop and she lowers her hand—to her boob. What?
I stare at her decent-sized breast cupped in her delicate fingers.
From my peripheral, I notice her glance at her chest. She lets out a small gasp and her hand drops to her knee.
Bright red paints her entire face. Did she not know she was groping herself?
This girl. I shake my head, amused, delighted, and somewhat captivated by her. "I have no idea what to do with you." Send her on her way or keep her—for what, I haven't decided?
"What do you mean?" she asks, clueless to her effect on me.
"I was serious when I said you wouldn’t fit in at the auto body shop. You would be a big distraction to all the guys who work there. I mean your looks are one thing, and then your personality … you're just so damn sweet and innocent." If I weren't so desper
ate this conversation wouldn't be happening.
Her features harden in a way I don't like, hurt and anger at the forefront. "Well, you said I could work remotely so my distraction to your employees won't be a problem. As for my innocence, if you're implying I'm an air head or a pushover, you're wrong. I'll prove it. I don't want your job."
She stands and walks away.
What the fuck?
Chapter 9
No, no, no, no, no. This is not what I want. Think.
I clap my hands with heavy applause. "That was impressive."
To my relief, Ainsley stops before storming down the stairs.
"Excuse me?" She scowls.
"You passed the test."
"What test?" She stalks over to the couch and plants a hand on her hip. "Why are you testing me?"
I had to stop her from leaving somehow. "I had to know if you could handle yourself." Not an entire lie. "Even petite girls can have spunk. My mother did." It feels right adding the last part.
She blinks and relaxes her posture, the comment about my mom seeming to soothe her a little.
Maybe that's why I give her the hard facts about the job, to gauge her reaction. "If I hire you, I'd need you to come in every other Sunday to do inventory. I'd drive you, since the shop isn't in the best part of town, but I couldn't babysit you. And like I said, you'd attract attention." I give her body a slow once-over, lingering on her boobs, her exposed stomach, her incredible legs—all the places guys would look—and then drag my gaze up to her face, taking in her features and wild hair. "I don't hire girls, especially pretty ones." And damn, she gets prettier each time I set my eyes on her.
"That's discriminative," she blurts, then seems shocked by her response.
"I've only been a boss for three years. I'm still learning." I take a long sip of my beer to hide my amusement. Don't want her to think I’m laughing at her again. I don't mean it in the way she thinks. But I can't admit her personality, as confusing as it is, is a welcome distraction to the pressures in my life.
"Why are you a boss?" she asks. "I mean, why do you work when you clearly don't need the money?"
I set my beer on the coaster and stretch my legs out, crossing one foot over the other. "What makes you think I don't need the money?"
"Seriously?" She raises an eyebrow. "You're like the poster child of wealth. I bet your shoes are Italian leather. And your clothes look like they're fresh off a runway in Milan. There's your car too. I don't know anyone else who owns a Maserati. Should I go on?"
She doesn't speak in an angry tone, more matter-of-fact. If only she knew the truth behind everything I have. She's more observant than I give her credit for, and, for some reason, I don't want her thinking I’m a snob, which has never bothered me before. Why do I care what she thinks?
"My father forces these things on me." The words slip out. I press my lips together. Here I go again, sharing information with her I shouldn't.
"My mom forces a lot of stuff on me too. Unfortunately, none of it is luxurious or impressive. It's a lot of crap. And by crap, I mean constant nagging and unwanted advice. I swear the woman hates me."
She tenses with a nervous look, like she can't believe what just admitted.
Her honesty has the opposite effect on me, for once. Softens me to her. Insane. I take a long pull from my beer and get a grip on my emotions.
She clasps her hands and twiddles her thumb in that nervous way again. "I hope this isn't an official interview because if it is, I feel like I just failed, and I really need a job, so please, if I crossed any lines here, I'm sorr—"
"Relax. Sit," I interrupt her degrading rant and gesture to the couch. She has nothing to be sorry about, least of all for being honest with me about her life. "This is casual. If this were a professional interview, I'd be doing it at my office."
She lowers onto the couch, her demeanor unsure. "You have an office?"
"At the auto body shop." Where else would it be?
Her lips twist with a sad smile. "Seems like you really have your life together. You're about to graduate college and you already own a business. That's impressive. I wish I were that accomplished."
This vulnerable side of hers hits me harder than it did the first time I witnessed it at the campus parking lot when she lost her job via text.
"Looks can be deceiving, Ainsley." And like that, I reveal another small part of my protected world to her. Why? To soothe her from the inadequacies she clearly feels around me? If only she knew what my life was really like.
She turns quiet, studying me in a way similar to how I scrutinize her. "There's a lot of talk and speculation about you."
