The Queensbay Series: Books 1-4: The Queensbay Box Set

by Drea Stein

  “Just creative energy?” he murmured.

  “You can have my designs, but you can’t have me,” she responded.

  “Are you sure about that? I told you: I always get what I want.”

  She was stunned into silence for a moment, until the door opened, and the redheaded lady bustled in.

  “Looks like that’s my cue to go,” she managed to stammer out, knowing she needed to get out and away from him.

  Chapter 20

  “Is that a hard hat?” Phoebe stopped in surprise, looking at what Chase had in his hands.

  “Yes, it is. Safety first.” Phoebe looked up quickly to see if he meant anything by that. There it was, just that sexy-as-hell Chase Sanders grin.

  “But it’s pink,” Phoebe said.

  “Well, it is for a girl.” Chase said. He took a step forward and she saw that he was dressed casually in faded jeans and a v-neck t-shirt that clung to his chest and abdomen, which showed off how flat his stomach was and the nice taper up to his broad shoulders. Stop thinking about his shoulders, she reminded herself.

  “A girl?” Phoebe turned her attention back to the hard hat that Chase was still proffering. “Excuse me… For a lady,” he corrected himself.

  “A lady.” Phoebe put down her bag on the scarred wood floor and took the helmet from Chase.

  “You said the other day you were going to fix the old lady up, so I thought I’d give you a little housewarming present. And see if you needed a hand.”

  “You can fix houses?” Phoebe heard the doubt creeping into her voice. She glanced around the room. Chase had found her in her studio, the light flooding in from the bank of windows. She had picked up some paint samples at the local hardware store, and there were large squares of them on the wall so she could decide between Café au Lait and Creamy Blond.

  “No, but I know people around here who can. I would be happy to recommend some names to you. All good guys.”

  Phoebe nodded. She had wondered if she’d have to resort to looking through Yellow Pages to find the names of plumbers and electricians, and the thought had filled her with dread. Taking a recommendation from someone was a much better move. Still, it was a lot of interest on Chase’s part for a house he professed to have no interest in.

  “Do you treat all of your business acquaintances this way?” she asked, trying to keep her voice light. Right now, the room had one wall of built-in shelves, with cabinets on the bottom. She examined the hard hat more closely.

  “I told you, we’re partners now. Hopefully, very profitable ones,” he countered.

  Phoebe hefted the hard hat. It was heavier than she expected. “They really make pink ones?”

  Chase laughed. “Not many. It’s a special order, but I know a guy in the business.”

  “I’m sure you do.” Phoebe took a sip of her coffee, still looking at the helmet. She wasn’t sure what to do with it. Just how much demolition did Chase think the house needed?”

  “You don’t think I’m going to need it, do you?” she asked, trying to see if he had an opinion.

  “You never know,” Chase answered, still grinning.

  “But…” Phoebe felt her mouth go dry. She thought about some new paint and curtains, but not any actual demolition.

  Chase took a step closer to her and held out his hand. She wasn’t sure what he wanted, but then he reached out for her coffee cup. Mesmerized, she let him take it from her and watched as he took a sip, her eyes locked on his, his on hers. Slowly, he handed the cup back to her.

  “Thanks. I needed that. Look, I happen to have spent a few summers working construction. Thought maybe I could help you do a walk-through, get a sense of what needs to be done now, what can wait.”

  Phoebe felt herself swallowing hard, trying to forget the way his hand, warmed from the coffee cup, had burned against her skin and made her stomach do a flip.

  “But we’re not going to be breaking anything, are we?” Phoebe asked, surprised to find her voice was low, throaty.

  “Not unless you want to.”

  Phoebe nodded. There was no reason for him to be holding her hand, but it had felt good. She decided not to dwell on it.

  They wound up in the room she had decided would be the master bedroom. The floors were hardwood and she knew that they could be beautiful again.

  “I know a guy who does floors. I asked him to swing by later, to take a look around, give you an estimate. They should be done all at once, upstairs, downstairs. That way, you can move in. You can always do your painting later.”

