Sweat Equity: Stewart Realty, Book Two

by Crowe, Liz

  “It is pretty … coincidental.” She shivered, recalling Rob’s words to her as she always did. That Jack would be the best or worst thing that ever happened to her. Something else had occurred to her these past weeks as they conducted their nightly chat sessions, ending, at her insistence, right before things turned sexy.

  “I wasn’t too much unlike Blake you know.”

  “In what way?”

  “I nearly killed my best friend when I caught him…with my sister.”

  “You caught them having sex?”

  “Well, the afterglow I guess.” He sighed. “I kind of hate it that I’m this…giant asshole that Blake feels like he has to protect you from.”

  She giggled. “Blake feels like he has to protect me from everything. Don’t get too worked up about it.”

  “Me? Worked up? Baby, you don’t know from worked up.”

  “Oh? I kind of think I do. I mean, we were engaged to be a married couple for a hot second.” It hurt her to say it, to even think it. To accept that she’d flown off the handle so prematurely.

  The silence on his end of the line was deafening. And it lasted way too long. She fought the urge to say something, to break it up. The conversational ball was, as they say, in his court.

  “Yeah. We were, weren’t we?”

  She tried to discern what he meant, how he felt. Which was over half their problem—all this attempted mind reading. “What are you thinking right now Jack? Tell me without thinking first.”

  “I’m thinking that I’m an idiot. That I should’ve fought harder. Not let you walk out that day.”

  “Condom discovery day?” She wanted to keep things light, if possible. But she also wanted to keep talking. She flat out adored the sound of his voice. It made her feel the oddest combination of things—sexy, desirable, safe.

  He heaved a sigh. “We giving it a name now? Cute.”

  “You know what I mean.” She paused and chewed her bottom lip. “I’m sorry. I mean, for my part in it. The—”

  “The over-reactionary part? The classic Sara Thornton knee-jerk, yell first ask questions later part?” His voice was soft, but the words made her wince.

  “I guess.”

  “Oh baby, we’re so damn alike. It’s scary nuts.”

  “Isn’t it?” She let the hand she’d kept resting on her belly ease up. Something about his voice was doing the other thing it always did to her—making her horny as hell. But she had to keep things well away from that realm.

  “What are you doing right now, Sara? Tell me without thinking about it.”

  Damn the man. How did he know?

  “I’m touching my nipple, not that it’s any of your damn business.”

  “Oh, it is most definitely my business. Tell me more…”

  “No,” she said, hearing a pout creep into her tone. But she kept touching her nipple, stroking its hard peak despite herself.

  “Yes,” he insisted, his normally low voice dropping deeper, digging into her libido, making her embarrassingly breathless. “Tell me more, Sara.”

  * * *

  “Got a hot date tomorrow night,” he’d told her last night, making her scalp tingle.

  “Oh? With…”

  “Yeah. Some couples dinner party in Detroit. Not my jam, as you well know, but you also know I’ll anything to make you ladies happy.”

  The thought of Jack with that woman as “a couple” had made Sara want to scream and throw things. But she’d told him to move on, hadn’t she? And had she not done the same, at least on a physical level?

  Yes, she had.

  “Well, have fun.”

  He’d stayed silent a moment, letting it gather power between them.

  “I would, if you were with me.”

  “Jack. Stop it. Talk about something else. We were doing so well.”

  “Sorry. I don’t know about you but I need some sleep. Tomorrow night will be a late one for me.” She had to bite her lip not to let a jealous curse fly at that.

  “Suppose so. I have a date, too.” Of course, at that time, she’d figured Craig wouldn’t show. Not after the disappearing act she’d pulled.

  “Nice. Tell surfer boy hello for me.”

  She’d yawned, stretched, and run her hand over her breasts, wishing beyond reason for his touch. “Maybe. ’Night, Jack. Sleep well.”

  “I would, if you were with me.”

  She laughed. “Stop it. ’Night.” She ended the call, a lightness in her soul at his last words.

  “Sara,” Blake snapped his fingers at her. “Hey, where did you go? C’mon, let’s hit it or we’ll be late.” He pulled her to her feet and turned her over to Craig who put a hand on her back to guide her out the door.

