by Elley Arden
This time she didn’t jump or turn around. She simply stayed where she was and let Paul come between her and Grey. Nothing questionable could happen with Paul around.
“I don’t know,” Grey said, looking up to answer Paul’s question. “I don’t actually live here. I’m not sure how much Nel told you, but I just took on ownership of the house about a month ago. Looking at the way the rest of the house was cared for, I’d say the drain problem’s not new.”
Conversation flowed between the men, giving Nel a break from Grey’s intense spotlight. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean she stopped thinking about him.
She shouldn’t have touched him. Touching him breeched the boundaries of professional and personal. And she definitely shouldn’t have held his gaze when he looked at her like he wanted to dip his head and touch his lips to hers. She pinched the inside of her upper arm to stop from swooning. A physical relationship with Grey Kemmons was not what she wanted or needed. She didn’t want any man right now. She wanted a successful real estate agency. And someday, when the agency was top of the heap, she’d make time for more than casual dating, get serious, find a gentle man, a sweetheart, who didn’t mind if his career took a backseat to hers. Grey Kemmons was the direct antithesis of that man.
She tipped her head to the side so she could see around Paul’s shoulders and stole a glimpse of Grey. Her heart fluttered. Stupid, weak muscle. There was no reason for it to act this way. Her head knew the score. She felt sorry for Grey; he’d been through a lot. End of story.
Grey laughed at something Paul said. It was no more than a chuckle really, one that bobbed his broad shoulders and nodded his head. She’d never seen him so unguarded. His wide smile looked unnaturally white surrounded by the black of his beard. He said something about centerfield, and laughed again.
The sound slid into her ears and down her neck, straight to her belly, leaving tingles in its wake. Her reaction to him didn’t feel anything like pity. It felt like pure lust. Loud and clear.
When Paul’s booming laugh filled the garage, she stole the chance to breathe deeper, scattering the tingles and slowing her heart rate. Then she slipped her phone out of her pocket in search of a way to stop obsessing about feelings she didn’t want to be feeling.
The screen showed three missed calls from Rena. Nel would never understand how she failed to feel the phone vibrate when it was basically pressed against her skin. She sighed. No voicemails, so she clicked through to new text messages instead. All from Rena.
Hey.
Called u. Call back.
Hello?
Why aren’t u answering me?
WHAT R U DOING?
?????????????????
Fine. I didn’t want to do it this way but …
Fortune Agency has 353 Mulberry Run on MLS
Nel backed out of the garage amid the men talking and the clanging of Paul’s machine. She looked up and over the Kemmons house until her gaze came to rest on the bronze address plaque. Three-fifty. Which meant three-fifty-three was …
She turned around in time to see the post digger pulling up in front of the Tudor house across the street.
It was happening again, wasn’t it? Will Fortune was going to steamroll her.
• • •
“I like your brother.” Grey shoved the iron bar beneath the kitchen tile and torqued the tool until the tile cracked. He liked Paul even more after he didn’t find any tree roots and left him with a free-flowing drain.
“Everyone does.”
He waited for Nel to elaborate, but like she’d been doing since Paul left, she kept it short and not-so-sweet. There was an uncharacteristic edge to her voice and an aggression in the way she worked. He blamed it on whatever happened between them in the garage. Obviously Nel wasn’t enthusiastic about the spark between them — a first for him. Prompting enthusiasm from the opposite sex had never been a problem, even when he was with Lindsay. Not that he ever indulged. Unlike her, he believed in being faithful; it was a value he’d come by the hard way.
Shoving the iron bar beneath the next line of tile, Grey lifted with a grunt, sweat beading on his hairline and dripping to his temples. He crooked an arm and wiped at the moisture, reminding himself he’d been a stupid kid stuck between a lousy father he wanted to love and a big brother he barely knew. Now, Jordon had his respect and faithfulness. Thank God, he accepted it. Grey only hoped Jordon would accept the million bucks, too. Maybe then Grey would be absolved of the lingering guilt.
A bang vibrated the floor, shaking loose pieces of tile and mortar. Grey snapped his head in Nel’s direction. She’d dropped a cabinet on her way to the door.
“Why don’t you let me help you with that?”
She shook her head.
“At least let me break them up before you haul them out.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m capable.”
“Clearly.”
She glared at him, hands on hips.
He didn’t have a lot of experience with confrontational females. His mother had been a doormat and Lindsay kept the ugly parts hidden. But Nel, she put it out there, didn’t she?
He might as well put it out there too. “You want me to apologize for making eyes at you in the garage? Fine, I’m sorry.”
Her brows drew together. “I don’t … I’m not … ” and then she laughed, a tinny sound that confused the hell out of him, but still managed to make him smile, “ … I forgot about that. And honestly, that’s the least of my worries.”
She forgot about it? The bruised ego made him wince. “Then what’s the worst of your worries?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Fine. He supposed; he didn’t like when people tried to pull things from him.
“But I promise you it won’t affect my abilities as your realtor,” she continued. “I’m even more committed to selling this place fast and high.”
