High Tide

by Alyson Santos

  I force my attention to something less dangerous. His shirt. No, those young, hard-worked muscles brutalize the thin fabric. His jeans. Even worse, the way his position against the door frame displays a perfect V in the gap above the waistline. Shit. My own iced tea suddenly becomes more interesting.

  “College wasn’t really an option. Louis keeps me too busy anyway.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “Does it matter?”

  My gaze shoots to his again. I’m struck by the flash of gravity before he blinks into a cocky grin. “Besides, I just need to find some rich cougar to take care of me.”

  My mouth drops open, pulse pounding. I’m about to march away in a huff when he laughs.

  “Kidding! God, you should see your face.” His smile fades, and my own heart constricts a little. “Nah, college isn’t…” He clears his throat. “Anyway, this is a great place. Lots of character and history.”

  “Thanks. That’s why I wanted it. Joe always hated the house. Said it was a money pit and needed too much work. He only agreed because of the price.”

  Left extra funds for his mistress, I learned two years later.

  Jace shrugs. “Maybe, but some things are worth the effort.”

  “True. And keeps you and your father in business.” I beam at my un-bungled joke. He seems less amused with a polite smile.

  “Right. What kind of workouts you into?”

  I blister under his direct gaze. It makes no apologies for studying my attire. My uniform has become an oversized tank and partially exposed sports bra draped over yoga pants. It’s easy, comfortable, and more than adequate to impress my cats. All fine until some crazy hot contractor shows up at your door. Now? I guess I would’ve looked ridiculous answering their knock in my non-existent club attire anyway.

  “Just home stuff mostly. I have an elliptical and treadmill in the living room. I like running too. You?”

  He nods. “I like running.”

  “We should go for a run sometime.” Oh my god.

  But he doesn’t look embarrassed for me. Nope, just smiles that tempting half-smirk of validated confidence. “Yeah, maybe.”

  “Jace! You in here?”

  We both twist toward the entrance at the shout.

  “Shit,” Jace mutters, and Louis pulls to a stop when he sees us. His eyes lock on his son with a heat that makes my stomach burn.

  “Outside. Now,” he growls. “Sorry about this, ma’am. It won’t happen again.”

  Jaw hardening, Jace draws his fingers into a fist.

  “I invited him in,” I rush out. My voice sounds as shaky as my nerves.

  “That was nice of you, ma’am, but he knows better. Now!” he barks at the younger man.

  My chest tightens as Jace stalks toward the door. Louis follows, and I can’t help but creep after them, guilt sweeping over me. They barely make it to the porch and close the door before Louis explodes.

  “You want to fuck around with every piece of ass in a skirt, fine! But you don’t mess with my business. You hear me? Keep your dick in your pants when you’re on the clock, got it? That woman is probably twice your age!”

  “We were just—”

  “Please. I know what you were doing. The only thing you’re fucking good at. Go get my shit from the truck and if I ever see you so much as looking at any of my clients again your ass will be on the street. I don’t care what your mother says.”

  I can’t see Jace’s face, only his back as he storms to the truck. I’m about to be sick.

  If sun gods distracted me in the morning, it’s demons that haunt me in the afternoon. For his sake, I don’t dare to approach Jace again. I watch, though. The way his body locks with each rigid movement. The way he keeps a careful distance from the older man. Even through my office window, I feel the heat radiating from him. But he never says a word. Head down, jaw set, he works with a fire in his eyes only rivaled by the blazing afternoon heat. If he runs out of tasks to keep him outside, he sits on the top step of the porch, elbows resting on his knees, staring at something only he can see. My heart hurts at the sweat soaking his shirt, dripping from his longish hair down his temples. Sometimes he leans his forehead on his fists, and I long to know what’s going through his head. While his son waits in the brutal heat, Louis works upstairs.

  At quitting time, Louis does all the talking. His updates are lost on me as I struggle with a face that’s suddenly ugly. There’s nothing I like about him anymore as he rattles on like nothing’s happened.