  Phoebe nodded. “It would be good if I could at least get a bed in here by the end of the week.” Phoebe felt it, the slow burn of a flush. Somehow saying the word “bed” in front of Chase made her feel self-conscious. He had dropped her hand by this time, but was still standing close to her, and she couldn’t get over the feeling of being on edge, like she had drunk five espressos in a row and the caffeine was buzzing through her in overdrive.

  “Really? I didn’t know you were in such a hurry to get set up. Is someone waiting for it?”

  It took her a moment to figure out what Chase meant.

  “I…” she stuttered, cursing her fair skin, feeling the blush crawl up her cheeks and to the roots of her hair.

  “So you’re just eager to get moved in?” he said, his eyes laughing at her.

  “I’d rather not spend that much more time in the hotel. The Osprey Arms is fine, but I hadn’t figured on making it a permanent home.”

  “I like that one.” He had come up behind her, and pointed to the middle shade of blue on the paint chip Phoebe was holding. “I’m sure I could arrange a deal for you, since you’re practically living there.”

  “Don’t tell me… You know the manager.” Phoebe said, the memory of the way he had seemed so comfortable at the Osprey Arms coming back to her.

  Chase shrugged. “Maybe I do.”

  “Well, thank you, but I already did.” The shade Chase liked was deeper than she would have gone for, but it was bold too. “I’m a grown woman; I can take care myself. I happen to have plenty of experience negotiating for myself.”

  “I am sure you can come down hard on them when you want.” She could feel him, his bulk and heat behind, and the way his breath whispered in her ear and tickled her hair, which was up in a ponytail. She fought to control the shiver that ran down her spine and the little delicious flame of heat that flicked below her stomach, between her legs. Desperately wanting to put some distance between herself and Chase, she almost took a step away, but she couldn’t; she was trapped there, loving the feeling of him close to her.

  “I manage to get what I want most of the time,” she managed to say in a husky voice.

  “I can imagine.” She turned slightly to face him so that her eyes were almost level with his chin. One of his arms was still around her and she could smell him, a mix of soap and spicy aftershave, melding together in a heady combination that made her knees feel just slightly wobbly.

  His hand grasped her wrist and pulled her closer to him. She met his eyes, could see that they were dark, liquid, as if consumed by something. His nostrils flared and he leaned in, smelling her hair.

  “You smell amazing,” he said, his voice a hoarse, ragged whisper. She felt any last inhibitions melt away, and she wasn’t quite sure who moved first so that they were facing each other and she was encircled in the strong span of his arms.

  It seemed as if time stood still, and Phoebe was aware of everything, from the fresh breath of air that wafted in from the window that was propped open to the sound of a bird singing and the whisper of the new green leaves in the trees. And then she heard the sound of her own heart beating and could hear Chase’s ragged breath as his gaze roamed over her, taking her in, his blue eyes dark.

  “What was that?” They sprang apart, and Phoebe’s eyes traveled up to the ceiling. Dust trickled down and the hanging light fixture swung slightly. Her heart was thumping, and she had clutched her hands to her chest, no longer in the strong co
nfines of Chase’s arms.

  It came again, another crash and then a scurrying sound. Chase’s head was cocked up and he watched the ceiling. A slow smile came over his face.

  “Squirrels, a raccoon maybe, in the attic.”

  “Yuck.” Phoebe wasn’t crazy about animals. Sure, dogs were fine and cats OK, but anything else…especially in her house, was just too off-putting to think about. Somehow, she hadn’t thought about that aspect of living in the country when she’d been dreaming of Ivy House.

  “Where are the stairs?” Chase asked. He was still looking up, completely oblivious to her, and it was with supreme disappointment that she realized he was not going to kiss her after all.

  “Stairs?”

  “To the attic.” There was a touch of impatience in his voice. “They could be getting away.”

  “You’re going to go up there?”

  “Sure. How else are we going to get rid of them?” he said.

  Call an exterminator, Phoebe thought, but didn’t voice it. “What about rabies?” she said instead.

  “I’m not going to catch them. I just need to find out where they’re coming in from. And then we can set traps and get them out.”