“Even though the house across the street is now for sale?” He knew enough about supply and demand to know two houses for sale on the same block couldn’t be optimal.
Those blue eyes widened, and she gasped. “I said I didn’t want to talk about it.” With a grunt, she hoisted the cabinet to her hip and shuffled away.
So she wasn’t happy with the competition. She seemed so certain when she guaranteed him a million-dollar sale. Why did it feel like now her guarantee was conditional?
He didn’t have an answer, so he worked the thoughts from his head until he realized she’d been gone longer than necessary to toss a cabinet into a dumpster. She’d been gone long enough for him to finish chipping up the kitchen floor; so long he figured it high time he went looking for her.
He found her sitting on his front stoop, staring at the house across the street. The pointed peaks of the brown and tan house shined in the glow of strategically positioned spotlights. He looked back at the dark shadows of his father’s stone-cold house. Comparison-wise … well, there was no comparison. He bet the inside of the house across the street was as perfect as the outside.
The throbbing in his head intensified.
“Hey,” he called to her when he was halfway up the cement walk. “Am I working you too hard?”
She shook her head and then dropped her face to her hands. Her elbows rested on her knees, and her rounded back expanded with each breath. He had the ridiculous urge to slip a hand beneath her curls to cup her neck.
But then she lifted her head for a noisy inhale, her exhale sending a puff of air from her mouth into the chilly night air. “I need to be straight with you.”
“Okay.” For some reason he felt like he should sit, but she was smack-dab in the middle of the stoop. He sat anyway, nudging her shoulder with his hip as he sank to the cold cement beside her.
She slid sideways,
leaving a few inches between them. Funny, but as cold as it was all around them, the right side of his body — the side closest to her — stayed warm.
“I’m not sure I can sell this house for a million dollars,” she said with a whimper. “And you have no idea how hard it is for me to admit that.”
The light above the front door showered her in yellow, sparkling in her hair. Her face was shadowed, but he could see her drawing her bottom lip between her teeth. He should be concerned about her revelation. Instead, he wanted to flick a thumb across that lip and free it from the torture she was inflicting on it. Then, he wanted to turn her face to him and kiss away her worry.
He was officially crazy, wasn’t he?
“My agency is small. What it lacks in size I swear to God I make up for in heart, but sometimes … sometimes that’s not enough. Like when we’re talking a million dollars and the house across the street just got listed by the top agency in the city.” She looked at him, pulling her brows together, pursing her lips, and generally staring at him like he was a great buffoon. “Are you listening to me?”
“Not really,” he said, offering a smile in his defense.
She huffed. “Why not?”
“Because all I can think about is doing this.” He gripped her chin between his thumb and finger and tugged until his mouth met hers.
Her jaw tensed, and for a few long seconds, her lips didn’t move. But then she exhaled, warming him with her breath and relaxing her mouth enough for him to slip inside. She tasted like she smelled. Black coffee with a hint of peppermint; and damned if his body didn’t crave a double shot of caffeine.
He slid his hand to her neck, smoothing the curve of her jaw with his thumb as he deepened the kiss, exploring her mouth, stirring an overwhelming need. He wanted her, had to have her. Right here, right now.
She pressed palms against his chest, scorching his skin. But when she pushed again and her neck muscles clenched, it was like a bucket of cold water, dousing the flames.
He let her go, even though he didn’t want to.
Prepared to apologize, Grey shifted his weight to put more space between them, hoping she wasn’t too angry. Nothing about the kiss felt forced, but never again would he think he knew what a woman was feeling.
She blinked at him, her eyes a liquid blue in the porch light.
“Why’d you do that?” she asked, tracing her fingers over red and swollen lips.
There were lots of answers to choose from. He could play it smooth and self-assured with a ‘because I wanted to.’ He could go with romantic, which for him usually meant something uncomfortable and cheesy, like ‘because I can’t get you out of my head.’ Or he could do what he did best, deflect.
He grinned. “I wanted to help you out.” He hitched a thumb in the direction of the FOR SALE sign across the street.
“Now that’s the least of your worries.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Nel didn’t think it possible for things to get more awkward between her and Grey, but that kiss had gone and done the impossible.
She drifted around the empty kitchen, waiting for him to finish up with the dogs in the den. Every other minute, she convinced herself she should leave, and yet she was still here. Why?
She growled as she bent over to pick up a loose piece of tile and tossed it in a box. If she didn’t think she had a shot in hell at selling this house for a million dollars, then why was she still here? Probably because she’d never liked backing down, especially when it had anything to do with Will Fortune.
Will’s latest pretty young thing, Tawny Kellogg, was the listing agent for the house across the street. The home was impeccably decorated and high-end from floor to ceiling. Nel wanted to cry when she saw the virtual tour, and she wanted to puke when she saw the list price. Nine-seventy-five. What justification did she have for listing Grey’s home higher? He kissed well? She held in a groan with a grimace, and tried not to indulge in any more thoughts about the kiss.