  He still hadn’t spoken a single word to her.

  No matter how hard he fought it, Craig knew he’d fallen for her, precaution and self-preservation be damned.

  He watched her one day in the office as she went about her business and suddenly began fantasizing about how he’d ask her to marry him—how he’d solicit her brother’s help planning the most perfect evening because he knew Blake liked him and he’d figured out that was key.

  The small voice of doubt that would raise its hand to be heard at times, especially those times when Craig found himself flat out gloating over Jack Gordon’s loss, he forced down beneath his desire for her.

  When she’d glanced over at him and smiled, breaking his reverie, he’d had to shake himself to banish the image of Jack watching them. Fantasies of that asshole having to observe while he made love to Sara, powerless to change how she felt drove him a lot lately. Which was exactly what he knew she didn’t want.

  After the night she’d left without warning or a decent explanation he’d nearly given up. Something held her back, kept her at arm’s length. Maybe it was the friend thing. Maybe he’d read too much into it too soon. He sighed as they exited The Ark, Ann Arbor’s funky, indie music venue, after a concert.

  “Let’s get a beer. I want to go over to Big House Brewing. I haven’t been and I heard—” She squeezed his hand suddenly and gave him a significant look. “What?”

  “It’s okay.” Blake gave her a one-armed hug, shot the tall blonde man with him a complicated look, and walked away, leaving Rob to follow.

  “Sorry. What did I say?”

  “Suzanne Baxter, one of the owners there, was Blake’s last girlfriend, I guess you could say.” She shrugged and took his hand. “I’m glad you came tonight.”

  He smiled and put an arm around her shoulder. “You are a high-maintenance bitch. But I wouldn’t have missed this concert for anything.”

  She punched his side, and then wound an arm around his waist. “Yeah. I’ll cop to that that accusation. Let’s get that beer. I’ll buy.”

  “Damn straight you will, walking out on me, leaving me in my cold, lonely bed. Jeez. I felt like a de-flowered prom date.”

  She laughed, seemingly relieved to have things back on an even, friendly keel once more with him. “C’mon, I can drive.”

  By the time they reached the Big House Brewing Company’s Tap Room, it was almost full, but they found a seat at the crowded bar and ordered a couple of the stouts that had made the company regionally famous. The silence between them turned awkward and he let it linger. As he sipped, his gaze lit on a slight, redheaded woman making her way through the crowd, laughing and chatting.

  “That’s Suzanne,” Sara whispered. Craig kept watching as she worked the room. “She dumped Blake, telling him he was too young to handle… what she’d been through. It’s a long story. But it broke his heart, I tell you. He was a total wreck. Within a month, he’d met Rob and fell even harder so maybe it was meant to be. Who could know? Fate. It’s a bitch.” She finished her pint and raised her hand for another.

  Craig studied the attractive, petite, redheaded woman. At one point, she looked up and met his gaze, which made him blush and turn away. To his shock and slight dismay, a few minutes later, the woman was beside them with a hand o
n Sara’s shoulder and a genuine smile on her face. “Sara? How are you?”

  Sara returned her grin, stood, and hugged her. “I’m okay, Suze, thanks. This is Craig Robinson, a friend and fellow Realtor at Stewart.” He shook her hand.

  “Great to meet you.” The woman’s brown-eyed gaze held him a second, making the spit dry up in his mouth. He swallowed hard when she smiled, then focused on his date. “Hey, um, Sara, can I talk to you a sec?”

  “Not if it’s about Jack you can’t.”

  Craig stared at the petite woman frowning at Sara.

  How in the hell did she know anything about this?

  “Sorry, Craig.” His skin buzzed when Suzanne put a hand on his arm. “Small town. Too many connections. Anyway…” She gave Sara a look. “We’ll talk later, okay?”

  Anxiety filled Sara’s eyes as she repeated, “Not if it’s about Jack. That subject is closed.”

  Suzanne laughed and held up a hand. “All right, sorry. Just trying to—”

  “Don’t.” Sara stared straight ahead.