  “Kill them?” All of a sudden, Phoebe didn’t relish the thought of killing innocent animals. After all, in their minds, they had been there first.

  “No, of course not. We’ll set special no-kill traps, catch them and then release them. But we need to find out how they’re getting in so they don’t get right back in. So, the stairs?” he said again, his impatience marked with a smile.

  Phoebe thought for a moment. “In the hallway.”

  She led the way out of the bedroom towards the door that led to a closet. It was big for one, an odd-shaped room above the stairs, and it had a round window in it. “Up there.”

  There was a trap door in the ceiling, with a rope hanging from it.

  “You might want to stand back,” Chase said.

  “Are you sure we shouldn’t call someone?” Phoebe asked. Chase had pulled a small flashlight from his pocket and was already pulling on the rope. It was stuck and he handed the flashlight to Phoebe as he put both hands on the rope, tugging hard.

  With a squeak and a groan, the door came free and a cloud of dust fell down. Chase was quick, and he sidestepped the dust storm easily, pushing Phoebe out of the way so she was spared the worst of it. Still, grime swirled in the air, and she could feel it settling in her hair.

  There was a ladder folded up against the underside of the door and Chase reached up and swung it down. It gave another protesting squeak and then there was silence. In agreement, the two of them paused and listened. The rustling had stopped, Phoebe noted with relief.

  Chase put his foot on the bottom rung, tested his weight, turned, took the flashlight from Phoebe, and shot her a wink.

  “If I’m not back in five, call in the cavalry.”

  Phoebe was about to protest, but then she remembered it was just an attic. She watched his amazingly cute backside disappear into the gloom above. There was a pause, silence and she half-expected to hear a scream; she could feel the tension erupting in her.

  “Hey, Phoebe, you’re going to want to see this.”

  Chapter 21

  Phoebe put her foot up on the ladder and then stopped. “What is it?”

  Chase chuckled. “Don’t worry, this isn’t going to bite you.”

  Somewhat reassured, Phoebe started up the ladder, entering the low enclosed space.

  “Wow.” Phoebe emerged into the dim light of the attic. It ran the whole length of the house, unfinished, rough wood, with nails sticking through the sloped roof.

  “Watch your head,” Chase said over his shoulder. He was ahead of her, his flashlight moving this way and that, illuminating an attic full of…stuff. Boxes, trunks, battered suitcases, coat racks filled with clothes, even an old dressmaker’s dummy.

  “The mother lode,” Phoebe whispered. There were dormers along the length of the roofline, and the small leaded panes of glass provided some more light. Through it all, swarms of dust filtered and danced, caught in the sunlight.

  “Is this her stuff?” Chase turned, the flashlight almost catching Phoebe full in the face before he lowered it.

  “Savannah’s?” Phoebe walked over to a stack of boxes. In magic marker, the words, “Mystic Moon,” were written. It was the name of one of her movies. Phoebe ran a hand along a dress hanging on one of the coat racks. It had once been white, but now it was creamy, yellowed with age.

  “She wore this in Scott’s Peak,” Phoebe said. “And these boxes all have the names of different movies on them. Her movies. So, yeah, I would say this is all of her stuff.”

  “A whole career,” Chase said. Phoebe looked up at him. He had an almost reverent look on his face as he scanned the collection.

  “You’re a fan,” Phoebe said, the realization hitting her suddenly.

  “What?” The flashlight jumped and Chase caught a hold of it, before he turned to look at her.

  “You, you’re a fan of the late great Savannah Ryan,” Phoebe said, a teasing note creeping into her voice.

  Chase smiled, with a slow cat-that-ate-the-canary grin, and said, “Of course I’m a fan of her work. Savannah Ryan made sex sexy back when I was a kid. I think there was only one movie where she took her clothes off, but even as a kid, you could see the sex appeal oozing through the screen. I saw every one of them. Even the bad ones. And she made some real lousy ones.” Chase shook his head.

  “Those were to pay the bills. She had expensive tastes and money poured like sand through her hands,” Phoebe explained.

