My Kinda Kisses

by Lacey Black

  Depositing my tool belt in the office I rarely occupy anymore, I gather up my notes and binder with the Hazelton blueprints. Their home will be a massive four thousand square foot Tudor home, with four bathrooms, six bedrooms, and an indoor pool and spa, all nestled discreetly along the Bay. It’ll be the largest home I’ve contracted since starting Elson Developments a year ago.

  The first few months consisted of a few small remodeling jobs to help get the word out and bring in a little income. Fortunately, it didn’t take too long for word of mouth to spread and my crew of three transformed into a crew of ten. Business grew rapidly, especially with the only other building contractor retiring six months ago and relocating to Florida. We currently have two crews working different projects at the same time, and a list of three new homes, a business expansion, and six remodels waiting in the wings. I’ve got enough work to keep my guys busy for the next year and a half, and that helps me sleep a little easier at night.

  Heading towards the door, I throw a quick wave over my shoulder. “I’ll be back after the meeting. Leave whatever checks I need to sign in the drawer and I’ll sign them when I get back.”

  Mary nods in understanding before reaching for the ringing phone.

  “Don’t forget it’s Mrs. Hanson’s birthday,” Mary hollers, phone cradled in her hand, as I walk out the door and into the bright sunlight.

  Mrs. Hanson is my elderly landlord and neighbor. She’s the sweetest old lady on the planet and is constantly bringing me cookies or casseroles. Her husband passed away years ago, and her kids are all grown and moved away. I’m pretty sure she’s lonely, so I do what I can to stop by every now and again to visit her.

  Knowing that I need to run home and freshen up before my meeting, I head towards my truck with purpose. I throw the truck in gear and drive towards my condo, making a mental note to stop and grab something for Mrs. Hanson on my ride back to the office.

  ***

  It’s almost five when I pull out of the lot where we’ll soon start construction on the Hazelton homestead. Robert and Carol are ready to get their new home project started. Robert comes from money. His family owns shipping vessels that move cargo from one end to the other along the entire Eastern seaboard. While Robert is still very much a part of the company his family has owned for three generations, he is slowly turning over operations to his son.

  The home we’re going to build for them is going to be a big project. My plan is to combine my two crews into a singular unit while we complete the foundation and framing, though I haven’t ruled out keeping them both going on this one home for the duration of the project. As general contractor, I am also coordinating the installation of utilities, as well as new pipe work. The land they’re building on is completely bare. This project is going to be a great test of my capabilities, but I can’t wait to get it going.

  It’s five when I pull into town, and remember that it’s Mrs. Hanson’s birthday. Groaning in frustration, it only takes me a second to realize that finding a gift at this point could be difficult. Many of the small mom and pop shops close down at five. Sure, there’s a Wal-Mart near the north edge of Jupiter Bay, but even I’m not stupid enough to try to find a gift for the woman who already has everything at Wal-Mart.

  Spying the small flower shop in downtown, I pull into the first available parking spot and jump out. My watch reads five after five, and I say a quick prayer that I can catch the owner before she closes down for the night.

  When I reach the door, I’m relieved to find it still unlocked and I push it open. A bell jingles above the doorway signaling my entrance.

  The small shop is brimming with brightly colored flowers, lush green plants and small knick-knacky things that just collect dust. I’ve only been inside the place once–a long time ago when I was kissing Sara’s ass–but I’ve seen the owner around town. In a place like Jupiter Bay, you can’t help but run into someone you know everywhere you go.

  Though I don’t really know her, she’s a striking woman. With long brown hair and deep green eyes, she’s a little bonier than I normally like. There’s nothing better than the delicate curve of a woman’s waist and the seductive arc where her lower back meets her ass. In fact, that’s my favorite part of a woman. It’s sexy as fuck.

  Sara was slender. After the split, I couldn’t remember what in the hell I ever found attractive about her in the first place. She was salad-eating, stick-figure skinny with perfectly manicured nails and flawless skin. Her sleek black hair was always immaculate, and her brown eyes sparkled like chocolate diamonds. But her personality was in desperate need of a little work. Sara was a high maintenance bitch who was always out for number one. She was notorious for using people until she got what she wanted or toying with them to suit her game. Then she’d discard them.

