Sweat Equity: Stewart Realty, Book Two

by Crowe, Liz

  Escape.

  Shoving aside the tent flap she stumbled out into the bright, October sunshine then dropped into one of the chairs nearby, putting her head on a table. Her heart would not stop pounding. Finally, she sat up, convinced she might live through the next few minutes, when her eyes landed on a pair of folded hands boasting a French manicure. She sighed and met Heather’s eyes.

  “I know you’re talking to him every night,” the woman said.

  Sara stared, unable to process how completely insane her life had become. Heather took her silence for agreement.

  “He is with me now. Do you understand? You had your chance and you blew it.” Heather stood, wobbled, and nearly fell. Sara watched as if from a long way away when the crazy bitch pointed a finger at her. “He’s mine. He may talk to you every night but he’s in my bed, every night.” The woman gripped the back of the chair for balance as the level of her voice grew. “He tells you things he doesn’t mean. You can’t trust him. He doesn’t miss you. He has me!” The last was loud enough to silence the small knot of people sitting at a nearby table.

  Sara closed her eyes, unwilling to engage on any level as her chest tightened and her ears started ringing. She started at the touch of a hand on her shoulder. Looking up into Craig’s dark eyes, she realized he’d been standing there and heard everything. She stood and nearly got bowled over by the man himself, rushing out of the tent opening.

  “Can’t you control her?” She glared at him as he gripped Heather’s arm and led her away without a word. She slumped back into the chair. Pure, raw, jealous energy thrummed through her entire body.

  Recognizing it is half the battle, eh, Sara?

  She groaned and put her head back down.

  Don’t do it. Don’t give in to it. You don’t need either of these men. Walk away and find your own way through it.

  The words her mother had said had worn a groove in her brain. “It’s love, Sara.” She watched Jack’s broad back as he walked away from her and tried to quell the sudden bout of shivering that enveloped her.

  Craig sat, put a hand on her shoulder, then removed it. Images of her, of them together, swirled around in his brain, but the sudden new image of the petite redheaded woman intervened, making him grit his teeth. “You’re right.” He said to Sara’s bowed head.

  “About what?” Her voice was muffled.

  “We can’t do this anymore.” He stood, heart heavy. “I love you, Sara.” She sniffled, looked up at him.

  “No, what you love is the concept of me, not being with Jack. There’s a difference.”

  He frowned, anger crowding out the absolute truth of her words clanging around his psyche. “Don’t tell me how I feel.” He hauled her to her feet and pressed his lips to hers. She responded at first, molding her body to his, making small sounds in her throat that ramped up his determination even further.

  The sound of a whistle broke the moment. “Get a room, kids!” someone yelled.

  She gasped as he gripped her face in his palms.

  “I do love you, Sara, and it’s killing me seeing you like this but—” He looked up, unsure how he felt since thoughts of Suzanne had begun to invade his thoughts more and more. It was as if fate and slipped her into his line of sight on purpose and he reached for it, grateful for the distraction from this sick obsession with Sara Thornton.

  She shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “Go. Leave me alone. I mean it, Craig.” She yanked herself out of his arms. “I can’t do this anymore and I won’t. It was a mistake, you and me. I, oh hell, I used you, used you, do you understand? I’m still using you and it’s not fair.” She clutched his arm. “You deserve better than me.” He stared at her, resentment taking a firm foothold in his gut, but he knew he’d been complicit in the whole thing.

  “To be fair, I knew you were doing it. And I let you. Friends with benefits. Christ. Guess I’m not cut out for that.” He shrugged out of her grip and took a step back. Running a hand through his hair he caught a glimpse of Suzanne, still standing with Blake, their heads together in some kind of earnest conversation.

  A thrill of something he’d later identify as lust went through him at the sight of her but he repressed it, refocused on Sara. “You’re right, like I said. We can’t do this anymore. I’m falling for you. And you will never love anyone but Jack.” He sighed and shrugged.

  She sat back down. “I’m a mess. Seriously, Craig, let’s just cool it, okay? I need space to think, figure out what the hell it is I really want.”

