Neighborly Complications (Stories of Serendipity)

by Anne Conley

  “Don’t make this about sex.”

  “I wasn’t. It feels good to hold you in my arms like this. You’re warm and soft, and you smell good. I like it.”

  Claire felt herself soften. “I like it, too. Now be quiet, so I can go to sleep.”

  She admitted to herself that she was scared. Scared whoever had done this to her house would come back. But for right now, she felt safe in Max’s arms. And that scared her a little, too.

  Chapter 9:

  Max woke up the next morning, to see a vision staring at him. Claire’s hair was sticking up in all directions, and her eyes were glazed with sleep, her face lined with creases, but all in all, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  And she was actually smiling at him.

  “What?”

  Her smile turned smug. “You drool when you sleep.”

  “What? No, I don’t.”

  “Then why is there a wet spot on your pillow?”

  Max looked at the offending spot, and then turned to Claire. “That must be yours. I don’t drool.”

  “Girls rule, boys drool. That’s the saying. I’m a girl, you’re a boy. Your drool.” She sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, but Max wasn’t letting her get away that easily. He leaned over, grabbing her tiny waist with his massive grip, and flopped her back on the bed. She fought him, half-heartedly, and he grasped both of her hands in one of his and held them over her head.

  With his face inches from hers, he could feel her body beneath his. He adjusted himself so that the evidence of his morning arousal wasn’t pressing against her hip. “It’s not my drool. Admit it, or I’ll make you regret it.” He growled at her, teasing menace in his voice.

  She quirked an eyebrow. “How will you do that?”

  “I’ll tickle you.”

  She smirked. “I’m not ticklish.”

  “That figures. Then I guess I’ll just have to kiss that smirk off your face.”

  Before she could respond, his mouth was on hers, kissing her into oblivion. Her mouth was so soft and warm, and when she whimpered, something inside him responded hungrily. Suddenly, his hands were all over her, feeling, exploring her softness. The thin cotton of her tee shirt was a sensual barrier between them. He could feel her aroused nipples pressing against his chest as she arched into his kiss.

  He plunged his tongue into her mouth, thrusting, and sweeping. He could taste her sleepiness, but her sleepiness quickly turned to enthusiasm, as she wrapped her arms around his neck to draw him closer.

  A loud knock at the door downstairs interrupted them. Max pulled away with a groan, and reached for his jeans on the floor, turning away to put them on and hide his raging hard on. He turned to see her walking out her bedroom door in her pajamas. Was she really going to answer the door wearing boxer shorts and a tee shirt? He hurried to follow her down the stairs.

  When she opened the door, he saw those two guys from Lowe’s, and he stepped in front of Claire. He knew it would piss her off, but he didn’t want them to see her like this.

  “How can I help you?” He asked warily.

  “Uh…we were dropping off a floor sander for Miss Dunlap.”

  “I can get it from here. Thanks guys. Is there anything to sign?” Max reached for the sander.

  “No sir. Thank you.” They turned to leave, as Max hauled the sander inside. When he turned around, he saw Claire standing with her hands on her hips, tapping her foot. That spark was in her eyes, again, and Max stifled his grin.

  “What was that, Max?” Her voice was tight.

  “The delivery guys with your sander.”

  “Not that. What was all that…standing in front of me business?”

  He looked at her, waving his hand up and down at her appearance. “You’re wearing your pajamas, Claire.”

  “So?”

  “So, you don’t have a bra on, for Christ’s sake, and that tee shirt is completely see-through, showing off your astounding tits to the entire neighborhood.”

  “Max! This is my house! This is my delivery! This is my damn neighborhood! If I want to answer the house in the nude, I will do it. I will do what I want to in my own house!” She was yelling at him, and as much as he liked it, he knew he needed to tread carefully.

  “You don’t know those guys, Claire. I’m telling you, they’re bad news. I really wish you would listen to me on this.”

  “You are not the boss of me, Max.” His eyebrows rose at the childishness of her epithet, and he tried not to look amused.

  “Look, I know you are mad at me. But there is no way I’m going to stand inside your house and let those guys see you like that.”

  “Go home, Max.”

  Well, he saw this coming. For some reason, they couldn’t spend fifteen minutes together without fighting. Her usual response was to make him leave. He wasn’t going to argue. He started towards the stairs.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To get my boots.” He raised his eyebrows in question. “Mother, may I?”

  “Yes. Go get your boots, and then get out.”

  When he returned with his boots, pulling his shirt over his head, she was still standing by the door, waiting for him to leave. He walked up to her, grabbed her shoulders, and swept a chaste kiss across her lips before flashing her a mischievous grin. “See you in a little while, Claire.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll be back this evening.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “It’s complicated.” He winked, and was out the door.

  Claire looked at the sander. She was little, but she considered herself strong for her size. Even so, this looked like a beast. At least there is nobody here to laugh at me.

  She understood the concept of the thing. You plug it in, and move it over the floor in long, sweeping strokes, with the grain of the wood. Piece of cake. She tied a bandana over the bottom half of her face to keep the dust off, and plugged the puppy in.

  Then she chased it across the room.