  Craig smiled at Suzanne and shrugged. “Caught in the middle, that’s us, apparently.”

  She put an arm around his shoulders, startling him, but he went with it. “Don’t know if that’s a safe place between those two.” She gave him a squeeze and backed away. Her look was inscrutable. He had a sudden urge to keep her around, chatting, to let Sara sit in her stew of indecision. But Suzanne patted his arm, winked, and moved back into the crowd. He stared after her a minute.

  Damn. That was strange.

  He turned and focused back on Sara. But the eyes of the lovely redhead stayed in his mind long after.

  Chapter Eleven

  Blake stared out of the car window, tapping his fingers on his knee as Rob maneuvered through the crowded Ann Arbor streets. He put a hand on his lover’s thigh at one point, as they neared their small house on the west side. Rob parked, stared at the windshield, then looked over at him in a way that turned his blood cold.

  “I can’t do this anymore, Blake.” He kept a death grip on the steering wheel.

  “Do what anymore?” Blake put his palm over Rob’s white knuckles but the other man didn’t move. “Rob?”

  “You’re still not over Suzanne. Sara’s miserable. My friend Jack, whom you despise, is equally unhappy. This is a mess and you won’t acknowledge your part in it. I…I need some space.”

  Blake kept staring at him, willing him to look back. He finally did and Blake blinked at the anger in his lover’s eyes. “Really?”

  Rob turned back to face forward, let go of the wheel, and climbed out of the car without another word. Blake clambered out and ran around the front of the thing to get to him, terror gripping his heart. Clutching Rob’s biceps he pressed him back against the SUV’s side.

  “Really?” he repeated, his jaw clenched. Rob stared at him a minute. Blake started to say something, anything, to beg the man not to go. To take back what he said about needing space. But Rob’s lips cut him off. The kiss tasted hard, desperate, which nearly made Blake come apart at the seams—the very seams he believed the man kissing him right now had sewn back together.

  They parted, breathing hard. Blake smiled at him but Rob’s next words froze him in place. “I’m moving out. Just for a while.” He put a hand against Blake’s jaw. “I love you, you stupid, stubborn man. But you have to get your head straight.”

  “Rob, Jesus, we’ve been through this. I’m leaving Sara alone. Just like you asked me to. I was even nice with Jack the other night.”

  “I am done sharing my bed with Suzanne.” Rob grabbed the back of his neck, pulled him close again, so close he could smell the kitchen on him. So close, he could taste him again. He took a breath. “Oh, hell,” Rob groaned and slanted his mouth over Blake’s, smothering him with need, want, and something unnamed. Something Blake obviously could not provide.

  Blake caressed the back of his lover’s neck, and then broke the kiss and leaning his forehead against Rob’s. “I love you, Rob Freitag. I’m sorry I’ve been such a shit lately. Please don’t leave me. Not even for a minute. Okay?” His heart pounded in his ears and he increased his grip on Rob’s neck, tugging at the man’s hair.

  “Open your eyes.” Rob’s voice was low, ominous. Blake did. “We rushed into this. We have a lot in common and have made a huge success of the business, but you’re going in a direction that I don’t want. I know you. I know you still obsess over her. And I told you I am fucking finished sharing you with her.”

  He disentangled himself from Blake’s embrace and walked toward the front steps, leaving Blake gripping air and then the car window in an effort not to scream in frustration.

  When he reached the front door, the tall, blonde man turned to face Blake, who remained hanging onto the car for dear life. He couldn’t lose Rob. He had to fix this. Now.

  “Come on inside. Let’s talk more. I’m sorry. It was a shit day. I’m tired and I need a drink.”

  So relieved he almost passed out, Blake took a breath and pushed himself up off the still warm metal, willing to take responsibility for his part of this. “You’re right.” He barely heard his own voice. The last months of Sara’s drama with Gordon, plus Suzanne’s coincidental insertion back into his life as a result had thrown him. Memories of her had returned, with a vengeance.

  Rob walked back to the top of the porch steps. “I know I am. Now come on in. Let’s talk a little more.”

