In addition to working as a cashier supervisor at a department store, she worked three nights a week at a locally-owned hardware store. He’d told her on more than one occasion she didn’t have to put in all that work. The house was paid for, thanks to the insurance policy after Margaret died, he had his retirement, and the odd jobs he worked from time to time. But his daughter was proud, and maybe a little bit ashamed that she hadn’t listened to his warnings and had to move back home after the sperm donor went to jail.
Clive stood and took his dirty World’s Greatest Grandpa mug to the sink.
“What are you doing today while Margie and I are gone?” Chelsea asked.
She had a whole day planned. She was driving across the bridge to Coronado Island where she and Margie would go to the beach, have pizza for lunch, and then she was renting bikes for them to take a self-guided tour. His granddaughter hadn’t stopped talking about their plans since yesterday when Chelsea announced them.
“I’m going next door to take care of a few extra projects for Renee.”
“Oh, that’s nice. I’m glad to see the two of you getting along for a change. Did you charge her regular price or a premium because of her attitude?” she asked with a snicker.
“Actually, I’m not charging her.”
“Oh.”
He could feel his daughter’s gaze on the back of his head as he finished washing the cup. Clive wiped his hands in a towel and faced her. “What?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Chelsea smirked and lifted the coffee mug to her lips.
“I’m just being neighborly.”
“Yeah, like you were neighborly to the couple two doors down the street when you repaired their deck for free…oh, wait, you charged them, didn’t you? Let’s see, you didn’t charge the widow one street over, did you—Mrs. Potter?” Chelsea tapped her chin.
Clive chuckled and shook his head. “You’ve made your point.”
Chelsea stood. “I think it’s nice that you’re dating again.”
“Who said anything about dating?”
“Dad, come on. Don’t pretend this isn’t part of the courtship. We both know you’re not doing all this for her simply out of the goodness of your heart.”
“Maybe I am.”
“Or maybe you want to spend more time with the woman, which is perfectly fine.”
He sighed heavily and scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, maybe.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know…not only am I out of practice, I’m skeptical that a woman like her would give a man like me the time of day.”
“A nice man? A good man? A loyal man? My opinion, she’d be a fool not to.”
“You’re my daughter, you’re supposed to say that.”
“I’m being honest. You’re a great catch, and if for some bizarre reason she doesn’t see it, some other lucky lady will.”
“Doesn’t matter anyway. Based on how she’s treated me since we moved in, I think I’ll take my chances elsewhere.”
“Sure, Dad.”
“I’m serious. She’s not my type.”
“Mmm-hmm. I heard you.” Chelsea kissed his cheek and sauntered from the kitchen.
Clive laughed and shook his head. Okay, fine. Chelsea knew him very well, and yes, he was attracted to Renee. Had been from the minute he saw her, despite their rocky relationship over the past year. He figured he wasn’t her type, and she sure as hell wasn’t his. Not warm enough, not friendly, and always upset.
But if he had his way, he’d get a shot at finding out if all that passionate anger she exuded could be turned into passionate cries of pleasure.
6
She wasn’t trying to impress him. Or was she?
Renee cursed quietly.
Too late now. The scent of a full breakfast filled the house, and Clive would arrive in a few minutes.
Too late to change out of the tight jeans and fitted blouse that showed off what she considered her best assets—her breasts—and she’d already sprayed on her favorite perfume.
When the doorbell rang, she jumped, then laughed at her silly nervousness. They were going to eat breakfast and then he’d fix some things around the house. That’s it.
She opened the door and Clive stood outside in a dark pullover and the enticing fragrance of aftershave. Whatever it was, the scent fit the type of man he was—one who was rugged and worked with his hands.
“Smells good in here,” he said, stepping across the threshold and setting down his toolbox.
Have mercy, why was a toolbox so sexy? Was she really that hard up for male attention?
“It should. I’ve been working hard all morning on the food.”
“I’m flattered,” he said in his warm voice, casting a quick look over her figure and making her skin tingle. The brief spark in his eyes let her know he liked what he saw.
Now that her friends had put the idea of sleeping with him in her mind, she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Clive looked like the kind of man who knew his way around a woman’s body, and keeping his woman satisfied was not only a task that stroked his ego, it was a task he relished.
“Where’s your helper?” Renee asked.
“Chelsea doesn’t work on Saturdays, so she took Margie over to Coronado Island. She works so much during the week, she tries to do something once a week where the two of them get to spend quality time together. Margie loves it.”
“I can imagine. Well, follow me.” She hadn’t expected to be alone with Clive, which made her even more aware of him and her attraction to him.
She led the way into the dining room and wondered if he was watching her ass. Her ass did look spectacular in these jeans. That’s why she’d chosen them.
When he saw the spread, he stopped in the doorway. “Damn. When you said bring your appetite, you weren’t kidding. Is all of this for the two of us?”
The two of us. Why did having him say those words cause her to feel a little breathless?
