The Unblocked Collection

by Marni Mann

  I nodded.

  If Portsmouth went as well as I hoped, I had plans for what I was going to do with that flannel. It wouldn’t be staying on for very long…and neither would his.

  FIVE.

  DEREK

  MY DRIVEWAY was a quarter-mile long; it weaved through a wide strip of forest before mushrooming into a full acre of cleared land. I drove slowly to add to the anticipation, watching Frankie’s face as the trees began to thin. As she took it all in, her reaction didn’t disappoint. It wasn’t the most dramatic house I’d ever built, and it wasn’t even close to the most expensive. But it was the one that made me the proudest, the one I’d dreamed about since I was a kid. My father and I had worked on the blueprints late at night after the dishes were done and my homework was finished. Every inch of under-roof square footage had been planned for, and I’d watched compulsively while it was under construction. Only Will, my building crew, and my family had been inside this house.

  That would change today, for my pink ivory. She studied the house, her hand reaching for mine. “It’s even better than I’d imagined.” She sighed and finally glanced at me. It looked as if everything had suddenly fallen into place. “It’s beautiful, Derek.”

  “You haven’t seen the interior yet…or the view.”

  Her lips spread into the widest grin. “I can’t wait.”

  I grabbed her suitcase from the back and helped her out of my Suburban. She continued staring at the house, not breaking contact as we crossed the grass. When we stepped inside, she paused in the foyer, taking in the beams that ran across the ceiling, the expansive walls, and the intricate floors. Finally, she looked through the windows at the back of the house, where the ocean lapped onto my rocky beach. “This is so…you. All of it.”

  It was me—every color and texture, every decoration and fixture, every piece of hardware and furniture. Even the lighting. All me. My place in Boston was sterile, steel and cold, like the women I brought there and the sex we had. I didn’t want my place in the city to resemble me, and I didn’t want it to feel like home. All that was reserved for Portsmouth.

  I found her hand again and brought her toward the back of the house, through the sliding glass doors. The porch wrapped around the whole backside and looked down at the basement level below and out over the Atlantic. The smell of salt was strong, and the pine and the fresh cut grass. They were scents I’d been missing in the city.

  “It’s perfect.” She leaned into the wooden banister. I couldn’t wait for her to be holding it with both hands, her naked ass cheeks spread wide for me. “Now I know why you love it here so much.”

  “The view is hard to beat.”

  “Not just the view, Derek.” She turned toward me. “It’s so intimate and warm here. So natural and understated. Not one piece overpowers another. Everything is just so beautiful, I don’t know what to look at first and it all just blends so seamlessly. So…balanced.” She hesitated at the word.

  “I want to show you something else.” I gently pulled her hand, leading her to the far side of the balcony and down the staircase. We moved across the lawn toward an enlarged shed that faced the woods. I unlocked the door and reached inside to flip on the light.

  She released my hand and walked in. “Oh my God.”

  It wasn’t state of the art, and it didn’t have the most expensive gear, but it was filled with brands I had grown up using, machines and tools that fit my hands, surfaces I was comfortable working on. It was everything I needed.

  This was my place.

  She looked over her shoulder and caught my eye. “This workshop is incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  I leaned against the doorframe and watched her run her fingers over the worktops, across the sides of the saws and the bases of the sanders. Hell, I wished those fingers were touching me the same way. She crossed her arms over her chest as she stared at my collection of raw lumber, slabs that were divided in specially-designed racks. Eventually, the slabs would turn into something, whatever inspired me in that moment and then I would give it away. Nothing said “pretentious” like a houseful of self-made pieces, so I rarely kept the things I made. I got more satisfaction in giving them as gifts.

  Frankie moved to the back of the room and stopped in front of the three-tiered bookcase. The shelves were empty, except for a picture of me and my father, and an antique claw hammer. It was the first and last tool he had ever given me.