  Jace is distant. His eyes trace the planks on the porch, the doorframe, anywhere that keeps them safe from a connection with mine. I wish I was as good at that, but my gaze doesn’t miss a thing about him. I thought I’d solved the simple equation of the young Jace Williams. Now, I’m afraid I couldn’t begin to start.

  “Same time tomorrow, Ms. Porter?” Louis asks, his smile passing for courteous.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “Sorry for disturbing you today. It won’t happen again.”

  Jace snaps a glare at Louis, but the man doesn’t acknowledge him.

  “There was no disturbance. I’m nothing but impressed by your son and his work ethic.”

  Is that amusement on the older man’s face? Heat shoots up my neck, flushes my cheeks.

  “Yeah? Most women are. See you tomorrow.”

  Mortified, I try to send Jace an apologetic look but he’s already stalking toward the truck.

  I know what you were doing. The only thing you’re fucking good at.

  Who says something like that? I’ve asked myself that question dozens of times since they left. Forty-two to be exact. While fixing dinner, vacuuming my bedroom, running on the treadmill, feeding Rosie and June. When I jump into the shower, I still don’t have an answer. Those aren’t the words of a father. Not the words anyone should grow up hearing. Our kitchen conversation comes flooding back. The look in Jace’s eyes when I asked about his education. The only thing you’re fucking good at. Is that why he never thought about college? God, it hurts as I picture the way his face fell, the way his body tensed with mortification. Made me want to draw him into my arms and—

  I’m feeling protective, right? Right.

  The water temperature seems to increase on its own as my thoughts take a dangerous detour. Tan skin glistening in the sun. The casual ripple and flex of defined muscle. Aqua eyes that cut deep. Then, brief moments of vulnerability. Depth. Hidden secrets.

  “Jace.”

  His name sounds forbidden on my tongue. I squeeze my eyes shut and turn my face into the water. What is wrong with me? That woman is probably twice your age! Not exactly, I’m sure, but might as well be. As the water streams over me, air comes tighter into my lungs. A fire blazes low in my belly. Hot. Deadly. Too much for me to deny. What if? And suddenly I can’t stop my mind from rewriting the scene in the kitchen.

  “I should get back to work.”

  He places his glass on the counter. Steps toward me. Takes mine.

  The transition is so smooth, so practiced for him. How many women has he had like this? Whenever and however he wants them. No introduction necessary, no formalities, just want and take in the same breath.

  My eyelids slide closed as he presses me against the counter.

  I could say no. Should. I’m not the type who does this. Does what? Gives in to what she wants? Because I want. God, do I want.

  I reach under his shirt for that hard flesh I so admired. Young, vital, virile—the sensation of his skin on my fingers is poetry. When his hardness presses into my hips, a moan rises from my throat.

  Stop! I’m a mature, responsible woman. He’s—never mind, it’s just not right.

  But I’m also melting into need, a desire so strong I don’t remember ever feeling this way. Not even when Joe and I were horny college students trying to distract ourselves from books. No, this is something else. Something primal. Something forbidden.

  By the time his phantom mouth crushes mine, I’m already lost. Fantas
y owns my body, erases all concept of embarrassment.

  I thread my hands in his hair, rocking to the rhythm of his movement until it’s everything I can do to breathe. My leg wraps around his, wrestling to draw him in.

  “Jace…” I breathe. My head falls back with a groan as he works down my neck.

  “You want me, right?” A formality really, because I’m way past want.

  I allow my hands to sample the skin under his shirt again, then latch onto his perfect ass. With a hard tug, I pull him into me at an intoxicating angle.

  “No, just…” I groan, real fingers playing along.

  He rumbles a similar response when I lower the zipper of his jeans. I reach in, claim him in a tight fist. He sucks in a breath at my aggression, surprised, and then grins before taking my mouth again.

  “I knew it. I saw the way you looked at me.” He slips his tongue in my ear, down my neck. “All morning, baby. You’re all I’ve been thinking about.”

