by Vanessa Jaye
The smile he gave Cheryl dimmed when he looked back at Felicity, making her aware of the body still pressed up against her. She gave Stuart’s arm another shove. He let go, slowly.
“If we’re still on. Whenever you’re ready,” Daniel said in a monotone.
Gee, if he were any less enthusiastic, she’d have to check for a pulse. Only pride stopped her from asking if he was sure he still wanted to go.
“Maybe we should get Daniel to help with the sofa.” Cheryl interrupted Felicity’s troubled thoughts. “A real man.” She glanced dismissively at Stuart.
“Maybe you need a real man to—”
“Okay, okay.” Felicity waved her hands. She couldn’t deal with any more of their bickering. “Just leave it right there. I’ll move it myself later.”
But Daniel was already walking over to the sofa; he started pushing and Stuart practically elbowed Felicity out of the way to do his part. In no time the sofa was back in its original spot.
“Can we all leave now?”
Cheryl’s brows rose at Felicity’s sharpness but she gathered her things without a murmur while Stuart got the evil eye when he didn’t move fast enough. Felicity saw them out, then stood by the closed door after they left, gathering her courage as she listened to their renewed bickering trail down the hall.
“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”
It took a moment to mask her disappointment before she trusted herself to turn and face Daniel. “What makes you think that?”
He shrugged, threw his keys up in the air and caught them. “You weren’t exactly happy to see me. You should have seen your face when I interrupted your little happy reunion.”
Bewilderment robbed her of words, but indignation found her a thesaurus. “That wasn’t a reunion, that was an invasion. I didn’t expect Stuart to drop by and I sure as hell didn’t invite him over.” She held Daniel’s stare for several long seconds.
Finally he sighed, his mouth tilting into a smile as he closed the distance between them. “Our first fight?”
“Maybe,” she said, all the fight gone out of her. Heck, right now she was wrapped up in a white flag of surrender and not much else. And Daniel had x-ray vision. And triple x-rated superpowers.
This was so much better than her Martha Stewart fantasies.
Once they were in the truck, the awkwardness between them returned. Daniel’s attempts at chitchat were lame at best. He couldn’t help it. His gut was still coiled from seeing Stuart with his arms around Felicity.
Daniel changed the radio station for the third time in as many minutes, jealousy sitting heavy in his gut. Yeah, she’d been telling her ex to let go, but any fool could see her protests were half-hearted.
He experienced another surge of uncertainty but clamped down on it. She hadn’t seemed heartbroken to see Stuart go. And most importantly, he glanced at his silent passenger, she was here with him now.
Daniel felt a surge of another type and didn’t know what he wanted to do more. Or do first. Or do more of. Kiss her deep and thoroughly while he buried his fingers in her thick silky hair? Or, his gaze trailed down to her breasts, fill his hands and mouth with other enticements?
He turned his attention back to the road, tightly gripping the steering wheel as he became even more aware of her soapy fresh scent. Daniel forced himself to start the conversation rolling again and kept it up for the remainder of the drive downtown to the tree-lined Parkdale area. By the time they arrived at the old Victorian house his crew was working on, he’d gotten over his chest-beating impulses. Almost.
They spent a good half hour on the lower floors, with Felicity surprising him with a barrage of questions. Now they were touring the renovated attic space.
“We combined one of the smaller bedrooms with the old oversized linen closet to make this new study for the owner.”
He watched as she walked around the space, lightly touching the back of an upholstered chair, then caressing the parchment shade of a table lamp, her expression rapt.
Daniel’s mouth twisted in self-deprecation, and here he thought she’d just wanted an excuse to see him again. “You really love this stuff, don’t you?”
She shrugged. “I’ve done some decorating.” She looked up at the ceiling and studied the ornate medallion and chandelier. “Had a lot of practice with all the moves I’ve had to make.” Some of her enthusiasm faded.
His stomach plummeted. Because of him, she’d be moving again. He should tell her about his plans now. But, as she crossed the Berber carpet to the custom built-in bookshelf, and he got an eyeful of her luscious ass, Daniel wrestled with the part of him that didn’t want to spoil things between them. Not before he could be with her, just once.
That thing slithering across the floor? That was his conscience.
Felicity slowly ran her hands over the books, fingers tracing each title. She removed one or two for closer inspection, before putting them back. “I always thought of each new place as a new chance.” Her voice carried an odd note he couldn’t place. “A new start, just waiting for me to really make it mine. It could be anything I wanted. The only limit was my imagination. My dreams.” She gave him a wry look over her shoulder, her smile tipped with longing so sharp it pierced him.
She turned back to the bookshelf, her hands resting along the dark-stained wood. This was one of the few furnished rooms in the house, yet at the moment it felt the emptiest. Filled with the loneliness that seemed to radiate from her stillness.
“I used to walk past houses like this when I was a kid and dreamed I lived there. You know, the big dining room for big happy family meals. And a little girl’s room up in the attic with a canopied bed and everything all pink and white and pretty and…perfect.”
Felicity walked along the bookshelf, hand trailing across the books. “I always believed houses had magic. Just a silly kid thing.” She gave him another one of those wry smiles over her shoulder that twisted something inside him.