  After she finally grabbed the handle bars to stop it from careening out the window, Claire discovered she could barely control the beast, much less steer it. It was heavy standing still, but when it was moving, it had a mind of its own. Well, never one to quit a project once it’s started, she planted her feet on the base and let it take her for a ride. She was not going with the grain, but Claire found out she could sort of nudge it generally in the right direction by pushing off the floor with one foot, like a skate board. Slowly, the paint began to come off the floor.

  She was doing it! She let out a loud “whoop” that could barely be heard over the roar of the sander.

  Her ‘I am woman, hear me roar’ moment was interrupted when the sander stopped running, and the roar died away. Claire guessed it had come unplugged. She looked over to the plug to see Frenchie and Skinhead standing by the wall, arms crossed, leering at her.

  Oh Fuck.

  “Well, that’s one way to get ‘er done.” Frenchie gave her a smarmy smile that made her gut clench.

  Stomach in her throat. Claire gulped, dumbly. Her mouth wouldn’t work to tell them to get the hell out of her house. She was stunned by the audacity of these guys who just waltzed in here. Max’s continuous warnings flitted through her head as she tried to squelch the rising panic.

  Skinhead uncrossed his arms, and slowly walked towards her. “We stopped by to see if you needed help with the sander. But now, we see you have a pretty good handle on things.” He grabbed her hand and started rubbing his crotch with it. Gross!

  She jerked her hand out of his grasp and started running toward the back of the house, where there was another door to outside. Loud footsteps followed.

  “Get out of my house!” Claire yelled behind her, as she ran.

  In the kitchen, Frenchie ran around and blocked the back door, while Skinhead grabbed her from behind and picked her up. She started kicking and trying to move her arms, but they were held tight by Skinhead. So she kept up the kick
ing. Since her feet weren’t touching the floor, she was kicking both feet in all directions, until Frenchie walked up and grabbed her ankles. She was overwhelmed by the smell of body odor, tinged with ammonia, making her gag.

  “Tell us where the gold is.”

  Claire freaked. She was in a bad situation, and she knew it. She couldn’t think of how she was going to get out of this one, so she went limp. Somewhere, she remembered hearing if you go limp, your body weighs more, and an attacker won’t be able to carry you.

  “That’s a girl. Don’t fight, and we’ll make this easy on you.” Well, there goes that idea. Got any others? Frenchie and Skinhead lowered her to the ground and unfastened her shorts. Shit. She heard a belt buckle behind her head. She knew what was fixing to happen.

  “Wait, man…” One of them said. She didn’t know which one, because she had squeezed her eyes shut. “What about the gold?”

  “Oh yeah…” The other one chuckled. “I got a little side-tracked…”

  A stinging blow hit her cheek, knocking her head sideways.

  “Where’s the gold, bitch?”

  “I--I don’t know.” Claire said, finally opening her eyes, to see the one at her feet grinning viciously, while the other slapped her again across the face.

  Somewhere else, she had heard when you are being attacked, the best thing to do is to scream. So she screamed as loud as she could. Frenchie and Skinhead rolled her over onto her stomach and pulled down her pants. Skinhead pulled down his zipper, and she screamed again.

  “This is your last chance, girlie. Tell us where it is.”

  Then she heard a loud thud, and Skinhead was laying on top of her, unconscious. A pan rolled onto the floor. Frenchie yelled, “What the fuck!” and got off her legs. Claire rolled Skinhead off, and looked around.

  Max was chasing Frenchie out the back door.

  She got up and went to the sink to splash some water on her face in an effort to compose herself. Gasping uneven breaths, trying not to hyperventilate, her heart pounded like a jackhammer. Claire wondered what would have ended up happening if Max hadn’t come over? She shuddered and slid down on the floor, watching the unconscious slimeball on her kitchen floor.

  Claire knew that she needed to tie him up. She was rummaging through boxes and bags in the front of the house when Max came back in the door.

  “Where is he?” Max asked.

  “Still on the floor in the kitchen. I’m looking for something to tie him up with.” Frantically.

  “Well, he’s not there now. We need to call the police.” He pulled out his cell phone.

  “What do you mean, he’s not there?” She went to the kitchen and looked. Yup. Skinhead was gone. Claire fainted.

  Claire was generally not a fainter. In fact, she had never fainted before in her life, unless it was alcohol induced, and the jury’s out on whether one would actually call that fainting. But this time, she fainted smooth away. It was a lovely oblivion. In her faint, there was no Max, no rapists, no gold, no old dumpy house, no nothing. Just oblivion. And then there was wetness.

  She opened her eyes to find Max cradling her head in his lap. He was looking at the ceiling, with tears streaming down his face, spilling onto her.

  “Why are you crying?”

  “I’m not.” He looked at Claire while simultaneously wiping his face.

  Whatever.

  He hauled her into his lap. “I called 911. Did they hurt you? Did they…?”

  “No, they just scared me really bad. I’m okay. Nothing actually happened. I don’t know what would have eventually happened if you hadn’t come.” Claire shuddered.

  “Claire.” He pulled her up, and crushed her to his chest. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you here.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Max. How could you know they would do this in broad daylight?”

