Closing Costs: Stewart Realty, Book Three

by Crowe, Liz

  She took his hand, rose, and eased into his arms like she’d never left them. Her own kiss spoke volumes. The sensation of her breasts, pressed against his chest, of her cool hands on his face forced him to use all the willpower he could muster not to toss her down on the carpet and make that connection he’d been missing for so long. Something he’d tried to recreate with Shannon but had failed to do. When she broke away, tears glistened in her eyes.

  “No crying Sara. Not tonight.” He stepped back, found his jacket and headed for the door.

  “Jack, wait.”

  He stopped without turning.

  “I, I want you to stay.” He shrugged into the suit coat and slowly faced her.

  “I know.” Before she could say anything else, he blew her a kiss and walked out the door, cursing at and congratulating himself at the same time.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “God, Sara, I am so sorry!”

  Craig looked frazzled, so she tried not to sound too pissed.

  “I’ve still got no seniority in the group. When one of the other docs has to take time off I have to pick up the shift.” He flopped into the chair opposite her desk. She mentally ran through the options for the weekend. She had planned to get caught up on some paperwork Saturday, but it was nothing she couldn’t put off until the next weekend.

  She glanced at her monitor. An email from Mateo had arrived that morning. “I’m so sorry you are not coming up to Traverse City with us. I would have liked to buy you a drink.” She blushed and deleted it. That guy had no business being interested in her, much less flirting so relentlessly. It was a buzz, of course. Any woman her age would be flattered.

  But she had a different goal in mind. One that didn’t involve soccer coaches.

  She reached for her phone and dashed a text to Jack, cancelling their date. Disappointment pierced her brain. She’d planned a serious seduction scene for that night at her place.

  He’d been true to his word all week, sending her funny texts, an obnoxious display of roses, even bottle of her favorite expensive champagne with a note that had set her libido on fire:

  “I remember sharing a bottle of Dom just like this one with you one night. I’ll never forget how I licked it off your neck when you drank from the bottle…and off your shoulder, your arm, your breasts. Here’s to more of that, soon.

  But you know, not too soon.

  Love, Jack”

  It all served to ramp her up so high she had started keeping her vibrator under the pillow for emergencies. Everyone at her office seemed to be watching the scene unfold with bated breath, something that she didn’t care for as it distracted them from their jobs. But there was nothing she could do about gossip.

  She was ready for this. She knew it. And she was determined to stuff her old, untrusting self into a garbage bag and toss it out. Anything if she could finally be with Jack for good.

  She put a hand on Craig’s shoulder to make him stay as she stepped out to have a quick conversation with her secretary, then shut the door. Sitting in the chair next to him she stared hard into his lovely brown eyes. “So?”

  He ran a hand over his light red beard. “Well, we’re taking it slow, like Suzanne wants. She’s so guarded. So enthusiastic about…you know, but when it comes to anything beyond physical, she shuts it off like a light bulb. Reminds me of some other frustrating female I know.”

  He stood, pulled her to her feet and into his arms. She sighed, breathing him in, remembering.

  “But I’m sticking it out with her. My odds are better this time I think.” He kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Sounds like you are taking my advice about Mr. Gordon.”

  She leaned back. “How would you know that?”

  “Small town, small world.” He nodded at the ginormous vase full of roses behind her on the credenza. “I know a seduction bouquet when I see one.”

  She smacked his arm. He put his palm alongside her face. She closed her eyes and let herself lean into it, feeling their warmth of it, of their one-time connection that had now morphed into friendship. “I’m sorry about the weekend. Don’t chicken out,” he said. “I mean it. I know how you get.”

  “I won’t,” she assured him. “And don’t worry. Weekend is covered.”

  * * *

  Katie did nothing but whine all the way home from school when Sara broke the news that Uncle Craig had to work. Sara fed her a snack and tossed her in the bathtub without much conversation, biting down on the urge to scream at her to stop sniveling. To tell her life was full of disappointments and that she’d gotten her own way too often. The girl hadn’t felt a hundred percent for several days, although the pediatrician claimed there was nothing medically wrong with her now that the fever had passed.