  “It’s pink,” she said, turning toward me, her hand on the wood. She stared into my eyes as I walked over to her. “Pink ivory?”

  I traced the edge where the shelves met the outer casing. “It is.”

  My home was one of the most personal things I owned, a place I kept locked and hidden from almost everyone. This workshop was the other, the workshop where I built and designed, sanded and stained every piece I created. Where I applied the skills my father had taught me.

  Having Frankie in here created feelings that were stronger than I’d had before—stronger than I had for Taylor…for anyone.

  “Did you make this?” she asked.

  I never discussed this memory—not even with my mother, or with Hayden. They didn’t have an appreciation for craftsmanship, and they would never understand how monumental that day was for my father and me. “I was seven. My father and I were working on a job together, remodeling a two-story home office. A shipment of lumber had been delivered for the second-floor library, and some of the planks were pink ivory instead of the oak the client had requested. When we returned the following morning, we found it all in the dumpster outside his house. So we took them out, loaded them into the truck, and stored them in our basement. For a week, we spent our nights making this bookcase, my father teaching me about certain cuts and the rarity of different woods. I was more of an assistant back then. But yes, I helped make it.”

  I didn’t realize I wanted to tell her this until it was all coming out of me.

  She lifted the picture off the shelf. It was of the two of us, kneeling on the floor, sawing slabs of pink ivory. “This is him?”

  I nodded.

  “You don’t talk about him.”

  I took a deep breath, shifting my eyes to the bookcase, then slowly finding hers again. She had revealed her pain; it had happened over stages, but she had eventually voiced it. Mine was as deep. It was also layered. “He’s dead, Frankie. He has been for a while.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “There’s no way you could have.” She couldn’t have known anything about that time in my life. And unless she figured out that the word tattooed on my body was more than just a color, she never would.

  Unless Reed told her…

  “I lost my mom to breast cancer when I was four,” she said, interrupting my thoughts. “That’s when Anna came into my life, to help my father raise me.” Will had learned about her mother’s death when he had researched her before our first meeting. He’d also uncovered the various women her father had dated over the years. “I’m sorry…I’m not comparing my situation to yours. I just understand loss. That’s all.”

  She might understand loss, but she didn’t understand revenge. I was going to fucking destroy Randy for taking my father away from me. If I made a comment, I knew where this conversation could lead to. So I said nothing. I’d revealed enough for one day.

  I took her hand in mine and brought it to my mouth, pressing my lips against her palm. Coconut…amber. I could have eaten those smells off her—and I would soon enough. “Let me show you the rest of the house.”

  She smiled. “I’d like that.”

  SIX.

  FRANKIE

  I SAT on the counter in the kitchen with a glass of pinot noir in my hand, swinging my legs back and forth in the air. Derek stood in front of the gas range, a spatula in his hand, sautéing a mix of seafood. The kitchen was filling with the most decadent scent. “How did I not know you could cook?” The only places we had ever eaten together were at The Hole (though we never actually stayed
long enough to get our food), at the hotel, and at my condo. He had never once hinted that he enjoyed cooking.

  “I don’t do it all that often, but I know my way around a kitchen.”

  “You sure do.” I stared at his ass as I took a sip. “It looks good on you, too.” He’d trimmed his delicious beard. It was shorter than I’d ever seen it, tight around the edges, but still rough, and it would still be startling if he dragged it over my skin.

  And my skin was craving it…

  My phone vibrated from my back pocket; Reed’s name showed on the screen. I clicked the ignore button and tucked it into my jeans, wishing he would leave me alone. I didn’t understand why he wouldn’t, considering I had ignored his texts and calls over the past several days.

  Derek glanced over his shoulder, a grin on his lips. It made me forget all about Reed. “Are you saying you want more?”