  Somebody knocked on the door. It was the police, to take a statement. Since Max knew the men’s names, Claire was able to formally press charges. The police were kind, looking through Claire’s house again, and suggesting she install an alarm system.

  An hour or so later, after they had left, Claire looked at Max. “Thanks.” She felt sheepish. She had been pushing him away, and then pulling him back, and he’d been there for her every time.

  As if reading her mind, Max drew her into a secure embrace, mumbling into her hair, “I’m just glad you’re okay, Claire.” His strong arms around her were like a security blanket, making her feel safe, protected.

  “They were after the gold. I feel like I have to find it now.” She trembled, trying to keep the tears at bay. Nothing made her feel weaker than crying, and he’d already seen her doing it a couple of times.

  “Shhh…Claire. It’s okay. Do you want me to help you look for it?”

  She thought a moment. If she admitted to wanting his help, would that be a sign of weakness? Could she even trust him?

  “I’m not sure…”

  He sighed heavily, but she couldn’t see his face, so she pulled away and looked at him. “I’m sorry, Max. I just feel like this is something that I have to do myself.”

  “Why? Why do you have to do everything by yourself?” His face was a chiseled mask, completely unreadable, but she detected a hint of concern in his voice.

  “Because I’m independent. I don’t need a man to do things for me.” She was trying to explain, in as matter of fact tone as she could.

  “Nobody’s arguing that. Everybody needs help sometime, though, sweetheart. A strong person will admit when things are too tough to handle by themselves.” Max was gentle, and for a moment, she was tempted to fall under his spell, but she still wasn’t sure what his motives were.

  Max pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm, sending a shudder through her. Why did he have this effect on her?

  “Claire, I need to tell you something.” His eyes looked earnest, but she still felt wary, as if whatever he was fixing to say was going to hurt her somehow.

  “We have chemistry. I believe we’ve established that, right?” He looked at her, and she nodded, hesitantly.

  “I want to pursue that chemistry. I’m not about to say that I love you, even though I can definitely see myself falling for you, hard. But I want to see what can happen with us, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know, Max. I don’t want anything serious.”

  “I don’t either. I didn’t wake up last week thinking, ‘I think I’ll rescue a beautiful woman today, and have a relationship with her.’ But it happened. Granted, it’s not the relationship I want.”

  “What do you want?” She asked, uncertain, not certain she wanted to hear the answer.

  “I want you to trust me. To let me help you with things around here. To let me into your life.”

  “I don’t know if I can do that, Max.” She said quietly.

  “I’m not like the others, Claire. I won’t hurt you.”

  “I just need to think a minute.”

  “Well, I’m going home for a shower. Will you be okay here by yourself?” He shook his head. “Of course you will.” His tone was bitter. “I’ll have my phone right next to the shower, call if you need anything.” His finger traced her jaw before going behind her neck and pulling her to him in a quick kiss. “I’ll be right back.”

  Then he left.

  Chapter 10:

  A half an hour later, Claire walked over to Max’s house and knocked on the door, not having a clue what she was going to say.

  When he answered the door, she couldn’t speak, because her jaw had dropped clear to the porch floor. He stood there, water dripping from his hair, onto his chest, beading up and running down his abs, to land on a seemingly tiny towel that wrapped around his waist. He closed his eyes, and opened them, looking at her. “Claire. Is everything alright?”

  Nodding, she took a step forward, then stopped. Averting her eyes, she desperately tried to remember why she had come.

  She came over here to talk. To tell him she was sorry, again, for being such
a bitch. She wanted to tell him she would be honored to have him become a part of her life. But she couldn’t remember any of that right now.

  “Max, I wanted to see you.” She turned towards him again, standing there wearing nothing but a towel that a gust of wind could whip off at any moment. Right then, she said a little prayer for wind.

  He opened the door wider to invite her in, watching her carefully. She came in and stood just inside the door, looking around. His house was also older, probably early twentieth century Victorian. She was standing in the entryway, with the living room off to the side. Straight ahead was the kitchen, a cheery room with lots of sunlight. There were stairs to the left of the entryway. Why was she looking at his house? She turned to face Max.

  “I don’t know what to say, but we need to...I’m sorry.” She was feeling so awkward, and wasn’t sure what to do. She had never been inside his house, and really had no idea how to say what she wanted to say. “I’ve obviously interrupted your –“

  His lips were on hers before she could finish the thought. She wound her hands in his hair and leaned herself into his kiss. As his arms wrapped around her, his lips teased hers, his tongue tasting her lips. His hands rubbed from her neck all the way down to her butt, and then back up again. She opened her mouth to his, and let her tongue taste his lips. His lips opened and his tongue darted out to flick against her teeth, and then back into its own domain. His hands came down to her hips and pulled her against his wet towel and enormous erection. Insides quivering, her hands came down to his shoulders and moved down his chest, feeling the water run off him and down her arms. He groaned when her fingertips brushed his nipples. He broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against hers.

  “Claire. Why are you here?” He was breathing hard.

  “I want you.” She was breathing hard.

  He chuckled, a rumbling laugh that squeezed her insides. “That would make everything less complicated. Are you sure you could handle it?”

  “I can handle anything.”