  There is no air as his confession explodes through me. I believe him because he’s a young, scalding sex god and that’s all he thinks about. Why else would this be happening? I can’t even hold the attention of Kyle in accounting.

  “Tell me what you want. You’re in control,” he says, voice deep and smooth. That’s a lie, because I’m not. He could rob me blind at the moment, and I’d let him.

  Take my grandmother’s pearls. Just let me lick your chest.

  What the hell?

  Shower water splashes over throbbing veins. Get a grip, Sienna. Get… But I’m too close. Breaths come hard now. Rough gasps. Right there. Just—

  His thumbs slide beneath my bra, graze over sensitive skin. Higher, mimicking the pulse of our bodies. You deserve it, Karen would say. A sexy, illicit rendezvous with a young Adonis.

  So young.

  A car door slams in the distance.

  “Fuck,” my prince grunts, pulling back and resting his forehead on mine. His eyes are closed, his hips still firm against mine, and I feel every inch of the pain he’ll have to endure the rest of the afternoon. I reach down, taking what I can. He lets out a slow groan. “Can I come back tonight?” His eyes penetrate deep, as deep as I want him inside me. Need it.

  No! No no no! What am I doing? You don’t do this!

  Can I even wait until tonight?

  I feel relief more than anything when I nod.

  Relief spreads over his face as well before he leans in for one last hungry kiss while I massage, pull, taste—

  Ahhh…

  “Jace.” I collapse against the glass of the shower, breathing in my painful recovery.

  It’s not hard to avoid Jace’s gaze after what we did in my head last night. God, what is wrong with me? Embarrassment swells back when he nods a greeting and follows his father upstairs. It’s a two-man job in the spare bedroom today, and that insistent burning returns as my body becomes fully aware of his.

  Pathetic, Sienna! Crushing on a child.

  But he’s not a child. In those few brief looks yesterday, I saw something that made me suspect he never really was. After I’d calmed the distracting fireworks in my blood, I’d managed a more rational review of our exchanges. There’s something off about the relationship between my contractor and his son, a power struggle that makes my skin crawl. Watching the teasing, confident smile slip from his face at the intrusion of his father was downright painful. He broke into a different person right before my eyes. Where would Jace be if he’d been allowed to smile like that all the time? To be that person I’d met in my kitchen?

  And suddenly, I have to know. Social etiquette be damned. I need more of the equation.

  Everything in me screams not to do this. Confrontation makes me nauseous. Overstepping bounds—I don’t even approach them. Who am I to get involved in these strangers’ lives? Jace probably hasn’t given me a second thought; Louis is a vendor. Nothing about them is my business except how they handle my second-floor renovation. If only any of those truths were enough to stop my legs from pushing me toward certain humiliation.

  Jace is supporting a sheet of drywall while his father secures it to the studs. They both look over when they sense my presence, and heat rushes into my face.

  “Everything okay?” Louis asks. Jace’s gaze locks on me as well, those haunting eyes even more beautiful than I remember. Defined biceps strain at the weight of the sheetrock. I only allow myself a passing glimpse of the exposed skin above his jeans.

  “Sorry to interrupt. I was wondering if I could borrow Jace for a second to help me move something in the shed.” The suspicion on both their faces? This is why I should never attempt coy.

  “If you give us a few minutes we can both help,” Louis says.

  “Oh no, that won’t be necessary. I hate to set you back. Just one would be fine.”

  “Okay. Well, I’ll be down—”

  “No problem, ma’am. Just give me a second,” Jace interrupts. I don’t miss the hard look they exchange, but Louis doesn’t seem as keen for a fight today.

  “Oh… okay, thanks,” I mumble, fleeing back down the hall.

  I hate games. Hate my pathetic attempts to play even more, but it’s too late. I pulled the trigger and A + B = boom.

  I lead Jace out to the shed when he comes down a few minutes later. Once inside, I back in far enough to allow him safe entry as well. He looks around the cluttered space, probably searching for whatever it is that dragged him from his work.

  So you got him here, genius. Now what?