  “So Savannah Ryan really didn’t have a heart of gold?” Chase said.

  “She was complicated,” Phoebe said, and it was a relief to admit it, even to Chase, who had probably believed it all along. She realized Chase had moved close to her so that there were only a few inches between his chest and her, and once again, she could feel the heat, the palpable pocket of warmth between them, like a current of live electricity snaking through them.

  “You were saying?” Chase asked, and Phoebe remembered that she had been saying something.

  “About a heart of gold…” Chase prompted. They were close again, just as they had been before in the master bedroom, the space between them just a fraction of an inch. She turned her head up so that their lips were almost ready to touch. Her heart skipped a beat and her breath hitched, knowing how badly she did want this—want Chase Sanders to kiss her—even though it was wrong on so many levels.

  But for the life of her, she could not think of a good reason why she should pull away when his lips brushed hers. She moved into him, and his arms came around her, crushing her close to him, his lips finding hers, his hands strong and warm against her back.

  Phoebe lifted her arms, her hands finding the back of his neck, brushing up to find his thick, dark hair, while his lips crushed against hers, exploring, inviting. A sound escaped, a moan, which she might have been embarrassed about if she hadn’t been enjoying herself so thoroughly, all her senses engaged, feelings and need coursing through her.

  Her lips parted, an invitation, and he took it, his tongue exploring, his teeth nibbling her lips, while his hands pulled her tighter and closer into him so she was possessed, so she couldn’t have moved even if she wanted to. His tongue took hers and his arms brought her closer, and she slid into him, one leg in between his so she could feel his desire, hot and hard for her.

  Phoebe lost all rational thought as his hands cupped her backside and then one came around to skim the edge of her waistband. Then, it was gone and his hand found her left breast, his fingers pulling gently at her nipple, which sprang to attention at his touch. His mouth moved down her neck, while one arm braced her back and she arched into him as his lips and teeth slid slowly down her neck, to the v of her t-shirt and then nipped lightly at her nipple, which puckered and pebbled under him.

  She felt her knees go weak and a flash of heat and wetness
between her legs. Chase stopped for a moment, his eyes darting wildly around, and then his hands picked her up and she was on something hard, a steamer trunk, while he kept kissing her, and she could feel that he was just as aroused as she was.

  He looked at her for a moment, his gaze intense, lust darkening his eyes. She couldn’t say anything, but just nodded at him to keep going. Not waiting for more, he kissed her again, and she rose up to meet him, as his hands traveled down the length of her shirt.

  Chase pushed up the thin fabric of her shirt and found the sensitive skin. Hot hands brushed against her and she moaned again, arching into him, wanting him, wanting more.

  Phoebe couldn’t remember how long this went on because there was another crash and then a shout, loud and hearty.

  “Chase, where are you?”

  She sprang away from him, but his arms still held her, and he looked down at her, his eyes hazy with want and she felt her lips stinging from his attack.

  “And that would be my floor guy.” His voice was hoarse, ragged.

  “Floor guy?” Phoebe repeated, glad he still had his arms around her, since her knees were shaky.

  “This isn’t over,” Chase said, his voice a low, sexy whisper, and Phoebe almost felt herself sway so that Chase straightened her, brushed a finger along her jawline, before shouting to the intruder below.

  “Up here. I’ll be down in a sec.” Chase took a moment to gain control of himself, while Phoebe sat up, straightened her shirt, and tried to fix her hair.

  He turned and started down the ladder.

  “Are you coming?”

  Phoebe shook her head, hoping that it would shake the lust out of it. It did, but barely.

  “I’ll be down in a minute. I just want to look around some more.”

  He threw her a smile and said, “Take the flashlight. We’ll just be talking shop.”

  She watched as his head disappeared down the ladder and then let herself sag against a stack of boxes marked Trafalgar Square while she let her heartbeat return to normal. She closed her eyes. She had almost just had wanton sex with Chase Sanders on a steamer trunk belonging to her grandmother. What had she been thinking? And she had wanted it, desperately wanted what Chase had started. Or had she started it? Oh God, Phoebe thought, what was she thinking?