Apparently, she didn’t try hard enough, because her very next thought was why he kissed her in the first place. Did he really like her? Or did he feel sorry for her, finding her sniveling on the stoop? Maybe he didn’t like her-like her so much as he was curious. And maybe after they kissed, he wasn’t curious anymore. Maybe he was disappointed and certain he didn’t like her. That would explain why he didn’t kiss her again.
Gah! Nel smacked her forehead, wishing she could scatter the thoughts, but they remained.
During the kiss, Grey didn’t act like a disappointed man. He had acted like he wanted her, and he made her want him. Those feelings were unexpected and scary enough for her to push him away. Only now, she sort of wished she’d let the kiss run its course. Maybe then she wouldn’t be obsessing.
Nel threaded fingers through her hair at the scalp, trailing down the strands, finding a chip of tile stuck in the curls. Seriously, why would he want her anyway? She flicked the chip to the dusty subfloor. He hadn’t seen a single part of her that was attractive. He saw her pushy from the get-go, emotional on the front stoop, and dirty at all points in between.
She brushed the grime from her hands and onto the denim covering her thighs. None of that should matter anyway. Grey kissed her for whatever reason he had, and she ended the kiss because she was scared. The time to analyze this was on the stoop while they stared stupidly at each other until Grey invited her back inside … to work on the house.
The only thing that mattered was the house.
Regardless of what happened on the front stoop and regardless of what was happening across the street, their focus needed to be on the god-awful job they started.
Nel bent again, reaching for another broken tile, only to freeze at the sound of heavy footsteps. She wasn’t ready to see him again. What would they talk about?
Not the kiss. Please, not the kiss.
“I’m starting to worry about the dogs.”
She straightened, tossing the ceramic chunk into a box, thankful he wasn’t talking about the kiss.
He poured himself a foam cup of coffee from the carafe she’d brought earlier in the day, and leaned against the wall, raising the cup to his lips.
Her brain stuttered, leaving her body without direction, leaving her eyes focused on his very capable mouth.
“I’m sure that’s cold,” she mumbled, telling herself it was noble to warn him.
Her gaze stayed on his mouth until he lowered the cup. Then she followed the sensual movement of his throat.
“It’s fine,” he said, smacking his lips, licking them, too, drawing her attention upward.
She blinked, tried to remember what he’d first said when he walked into the room. He said something before this inane conversation about coffee, didn’t he?
Oh. “The dogs.” She was thinking out loud, which, considering her Grey-centric thoughts, was dangerous.
“Yeah.” He drank again, pushed off the wall with a bend of his elbow, and walked to her. “They spend a lot of time alone in that room or alone in the run. That can’t be good.”
He stopped in front of her, raising the cup to his lips.
Lord help her, she watched his mouth again, watched him swallow, told herself it was only because light lips circled in dark hair created such a contrast it acted like a target. But then her lips started to burn with the memory of being abraded by his kiss, and she couldn’t deny the real reason for her fascination.
He stepped closer. “You should stop looking at me like that.”
She stepped back, making sudden eye-contact with him. “Like what?”
“Like you want to crawl inside this cup so I can swallow you.”
Liquid heat flooded her body, lubricating her joints, and buckling her knees. She opened her mouth to respond, closed it because she couldn’t think of anything to say, and then opened it again, lettin
g her ten-year-old self take control. “I did not do that.”
“Oh, no?” He stepped closer. “My bad. Maybe you’d like me to crawl inside the cup so you can do the swallowing.”
She squeaked, holding out a palm to stop his next step, only succeeding in firmly planting her hand on his rock-solid abdomen. Touching him had her anticipating all sorts of wicked things. The warm, wet pressure of his mouth; the erotic scratching of his beard … across her cheek, her throat, her breasts, her belly, her thighs … she shuddered.
“I haven’t even touched you yet,” he whispered.
“Maybe you shouldn’t. I’m dirty.”
“So am I.” He grinned, offering up dusty palms as proof, and then sliding them over her sleeves to her shoulders, stopping when he cradled her neck.
Her throat heated at his touch, and she swallowed over and over again trying to douse the burn. But only one thing was going to put her out of her misery.
So she gave up, gave in, wound her arms around his neck and, pulling him closer, kissed him.
• • •
Grey hadn’t expected to be kissing her again so soon after being pushed away on the front porch, but here she was, wrapped around his neck, pressed against his aching body. He wasn’t going to complain about anything other than not being prepared to take this further. Of all the things he figured he’d need to renovate this house, condoms weren’t included.
This was a dead-end kiss.
But Nel didn’t know that. She wrapped her arms tighter, lapping at his lips, arching against his length, pushing her soft belly against his hard dick, and an irrational need to have her right there on the filthy kitchen floor roared through his veins. He dropped his hands from her neck to her hips, digging his fingers into the cushion of her curves, holding her to him, breathing heavy against her mouth, tasting her, feeling her, wanting her, knowing it was all going to end. Way. Too. Soon.
But not yet. He slipped his hands beneath her sweatshirt, cupping the warm skin at her waist, sliding his palms up her rib cage, riding the gentle waves until his fingertips brushed the band of her bra. His skin tightened, a ball of nerves sticking in his chest. Adrenaline, like before every game; how he loved the rush.