  Like me.

  “Sorry, we’re closed.”

  The woman’s voice draws my attention towards the counter in back. Taking long strides, I head towards the voice, determined to buy a bouquet before she can kick me out the door I just walked through.

  “I understand that, ma’am, but I’m afraid I’m in desperate need of some flowers. I promise to be quick, take whatever you have already made up, and I’ll pay in cash,” I offer as I reach the counter.

  The woman, who’s still showing me her back, is cleaning the work area filled with clippings of greenery and those little white flowers they stick in bouquets for whatever purpose they serve. Her hair is pulled up in a messy knot at the back of her head, revealing the long, slender column of her neck, and for some reason, it turns me on.

  My eyes peruse leisurely down the back of her body. A crisp white dress shirt hugs her perfect hourglass waist, tight blue jeans mold flawlessly to long legs, and the swell of her ass is so damn enticing. Even through her clothes, I can see the divot at the base of her spine. The mental image is like a bolt of lightning straight to my dick.

  “I said we’re closed,” she says while she spins around, the last word trailing off and almost inaudible as her eyes lock on mine.

  Pale green eyes the color of dewed grass slam into mine so damn hard, the impact forces me to take a retreating step. I’m struck stupid, unable to process a thought let alone communicate words, as I gape back at her. The only thing that saves me from looking like a complete ass right now is that she appears to have the same reaction.

  Her eyes hold my attention for what feels like hours. They’re expressive and stunning, even when they’re wide with surprise. While she continues to gape at me, I finally allow my attention to pull away from those intoxicating eyes. Smooth, silky cheeks with a hint of a pink blush. A mouth so alluring, lips too luscious for kissing that it’s suddenly all I can think about, all I want. To kiss this woman. I swear I could stare at those lips for days, and yet even then, it still wouldn’t be long enough.

  “Can I help you?” she asks, barely above a whisper.

  My gaze returns to her eyes just in time to catch her checking me out. She quickly skims me from head to toe, stopping at my chest on her way back up. She tries to be subtle, sure, but it’s futile. I catch her and make no attempt to hide my smirk. I’m a good-looking guy, I know, but there’s something about this woman that makes her appraisal that much more pleasing.

  “I need flowers for a…friend,” I reply, intentionally adding a pause to my statement.

  Green eyes slam back into mine as she takes in my words. “A friend?” she asks, trying hard to gather her wits. Unfortunately for her, I can still read how much our meeting has rattled her.

  “Yep. A…friend. A good friend.” Again, I can’t help the quirk from the corner of my lips.

  “Well, we’re closed.” Her façade slams back into place as she steels her back and stands to her full height. At six foot two, I still tower over her full five foot eight height. Her eyes harden, those gorgeous green eyes burning into my soul with a fierceness I’ve never experienced. Stubbornness radiates off her like a furnace, and I’ll be completely h
onest, it’s hot as hell.

  I know the flowers are for my elderly neighbor, but it doesn’t stop me from toying with her. Her reaction to my appearance in the shop, followed by the change in her demeanor when I said they were for a friend, are both unexpected and arousing. I don’t know why, but I’m intrigued.

  “I promise not to take too much of your time, but I really need some flowers. Don’t make me be that guy who shows up at her door tonight without flowers.” And with that, I give her the look. I’ve spent years perfecting it. Part puppy dog, part sexual innuendo. Throw in the full-wattage of my pearly white smile and burning, lustful eyes, and the results are always the same: she melts like warm butter.

  Her eyes soften instantly, and I inwardly smile and mentally pump my fists in victory. She offers me a hesitant, shy grin before dropping her eyes to the cleaning cloth in her hand. “I guess I can sell you something as long as it’s out of the cooler,” she says before returning those eyes back to me.