  He took a breath, forcing away the intense urge to hold her, kiss her, to make it better. She smiled at him, nearly melting every bit of resolve in him. “You do deserve better.” She put a hand to his face.

  He moved out of her reach, lest he do something stupid. “Okay. Fine.” Frustration surged through him like a wave, making his throat ache. “I’m going home.” The band around his chest tightened when he got another glimpse of her deep green eyes, haunted and hurt. He’d be damned if he’d let that asshole do this to her. But, he had tried, and she still didn’t want him. She still wanted the asshole.

  Craig watched as she disappeared over a hill of the golf course where thousands of tailgaters made merry, sighed, and ducked back inside. His heart ached as he caught Suzanne’s eye. She leaned on The Local’s bar. Blake was nowhere in sight.

  * * *

  “I’m sorry, honey. Please don’t make me leave.” Heather kept her death grip on Jack’s arm even as he waited for the Lyft ride he’d called.

  Jack bit back the urge to say something truly asshole-ish. He’d done this. He’d encouraged her in order to try and exorcise Sara from his head and heart. But it hadn’t worked. It was up to him to end it properly. “Get in the car, Heather. I’m paying. Go home and sleep it off. I’m going to the game. Afterward, I want you to come over and clear your stuff out of my house. We’re done. We never really started and I think you know that.”

  She jerked out of his grip, stumbled, and then righted herself. Jack kept a hand on the taxi door. His head had never been clearer. Heather turned to him, her face set and eyes wild.

  “You don’t love her, you know. You just want what you can’t have. She knows that. She’s playing you like a goddamned violin. Don’t you get it?”

  He kept his face neutral. “You’re drunk. Again. You and I are through. Now please get in the car.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Jaaaaack.” Her lips captured his but he turned away, pulling her arms off him, disgusted with himself for using her like the asshole Blake Thornton accused him of being. “Honey, I’m sorry.”

  “Heather, I’m done. Get in the car.” She sniffled, slid into the back seat, tugging him down with her. He knelt by the open window.

  “You won’t be happy with her, Jack. You’re too much alike. You and me, we’re better.” She clutched his hand, tears streaming down her face. “I get you. She never will. Don’t kid yourself.”

  He jumped up, avoiding the closing window just in time. He shoved his hands in his pockets and watched the yellow car weave into the increasing traffic around Michigan Stadium.

  Heart light, head clear and laser focused, he turned and headed back toward the tent.

  Taking long strides, he calmed his breathing, trying to figure out what he could possibly say any differently to Sara than what he already had, but determined to try something.

  By the time he got back to the tent, it had cleared as people made their way into the game. Sara was nowhere in sight. He grabbed a bottle of water and drained it, patted the inside pocket where he’d stashed his flask, and made his way through the nearly one hundred thousand people headed into the stadium. Figuring the distraction of a decent football game and the bourbon he’d packed would help.

  He found his seat in the middle of a bunch of fellow Realtors, laughed, joked, and tried like hell not to stare around for her. The bourbon warmed him as the afternoon cooled and the teams took the field. A sudden flurry of activity toward the aisle ma
de him look and come face to face with her as she made her way down the row, apologizing along the way, only to plant herself right next to him.

  He handed her the flask. She took it and helped herself to a healthy slug without a word. “You’re welcome,” he muttered, forcing himself to keep his eyes on the field for a while. The crowd around them cheered as Michigan drew the first blood, scoring on their first drive. He took the usual rash of shit from everyone around him and then leaned into Sara’s ear. She sat stock still, staring straight ahead.

  “Earth to Sara.”

  She glared at him, but he kept his gaze neutral. She softened and slumped against him, so he put a friendly arm around her shoulders. The sensation of her leaning into him felt more perfect than anything on the planet.

  The crowd around them got more raucous and they laughed and chatted with colleagues and friends. At one point, he caught her staring at him. He glanced at his phone and noted what had to be the millionth text from Heather.

