Carolina Pearl

by Sela Carsen

  She rounded on him with a fist balled up like she meant business, but he caught her arm before she connected. They were off-balance and the whole scaffold was starting to sway. He needed to get her under control—and apologize if he could—before they both ended up with broken bones.

  Still holding one wrist, he caught the other one and by virtue of weight more than skill, he maneuvered her to the center of the scaffold, backing her up until she was sandwiched between him and the house.

  “Blair, I’m sorry. I was wrong and I’m sorry.” He had to yell his apology over her shouting, which was…wow. He wasn’t sure her suggestion was anatomically possible. And given that his mother was dead, he knew that wasn’t happening. Also, he didn’t own any goats.

  He pushed closer and closer to contain her struggles until there was no space between them, still repeating his words in her ear like a mantra, hoping she would draw a breath soon.

  Conn felt it the moment she heard him. The moment his words registered. The moment her body stilled under his. In the aftermath of their shouting, it seemed the world held its breath, waiting to see the outcome.

  Whether she leaned forward, or whether he reached for her, they were so close it didn’t matter. Her lips were so soft, so warm under his. So responsive as he pressed further. He still held her arms against the side of the house, pinning her there, but now it was pleasure keeping him dominant.

  He caressed the pulse in the slender tendons under her hands, loving the stutter and leap of her blood under his thumbs, knowing his own did the same. She was caught, completely under his control, and he was shocked to discover the sheer eroticism of knowing he was unquestionably on top.

  Not that she simply let him take over. She kissed back, undulating her body under his, pressing her breasts into his chest, opening her legs to bring him closer.

  He decided to push his advantage, curious to see how far she would let him go. He licked at her mouth and she opened immediately, welcoming his tongue, returning his challenge with the scrape of her teeth against his lip.

  Conn let go of her wrist to get a better grip. He wrapped her ponytail around his fist and pulled her head back—not enough to hurt her—but enough to break their kiss. Enough to have her looking up at him with fire in her eyes and red, swollen lips.

  “Christ, woman. I could eat you alive.”

  She grinned, a fierce baring of blindingly white teeth as she tipped her hips into his again and he surged forward, fitting his cock into the tight vee of her thighs. “I’m told I go well with Chianti.”

  Chapter Two

  His crack of laughter changed the moment into something they could shelve for now and pick up later. His hand loosened in her hair and she thought he might have smoothed her ponytail when he let go. She let her hands rest on his waist, not pulling him close, but content to share his warmth.

  Blair was used to having the upper hand with the human men she’d dated. She rarely even thought about the balance of power, simply assuming she’d always dominate. Conn seemed so quiet, she thought she’d do that here too.

  So when he pinned her against the house and pulled her hair back, she ended up being the one gasping under a powerful partner. It was strange to admit she kind of liked it. Not that she’d let him push her around, but it was exciting to have someone else be dominant for a change.

  Their moment, however, was interrupted by clapping from down on the ground. They both peered over the edge of the scaffold and she felt his body tense.

  The man leering up at them was handsome in a shallow way. His face was clean-shaven except for a luxurious blond moustache matching his thick, wavy hair. His eyes were dull blue and too close together, but the worst of him was his scent. He was drenched in department store cologne, but it couldn’t hide the corruption seeping from his pores.

  “Nice show. And I didn’t even have to buy the Pay-Per-View.” That pretty much confirmed his status as an asshole.

  “What do you want, Aubrey?” said Conn, and she’d never thought to hear such a chill in his voice. He stepped in front of her and placed himself so Aubrey had to crane his neck to see her.

  “I came by to check on your progress. The old place sure is shaping up.”

  “Yeah.” He left the word hanging and Aubrey shifted uncomfortably.

  “I see you found some help.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I didn’t think you could find a crew here in Culford,” the man sneered.

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t know anything about it.” Oooh. She got it now. This was the guy that Conn figured was sabotaging his remodel. “Not my fault if all my crews are busy.”

  “Or if you own all the construction crews in town.”

  “Nope,” he said with a nasty smirk. “That’s not my fault, either. Are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

  Conn said, “No,” as Blair stepped out beside him.

  “I’m Blair Moreau.”

  “Aubrey Cotesworth. We own this place.”

  “Is that the royal ‘we’, Mr. Cotesworth, or are you pregnant?” She bared her teeth at him so it looked like a smile.

  “And you owned it,” interjected Conn. He emphasized the ‘D’. “It’s mine now.”

  “Of course,” said Aubrey, waving the objection away. “It’s a family thing. You know how it is.”

  “No. I don’t.” Conn left his reply hanging out there in the cold, but Aubrey recovered.

  “Is there something I can do for you…cousin?”

  Blair hid her surprise. They were related? She was abruptly grateful for her family.

  Aubrey’s nose wrinkled for a moment before he smoothed out his expression. Obviously, he didn’t like to be reminded of the connection.

  “Just figured to drive by and make sure you didn’t want to take us up on our offer. After all, you don’t want to be away from your job for too long, and this project is too big for one man on his own. We could help each other out here, Conn.”