  That was his way of asking if I had made a decision. The truth was, the minute we had parked outside his house, I had confirmed what I wanted: Derek was someone worth fighting for. This was the side of him I wanted to get to know—not the multimillion dollar developer, not the client who I had to report my progress to and negotiate contracts with. Not the one who, like myself, was emotionally blocked. Getting the chance to see inside Derek’s home was like finally getting the chance to see inside his tightly buttoned flannel. The realization made me smile, much like I had when I’d entered his wood shop. Things were going to take time and there was a way to make it all work, I just had to find my way toward it.

  “The possibility is definitely there,” I said.

  His grin grew as he turned back to the stove. “Good.”

  My eyes traveled around the room, once again taking in all its beauty, its rustic-chic charm, the masculine colors and warm tones. Besides the bedrooms and bathrooms, the entire house was an open floor plan. It felt as though I were inside the trunk of a tree, in a perfect sculpted loft overlooking the peaceful Atlantic. Wood was used as accessories, it covered the floor, it formed built-ins in the entertainment wall, it had even been worked into the lighting and fixtures. There was certainly an abundance of it, but it wasn’t too much at all. And if it were mine, I would have a difficult time leaving it—a thought that had crossed my mind several times already. I could picture myself living there, our lives meshing in this house, not changing a thing except for adding my clothes to his closet.

  I’d seen thousands of homes in all the years I’d been in real estate, some of the most expensive penthouses in the city, estates in Cape Cod. None of them compared to this house. This home had been built with heart; I could feel it in the air, see it on every surface.

  And this one belonged to Derek.

  “Do you mind grabbing me another beer?” he asked, handing me his empty bottle.

  I jumped off the counter and grabbed an IPA from the back of the fridge. He kissed me as I set it down next to him. I tasted the butter on his lips from when he had sampled the sauce. It was savory, even more so because he made it, because the flavors had come from a mouth I so desperately desired.

  As my eyes left his face, the lighting fixture that hung in the living room caught my attention. It was pieces of wood shaped like antlers, aged and rustic, with lights woven through the various levels. It took a second to realize why it looked so familiar. “That’s the same chandelier that was in the hotel room we stayed in.” He looked to where my finger pointed.

  “Is that right?”

  “Yeah…that’s right.” I could only see his profile, but he wasn’t hiding his smile very well. “My job is to notice details, and this is one I could never forget. It’s not a coincidence, is it?”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “I don’t understand.” I turned him toward me, resting the spatula on the side of the pan so I could hold both his hands. “What did you do?”

  His breath hit my cheek. “I had my decorator swap out some of the décor in the hotel room.”

  “Why?” He just stared intently, saying nothing. “Do you change the décor in every hotel you stay at?”

  He laughed. “Hell no.”

  “Then why, Derek?”

  “I wasn’t ready to bring you here, so I tried to bring here to you.”

  He’d hired his decorator to make the hotel room look like his house? I didn’t understand why he wouldn’t have told me that, as though it were something simple that didn’t matter, something that wasn’t worth speaking about. It wasn’t simple at all, and it wasn’t just worth noting; it was a gesture I would cherish.

  “You cared enough to do that for me,” I said. “Even then.”

  “I wanted that room to be special for the night I had planned for you. I wanted it to feel like me.”

  “It did.”

  His thumb grazed my bottom lip, his eyes tracing it with the same speed. “And here…are you starting to feel me?”

  His layers were slowly being peeled away, and I was enjoying everything I saw beneath.

  “Yes. I feel like I’m finally learning who you are.”

  “I’m going to show you more.”

  “I know.” I kissed him quickly. I wanted it to last longer, but I knew the timing wasn’t right yet. “And I can’t wait.”

  SEVEN.

  DEREK

  DURING DINNER, Frankie told me she wanted to spend some time in the wood shop and make something together. I’d never taught anyone before, never created with anyone other than my father. But the idea of designing a piece with her, our hands running over the same wood, enticed me. Hell, it was the biggest fucking turn on. So after we cleaned the kitchen, she told me to go ahead, and she’d meet me there with some drinks.