  “Is this us, on a date?” She grinned and whispered in his ear. He realized the bourbon had loosened her up as he took the last sip just before halftime.

  “Oh God, no. Not us.”

  She put a hand on his thigh, making his skin prickle in anticipation. He plucked it off, and put it back on her lap. “Don’t.” He smiled at her and in some perverse way got a thrill of satisfaction at the frustration that passed over her face.

  “I thought we were sort of communicating, you know, lately.” Her voice took on an icy edge.

  “Yeah, maybe, but I’ve got a huge fucking mess to deal with tonight, dislodging Heather from my place. Sorry. I’m distracted.”

  “Fine.”

  Her hand made its way back to his thigh as the game got exciting and when Michigan made a dramatic touchdown in the final seconds she leapt up and hugged him in her excitement. The feel of her in his arms nearly made him keel over with a sudden surge of possessiveness. That fucking kid had been dipping into this, he knew it. He had to grit his teeth as jealousy coursed through his veins.

  As they made their way out, joining the throngs at the corner of Main and Stadium, she tucked a hand into the crook of his elbow. Using every particle of self-control he had, he moved away from her. She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, ignoring the curses of the crowd forced to move around the two of them.

  “You’re seriously gonna stand there and tell me you didn’t enjoy that? I mean, it was fun. I thought—” She stared at him but he held his tongue. She set her shoulders and crossed her arms. “Well, do you want to walk back to my place?”

  The look on her face made his body clench with intention. He clamped down on it. He did need to sort the thing out with Heather. Sara needed to sort out some shit in her own head. He turned to her once they were clear of the crowd on the sidewalk. “As tempting as that is, I have to say no.” It took all he had but he kept his distance. “I don’t share and I won’t ask you to. I need to clear things with Heather. And you…” Unable to resist, he tucked a thick curl of her hair back behind her ear. “You need to figure out what you really want.”

  “What I really want is for you to come home with me, Jack. What part of that don’t you get?”

  He grinned and brushed her lips with his, then leaned into her ear, taking a deep breath of her scent. “The part where you still have the dashing hero, Mr. Robinson, in your life.” He walked away, hands in his pocket, heart in his throat before she could say anything else.

  Sara watched him go, her entire body thrumming with residual energy and quickly fading happiness. As the reality stole over her—that he’d told her essentially to let go of Craig, to choose one of them or the other—sunk in.

  He was right of course. Plus he’d told her he was ending things with Heather.

  She grabbed her phone and dashed off a text, telling Val to meet her at Café Luis downtown for a martini, then headed in the opposite direction from her condo, diving back into the teeming hordes of football fans exiting Michigan Stadium.

  Fuck him and his ultimatum. She’d do this thing on her own terms, not at his command.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Okay Sara Jane, let’s call for a Lyft ride home,” Val insisted through veil of booze.

  “But I want…” Sara signaled the cute waiter who’d slipped his number to her on a napkin.

  “Nope, no more. Let’s go.” She focused briefly on her friend. The room spun then stopped as she attempted to look soberer than she actually was. Val stuck her in the backseat of a ride share car, then crouched down by the open door as Sara tried not to gag at the old cigarette and cheap leather smells. “Sara, you’ve got to get this thing figured out.”

  She nodded and let a tear slip down her cheek.

  Val patted her leg. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Do you want me to let Jack know you’re okay?”

  “No!” Sara glared at her, trying to focus on her friend’s face. “I’m fine. I don’t need babysitters. I mean, sorry, I don’t mean to be such a bitch. Don’t tell him anything. I’ll be fine.” Val shut the door and Sara closed her eyes, opening them when the car stopped in front of her condo.

  After making her wobbly way up the sidewalk, she nearly stumbled over something on the front steps. She glared at the masculine hand on her arm, keeping her upright. “What the hell?”

  Craig’s face became clear in the darkness, sending a bright shaft of annoyance through her brain. She yanked her arm out of his grip. “I thought you were over me.”

  He took her keys and unlocked the door without a word. She dropped her jacket and scarf on the floor, and then kicked off her shoes before stomping into the kitchen for water, downing two glasses before turning to acknowledge the man’s silent presence behind her.

