Fearless

by Abby Brooks

“You, my friend, are very drunk.” I helped Evie back on balance and let her go.

  She blinked her eyes open and frowned, surprised to find me so far away. “I am drunk.” She cradled our burgers and fries, smashing them to her chest as one finger absently ran along her bottom lip. As much as I wanted my midnight snack—Mike’s was next level grub—I mentally surrendered them to her, then reminded myself to kill Austin and Jude the next time I saw them. If they hadn’t gotten her drunk, I wouldn’t be standing on her porch dodging drunken advances from my hot new employee.

  The last thing I needed was chemistry.

  And holy shit, was there chemistry.

  “I should probably get to bed.” She leaned against her door, one arm tossed carelessly above her head. “Unless you’d like to join me for a nightcap.”

  “Careful now,” I said with a laugh. “One could almost call this sexual harassment.”

  “That’s okay.” She played with the ends of her hair. “I don’t feel harassed at all.”

  “I wasn’t talking about you…”

  “You’re so funny, Alex.” She pushed off the door and started playing with the ends of mine. “I can call you Alex, right?”

  My body rioted, but I deliberately put more space between us. “It’s better than sexy neighbor man.”

  Her pretty lips formed a pout. “Hey…I thought we had a deal. No mentioning that.”

  “Now, now. You had a deal.” I took another step back, my gaze running along her mussed hair. The makeup smeared under her eyes. The cheesy grin, complete with french fry dust in the corner of her mouth. I closed the distance between us to swipe it away. As my thumb grazed her bottom lip, Evie’s eyes met mine. She grabbed my coat and pulled me closer, kissing me deeply. Sensuously. A groan worked its way up her throat and I threaded my hands into her hair, my body working on instinct, ready to set the chemistry between us ablaze.

  And then my brain caught up to what was happening. Not only was I too selfish for a relationship—and something told me whatever happened between Evie and me couldn’t stay casual—but I’d hired the woman so I could have access to her house. The last thing I needed was to complicate things with sex.

  I dropped my hands and stepped away. “You should get in your house, eat your snack, and go to bed. I hear your boss is big into punctuality.”

  Evie nodded, her smile brightening her face. “Goodnight, Alex.”

  I raised a hand. “Goodnight.”

  As I climbed into my car to make the short trip into my own driveway, I realized it had been a very good night indeed.

  Chapter Eleven

  Evie

  Still clutching the greasy bag of food to my chest, I closed my front door. My entire being glowed with happiness as I leaned against the thing, imagining Alex lingering on the porch, his hand pressed to the red paint, as if he couldn’t bear to break the connection between us. One inch of wood, fiberglass, and whatever else went into a door separated his fingers from my back. I could still feel his lips on mine. His hands in my hair. The roughness of his touch that had my nipples pebbled and my lower muscles throbbing.

  What a night.

  What a glorious, wonderful, perfectly fearless night.

  Alex Prescott drove me home. He bought me hamburgers and fries. Took care of me when I was too drunk to do it myself, then sexually harassed me on my front porch, before kissing me like I’d never been kissed before.

  “I freaking love tequila.” I sighed dreamily, then pushed off the door and climbed upstairs to eat french fries in bed.

  “I freaking hate tequila.”

  I threw an arm over my head and rolled away from the sun shrieking through my window. Something crushed against my cheek. A fry.

  A fry?

  What in the world happened that ended up with a french fry stuck to my cheek?

  I blinked, groaned, then blinked again. Maybe Izzy drove me home and we stopped for snacks...

  That didn’t quite seem right. Someone had driven me home, but it wasn’t Izzy.

  As I stared at my feet in the middle of a bed designed for royalty, I tried to stitch the night back together. We’d shared a table with Alex and his friends, who suggested we play a drinking game…and then things got blurry. Really blurry. I’d either vastly underestimated the curiosity of the residents of Wildrose Landing or overestimated my ability to handle tequila.

  My clothes traced a drunken trail from the bathroom to the bed. Jeans near the door. Shirt a few steps later. Bra dangling half off the bed—leaving me in underwear and a crooked tank top. A greasy bag sat on the floor….

  Wait…

  Did Alex drive me home last night?

  A memory surfaced. Me with my back pressed against the front door. My arm flung over my head like I thought I was a pinup model seducing the world with my sex-kitten gaze.

  Oh, no, no, no, no, no…

  Alex did drive me home last night.

  And how did my drunk brain think to repay him? By flirting mercilessly, then stealing his burger and fries to devour in a fourposter bed like a deranged chipmunk beefing up for winter.

  The words sexual harassment danced through the memory…words he’d spoken.

  He’d been joking. I was sure of it. He had to be.

  Please, please, please tell me he was joking.

  Oh, shit. I kissed him, didn’t I? He’d been a perfect gentleman and I kissed him.

  What kind of idiot threw herself at her boss before she officially started the job? This kind of idiot apparently. With a sigh, I stood, scrubbed my face, and worked on piecing together the rest of the night.