  * * *

  Jack gritted his teeth and drove into the night, making his way into the interior of Detroit, to a tall, nondescript building that housed one of the most exclusive BDSM clubs in the Midwest. The woman sitting next to him kept babbling about something, he’d stopped listening several miles ago.

  He’d made it home that day, exhausted, wanting nothing more than a shower and a nap, preferably one with his ex-fiancée, and found Heather, in full French maid costume, a four-course meal spread out on the dining room table.

  He’d made the best of it. He did love great food and Heather was an amazing cook. In the middle of screwing her, he recalled thinking he’d have to hire a cook after he and Sara got married as neither of them darkened the kitchen door beyond making coffee and toast. But they weren’t getting married and he’d let this tall, angular, acerbic woman re-attach herself to him like a barnacle.

  Why?

  Because he couldn’t be alone? Needed some sort of female justification for his existence? Couldn’t go more than a few days without getting laid?

  And just like that, Sara was back in his mind, and his heart, making both his head and his chest ache like a son-of-a-bitch.

  Christ, this was a huge mistake.

  Evan and Julie kept up their conversational end from the back seat, in between Heather’s constant stream of bullshit. He glanced at her. She certainly looked the part, in a leather bustier, garters, and long black leather coat plus knee-high boots. Her coal black curtain of hair shone and her dark eyes sparkled when they caught his. He smiled, tried to muster a semblance of desire for what lay ahead.

  He failed.

  Dressed in one of his best suits, French cuffed shirt and tie, he looked the part, too. But the whole thing reeked of desperation. He didn’t want this. He was done with this so-called lifestyle. He wanted to drop Evan and Julie, wish them well, take Heather back to her apartment and drop her off for good. He even went as far in his mind as driving to Sara’s condo and swooping her back into his arms and life. Heather grabbed his thigh, making him grunt in surprise. He glanced at her.

  “Have you been drinking?” he asked.

  “Uh, maybe a little but—”

  “I told you not to. Alcohol brings too much potential for danger at these places—the real ones, anyway.”

  “I didn’t pack a flask, for God’s sake.” She crossed her arms and pouted.

  He looked in the rearview mirror and caught his friend’s eye. He and Evan had been popular at this particular club years ago, before Jack had given up the lifestyle and he
aded into a long series of affairs, fucking and dumping more women than he cared to remember, trying to get the bitter taste of failure out of his system. He used to get off on the scene. But after a while, it felt too empty, sad, and pitiful when he’d leave for home alone, yet again, body sated, heart and mind scrabbling around for emotional purchase.

  Evan and Julie were a well-established couple now, but still liked to participate, getting off on the exhibitionism of places like The Suite. He understood that about his friends and admired them for it. He turned down a well-remembered side street and waited in a short line of expensive cars for the valet.

  This whole thing felt wrong, but he’d told Heather he’d bring her, this woman who now occupied his bed. Unable to stop thinking of the way he and Sara chatted every night, how he needed that simple conversational connection more than anything, he glanced at his watch. Nearly eleven. About the time they usually started talking, or at least had for the past few weeks.

  He would’ve given his left nut to be doing that right now, listening to the slightly breathy sound of her laugh, to her tiny lisp, instead of going anywhere near this scene with the woman seated next to him. He’d found himself eagerly anticipating their talks, which kept them at a necessary distance, about everything real estate, Ann Arbor, or otherwise gossip related. He loved regaling her with the various frustrations around getting his building done. And he adored hearing her voice. Full stop.

  Before he knew it, they were at the door. He got out, handed keys to the valet and got into the elevator with his date and his friends. Heather clutched his arm, practically jumping up and down in anticipation. Evan shot him a sympathetic look. He shrugged, put a hand in his pocket, and attempted to close off his mind, to sink into something he used to experience when he’d come here. But it continued to elude him.

  When the elevator doors slid open, revealing a deep red and black, once familiar lobby his throat closed up in panic. He followed his friends out, straight into the dark heart of a world he thought he’d left behind forever. Taking a deep breath, he smiled and greeted the owner, letting the sights, sounds, and smells permeate his psyche and bring out the part of his personality that he had kept under wraps, let loose for a while with Sara, and then wrestled back into place once again.