Surprising comment coming from her. Why not give her a little more insight, see if it scares her off.
"There always is. No matter the place, the rumors are always the same." I take another sip of beer and set it on the table.
"Really?" she replies, intrigued. "What places?"
"Everywhere I've been. I moved here from New York. But my family has homes all over the US, and in Sicily."
"Sicily, Italy?" Her tone hints at concern verses curiosity.
Interesting. "And the Isles of Sicily." I hitch a thumb in the direction of the house my father bought not far from Nathan's home.
"The neighborhood?" The question leaves her with slight gasp.
Guess she's familiar with it. "Yep." An annoyed sigh escapes me over my father's lack of boundaries regarding my life. I drink more beer and return it to the coaster. The habit stems from my father's anal-retentive nature.
"Did you choose Ryland?" I ask Ainsley, needing a topic change.
"No," she responds with irritation.
"No?"
She shakes her head. "I wanted to go to college up north, far away, where there are seasons. I'd love to see snow and fall leaves."
"You've never seen those?" Not even on vacation?
She sits back with a dry laugh. "We moved from New Jersey when I was one. My brother was five and even he can't remember what the different seasons were like." She pauses for a moment. "Did you choose Ryland?"
"I did. Like you I wanted to move far away. I never expected my father to follow me here and buy a house, though I should have expected it given what a controlling ass he is." Why not confess more to her. I don't believe she's the type who shares information or spreads rumors, and while surprising, I like that we have certain things in common.
Laughter spills from her.
My eyes tighten on her in confusion.
"I didn't mean that in a bad way. It's just your dad and my mom could be best friends. Not that we have the money your family does, but if we did, I could see my mom doing that. I still live at home because she won't let me move out."
"Won't let you? You're an adult." I doubt her mom would threaten to kill her.
"No, but I need money, more than I have, and I wasn't ready for the fight my leaving will cause."
I angle my body toward hers, wanting to hear the rest of this. "But you think you're ready now?"
"I'm going to try to be," she says with little confidence. "I have to work a few things out, like this job, but then yes, I hope to be."
"Hope?"
She pushes her shoulders back. "Will. I will be."
I smile and give her a nod of encouragement. Good for her. Lucky her. Even though her shoulders are sagging again, showing how insecure she still is, the determination in her voice says she'll find a way to do it, despite the obstacles.
"I wish I could do that." The envy in my voice doesn't escape me.
"But you already do. You live here." She raises a hand.
I let out a humorless laugh and sink into the cushions behind me. "No offense but as controlling as your mom sounds, she's a kitten compared to my father."
What am I saying? I close my eyes and shake my head.
"I couldn't imagine living under that kind of control," her sincere tone draws my attention. "I’m sorry. I know you don't like that word, but I am. It's horrible letting so
meone else dictate your life. I might not understand it to the extent you do, but I know what it's like to feel trapped and wish you could disappear."
I murmur the word at the last second, saying it at the same time. My eyes spring open with my surprise and lock on hers.
She's sitting closer, her body angled toward mine as if she wants to soothe me. I’m letting too much slip. I don't know why I said the thought out loud, except that I knew she was going to say disappear because I've felt the same way for most of my life, especially lately.
"I used to wish I were a Genie so I could snap my fingers and be somewhere else. And I can't believe I just told you that, but yeah, I did." She lets out a nervous-sounding giggle and glances from her body to mine. Shock registers on her face.
She straightens away and rubs her palms on her black jeans, her body language so telling compared to her thoughts. "I should go find Harper before she finds me and gets pissed again."
I stand at the same time as she does. "Pissed again?"
"She might have thought I was hitting on you in the pantry. She thought you were hitting on me too and then got mad because she likes you. But now we know you're engaged, so she's dealing with that and moving on."
Ignoring the engagement comment, I scratch my chin and recall the exchange by the pantry. "Is Harper the girl in the silver dress?"
"Yes!" she shouts. "You noticed her?"
I grab my near-empty beer bottle and trek to the kitchenette, dropping it into the trash. "It was hard not to. She was yelling at you when I was holding you in the kitchen."
When I turn, I find Ainsley by the stairs. "Are we going to settle this job thing tonight, or do you want a formal interview at your office that’s in the bad part of town?"
"You remembered." Even repeated my words back to me. With Marina I feel like a broken record. She never hears or believes what I say. Ainsley is a sweet surprise in so many ways.
A soft smile tugging my lips, I stroll over to her, standing close, and peer down at her pretty face and plump lips.
"Do I have the job?" she asks in a breathy voice.
Her reactions to me get better and better. "Do you want the job?" Do you want me?
