by Ann, Jewel E
“What if he asks how I got in?”
Jillian grinned with pride. “Tell him I let you in. It’s the truth, and trust me, he won’t ask you any more questions after that.”
Ryn gave her an easy nod. “Thanks. I’d better get to work.”
Jillian smiled, took a few steps toward home, then turned. “Are you taking new clients?”
Ryn grabbed two buckets of supplies from the back of her car. “I could probably take on one more, but it would have to be a weekly client. I have a two hour slot on Tuesday afternoons, but it’s not enough time for a bi-weekly job. More dirt. More time.”
“My brother and I could use someone to do some light cleaning, if you’re interested.”
“Your brother?”
Jillian laughed. “Yes. My roommate happens to be my brother, for now. We just moved here.”
“Well, yeah … if you want Tuesdays I could put you on my schedule. When I’m done here, I can come over and give you an estimate if you’ll still be home.”
Jillian didn’t really need an estimate, but it seemed like the normal thing to expect so she went with it. “Sure. If I’m not home Jackson will be. And, just a fair warning … he’s going to like you.” She winked at Ryn.
An uneasy smile formed along her lips. “Excuse me?”
“Just ignore everything he says or does. He’s taken a vow of celibacy. Some days are easier than others.”
*
“We hired AJ’s cleaning lady to clean this pit on Tuesdays, and she’ll be dropping by to give an estimate when she’s done with his place. So be nice and keep your dick in your pants. I’m going to watch Lilith.” Jillian pulled her hair back into a ponytail.
“We hired her?” He loved how his sister made decisions for both of them without consulting him.
“Yes.”
“And why do you think my dick will wander from my pants?”
She insulted him with her lack of trust. He was a changed man.
Her answer began with a sigh. “Because she’s older than you—maybe late thirties, early forties. And she’s pretty.”
Jackson crossed his arms. “Elaborate on pretty.”
“She’s most likely married with kids, two fish, and a dog, so I don’t know why it matters.”
“Elaborate on pretty.” He held firm.
“Five-seven, a hundred and thirty pounds, shy smile, an inverted bob cut with wavy shades of blond, light blue eyes, and freckles. Bye.” She shut the door.
After piecing all the descriptives into a mental image, he looked down at his crotch. “Yeah, buddy, this could be a problem.”
Several hours later, while in the middle of his lesson, a few soft taps rapped on the door.
“Keep playing. I’ll only be a minute.”
He opened the door. “Hello.” The smile that curled along his lips continued to grow as he stole a few extra seconds to just look. It didn’t hurt to look. “You must be AJ’s housekeeper.”
“Yes. Ryn Middleton.” She strained her neck to the side. “Sorry, am I interrupting?”
“I’m in the middle of a lesson, but Jillian said you’d be coming by. Come in. Feel free to scope out the place. You won’t bother us.”
A nice smile, indeed shy but genuine, graced her mesmerizing face as she nodded. Although, it was her eyes that held his attention, a stark change from his past. He usually couldn’t remember a woman’s name, let alone her eye color. The exception, however, stood in front of him with the most brilliant blue eyes that faded to icy blue halos right next to her pupils. They drew him in like a hypnotic spiral—an idiot just staring at her.
“Oh…” he moved to the side and grinned “…yes, come in.”
“Thanks,” she whispered.
His student continued to kill his piano by playing her own made-up chords that had him dreaming of physically harming her. Ryn didn’t need to whisper. Her voice offered an angelic reprieve from the musical massacre going on in the background.
The distracted piano teacher, with his head in the gutter, sat back down by his student while Ryn surveyed their place. No wedding band shackled her finger, but it was possible she didn’t wear one while cleaning. Five or so minutes later she paused near the front door, writing something on a pad of paper.
“Play that song again,” he told his student. His mind screamed, Get out! And never touch Black Beauty again.
Jackson’s new obsession smiled as he approached her. “Here’s the estimate.”
“Great. So I’ll see you Tuesday.”
Her brow furrowed a bit. “You…” she gestured to the piece of paper “…didn’t even look at it.”
Jackson looked at it for two quick seconds. “Great. So I’ll see you next Tuesday.”
Ryn chuckled. “Twelve-thirty.”
He nodded. “If you need to discuss that time with your husband and call us back that’s fine.”
Ryn peaked a single brow. “I’m pretty sure women asking their husbands’ permission to schedule work went out of style a couple generations ago. Twelve-thirty on Tuesday.”
A terrible answer. What was he supposed to deduce from that? A simple “I’m not married” or “I don’t need my husband’s permission” were the acceptable answers. At least they would have been clear answers; the only acceptable answer was the first one.
*
Shit. Shit. Shitty. Shit. Shit. That pretty much summed up Ryn’s thoughts on her new clients, specifically the tattooed sex-on-a-stick that taught piano lessons. Guys that looked like that did not teach piano lessons. Then there were those geeky glasses with the white tape on the bridge. Was it wrong that within thirty seconds of him answering the door her mind had him crawling up her body wearing nothing but those glasses? Probably.
Damn hormones.