“But I honestly thought that if the house was big and beautiful and filled with nice things, then the people who lived there would be nice. And happy.” She inhaled and after a pause added in a low voice, “We had an ugly little house.”
Daniel went to her. Couldn’t have stayed away if his feet had been nailed to the floorboards. He placed his hands on delicate shoulders that stiffened even more beneath his palms, then slowly her tension eased and he pulled her closer, his arms crisscrossing just above the swell of her breasts. Her scent satiated his senses. The sweet curve of her ass settling against his groin, her hair so soft along his jaw. Holding her like this felt right.
He thought of her little flat at Southview, with its meager selection of second-hand furniture. And yet it was obvious that each piece had been selected with care and with an eye towards charm and comfort. No less than what his own mother had done in his far more affluent childhood home.
Elise Mackenzie hadn’t just filled the four-thousand-square-foot house with expensive things, she’d been filling it with love for him and his dad. Felicity was doing the same at Southview, for herself. Some unnamed emotion lumped in Daniel’s throat.
We had an ugly little house.
Another stab of guilt hit him, and he buried his face in her sweet-smelling hair, as if he could hide from his conscience there. As if he could just be overwhelmed by Felicity, her scent and the feel of her in his arms. He didn’t want to think about evictions. The place was rented, she had to know she would have to move on one day. Fill another space with her belongings, her passion. Her love.
She took a deep breath, and her breasts pushed against his arms. “One day I’m gonna have a beautiful house like this,” she said with that curious mix of vulnerability and determination he associated with her. “Silly dream, huh? For a waitress almost impossible. What does this neighborhood run for, half a mill?”
“More or less.”
She made a little sound that made Daniel want to give her hope, maybe to assuage his guilt, maybe because of other
feelings he didn’t want to explore.
“This bookshelf took several weeks to finish,” he murmured in her ear as he reached out and rubbed the oak beneath his thumb. Feeling the inherent strength of the hard wood, the smoothness that came with hours of honest sweat.
“I met with the homeowners to discuss what their needs were, what would make this space uniquely theirs. They showed me some pictures of what they wanted and I took it from there.” He shrugged. “There were problems; every little change and delay had a price.” He stopped, smoothing one hand back and forth on the shelf.
“See how the beauty of the wood is enhanced by the stain? It took several coats to get just right. And how it feels like satin and warms under your palm? You achieve that by hand sanding with a fine grade paper.” Finally his hand rested over hers. “This is the end result.
“That’s the thing about dreams, you focus on them, work for them and collect a few splinters along the way…” His hand curled over hers as he scanned the shelves again with a deep sense of pride.
“The homeowners love this place, they filled it with their dreams. That’s what makes it truly beautiful. That’s what makes any place you want to call a home beautiful. Nothing is impossible, Felicity.”
Her fingers moved, intertwining with his. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Warmth spread through him. He wanted to say thank you in return. When was the last time he had focused, really focused, on what he loved about this calling? Instead of what he hated about working for his dad? Felicity had this effect on him from their first meeting. Making him feel off-balanced and centered at the same time.
He turned her around and stared down into the silvered depths of her gaze. The world became vast with possibilities, while the moment shrank to the space of a shared heartbeat. Intent on showing this woman in his arms, this enigma of prickly vulnerability, his gratitude, Daniel covered her mouth with his.
What started as an innocent gesture turned into a conflagration. Forget about any chaste “thank you, ma’am” kiss. His body was demanding the “wham-bam” part.
He crowded her up against the bookshelf and she twined her arms around his neck, pressing her soft curves to his ravenous body. Driving him crazy with the little sounds she fed him as her tongue sparred with his.
Daniel ground himself against her. Shit. More. He grabbed her ass, pulled her tight against his hard-to-bursting erection, then growled in frustration at the barriers of clothing that denied full satisfaction. He hooked his hands under her thighs, spreading them wide as he lifted her to get better access, then he thrust hard, one, two, three times, against her open invitation.
A split second later several books tumbled down around them, one large tomb beaning him in the head, and Daniel stumbled back, taking Felicity down with him in a tangle of limbs.
He lay there, trying to catch his breath with the plush carpet underneath him and her lush body spread on top of him.
“Are you okay?” She tentatively touched his forehead.
Daniel winced and, gently pushing her hand away, explored for himself.
“Yeah,” he said, frowning, then felt beside him on the floor for the most likely culprit. He grasped a thick glossy-covered hardback and read the title. “Hrrmph. Figures.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? A couple of the girls at work were reading this book. They said it’s good.”
He made a face. “It’s a romance.”
“So? All books have some merit.”
Daniel turned the book over and quickly scanned the back blurb. Her huffy tone wasn’t lost on him, though. “You read this stuff?”
“N-no.”
At her hesitant answer, he peered over the book’s edge. A deep rose shaded her cheeks and he felt her tense on top of him. Daniel slowly put the book aside, a wicked grin shaping his mouth as he admitted, “I have.”
Or at least he thought he had, all these trashy novels looked alike to a couple of pimply-faced ninth graders. Rob had egged him on, “Find out what the chicks want, man” and they’d spent several hilarious hours pilfering through his mother’s stash. Which had proved very enlightening to two horny teenage boys.