  Hey sexy. She smiled at Jack’s regular evening text missive.

  Hey yourself. Busy. Packing.

  Right. So do you want me to come too? I could bring Mo and her kids up with me.

  No, she’s expecting you to watch them so she can go to the spa on Sunday. She told me. Do NOT stand her up. She needs it. We can always reschedule our date.

  All right. Have Kate call me after her games.

  Will do.

  She set the phone on the bed, threw the necessary items in a bag, locating all of Katie’s soccer paraphernalia. After a long hot shower, she plucked the girl from the couch and deposited her into the car along with her laptop for movies and a pile of coloring books and her marker collection. Katie sniffled, then snuggled down on her pillow. Sara sighed. She wasn’t looking forward to the three and a half hour drive up to the Grand Traverse Resort after not sleeping well all week herself. She drove through a coffee shop for a double espresso before getting onto the interstate. It wasn’t until she’d gotten north of Brighton that she noticed her phone had five unread texts.

  One from her brother.

  I’m bringing Maddie up. I hear you’ll be there. Wanna carpool?

  She read the next few texts, two from Lila indicating that her date with the two men had indeed gone very well and that Blake was bringing her daughter, Katie’s teammate and friend Maddie, to the tournament so she and Rob could have some time alone.

  Sara smiled into the darkened car.

  Small world.

  Then she read one from Mateo that made her ears burn.

  I hear you are coming to the tournament. Can we meet tonight? I’ll be in the rooftop bar.

  And then Jack, one she must have missed at the end of their conversation.

  I do love you, you know. Don’t tell anybody. I have my reputation.

  She tossed the phone into the passenger seat, cranked her tunes and sped through the rapidly darkening night.

  * * *

  Jack kept checking his phone, trying not to be pissed that she never responded to his last text, wishing he’d hadn’t sent it, and attempting to concentrate on the crisis du jour. Shannon walked by his open office door, shooting him an inscrutable look before he indicated the phone conversation he was having took priority over her pique.

  The breaking it off thing had not gone as smoothly as he would have hoped. The woman had said some fairly spot-on things about him and Sara, and him in general. But he’d heard it all before. It no longer had any power to hurt. Not that he didn’t feel shitty about her. He did. He’d tried not to mislead her about his intentions and where his head was when it came to her and Sara. But he’d obviously failed.

  He shut the door, and finished the discussion-slash-argument with a fellow broker manager about a stolen listing, then hung up, digging his knuckles into his eyes. He’d give anything to be driving them up to that tournament right now. He had a standing upgrade at that resort and could get them a condo.

  But he’d promised Mo to help her out this weekend. He grabbed his phone and keys and headed for the door as his phone rang again.

  “Hey babe. What’s up?”

  Mo sounded chipper for a change, more like her old self.

  “I rescheduled my spa weekend. I think I’ll tak
e the kids out to Brandis’s parents’ place on Zukey Lake instead. You’re invited, if you want to come.”

  “Why? Didn’t you want the pampering thing? Kids and I had our whole weekend planned down to the pancakes and ice cream for breakfast.”

  “No. I’m good. Another time.”

  “Well, alright but let me know if you change…”

  “I won’t. Go up to Katie’s tournament.”

  She hung up before he could say another word. Suddenly he wasn’t quite so exhausted as he raced home to pack.

  * * *

  He rolled into the resort around ten p.m. The lobby teemed with squealing soccer players and their mostly drunk parents. He got his condo upgrade, stashed his stuff in it, then returned and headed up to the rooftop bar. He caught sight of Blake across the huge space, sitting at the bar with a couple of the dads.

  He shook Sara’s brother’s hand. “What are we drinking?”

  After about thirty minutes of chitchat and beer, he surmised that Lila had auditioned for the role of surrogate mom and had passed with flying colors. Jack smirked. He figured it wouldn’t be long before Freitag worked a female into their mix. Blake certainly wouldn’t complain. Could get interesting.