  For the second time since I arrived at the little shop, I’m rendered speechless. Those eyes. They draw me in and refuse to let go. I’m helpless, and that in itself leaves me a little unsettled. I’ve never felt this magnetic pull towards a woman before.

  Beautiful women are everywhere. I’ve dated a handful and not exactly dated a few more. But this woman, she causes a different reaction entirely. Sure, my pants are three sizes too small right now, but it’s more than that. It’s in the way my heart rate elevates and my stomach tightens every time she looks at me.

  “Though it really isn’t my style, I promise I’ll be quick.” I offer a little wink after my sexually-laced insinuation, and struggle to retain my laugh. Her eyes widen in shock and her breathing comes out in little pants. It instantly makes me think of other ways I’d love to make her pant.

  Walking over to the cooler, there’s a dozen or so premade arrangements ready to go. Honestly, I don’t give a shit which one I get. Mrs. Hanson will appreciate any of them, but for some reason, I feel the need to draw out this first encounter, because if I know anything at all, it’s that this is just the first of many more to come. I’ll make damn sure of it.

  “Which one of these do you think says friendly without commitment? The red roses are out, for sure, but what about these bright ones here? Do those give the impression that I love spending time with her day or night?”

  God, I’m a bastard. Yes, I’m leading her to think something entirely different than my reality. She has no clue that I’ve enjoyed sitting on the porch, talking, or playing cards until the wee hours of the morning with Mrs. Hanson. She’s more of a second grandma to me than anything else. But something in the way this woman gets worked up when I insinuate sex with someone else leaves me slightly pleased and itching to egg her on a little more.

  “Well, if you’re looking to say thank you for a wonderful night without having to buy a ring, then I’d go with this one,” she says somewhat hastily as she pulls open the cooler door and pulls out a brightly colored fresh bouquet. The most alluring scent fills my senses–hell, my entire being–but it isn’t the flowers. It’s her. She smells sweet and clean with a hint of floral. It reminds me of the shower. Of water glistening off flushed skin. Of sex. Preferably in the shower.

  Turning away slightly, I take a quick moment to subtly adjust the raging hard-on I’m sporting in my pants. “Those are perfect. I’ll take them,” I find myself saying, even though I’d rather her put them back and get something else. Like a game of cat and mouse, I long for her to reach inside the case and retrieve a different vase. And then another and another. I want to watch her grab every single one of the vases just so I can watch her bend over, those damn pants stretched tightly across her perfect ass. But I know the bouquet she chose for me is perfect. Even though I know shit about flowers, I know Mrs. H will adore them.

  She quickly heads up to the counter, the gentle sway of her hips holding my attention the entire way. With her back to me, she begins the process of covering the flowers in cellophane. Her hands hold a slight shake to them. It’s a subtle movement, but one I notice nonetheless. The red-blooded male in me wonders if that tremble is a result of my nearness, the same way my body is reacting in my pants to her closeness. That’s the effect I’m sticking with right now.

  After wrapping up the vase, she turns back to the register. “The card machine is already shut down,” she says, those green orbs sliding skimming slowly upward until they land on my eyes.

  “I’ll pay cash. It’s the least I can do since I kept you late tonight.”

  “It’s twenty-four ninety-five.”

  Retrieving my wallet, I pull out two twenties and hand them to her. I’d be a liar if I said the slight graze of her hand with my own, as she takes the bills, was a coincidence. But it was no accident. I needed to touch her, even just the slightest.

  What I wasn’t expecting was the impact of that touch. Her gasp is the only sound in the shop. Like lightning, a white-hot bolt of lust strikes our connecting hands, sizzling and shooting heat throughout my body. Holy shit.

  She pulls back suddenly, as if my touch burned her fingers. I don’t even attempt to fight the smile threatening to take over. It feels damn good to smile, as if I haven’t smiled in forever. It also feels damn good to feel something–whatever in the hell it is I’m feeling–for my mystery woman.

  As she drops my change into my hand, careful not to make physical contact a second time, her eyes dart around the room, refusing to settle on mine. She quickly turns, grabs the wrapped vase, and sets it in front of me as if she’s finished with our transaction and with me.