Renee rested her hands on her hips and shot him a haughty look. “You didn’t bring your helper today, so yes, it’s for the two of us. I know I only said eggs and toast, but I prepared a little bit extra in case you were very hungry.”
“I do have a big appetite,” he said, looking at her instead of the food.
Renee blushed, her entire body warming under his intense green gaze as she waved him toward one end of the table. “Have a seat.”
Clive sat down and examined the choices.
“There’s plenty, so don’t be shy. And then you have to tell me how great those eggs are.”
“You already know they’re great?” he asked in an amused voice.
“Of course. Everything I do is great.” Renee sat across from him with a little smile.
Their eyes met for a few seconds, and a bit of tension stretched between them before Renee caught herself and reached for the pitcher of orange juice.
In addition to the bowl of eggs, she set out platters with toast, fruit, waffles, and a fresh pot of coffee along with the pitcher of orange juice. They filled their plates, and Renee sipped her orange juice as she waited for the verdict.
Several minutes passed before Clive looked at her and shook his head. “Mm, mm, mm. These eggs are great, and I do believe these are the best waffles I’ve ever tasted. Even the toast is special, smothered in butter the way I like. You have magic hands, ma’am.”
Renee laughed and then drizzled maple syrup on her waffles. Watching Clive eat was enjoyable, and when he got a second helping and refilled his glass with orange juice, she almost purred. By the way he ate, one would think the poor man hadn’t had a decent home-cooked meal in years. Perhaps he hadn’t, not since his wife died.
At the end of the meal, he patted his stomach. “I’m completely useless now. That was wonderful. Thank you so much.”
“My pleasure. I figured it’s the least I could do.”
“You sure know how to spoil a man.”
His comment took her aback. She didn’t spoi
l people. None of her marriages had lasted very long, and she never had children of her own—or wanted any, for that matter. But her friends were right, there was nothing wrong with male companionship.
Renee dabbed her mouth with a napkin, her mind going in a direction it hadn’t in a long time because she considered men too stressful and they never knew what they wanted—a lesson learned after three failed marriages. Clive, however, might get her to change her mind, assuming he turned out to be a different kind of man.
“How is it that you’re not married?” he asked.
Once again, he stunned her by asking the one question she hated answering. She immediately started closing in on herself and twisted the paper napkin in her lap. She hated that question. People didn’t understand how brutal those words were to a woman with her past.
“Sorry, did I ask the wrong question?”
“No. I mean, yes, in a way. I actually have been married before.” She cleared her throat. “Three times.”
His eyebrows flew higher. “Oh.”
With a pained smile, Renee reached for the orange juice. Now came the judgment. She wished she could banish that question from the vocabulary of everyone she met so she wouldn’t have to answer ever again. She considered her failed marriages a stain in an otherwise successful life.
Her first husband had been an ethics professor. Rather ironic, since he’d lost his job and their marriage ended because of an affair with one of his students. Not having learned her lesson, her second husband had been a professor, too. He taught history and they met at a literary event. In retrospect, she’d moved too fast with him, thinking deep conversations about US history and the country’s role in shaping politics around the world meant they were compatible. They were not. They married quickly, after only six months. The marriage itself lasted a mere three years, though it had been dead long before they signed the divorce papers.
Her third husband was an attorney, and by the time they split, they were barely on speaking terms. They slept in the same bed, but only mumbled a few words here and there throughout the day when they passed each other in the hallway.
With him, she’d tried. Hard. Over and over again to make the marriage work. When he ignored her, she tried harder. She dressed different, cooked his favorite foods, downplayed her own achievements to make him feel better about himself when he lost his job. When he started spending more time with his cars than with her, no matter what she did, she knew the marriage was over.
Renee really put up with some shit from him. But she’d finally come to the realization that if a man didn’t want you, he just didn’t and there wasn’t anything you could do about it. No amount of trying or changing or cooking or cleaning would make him love you if he didn’t.
“Three men managed to snag you but let you go? What are the odds of that?”
She stared at Clive. Had she heard him correctly? There was disbelief, but not condemnation in his voice.
He folded his arms on the table and leaned toward her. “You’re not some black widow, are you?”
She’d definitely never gotten that question before. “Not at all. None of my marriages worked out, that’s all.”
“I hope that you don’t let a few numbskulls change you.” Definitely not the response she’d expected.
“I won’t. I haven’t.”
“Good for you.” He drained his coffee cup. “Guess I better get to work. Can I help you clean up before I get started?”
“Absolutely not. You go ahead, and I’ll take care of the dishes.”
Sitting back in the chair, hands placed firmly on the arm rests, he looked at her oddly then, as if trying to figure her out. “Thank you, Renee.”
“You thanked me already, and you’re welcome. Just being neighborly.”
He flashed a sexy grin. “Being neighborly, huh? I could get used to this.” Seconds ticked by as the words dangled in the air above the table.