  “Oh, God. Kill me now.” In the history of embarrassment, last night stole the show. I’d need to figure out a way to apologize, but my pounding head demanded caffeine in exchange for the safe return of my ability to process thoughts. But more important than my need for coffee was the bladder full of tequila. I waddle-walked into the bathroom, peed, then turned on the faucet to wash my hands.

  A loud thump came from downstairs.

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

  I paused while splashing water on my face and turned off the faucet, drips falling from my nose and chin. Another thump. A bang.

  Something was happening down there. A big something.

  Was that the scrape of a chair? Holy shit! Was Amelia right the whole time? Was the ghost downstairs moving things around in the kitchen?

  I scurried back into my room and swiped my phone off the bedside table as the thumps and bangs continued.

  Me: OMG I THINK I HEAR THE GHOST DOWNSTAIRS BUT I MIGHT BE SO HUNGOVER I’M HALLUCINATING!!!!!

  Amelia: Why, in the name of all things holy, are you texting me instead of heading down there to investigate???

  Amelia: Also, hungover on a Monday?? Lots to talk about chica!

  I started to type a response when my phone lit up with a video call. “Get your ass downstairs and take me with you,” Amelia said when I answered. “I need to see your face when you realize I was right all along.” Holding the phone out in front of me as I went, I thumped down the stairs and headed for the kitchen. Halfway through the living room, I caught the scent of coffee.

  Two steps later, I realized I didn’t make any.

  “I smell coffee,” I hissed. “But Amelia! I haven’t even been downstairs yet!”

  My heart pounded as the kitchen came into view.

  “I don’t hear anything,” Amelia said. “Do you?”

  The room was empty, though it hadn’t been that way long. The chair Amelia freaked out over yesterday had tipped over and the table was slightly askew. Despite the strong smell of coffee, the pot sat empty and unused.

  “Look at the chair, Amelia. Look at it!” I held the phone at arm’s length, shaking it in the direction of the upended piece of furniture.

  “Turn me around so I can look at you. I need to see your face right now because you’re totally realizing I was right, and you were wrong, and you’re living in a haunted house.”
<
br />   I wanted to contradict her but, how could I? I heard what I heard and saw what I saw. “Chairs don’t just fall over by themselves.” The words slipped past my lips in a whisper as I turned in a slow circle, skin crawling.

  “That’s right, my friend. And coffee doesn’t make itself, either.”

  “What’s really weird is there isn’t any. Just the smell.” The hair on the back of my neck stood on end and I had the distinct feeling that someone was watching me. “It’s like the walls have eyes right now. I’ve never felt so exposed.”

  Amelia smirked. “That could be because your tank top is crooked and your boob is popping out.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Alex

  That was way too fucking close. With a mess of papers and electronic devices clutched to my chest, I crouched in Evie’s backyard and peered through the massive kitchen window just in time to see her shuffle into the room. Tousled hair. White cotton panties. Phone held out in front of her like a weapon. Crooked tank top with one entire boob spilling out the side. She was adorable. Sexy—in a hot mess kind of way.

  And about to see me creeping outside her window like a crazy person.

  Talk about hot messes.

  I ducked out of sight, then sat right there in the dirt to organize the jumble of papers and the laptop I’d crammed into my hands before dashing out the backdoor. “You knew better,” I muttered as I opened my messenger bag. “You knew Brighton’s advice was shit. Who breaks into their neighbor’s house to hang out in their kitchen without permission?”

  Desperate writers on a deadline, that’s who.

  Like that excuse made anything better. I mentally fast forwarded to my inevitable arrest.

  I’m sorry, officer. The only place I can write is in Evie’s house and I thought I’d help myself to her kitchen because we made out a little last night, but it’s okay because my agent told me to do it.

  “You stupid asshole,” I whispered as I smoothed out a few pages of notes and slipped them into my bag. Evie’s voice sounded from inside the house. I pushed onto my hands and knees to peek through the window just in time to see her wrench her tank top back in place. Her eyes were wide and alive and it was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.

  Come on, man. This is the kind of psycho shit you write about.

  I’d spent last night replaying the evening with Evie, scrutinizing every word, every touch, turning it all round in my head as I tried to make sense of it. Sleep never came, though I eventually did, jerking off while I fantasized about our kiss and that inconsequential silk robe. If only I’d had the visual ammo of this morning’s outfit to add to the pile…

  That’s enough, Prescott! Stop it with the crazy, already.

  After hours of being awake, I’d tried to write. After a couple more hours of staring at a blank screen, Brighton’s suggestion of using my key sounded perfectly reasonable. Evie was an understanding person, after all, and I did let her eat in my car. I’d convinced myself I’d get a few pages written while she slept, then come clean about why the whole town thought her house was haunted when she woke up.