  “Hey, where’s Sara?”

  Blake shrugged. “In the spa I think.” He finished his beer and glanced at his phone. “Girls are back from the pool,” he said. I’m feeding Maddie and Katie in our room while Sara gets a massage. She has pool and dinner duty tomorrow night.” He shook hands with Jack and made his farewells to the other parents. “Want me to tell Katie you’re here?”

  “I told her I was coming, that it was surprise for Sara.”

  “Ah, okay then.” Blake paused. “You guys are…”

  “Working it out, I think. I hope.” He held up his glass. “With your blessings?”

  Blake smiled and slapped his shoulder. “I can’t think of anything better. It’s been a long time coming. But would you mind picking up the pace a little? My money’s on a beach wedding inside of six months and I hate to lose a bet.”

  Jack ordered another beer and talked soccer, real estate, and other generalities with the growing group of parents around the bar. One of the dads bought a round of Irish whiskey. Jack reciprocated. The crowd got bigger, and louder.

  He found himself with a fresh beer in front of him and sitting next to one of the moms. Confused, on a direct path and do-not-pass-go to shitfaced, he looked down and saw the mom’s hand on his thigh. Way high up in fact. He shook his head to try and clear it then turned to see whose hand it was so he could remove it and go find Sara.

  Sara. Where the hell was she? He’d never known her to pass on an impromptu event like this.

  The woman, he thought her name was Denise or maybe Danielle, was way too close for comfort. Her hand slid even further up his leg, came into direct contact with his crotch. He flinched. He’d had too much to drink, god damn it. The bar noises seemed to ramp up, filling his ears with laughter, too-loud conversations, the occasional drunken, female screech.

  “Okay, all right, easy does it,” he said, chuckling and attempting to extract himself from the woman’s clutches. She was one of those way-too-thin types, with a boob job, if he wasn’t mistake and he rarely was. He felt the horny vibes rolling off her in waves. He pried her hand off his zipper, put it back in her lap, patted it and smiled. “Flattered, but no thanks.”

  She pouted, her collagen-injected lips mesmerizing him in a way that reminded him he had consumed way too much brown liquor for his own good. “Can I buy you a drink?” were the word on his own lips, ever eager not to insult anyone for an honest attempt at drunken, on-the-road seduction. He smiled at the woman’s fake tits and was raising his hand to get the bartender’s attention when he realized she was all up in his personal space bubble, her hand was planted on his thigh, and her lips were on his.

  He tasted the booze first, with a back-whiff of something sickly sweet, and cigarettes. Before he could get his alcohol-soaked nerves to react, the damn woman had her tongue in his mouth. He put his hands on her shoulders and gave a firm push, disconnecting their lips with a sound that made him slightly nauseated.

  “Come on, Jack,” she said, her voice loud to be heard over the obnoxious ruckus of the bar. “You’ve been staring at me all night.” She shifted, arching her back to ensure he didn’t miss the significance of her cleavage. “No one’s watching.”

  She licked her lips at the same minute she touched his trouser-covered dick, which remained at parade rest, something he could thank the booze for, not to mention he was no more turned on by this predatory female than he would be a car full of scary clowns.

  “Like I said,” he insisted, plucking her hand off him once again, trying not to raise his voice. “Flattered. But no.” He glanced around, motioned for the bartender and asked for a huge glass of water. The guy brought it and he downed half in a few long gulps, only half aware that Denise/Danielle was sitting too close to him.

  He finished the water, signaled for more, knowing at this stage it was only a way to fend off a hangover. “Have you seen Sara,” he asked the walking boob job next to him.

  She turned away and faced the bar, her thigh still touching his, her red-nailed hand wrapped around a truly disgusting-looking green drink in a martini glass which would account for the sickly-sweet taste on her lips earlier. “I don’t know. Maybe check in the coach’s room?” She glanced over her shoulder at him, her face a mask of disgust or maybe it was frustration.

  Jack shook off the need to ask her if she was okay even as his brain processed what she’d said. “Um, what?”