She had the same reaction she’d had watching him through the window and when she’d observed him working on the door. Her nipples ached and her loins filled with warmth. Being around Clive Stevenson caused her body to react in ways it hadn’t in a long time.
As soon as she thought of a glib comment, he rose from the chair.
“Better get to work,” he said, keeping his eyes on her.
She observed him over the rim of her coffee cup—his fit body and the way the sleeves capped around his biceps. Loose-fitting jeans hung on his narrow hips, held up by a firm backside.
When he disappeared, she set down the coffee cup and took a deep breath. Clive was certainly making it hard for her to stick to her decision of staying away from men.
7
They were both interested in each other. That was fairly obvious, and not even her three marriages had turned Clive off.
Renee tapped a pen on the arm of the chair in her home office, a space simply furnished with a wood desk and chair, a few bookcases stuffed with books, and awards on the walls from her work in teaching.
Last night she’d spent an inordinate amount of time searching the house for additional projects for him to complete, and he was working on those projects now, after tackling the ceiling fans first. Oddly enough, it was nice to have a man in the house. She’d always moved into her husbands’ homes, leaving this one rented. It was almost paid for at this point, and with minor repairs and a few upgrades over the years, had served her well. She’d at least had a place to come back to when she decided she was finally and truly done with men.
She returned her attention to the computer and went back to work on the novel she was editing. The book was interesting, flowed well, and only had a few minor inconsistencies. It was an easy job and she’d finish it soon—sooner if she stopped mooning over the virile man busy at work in her house.
Angela Washington was a former student and a successful novelist writing historical fiction with characters who pulled at readers’ heartstrings. Though she was published, she never submitted a manuscript without having Renee look at it first. It was an honor to be entrusted with such important work, and Renee didn’t take her influence lightly. While she adored Angela’s writing, she made sure to critique each manuscript with an unbiased eye.
The hours passed quickly. Clive worked fast and efficiently, left to meet his friend for lunch, and then returned to work on the siding and a few other items he’d noticed needed fixing. By the time he called her to examine the completed projects, the sun was going down in the sky and Renee had completed the edit.
She reviewed the outside projects first. She could hardly tell where the boards had been replaced on the outside of the house. Once the paint dried, they’d be invisible. They then went inside and ended in the bedroom, where Clive showed her the second ceiling fan had been installed.
“Wow, you’ve done a great job. Once again, I can’t find a single fault with your work.”
“That’s the way it should be.”
Having him in her bedroom made her feel all tingly again. Her skin practically jumped at his nearness, and there was a definite tightening at the apex of her thighs.
“Now that I know what you can do, I’ll be sure to call you if I need any more work done on the house. And I’ll recommend you to others in the neighborhood.”
“Others in the neighborhood already know all about my skills,” he said with amusement.
“So I’m late to the party?”
“Better late than never,” he murmured, his gaze sweeping her figure.
Were they still talking about handyman work?
“So, about those cookies you wanted.”
He brought his eyes back up to her face. “You bought the chocolate chip cookies?” He sounded very surprised.
“Of course. That was our agreement. But I didn’t buy them. They’re homemade.”
“I assumed this morning’s breakfast was my payment. That’s why I didn’t mention the cookies.”
“Oh no, I pay my debts. Breakfast was me being nice.” Renee started out the
door.
“You being nice to me? I never thought that would ever happen.”
“Careful now, we’re getting along. Don’t spoil the moment.”
Clive’s warm laughter filled her ears and tightened her breasts. Darn it, if she could control her body’s reaction to him, it would make their interaction much easier.
A plastic container of cookies sat on the counter. She opened it and Clive chose one. As he chewed, he groaned a little.
“You made these?” he asked, picking up another cookie.
“I wish. I can’t bake to save my life. I was going to the bakery you mentioned, but one of my best friends loves to bake and whipped up a batch from her own recipe. I helped a little by stirring in the chocolate chips.”
“The chips are the most important part,” Clive said.
“That means I did the most important part?” Renee asked.
“You sure did. I have to be honest, your friend—and you—did a great job. These are really, really good. They might be better than my wife’s.” He shoved another one in his mouth and she preened with delight.
“That’s quite the compliment.”
“I meant it, too. Make sure you tell your friend what I said, and let her know I’d be willing to buy cookies from her.”
“I certainly will.”
Clive leaned his hip against the counter. “So, did you already put in a complaint to the board about my late-night partying, as you put it?”
Renee raised an eyebrow.
“I only ask because I haven’t gotten a warning letter yet.” The entire time he spoke, he had a smile on his face.
His words hit her belly with the power of a punch. “That’s what this is all about?”
His eyebrows snapped together in confusion. “Excuse me?”
“I should have known you weren’t just being nice. You want something, and the something is for me not to file another complaint about you so you can keep breaking the rules. Get your things and get out of my house and leave the damn cookies.”
Seasoned Page 4