Near To You

by King, Asha

  Near to You

  An erotic novella by

  Asha King

  Published by Phaze Books

  Also by Asha King

  Wild Horses*

  *Forthcoming

  This is an explicit and erotic novel

  intended for the enjoyment

  of adult readers. Please keep

  out of the hands of children.

  www.Phaze.com

  Near to You

  Copyright © 2012 by Asha King

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  Edited by Adrienne Jones

  Cover Art © 2012 by Asha King

  First Edition March 2012

  ISBN-13: 978-1-60659-672-2

  Published by:

  Phaze Books

  An imprint of Mundania Press LLC

  6457 Glenway Ave., #109

  Cincinnati, OH 4521

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher, Mundania Press LLC, 6457 Glenway Ave., #109, Cincinnati, OH 4521, books@mundania.com.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without permission from Mundania Press LLC. Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights and livelihood is appreciated.

  For Aylia. You’re the wind beneath my wings.

  Even though you wouldn’t let me name my hero Gary.

  Huge thanks to my fabulous editor, Adrienne Jones, and to Dan Reitz of Phaze for the opportunity to see my work published.

  Chapter One

  If the weeds weren’t taken care of by today, Niara Morgan was certain the lot of them would rise up in the night, arm themselves, and attack her home.

  They wouldn’t need to do much, either. The house was the fixer-upper even fixer-uppers avoided. New insulation around the windows needed—new windows needed. There was a persistent leak in the upstairs bathroom. She didn’t want to think about the potential flooding in her basement with the house situated this close to the lake. If the weeds laid siege, they’d win by sunset, and too few people lived in the general area to hear her scream.

  But the place was hers—all hers, paid for with the divorce settlement. And at least the weeds would be tackled today.

  If her gardener ever showed up, that is.

  The woman she spoke to at Red Rose Home Help Services said someone would arrive between 8:00 a.m. and 8:30. Her watch said 8:22. She’d sat on the sagging step of her front porch, sipped her coffee, and waited. The drink had long since gone cold, and watery spring sunlight crept over her house, drying dew on the grass.

  She had been watching dew dry. Seriously. How boring was that?

  It would just be her luck, too. Her appointment yesterday with a contractor to look at the inside of the house had postponed and she still didn’t know when he was showing up. Here only a week and already nothing was going smoothly.

  Her cordless phone sat beside her, next to the empty pink coffee mug, and chirped a new call. She was expecting someone from the gardening place to cancel or make up excuses for being behind; instead, a familiar name and number flashed.

  Niara sighed. “Hello?”

  “I guess he’s not yet tilling your garden if you’re answering the phone.”

  She rubbed at her temples. “Hey, Deena.”

  “C’mon, that one was funny.”

  “Once again, I’m not going to sleep with the gardener.”

  A pause, and then genuine confusion. “Why not?”

  “Because, dear, this isn’t a porn flick.”

  “You’re right,” her best friend conceded. “He might be fugly.”

  “And also, I’m not going to have sex with a stranger.”

  “It’s a small town,” Deena said. “And you grew up there. You really think that many new occupants entered the rather stagnant gene pool in the past eight years? I bet you totally know the guy.”

  It was far too early in the morning to be having this conversation. “The only gardener I knew growing up was Mr. Tansey. He was in his fifties.”

  “Maybe he had a son?”

  “Gay and childless.”

  “It’s rather hard to live vicariously through you when you don’t actually live.”

  When “living” had come to mean seducing gardeners like a lonely old married woman, Niara couldn’t say. She rubbed tiredly at her eyes. “Let’s not talk about me. How’s things?”

  “I saw Ron the other day and almost ran him down with my car.”

  Niara smiled wryly, even as her heart thumped a little harder. “He’s not worth the jail time.”

  “True. Plus I think he’s going bald. Definitely has a beer belly. And the way he was moving, I suspect hemorrhoids.”

  None of it was true—Niara had last seen her ex-husband two months ago, randomly bumping into him at the grocery store, which was what set her on a mission to just leave town and start anew. And he’d looked good, even then—good in a way that twisted her gut and pierced her heart. Unlike the movies where so often an ugly person was the bad guy, his smooth exterior and expensive suit hid a lying, cheating, emotionally abusive asshole. Just that brief glimpse, the awkward moment when she’d caught his gaze, sent her out of the store and unable to eat for days, wanting nothing more than to hide out from the world as every insecurity he’d carved in her flared to life again.

  “You okay, Nia?” Deena said softly.

  She shivered, shut her eyes, and drummed her fingers on her temple. “Yeah. Just picturing him with syphilis.”

  “I do that sometimes too.” Deena sighed dreamily and Niara chuckled. “So. Gardener—when’s he coming?”