  “Why are you here?”

  “Just wanted to make sure—”

  She cut him off, as the extreme emotion of the day and the grip of two stiff martinis washed over her, drowning out reason. “Christ, Craig. Why don’t you get a grip? Stop being so fucking… nice all the time.”

  She moved past him, but gasped when he grabbed her arm and pulled her close, his lips hovering over hers.

  “Okay,” he said, simply, then slanted his mouth over hers, shutting out all sensation but for his hands and lips.

  Craig had spent the last weeks in a wash of frustration and anger. As the youngest boy in a houseful of older siblings he’d learned to be quiet, to watch, listen, and learn and not let his emotions lead him. But something had built in him since first encountering Sara, something that felt wild, uncontrollable, possessive, and competitive all at once.

  Not a healthy way to feel about a woman, he knew. The longer he went without actually talking to her the worse it got. It made him antsy, quick tempered, and pretty much miserable. He’d wanted to skip the whole tailgate party altogether but had told her he’d be there.

  When a drunken Heather had broken the news that Sara and Jack had been talking every night, he’d practically gone blind with rage. The exchange he’d had with her after that had simply not been enough. They needed… something. Closure. He’d headed to her place, waited, and now in the face of whatever shit she was slinging, he lost it. Completely and utterly lost it.

  He threaded his fingers in her hair and swept into her mouth with his tongue, pulling her body tight against his. A brilliant beam of need, anger, frustration and something a little scary lit the edges of his vision. The small sound of pleasure that she made egged him on, driving him to say things, do things he never believed himself capable of.

  Her shirt ripped under his hands and he watched it drop to the floor as if seeing it with someone else’s eyes. He felt her fumble with his zipper, sensed her hand on his flesh as he tugged her away from the sink and pressed her up against the kitchen wall.

  “Too nice, huh?” He yanked her jeans and panties down, growling into her neck, biting, sucking. “You think I’m too damn nice?” She groaned as he plunged his fingers into her body, reaching high. Her nipple contracted in h
is mouth, and she lifted her hands over her head, letting him do whatever he wanted, which somehow made him even madder.

  His entire body ached and his head roared, deafening him as her lusty scent enveloped them. She came in a rush, crying out his name. He pulled his fingers out of her and stood, staring at her, trying to sort through the nauseating swirl of emotion in his gut. “Turn around,” he demanded.

  She opened her eyes and stared at him, meeting his anger with her own and then dropped to her knees. She swallowed his dick, cupping his balls in one hand while drawing her other one down his chest. “Oh, Jesus,” he groaned and tilted his hips, bracing his hands on the wall behind her. He let her tease him until the orgasm hovered just out of reach. “Stand up.”

  She wiped her lips and covered his mouth with hers, giving him a taste of himself, before she turned and presented that luscious ass to him. “Do it, then,” she whispered. “I want it.”

  He stopped, ran both hands from her shoulders to her waist, and clutched her hips. He sighed, realizing he’d become something he didn’t like but couldn’t stop now. It felt too good.

  Without warning, preamble, or another word he shifted, and slid into her with a firm thrust of his hips. Keeping one hand on her ass, he reached up and grabbed her hair, tugging her head back as he pounded into her. The amazing clutch of her body and the sounds of her moans brought him back to the edge, made him come up on his tiptoes, and grunt with the exertion of not coming.

  “What are you waiting for? Harder!” She pressed back, meeting his thrusts. He gripped her hair hard, knowing it had to hurt but unable to stop. He saw stars as the climax roared up from his spine and enclosed him in a dark space before exploding behind his eyes. “God! Yes!” His hips kept moving, as she pressed back, pulsing along with him, pulling him ever deeper, toward what he had no idea.

  Finally, when he thought he could speak coherently again, he pulled out and released her hair. The anger roiling through him made him feel brittle, unwilling to talk. She glared at him and walked out, presumably toward her room without a word, leaving him standing there, dressed but for his dick, head pounding.