His eyes and that smile—she knew flirting when she saw it. Or maybe it was teasing. Flirting said “I want you.” Teasing said “You want me, but you don’t have a chance in the world. Ryn had to think on that one.
Celibacy.
Jackson didn’t look like a priest, but there really wasn’t any other good explanation. He probably played the organ at church. A tattooed organ-playing priest. And his age—younger. He had to be in his sexual prime. That explained Jillian’s warning. His carnal needs warred with his spiritual calling and his type had been reduced to a simple category: women. When a person suffers from starvation, they’re not choosy. They just crave food.
Any woman would be tempting after going so long—or maybe forever—without sex. Was it possible? Was Jackson a virgin?
Ryn tore through her last house on autopilot and dragged her tired, aging ass into the shower. Three weeks separated her from the big four-oh. It wasn’t a huge deal, except she would be forty and single with a twenty-one-year-old daughter and an ex-husband with a restraining order against him. She really knew how to pick ’em.
The most important male in her life was Gunner—her ten-year-old German shepherd. She adopted him as a pup and they went through years of training together. The perfect guard dog, obedient to her like a soldier.
“Should we call Maddie?”
Gunner tilted his head to the side. Ryn towel dried her hair while plopping down on the bed and grabbing the phone.
“Not now, Mom.”
“Nice to talk to you too, Maddie.”
“Well you call me every day. I have a date. Some of us have a life, you know.”
Ryn knew. How could she not? Her daughter reminded her of it all the time.
“I thought we could do a spa day for my birthday.”
“I have to work on your birthday. Need I remind you why that is?”
No. She didn’t need to hear it again. Maddie’s father pulled her college funding when Ryn filed the restraining order. Maddie complained that her mother overreacted. She didn’t, but Maddie had no way of knowing that because Ryn sheltered her from all the ugly. It was a mother’s sacrifice and Ryn never regretted it, even when her daughter treated her with disrespect and contempt.
“Well, if you find someone to work for you—”
“I won’t.”
The usual sigh escaped Ryn. Someday Maddie would understand that no amount of money justified selling both of their souls to the Devil. And Preston Iverson was the devil.
“Madison … I love you.” Ryn ended the call before her stubborn daughter had a chance to respond. Of course she loved her only child, but she had too much respect for herself to tolerate any more snide comments. It was like strikes—after three, Ryn ended the conversation.
“That went well.”
Gunner did another head tilt. He had her back, licked her tears, and never once complained. Maybe she needed to take Maddie to obedience school too.
Chapter Three
Jillian meandered home after leaving Dodge and Lilith’s. She wasn’t ready to go inside and deal with Jackson, the second text, and the ramifications of AJ’s diagnosis. Choosing the temporary sanctuary of the front porch stoop, she plopped down and watched her neighbors grilling out and tending to their yards and plants. The breeze ebbed and flowed, carrying the smoky aroma of Stan’s charcoal grill and the droning screech of cicadas.
A small part of her waited for AJ to come home, which was ridiculous because she had no idea what to say to him. Maybe if she could see him, fall into his arms, the right words would come to her. If only he could feel the conflict that warred inside of her, he’d realize that her past didn’t matter. Maybe. If only. But doubtful.
“Hey, kiddo. Did you look over the notes and the profit and loss statement?” Stan asked, hobbling his way up her driveway, shoulders slumped, sweat dripping from his brow, and muddy gardening knee pads still strapped to his legs. The guy never stopped working.
“I did.” Briefly.
“Anything we could improve on?”
“You spend too much money on snow removal. Granted, I’m not from around here, but I have a feeling your plow guys show up the second there’s a light dusting in the middle of the night. Then there’s the insane amount of money going toward insurance. When lightning struck the Dickson’s house and caused damage to the roof, that was a legitimate claim for the association’s policy. But the most recent claim from the kitchen fire started by the Anderson’s college-aged daughter, who doesn’t even live there? That should have been a claim for their personal homeowner’s insurance.”
“Well, we try not to discriminate.”
“I think the association needs to worry less about discrimination and more about taking it up the backside. It’s okay to be neighborly at picnics, but when you’re responsible for people’s money, you have to treat it like a business and have guidelines and boundaries in writing.”
Stan nodded. “I’ll talk to Dodge about it.” He seemed a bit disappointed in her opinion.
“Sorry if that’s not what you wanted to hear, but you asked my honest opinion.”
“No, no … that’s fine. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that. It’s not like this is your area of expertise.”
Yes, it was. But he would never know that.
After Stan left, she lay back on the warm concrete stoop, letting the setting sun hit her face. Everything she shared with Lilith replayed like a highlight reel to her favorite movie. Since AJ went AWOL, Luke filled the empty void—which was ironic because up until that point, her entire existence as Jillian Knight felt like one big Luke-shaped void.
*
Day
Jessica awoke alone and naked from what had to be a dream. Restraints. Tears. Love. Sex—the best sex ever. Covering her face with a pillow, she grumbled into it, “Please tell me it wasn’t a dream.”
“It wasn’t a dream.”
“Jones!” She bolted up, tossing the pillow to the floor.
“Good morning.” The god of all gods stood in the doorway with a towel wrapped around his waist, wet hair, sexy smile.