  Possibly never. She avoided checking the time again—it would just depress her—and kept her eyes closed, away from the rising sun and the bright green grass and this whole new life that threatened to overwhelm her. “I don’t know. I’ll start pulling weeds myself soon if he doesn’t show.”

  ****

  Brady Trewin had cut his van’s engine ten minutes ago, but hadn’t left the vehicle.

  Instead he remained behind the wheel and stared at the small, dilapidated house on the water, through the wild trees and bushes that surrounded the property.

  Niara Morgan. Jesus Christ.

  His heart accelerated the more he stared, the more he thought, a swell of memories rising up to drag him back.

  She’d left town right after high school, eight years ago this June. He knew because he remembered the last time he saw her, right after graduation. He swore this was it—he’d ask her out. Finally. He’d prepared a speech or two so he didn’t sound like a dork and spill everything he’d thought during his four year crush on her. But that entire day, she’d never left the confine of her friends. A week later, feeling an adrenalin high after a long bike ride through the country, he’d
shown up at her house, knocked on the door, ready to say everything then.

  Gone. Gone, her uncle said—gone from their small, redneck town for the city, and not planning to come back. And now here she was.

  The day before he was leaving.

  He’d hardly believed it when Cynthia said one Niara Morgan had called looking to hire help for her new house. A joke, he figured—something one of his asshole friends set up, thinking to be funny. His goddamn bags were packed, apartment closed up. He wasn’t even supposed to be working this weekend—he was set to take off in the van, drive across the country, and see where he ended up. Years, he’d been drifting along, saving, no clue in the world what to do with his life, but just knowing he had to leave. Maybe find work out west, maybe just travel for a while. He’d miss his sister but she had her own family, and their dad...he just hadn’t been the same for the past two years. There wasn’t anything keeping him here.

  It would be just like his friends to play a prank this last day and pretend his crush from high school was still around. Oh yeah, Nia Morgan, he’d thought when Cynthia offered the appointment, cocking a brow and grinning like she knew. He’d shown up just so he could prove them wrong.

  But he stared at her now, still adjusting to the fact that she was real.

  Nia sat on the steps of her sagging porch of peeling white paint, a cordless phone to her ear. Her head was bowed, free hand massaging her temple as if she had a headache. Hair was longer than in school, falling in relaxed black waves, and the sun peering around the house gave her dark skin a healthy glow. And though he couldn’t see it now, her face flashed to his mind immediately—her lush lips, deep brown eyes framed in long thick lashes.

  Beautiful. Of course she’d be, all these years later. In school he’d been a lovesick jock, spurning the advances of girls while he pined over the dark beauty running the school paper. And she probably hadn’t changed at all, smart and gorgeous. Staring at her, he felt like an embarrassed teen again, who didn’t know how to talk without babbling and waited until she left class before rising to avoid anyone seeing the tent in his jeans.

  He should get out of the damn van. Needed to. The clock on the dashboard read 8:26. Whether she remembered him or not, he didn’t want her first impression of him now to be of someone who was late.

  But he’d been so goddamn sure it was a prank. Positive. So he left his place wearing jeans that, while clean, had been scuffed up so many times during work, they remained faded and torn in places. He wore a dark hoodie over a black, sleeveless ribbed shirt, and his freshly washed hair was mussed up under a baseball cap.

  Shit. It wasn’t like he could show up in a suit, but...

  But get your ass out of the van. Nothing’s changed. Apartment lease is up and you’re leaving town.

  Brady polished off his coffee and returned it to the cup holder. He discarded his hat, tossing it onto the passenger seat, and met his own blue eyes in the rearview mirror. Shit, he hadn’t even shaved. Oh well. He ran his hand back through his dark hair and slowly cracked the door open.

  Here we go.

  ****

  A car door slammed in the distance.

  “That’s probably him.” Niara sat up. “I’ll talk to you in a bit.”

  “Ask him if he can fertilize your garden.”

  Nia sighed. “Bye, Deena.” She hung up, set the phone down, and started to rise as footsteps approached.

  And froze.

  Her heart beat at a hummingbird pace, so high up it felt like it was in her throat. Sunlight glinted off him as he moved, unzipped hoodie revealing a ribbed shirt over a broad chest. Dark hair had the slightest curl, falling over his brow, unkempt. His square jaw was rough and unshaven, and she desperately wanted to taste those lips. Just the sight of this man had her nipples hardening and heat rushing through her body.

  Dear God. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d looked at anyone like that and her face flushed. Maybe Deena did it. Hired a male stripper to show up instead just to mess with her.

  “Sorry I’m late.” His voice was deep and a little rough, immediately running under her skin and giving her goose bumps. He smiled easily and stopped two feet away.

  She waited a moment. Nope, no sudden music playing and his jeans didn’t look like they’d tear-away.

  Niara picked her jaw off the ground with effort. “It-it’s okay. Um.” Um. Stay classy there, sweetheart. She swallowed the lump in her throat and extended her hand. “I’m Niara.”