  “You mean you want to help by buying me out with an offer that wouldn’t even cover my capital gains expense? And you don’t need to worry about me doing this project all on my own, Aubrey. You can let the Cotesworths know I’m going to get this house into shape come hell or high water.” Conn was furious. Standing next to him, she felt his body temperature rise and his pulse pound, audible to her with her heightened senses. Nonetheless, each word was measured and delivered with the cool diction of a trial attorney. Strong emotion buried under stronger discipline. She wondered where he’d learned all his control.

  Aubrey’s brows drew together until he looked like he had a long, hairy yellow slug creeping across his forehead. Then he took a deep breath and cleared his expression. He put his hands up in mock surrender. “I give. You know we had to try.”

  “No, you didn’t.” Boiling anger plus his frozen voice should have built up a hissing cloud of steam, but the air remained surprisingly clear.

  There was nothing left to say, so Aubrey simply turned on his heel and stalked back to his brand new black pickup truck with “Cotesworth Construction” emblazoned on the door.

  He kicked up a cloud of dust on the dirt road as he wheeled out, leaving silence in his wake.

  Conn stood at the edge of the scaffold, clenching his fists and his jaw. Blair didn’t know what to do for him, but she knew she shouldn’t touch him right now. She hated being touched when she was angry, so she afforded him the same courtesy.

  “Conn?”

  “I need to get back to work.” His words were clipped and harsh, but she didn’t take it personally. There was something much deeper at work here when family turned on each other. Instead, she picked up the other end of the siding board and held it in place while the nail gun blasted.

  Conn considered trading out the nail gun for a hammer, if only for the excuse to hit something. The Cotesworths wanted him gone and forgotten. In fact, as soon as they realized he’d inherited the house, they set their law dogs on him to have the will contested. It wasn’t
that they wanted the house, they just didn’t want him to have it.

  Him. The bastard son of a pampered princess gone wrong. If she was being a maudlin drunk as opposed to a vicious drunk that day, his mama would tell him they used to call her “Pamela Precious” when she was growing up. But she’d thrown it all away on a bad boy who blew through Culford one summer. She broke off her engagement and rode out of town on the back of his shiny motorcycle, only to return a year later, alone but for a massively pregnant belly, days away from giving birth.

  She refused to give him up, and he ended up bearing the brunt of all their hatred. Fun times. His uncle, Aubrey’s father, had never said more than five words to Conn—“Get out of my way.”

  But he succeeded and got the hell out of town, which only made them hate him more. Then his Great Aunt Pinkney died and left him the house and property—and all hell broke loose. She’d been a recluse, never saying much to anyone, so “surprised” was the kindest word for their reaction.

  The Cotesworth place was actually the old family seat and had stood since the Revolutionary War. When the family moved into town after World War II it went from slightly shabby to major disrepair. Still, it had the family name on it and they resented it going to a bastard.

  But the will stood, and because he was feeling contrary, he’d come down to see his new property.

  After one look, he realized he should have let them have the place. The longer he worked on it, however, the more he found the house was far more solid than it looked. Other than a patch or two on the roof, it was in pretty good shape for not having been replaced for sixty years. Some of the siding was rotten, but there was no mold inside the walls. The foundation was sturdy and none of the ceilings sagged or swayed, but from the outside, it looked as though the place would fall in on itself at any moment.

  It was as if the house was disguising itself as a wreck to keep people away. Conn wished he could disguise himself so easily.

  He and Blair worked steadily and silently for half an hour, finishing the siding replacement on the west side of the house in less than half the time it would have taken him on his own. He owed her for that.

  Actually, he owed her for more. He owed her for finally letting him rid himself of some of the poison building up inside him. He owed her for taking his anger and giving it back in passion. And for all the work she’d done today, the very least he owed her was dinner.

  “Blair?” he said after the last board was in place.

  She turned to him, open and accepting.

  “I’m sorry. Again. I seem to say that a lot around you and we haven’t even known each other for long.”

  “You had at least some provocation. I’m glad Aubrey’s not my cousin.”

  He nodded. “I guess he had to be someone’s cousin. It’s just my luck I won the lottery there.” Conn climbed down the ladder, then held it still as she followed. She had the most perfect ass he’d ever seen or imagined in his life, heart shaped and taut with muscle. He had to bite his lip to keep from grunting in Neolithic approval.

  She glanced over her shoulder and flashed him a coy smile. “Enjoy the view?”

  “Prettiest thing I’ve seen all day.” He decided he may as well go for broke. “Would you have dinner with me tonight?”

  Her eyes widened in surprise, but she didn’t look upset. No, her full lips quirked up at the corners and he suppressed a desire to lean forward and lick them.

  “I’d love to have dinner with you tonight. When and where?”

  “Robin’s. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  She nodded and walked away, putting an extra sway in her hips for him, he was sure. He cleaned up the leftovers of the day’s work and headed inside to shower and change.

  But first, he stopped in the front parlor where a rocking chair swayed and creaked under its own power.

  “Aunt Pinkney.” He nodded at the empty chair that wasn’t quite empty. A shadow, a shimmer of air wearing a housedress and an apron, sat in the chair, her lap covered in fine crochet work.