“Hi,” she breathed. “You stayed.”
“I stayed … on the couch.”
Her eyes wandered along his body with her breath held captive. The mark on his shoulder wasn’t new. It was from Long Beach. “Turn around.”
He shook his head. “You didn’t make me bleed.”
On a slow exhale, she extinguished her nerves. She’d had sex with him, more than once. He’d released her from the restraints, and she didn’t. Make. Him. Bleed.
“You’re not cured.”
She nodded. “But it’s a step.”
The sexy lips she craved curled into a hint of a smile. “A small step.”
“I’m better for you.”
“You’re better with me.”
She squinted at him with her brow tensed. “I’m like a dog that’s well behaved with its owner.”
His teeth peeked through his growing smile as a soft chuckle vibrated from his chest. “I’m not sure you’ll ever be ‘well behaved.’”
Everything about him captivated her. The vulnerability she felt under his control nearly broke her. It wouldn’t matter how many blankets covered her body or layers of clothing concealed her nudity, she would forever feel stripped naked in his presence.
“I have to get home and change for work.”
The lilac sheet slipped from her breasts. “Could I convince you to stay?”
He looked at her bared chest. No hesitation. No guilt. She was so completely his. He knew it and she knew it.
“Yes, but my patients would be grateful if you didn’t.”
“How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Make me surrender without taking my sense of control.”
He dropped his towel and stepped into his jeans. “Surrendering is the ultimate control.”
“Now you’re just messing with me, Jones.”
He buttoned his shirt. “Take a shower. Go to work. Be productive today and I’ll reward you later.”
“So I am your dog. Will we play fetch? I’m pretty good with a Frisbee.”
Luke tied his shoes. It thrilled her to see him struggle a little more every day to keep his smile hidden. “I’ll pick you up around seven.”
“Seven-thirty. I’m teaching class until seven.”
“Class?”
“Self-defense.”
He nodded, giving her a thoughtful look. “The battered women’s shelter?”
“Yep.”
“Seven-thirty then.”
“Hey!” she called as he began his escape. “That’s it?” She slid out of bed, baring her entire naked body to him. “No kiss goodbye?”
He looked back over his shoulder, puckered his lips, kissed the air then continued to the front door.
“Jones!” She jogged to catch up, stopping him before he opened the front door.
“Do you still love me?”
He sighed as if the sight of her naked body pained him. “I adore you.”
“You adore me? What? You no longer love me?”
Inspecting the choices on the coat tree, he grabbed a long gray sweater from it then wrapped it around her. She returned a single raised brow.
“People love chocolate, surfing, and their gold fish. Adoration is better … it means to both love and admire.”
The tough-as-nails woman melted into a teenaged girl for a bit. “You admire me?” Her voice softened in disbelief.
“I do.” He gave her a quick peck on the lips and pulled away as she began to lean in.
She shoved the sweater off her shoulders. “But you don’t admire my body?”
He made a swift move out the door. “I do … way too much,” he called as he fled down the stairs.
Her smile beamed with uncontrollable delight from his adoration confession. “He thinks I’m adorable.” That smile faded to a frown as she ran to her window and slid it open. “Dammit, Jones!”
He looked up a second before closing the door to his GTO.
“It was another dog reference. Puppies are adorable.” She scowled.
Luke shook his head, a big grin plastered to his handsome face as he shut the do
or.
“God, he’s adorable.” Jessica giggled as she made her way to the shower.
*
Jessica cursed the traffic and the tourist-filled cable cars that slowed her journey home. By the time she pulled into her single-car garage stall, the GTO that she adored sat parked in front of her place.
“Don’t mess with my heart, Jones. You’d better let me drive her tonight,” she murmured to herself while smiling at him with bared teeth.
“There’s my girl.” Luke grinned as she approached her front steps.
Did she like being “his girl?” Hell yes!
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her into his body, finding her lips and stealing her breath. She would never get used to Jones, Dr. Luke Jones, looking at her with those seductive blue eyes, pulling her into that sexy body, and kissing her with those lips that she’d coveted for so long.
When her knees gave out, he released her lips but kept her close to the hard planes of his chest.
“Let me run and change. Wait for me in the passenger seat.”
“Nice try.” He followed her up the steps.
After a quick change they were off to Sausalito for dinner. Luke drove.
“This feels like our first official date.” Jessica winked, freeing the shiny utensils from the red cloth napkin.
“You’re not counting our blind date?” Luke asked.
Jessica smiled at the waiter serving her wine. “No. Although it was our first kiss.” She grinned with her teeth clenched together.
The unappreciative victim of that first kiss narrowed his eyes at her.
“Well it was.” She laughed. “So … is this a working dinner?”
“Working dinner?”
“Yes. More unofficial therapy?”
“No. That was yesterday. I can’t see you as my unofficial patient tonight.”
She sipped her wine. “Why not?”
“Because I have a date.”
Everything about the man personified perfection. How was that possible? And why was he with arguably the biggest disaster on the West Coast? “Mmm … yes, with that nice girl I told you about.”
He closed his menu. “You said she was a real catch.”