  His smile widened, adding dimples to his cheeks as he reached out in greeting. “I remember.” Both his warm, rough hands clasped her one, confining and owning her fingers deliciously, and she couldn’t help but imagine them roaming her body.

  Maybe that was why her brain continued to stutter around what he’d said, and she struggled to focus again. “Do I know you?”

  His face flushed, smile faded, and immediately she felt like shit. He did look familiar but...

  “Not really.” He released her hand, cool air touching her fingers again, and scratched at the back of his neck as his shoulders turned inward. “We went to high school together.”

  That’s right! She ran through her memory. “You played basketball.”

  And that smile returned, warming her through. “Yeah. Brady Trewin.”

  Now she remembered him. Quiet for a jock, he volunteered to run errands for the school paper and helped with a yearbook fundraiser, too. Hovering around after class, always offering help. He’d been tall and wiry back then, and she’d entertained more than a few fantasies when she snapped photos for the yearbook of the team practicing.

  He had...filled out. That was for sure. He stood a head over her and she had the sneaking suspicion she’d fit really nicely in those big arms.

  But she gave herself a mental shake. No, no way. She’d been divorced four months, self-esteem low as all Ron’s infidelities came out and dragged her down. She dropped her gaze from Brady, moved to cross her arms under her breasts.

  “Why don’t you show me what you want me to do?” he offered.

  It was a good thing Deena wasn’t there, as that could be taken any number of ways and her best friend would no doubt have fun naming them all. “It’s pretty much,” Niara gestured to the house, “everything. Weeds have to go from the flower beds. I have to figure out what to plant but I haven’t gotten that far yet. It’s all...”

  “Overwhelming,” he supplied and she nodded.

  “Very much so.”

  “You can sit and relax—I’ll grab some things from the van and get started.” With another easy smile and nod, he turned and started back over the lawn.

  Her gaze traveled downward where denim hugged his very fine ass and she sighed softly. Relax. Sure. Maybe she could gaze longingly from her kitchen window while he worked.

  Looking was all she could afford to let herself do with him.

  Chapter Two

  Brady had thrown himself into work for the past two hours. His hoodie rested on the porch as now the sun was hitting the front lawn in full. Sweat soaked his shirt, his brow, and he swiped damp hair from his forehead.

  She hadn’t been wearing a ring. No sign of a boyfriend. Wouldn’t that just be the fucking coincidence: he planned to leave, and she showed up single.

  Not like he’d stand a chance anyway.

  She hadn’t mentioned what she did for a living, but she managed to afford waterfront property—had to be good money. Smart and classy—that was the Nia he remembered. Not someone who would go for a guy like him, and he mentally kicked himself for even entertaining the idea, as much as he wanted to. She’d been polite and pleasant before returning to the house and he’d tried not to stare at the swell of her hips, the curve of her ass in skinny jeans. He felt like a sixteen-year-old again and it sucked.

  Stop thinking. Get working. He even felt like shit at the thought of her paying him to work—he’d do it free in a heartbeat. Best not to waste her time. He kicked the shovel into the ground hard to uproot stubborn gr
ass in the flowerbed and made himself get a damn move on. He’d love to linger but it was best to work fast.

  The porch door behind him squeaked and thumped against the wood. He stood straight, shovel plunged into the ground and his arms braced on the end of the handle as he turned to face her.

  Nia had a pair of beers, both slick with condensation, and she extended one to him, which he accepted after removing his gloves. Already hot out, the day would be deadly come noon. A thin sheen of sweat dotted her brow, her throat, the expanse of skin leading down into her white tank top.

  He swallowed thickly, averted his eyes, and tipped the beer to her in thanks.

  “Thought you could use a break.” She smiled sweetly and took a sip of her own beer, then gestured over her shoulder. “Want to sit?”

  Admittedly, he’d worked for a few women who invited him for a drink and a seat when he was working, and he generally declined as they tended to be much older married women, and it was best to work and leave. He didn’t like the attention normally, but the chance to sit with her for a few minutes was too much to deny, so he agreed.

  She led the way to a swinging bench hanging from the porch. A pair of soft yellow cushions sat on the peeling wood seats, and the swing creaked loudly when they sat.

  Brady stared out at the bright green lawn and the quiet, dusty road beyond. In the distance, he heard the river slapping at rocks along the shore. “So what have you been doing all these years?” He chanced a glance at her.

  Niara tipped her head down, dark hair cutting over her profile, as she gazed at the bottle of beer clasped in front of her. “Nothing too exciting.”

  “I wondered...I mean, I always looked for your name in the papers. That’s what I figured you’d be doing. Writing or editing or something.” Maybe he shouldn’t have admitted it—shouldn’t tell her he’d been thinking of her over the years. But part of him wanted her to know.