  Leaving her inside, I walked down the back steps and took out the key from my pocket. A head start gave me time to choose the wood—to feel the warmth of a thick plank of walnut, a knotted slab of oak, or the smooth surface of bamboo. I hoped it would tame me, calm me down. Otherwise, Frankie was going to find herself on top of one of those surfaces instead of sanding it.

  As I reached the front of the workshop my phone beeped:

  Hayden: I got the name of another one. He’s been injured a year. I’m meeting him in the morning. He’ll sign, I’m sure of it.

  Me: Good job. Be careful. Call me if you need me.

  I dropped my phone back in my pocket and unlocked the door. In my stockpile was a piece of red sandalwood that had the same finish as her home office and there was just enough wood to make a few bookends. Having no experience, it would be a good project for her to start with—not too much cutting or sanding, and it wouldn’t take us long to finish. I could show her how to…

  My thought ended when I saw her in the doorway.

  “I’m sorry I’ve kept you waiting, Mr. Block.”

  She had on one of my flannels and a pair of heels…and nothing else. It rested over her braless tits and hard nipples and landed in the center of her long, lean thighs. The unbuttoned collar exposed the soft, sensually scented neck I loved to devour. Her hair was in messy waves, perfect to grip between my fingers and pull her toward my cock.

  Fuck.

  Frankie had many looks—sweet and natural in the morning before she opened her eyes; erotic and feral when I made her come; fierce and determined when she was in the office. But in my flannel and those black heels was the sexiest I had ever seen her.

  I turned away from the lumber and shoved my hands into my pockets. I prayed I could keep them there. The second they got free, they would be all over her, in her…ravaging her so goddamn hard, she’d be coming in seconds.

  Her heels clicked as she walked over the cement floor, stopping just inches from me. She ran her hands over the red sandalwood. “I’ve been thinking…”

  “I bet you have.”

  She adjusted the collar, revealing even more of her exquisite thighs. I was doing everything I could not to wrap them around my face. “…about all the memories we could make in here tonight.”

  “Nothing is going to be made in here
tonight…except a pair of bookends.”

  She laughed. “I want to change that, Mr. Block.”

  That spicy mouth made my dick twitch against my zipper. “What you’re wearing isn’t safe for…woodworking, Ms. Jordan.” If she wanted to play—and she was damn good at it—then I was going to play, too.

  “I thought you might say that.” She rubbed the front of my jeans, her fingers tracing my zipper. “It’s a good thing I came prepared.” She chewed the corner of her glossy lip, and I watched the way her teeth slid across it, wishing they were my teeth biting it, my tongue licking it.

  “Prepared?”

  “Yes…prepared.” She took a step closer, moving until our bodies finally touched. “With my decision.”

  I clamped my hands around the worktop behind me, leaning against it so I could put a few more inches between us. If the surface hadn’t been concrete, I would have crushed it for sure. “Tell me.”

  She looked around the room, taking it all in as she’d done upstairs when we had first arrived. This room, what I had revealed inside it, was who I was. It looked like she was accepting it. “I used to feel the biggest rush when I closed a deal. It was a burst of adrenaline that would consume my entire body and I would hurry to close my next one so I could feel it again.” Her voice changed, and so did her eyes. She was still acting provocative, but she had taken a more serious, sincere tone. “It filled a void, an emptiness, because I had completely shut myself off emotionally. Work became my relationship.” I knew that feeling well; I’d been practicing it since my ex had left. “I want my career; I want to be the top agent, I want those sales and to feel that rush. I also want things that work can’t give me. Things only you can give me, Derek.” She reached for my hand, lifting it off the worktop and holding it between her palms. “I don’t want to fight my emotions anymore. I want to listen to them, to listen to you, to be open and vulnerable and…” Her hand pressed on my chest. I felt the heat of her skin over my heart, the heart that had awakened because of her. It was fucking hammering now. “I want to give you all of me.”