Thank God for trashy novels.
“I’ll save you some money and reading time.” Daniel rolled so she was trapped under his body. “Here’s the synopsis.” He laid a kiss on her worthy of any romance hero. Hot, ravaging, thorough. And her bosoms? They were heaving, dude. Awesome. All said, it was a pretty detailed and in-depth summary.
The opening of the front door had Daniel coming up for air. A male voice called his name and he answered that he’d be right down. “Looks like we’re out of time.” He rubbed a thumb across her mouth. “The guys are here, and I should be down in the basement already painting.”
Felicity felt a sharp pang at Daniel’s words. It couldn’t be over yet. “I’d like to stay,” she said huskily. “Can I help? I’m pretty good at it.”
His slow smile curled her toes. “Babes, I’d say you were more than pretty good.” He lowered his mouth to hers again.
He wasn’t half bad himself, in her humble opinion.
A short while later they went downstairs. When she and Daniel passed the small crew working in the kitchen, silence descended and Felicity felt like a walking CSI specimen with Daniel’s mouth and handprints glowing neon all over her.
Thankfully, her embarrassment was soon forgotten once she and Daniel got down to business painting the basement. Though they worked companionably, every now and then she’d look up to find his gaze heavy on her. Each time she gave him nervous smile. But the tension grew as the minutes went by.
Chapter Seven
Daniel started another section of drywall, applying the primer in long easy glides. The job should have soothed his restlessness, but it wasn’t the type of stroking he needed.
Pounding. That’s what he needed to do. Buried to the hilt inside of Felicity while her body clenched around him.
And kissing. Lots of it. Tongues entwined, with mouths leaving wet sucking caresses all over each other’s bodies. Then losing himself in her body and in her gaze as they came together. God, he could stare into those gray eyes forever— Forever?
Daniel jammed the roller into the paint tray, causing paint to spill onto the plastic sheet spread on the floor. He ignored it, just as he’d tried to ignore the undercurrent to this growing attraction he felt for Felicity.
She’d gotten deep under his skin and he was kidding himself in thinking she was just an itch to be scratched. Felicity was a full-body rash.
Daniel slapped paint on the wall with a tad more energy than required, while Felicity painted along the taped-off baseboard, seemingly oblivious to his torment.
It was a few minutes before he realized she’d stopped painting the baseboards and was staring off into space. It was a shock when her attention suddenly snapped onto him.
“What’s this place going to be used for?”
He wiped a forearm over his brow. “The owners want a rec room. The entertainment components will go here.” He thumbed the wall nearest him. “And the pool table over by where you’re standing.”
“My parents’ whole house could practically fit down here.” She shook her head and resumed painting. “We didn’t have a rec room; the basement was just a crawlspace. I used to play with my dolls in the kitchen while my ma made dinner.”
“You were close to your mom?”
Her laugh was a bitter huff. Close in the sense that sticking near her ma kept her out of range of her da’s temper. But was she close to her mom?
Felicity stopped painting, remembering her last visit out to the Scarborough suburbs, six months ago. She cringed at the unfamiliar wheedling note that echoed in her memory. “Daddy it would be just for a few weeks at the most.”
“Ten years out in the world and yer skull’s just as thick as ever.” From his recliner, her da jerked his chin towards the window. The large wall to wall expanse of glass was the one thing that saved the tiny livi
ng room—crammed with faded furniture and ambitions—from utter dreariness.
“I’ve said my piece. Why don’t you move back in with that boyfriend of yours? You seem to have a liking for living a dirty life without benefit of the church.” He took a long swallow of beer, and then wiped his mouth with the back of a hand.
“Or is it now that he’s drunk the milk, he’s put the cow out to pasture?”
“Leslie, don’t say that.” A weak protest at best, from her ma tucked amongst the pillows on the couch. Just another dull accessory. A doormat. A woman Felicity didn’t understand.
She came back to the present. “It’s hard to feel close to someone who really isn’t there.” She swallowed. “It was hard to exist around my da. Big personality, you know?” Big fists, too.
“Don’t.” She’d seen the pitying look on his face. “Don’t feel sorry for me.”
Felicity looked around at the large unfinished space. One day she’d have more and better. One day she could have a place, a home, like this, and all it represented—acceptance, success, belonging. Things she’d learned in so many indefinable ways growing up, at home and school, that she somehow didn’t deserve.
But she’d have it, and she’d fill it with love, just like Daniel had said upstairs. She ducked her head, determinedly focused on painting above the baseboards. After awhile, he followed her lead, and she breathed easier, thankful that he didn’t press to ask awkward questions about her past.
But thinking about her past made Felicity more curious about his. For instance what fueled his obvious love for his job? He certainly took pride in what he did; it resonated in his voice as he spoke about finishes and materials and the skills required.
She cleared her throat. “Did you always want to be in construction?”
Daniel froze, then nodded; his gaze took the same path hers had earlier around the room and a smile curved his mouth.
“Yeah, from the first set of building blocks my nan—my grandmother—got me for Christmas when I was six.”