  Knowing that our time is coming to an end, disappointment and indecision set in. I know it’s time to leave, but my feet don’t seem to get the memo. They flat out refuse to walk towards the door. I stand there, watching her, for several heartbeats.

  It’s a slow process, like the final steps towards the electric chair, but I turn towards the entrance and take a few hesitant steps. Before I can chicken out, I turn back around. Round, light green eyes pierce me, captivating me and drawing me back towards her. “Do you have a name?”

  “Yes.” That’s it. That’s all she says.

  “Can I have it?” I ask, the smirk fighting to get out.

  “Don’t you have your own?” she quips with the rise of a single eyebrow, and I know instantly: I’m in lust. Feisty, independent, sassy, and gorgeous. She’s the perfect combination.

  I don’t even attempt to hold back the belly laugh. It sweeps through me in a rush of euphoric bliss. But when she smiles back at me, a beautiful, melt my heart smile, I realize I’m already gone. I’ll stop at nothing to see this smile on this woman’s face as often as humanly possible. The way her eyes crinkle and light up, the way her cheekbones tinge a soft pink, the way her lips, full and pouty, stretch exquisitely across perfectly straight white teeth, her face lights up with that one simple act. Smiling.

  Taking steps, I return to my post at the counter. I set aside the vase, lean down, casually resting my elbows atop the hard surface. “I do have a name, you are correct. What I was hoping for was a name that I could call you when I see you again.”

  “Oh, who says you’ll be seeing me again?” she questions, the sparkle still evident in her eyes. With her hands on her hips, she takes a dazzling defiant stance. But I know differently; her eyes still shine with interest.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s inevitable. Like the sun rising in the east and setting in the west. I suddenly have the innate desire to buy flowers. Lots of flowers.”

  She rolls her eyes. “So, let me get this straight. You’re going to stop by and flirt with me while buying flowers for your other women?” She says women as if I have a herd of them waiting outside.

  I shrug, not denying or supporting her claim. “So how about it? Do I get a name?”

  She stares at me for several heartbeats, and I’m sure she’s going to shoot me down. Unfortunately for her, she has no idea how persistent I can be. I don
’t care if I have to buy flowers for every woman in this town, you can bet your ass I’ll be back. Soon.

  Grabbing the flowers and turning back towards the door, I make my way to the entrance. I grasp the handle and pull, the bell above the door jingling once more. Before I step through the doorway, however, I hesitate. If she’s looking at me, I’ll come back. If she’s not, then I’ll cut my losses and move on. It’s not like I haven’t perfected the art of the cut and run.

  Looking over my shoulder, my focus is solely on a pair of alluring green eyes. There’s hesitancy in her gaze; it looks both reluctant and relieved. Like she’s glad to see me go, but sad at the same time. Her conflict is clear, but it’s the memory of her smile that I hang onto and will carry with me. That and the fact that she was watching me go. Hope bubbles in my chest like carbonation in a soft drink.

  Shooting her a smile of my own, I head out the door and towards my truck. There’s an extra spring in my step as I saunter down the sidewalk and unlock the driver’s door. Sliding inside, I set the flowers in the passenger seat before turning the ignition. My gaze returns to the painted brick building, to the woman I see step to the door. Through the glass, I watch as she turns the lock before her own gaze sweeps the sidewalk and street before her.

  Even through the glare of the windows, I know the instant her eyes settle on mine. I hold her stare for several seconds, silently conveying a message.

  I’ll be back.

  As I throw the truck in drive and pull onto the street, I keep one eye on the road and one on the storefront. I may not know her name, but I know where she works. Something clearly held her back from giving me her name, more than just to toy with me. I didn’t spot a ring, but I suppose that still doesn’t mean she isn’t taken. That just means the guy is stupid to not publicly declare her as his by putting a ring on her finger. I’ve never been in a hurry to settle down, but if I had a woman like that, you could bet your sweet ass I’d commit fully and completely as soon as possible.