  “Thanks for coming,” I force out. I add a smile, but it’s probably more awkward than comforting when his attention centers on me.

  “What do you need moved?”

  I swallow, that annoying heat traveling up my neck again. “Nothing actually. Sorry about the deception but I didn’t want to get you in trouble with your father again.”

  His brow lifts with the half-smile that devastated me yesterday. “Okay?”

  No, no! This is going all wrong. My instinctive retreat sends an empty paint can crashing to the floor behind me. I flinch; his gaze scans the evidence on the floor, then back to my face. I clear my throat. “I heard what he said to you yesterday.”

  His stance changes slightly, but if he’s upset, he hides it well. “Sorry you had to hear that. He’s an asshole.”

  “Why do you let him treat you like that?” I cringe when his expression hardens. “Sorry, that came out wrong. What I mean is, you look old enough to be on your own. No one should have to be treated that way.”

  “Thanks, but it’s complicated.”

  “I know it’s scary to take that step—”

  “Look. Sienna, right?” He reaches out and rests a strong, calloused hand on my arm. “I appreciate your concern, but I can handle it, okay?” The glimmer of humor returns.

  “Sorry! I didn’t mean to imply—”

  “And you can stop apologizing for everything.” His smile moves to his eyes. Deadly, that combination. “You’re going to get me in trouble again, so if there’s nothing else I should get back.”

  “I’m sorry. I just…” I shake my head. “Anyway, if you ever want someone to talk to, you know where I live.”

  “Are you inviting me over? First a run, now coffee?”

  “What? No! I didn’t say coffee.“ The flush spreads in full fury this time.

  “You blush a lot.”

  My hands instinctively cover my cheeks. “Yeah, it’s embarrassing, sorry.”

  “Why would you be embarrassed? It’s cute.”

  “Cute? I’m old enough to be your mother.”

  “Doubt it. How old are you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “What? You’ve asked me way more intrusive questions.”

  He’s not wrong.

  “Thirty-eight.” There I go blushing again.

  “Hmm…”

  “How old are you?

  “Twenty-three.”

  “Ugh. You are a baby.”

  “A baby? Wow. Is that what I look like?�
�

  His smirk tells me he knows the answer.

  “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  “Seems like you’re handling that for me.”

  “Pfft.”

  He laughs. “Okay, I should get back. Just… Don’t worry about me.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Good.”

  He pauses, turns back. “Hey. I’ll be rehearsing with my band nearby tonight. Maybe I can stop in and say hi.”

  My pulse races. “I’d like that.”

  “Sweet. It’s a date.”

  At what point does clock-watching shift from responsible to pathetic? I grunt as my eyes swing to the glowing numbers for the hundredth time. Okay, thirty-seven to be exact. Still ridiculous.

  Joe’s voice penetrates deep into my brain. See? You were lucky to have me.

  My mother. Don’t you think it would help to get a little work done on yourself? You’re not exactly supermodel material anymore, Sienna.

  Frustrated, I stalk to the office and fire up my laptop. Charts. Spreadsheets. Reports. That’s where my head needs to be. Safe with numbers. Black and white. No hazy gray promises like maybe I’ll stop by. Secure in the one place I excel.

  I’m good.

  Rosie squawks as she jumps to my lap and curls into a ball. On instinct, my hand finds her warm fur, and the muscles in my shoulders relax.

  “Their cash flow is in big trouble if they don’t negotiate more favorable payment terms with their customers,” I tell my cat. She purrs her agreement. “They’re also going to need a line of credit to finance the growth they want.” Rosie’s on board with that as well, and I open a new document to start outlining my recommendation.

  Thank goodness for numbers.

  FOR MORE

  YOUNG LOVE

  Table of Contents

  High Tide Contents

  Chapter One: List Whores and EU Conventions

  Chapter Two: Siren Songs and Jellyfish Stings

  Chapter Three: Wet Conversations and Caterpillar Frauds

  Chapter Four: Vultures and Shipwrecks

  Chapter Five: Sunset Rendezvous and Sheep Farms