  “Who is your young lady?”

  He’d never known Aunt Pinkney in life, but in death he learned that under her sweet old lady exterior, there was a superior mind and a sharply honed sense of humor. It was her idea of hilarity to leave the family property to a bastard. They got along perfectly, even if she was a ghost.

  “That’s Blair Moreau. Her brother and sister-in-law live in the house down the road.”

  “Oh, the Moreaus. We know about them.”

  “What do you know?”

  “They’re fine folks. A little unusual though, if you take my meaning.”

  “Is there something I should know about her?”

  “Nothing that would hurt you to find out on your own. You have a nice time at dinner now, you hear?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he muttered as he walked away. He showered and shaved, pondering his situation as he dragged the old-fashioned safety razor over his bristles.

  His life had been normal before he came back to Culford. Boring, stressful, colorless, yes, but normal. Now he had vicious cousins crawling everywhere, a house that magically looked like hell but was actually in pretty good shape, and a few ghosts as roommates.

  Oh yeah. He was a real prize. Because that’s what every dream girl wanted—a guy who could see dead people. Even if they were family.

  Chapter Three

  At five minutes until seven, Blair was standing out on the front porch wearing skinny jeans that showed off the length of her legs and a silky blouse with a scoop neck. She didn’t have cleavage like her sister-in-law, but there was no point in hiding her light under a bushel, either.

  But the real reason she was standing out here shivering in the damp evening air and fiddling with her earrings was because if she had to listen to her mother plan her wedding before she and Conn even had their first date for another minute, she was going to snap. She stared up at the nearly full moon and tingled with the electric call of nature.

  Debra needed to pop those pups out soon before Grandma drove everyone nuts. As soon as the babies were born, she and Dad would head back to Freeze-Your-Ass-Off, Canada, and leave everyone alone.

  She heard her mother’s footsteps approach the front door and she bounded off the porch, heedless of her high heels. The door opened and she waved back. “Bye, Mom! I’m going to meet him at the mailbox.”

  Guilt assailed her. What kind of rotten daughter left her mother standing in a doorway? A gutless one with a backwards “fight or flight” mechanism. She sighed and trudged up the driveway.

  He drove up in an older model BMW, and she let him come around and open the door for her. Her mom was still out on the porch, so they waved at her before he got in and buckled up.

  “Uh-oh. What happened?”

  “That obvious, huh?”

  “You look unhappy. Great. Sexy. But not happy.”

  It had to be bad, then. She sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s just… I love my mother, but she can be a little overbearing.”

  He nodded, but didn’t say anything. To combat the silence, she asked, “Is your mom like that?”

  “Not exactly.” Her eyebrow went up as the temperature in the car dropped. Okay. Obviously another sensitive topic, but she didn’t like being left out in the cold and she was only willing to give so much for the benefit of the doubt. She crossed her arms and waited. He sucked in a quick breath and held it for a moment before letting it out.

  “My mother was a Cotesworth. She made a series of stupid decisions resulting in being shunned by her family and having me, then spent the rest of her life getting as drunk or high as possible in order to forget those stupid decisions. Your mom might be a little overbearing—and I can see where it could get annoying—but mine was underbearing to the point of ignoring my existence. If I had to pick one, I’d pick yours.” His hands were clenched on the steering wheel and he stared straight ahead as he spoke. When he was done, he remained focused on the road in front of him. The car was still parked.
>
  Her mom was still standing on the porch. Blair rolled down the window and leaned out. “I love you, Mom!”

  Her mom smiled and waved back. “I love you, too, baby!” Then she went inside.

  “You are a very tough guy, you know that, Conn?”

  He smiled at her as he turned over the engine and got them moving. “I’m a lawyer. We’re vicious by nature.”

  Dinner was lovely. Robin’s might have been a small-town hangout, but the chef knew her business. Blair ordered her steak a little more done than she usually liked it, but only because she wasn’t sure how Conn would handle seeing a chunk of bloody meat on her plate. Everything else was delicious.

  She spent two hours pretending she was normal. Human. They spoke of small, inconsequential things, and she asked about the house.

  “How old is it?”

  “About two hundred twenty-five years old. It was built in 1784. Now, the first Cotesworth actually landed in Georgia long before, back when it was a penal colony.”

  Conn was a natural storyteller. As he spoke, his expression became that of a proud father and his voice grew warm and expansive. He even used his hands to illustrate his points. “He’d been transported for theft, or so the story goes. He served out his sentence, but being an enterprising young man with sticky fingers, he left Georgia and headed up into the Carolinas. He married a widow woman who lived here in Culford—you know the town’s been around since the first colonists showed up—and settled down with her.”

  The waitress arrived with coffee for both of them and he leaned forward. It was getting late and the restaurant was emptying out as he continued the tale. “The widow woman had a story of her own. They say she was the widow of a pirate, and she had hidden his treasure in her home. But they also called her a witch, so they left her alone in her little house at the edge of the swamp.”

  Blair smiled. She didn’t mind swamp witches. Heck, her sister-in-law was a swamp witch, when it came down to it, but she didn’t interrupt.