  The woman waved a dismissive hand in his face and drained her drink. He blinked, trying to sort out what, exactly, was going on. Jesus, he’d only had two shots of whiskey and three, low-octane beers. He’d turned himself into a lightweight. His head dropped as he focused down on the bar’s top.

  “Don’t be sad, Jack. You are way too hot to be sitting here all alone.” Denise/Danielle simply wouldn’t give up on him. At one point, he realized one arm was around his shoulder, one rock-hard tit pressed against him, her ever-eager other hand crawling up the inside of his thigh yet again. When he felt her tongue in his ear he stood up, knocking over his half-empty second glass of water in the process.

  “Back off, okay,” he said, holding up a hand and looking around to make sure the now teeming crowd hadn’t noticed.

  Sara. He needed to find Sara.

  “Check in the coach’s room.”

  After wiping off his face, and accepting that his general exhaustion level wasn’t mixing with the liquor sloshing around in his system, he realized that detaching from his eager bar buddy was going to be harder than usual. Woman was persistent, he’d give her credit for that. She was at his side, having made her way over to him in an eye-blink, one arm around his waist, the other resting on his chest, her lips to his ear. “Let’s go, hot stuff. I’ve been waiting to get you alone for a while.”

  I am obviously living out some bizarre hellscape. Something that’s proving a point to me, maybe, he thought, as he pulled her off him with a near-audible sucking noise.

  “Check in the coach’s room.”

  As he was thinking that maybe he fucking well would go do that, if he could get this crazy woman’s tentacles off him, the elevator door out onto the rooftop bar slid open, and more people spilled out of it. Then he saw her. Sara. Leaning against the back of the elevator. Smiling, relieved beyond measure, he glanced over at the woman he’d swear had been put in his path so he could prove something but was taking her karmic responsibility to tempt him too seriously. Her overfull lips were parted in something resembling a smile. She puffed herself up, sticking those impressive, synthetic tits even higher into the air and drawing a fair few male eyeballs around them. Her lollipop of a head—too big for her frame, given its emaciated state—tilted, indicating he should look back toward the elevator.

  Feeling as though he were moving through slowly drying concrete, he turn
ed his head and took a step forward without thinking, only wanting to drag Sara off the elevator and shove her at Denise/Danielle by way of a “this is why I’m not interested in you, so back the hell off.” His gaze landed on her again. She seemed anxious, nervous, something he picked up on as if he were experienced it himself. Worried, he took another step forward when the rest of the elevator emptied, leaving Sara. And Matteo, his daughter’s soccer coach. Standing too close together.

  He took it all in in a split second—too fast, probably, considering the past fifteen minutes of his own life. What he didn’t see—the unhappiness on her face, the tension of her stance, her eyes moving wildly around seeking escape. What he did see—the proximity of their bodies, the dark-haired much younger man’s fit physique in black jeans and a form-fitting white shirt, and the way his face was pressed into Sara’s neck, or maybe her ear.

  He heard a loud roar from somewhere and took the fifty feet or so to the elevator and stepped inside, right in front of her. His ears were full of a scary whooshing noise, blocking the bar’s cacophony as he glanced from her as she quickly disentangled from the smarmy asshole’s arm, to him. He stood like some kind of macho shithead, his stance a clear message of “back off, this one’s mine.”

  Mine.

  Jack shut his eyes and attempted to wrestle his inner mature, twenty-first century, enlightened, the-future-is-female, I’ve-sworn-off-strip-bars, male to the surface. This was not what he thought it was. Shit, if she’d shown up five minutes ago, she would’ve caught him in a clinch not of his choosing. This was, to be sure, some kind of a test. Something to make him prove to himself and to her that he was better than his sexist, double-standard, mostly misogynist upbringing.

  “Jack…,” a newly familiar voice intoned from somewhere behind him.

  His eyes flew open. He stared at Sara as she stared at someone around behind him even as he felt a hand on his arm, tugging him out of the elevator, pulling him to her like some kind of a super magnet. The doors began to close. His arm shot out, blocking them.