  I’d rationalized the whole thing away by imagining Evie finding me in the morning and the two of us having a laugh about everything. I’d head out to check on Mom and Izzy while Evie nursed her hangover and everything would be hunky-dory. But the second I heard the water turn on upstairs, reality set in. What seemed like a cute idea in the early hours of the morning sounded massively ridiculous by the time Evie dragged herself out of bed, and I made a mad dash for the exit. There were better ways to come clean than by actually being in her house when she woke up.

  Breaking and entering wasn’t cute. It didn’t make me endearing and eccentric. It made me an asshole. Funny how it took crawling through the leaves and dirt in my neighbor’s flowerbeds to have that epiphany.

  Maybe Austin and Jude were right when they called me a stalker.

  Once I was sure I’d made it out of view of her window, I stood and brushed the dirt from my jeans. The smart play would have been to scurry my sorry ass back home and forget this ever happened. But something…

  …maybe a desire to see Evie in her underwear again…

  …okay, definitely a desire to see Evie in her underwear again…

  …but also the realization that I had to explain what just happened…

  …had me crunching through her yard and up to the front door.

  Three quick raps against the red paint plastered a smile the size of Texas on my face. The neighborly part of me wanted to make sure she was okay after a rough night and surprising morning. The red-blooded male part of me hoped her boob would be out again.

  The door swung open. Evie’s jaw dropped and it slammed closed. “Oh God!” Her voice was muffled, and her boob was safely tucked away—under a mostly sheer white tank.

  “Good morning,” I sang through the wood.

  The door cracked open. “I am so sorry…I don’t…I mean…Did we have a meeting planned? Last night’s a little foggy.”

  “Nope. I’m heading to get coffee and thought I’d check in and see if you wanted any.” I stifled a laugh as her shocked expression replayed through my mind. “But I can just come back later if you want.”

  The door cracked open another fraction of an inch. Only Evie’s eyes, nose, and lips were visible. “I would love some coffee, if that’s not too much to ask. It’s been a morning. One that started with a fry glued to my cheek and ended with Alexander Prescott seeing me in my underwear.” She groaned and banged her head against the frame.

  “I think we’re past the part where you address me with my full name. That’s what fans do and as far as I’m concerned, we’re friends. I think you can call me Lord and Master, Sir Alexander the Glorious, like everyone else.”

  She snorted laughter. “How about just Alex?”

  “Alex it is.” I stared into the one eye I could see through the crack in the door. “For the record, I didn’t see you naked. As far as I’m concerned, you’re fully clothed—in basically sheer fabric, but that’s semantics, right?”

  Evie groaned again.

  “I’ll be back with caffeine and genius nuggets.”

  “And I’ll get dressed in as many layers as I can find and try to forget how embarrassed I am.”

  “Seems fair.” I reached out a hand and the door cracked open a fraction more. Instead of shaking on it as I intended, Evie saluted me, surprising us both. With a long sigh, she closed the door and I headed first to Mom’s, then to Sweet Stuff to harass my sister, and finally to fulfill my promise of coffee. While I’d intended to come clean about being in Evie’s kitchen—I really did—the time hadn’t been right. She was too groggy, and that conversation deserved to happen face-to-face, not through a crack in the door. With her barely being able to look me in the eyes, I opted to wait.

  A better time would present itself.

  I’d tell her then.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Alex

  Two hours later, Evie and I sat at the table in her kitchen. While I coaxed words out of my brain and onto the page, she inhaled coffee and nursed her hangover. She’d ditched the sheer tank and undies in favor of leggings and a long sweater that hung off one shoulder, with her hair pulled into a pile on top of her head. While the outfit wouldn’t unseat the one-boobed wonder as an all-time favorite, this one had its highpoints.

  After an hour or two of quiet companionship she stood, stretching her arms overhead as she stared out the window. Her sweater lifted, giving me a view of a deliciously round ass that begged to have my hands all over it.

  “For a world-famous writer,” she said through her yawn, “you spend more time staring than typing. I’m surprised.”

  I yanked my gaze to her face as she turned around. “Genius takes time.”

  “Whatever you say, Captain.” She saluted me for the second time that day, then gave me a sweet smile.

  “Was that snark, dear Evie? Am I detecting sarcasm?” I closed my laptop and sat back. “That’s
a bold move for a woman who answered the door in her underwear. Not the best way to start your first day on the job, though I’m fine to overlook it if you are.”

  I said overlook. Not forget. The image of her standing in the kitchen with her boob out would fuel many a late-night fantasy.

  Evie bobbed her head and hit me with a crooked smile. “I’m fine to never talk about it again.”

  “And here I thought I’d bring it up every few days or so to keep it fresh in your mind.”

  She covered her face with her hands, then peeked through her fingers. “I’d really rather you didn’t.”

  This would have been the perfect time to bring up what happened that morning, or hell! Maybe even what happened last night…but I’d wasted enough time without making progress on my manuscript. It was a selfish decision not to tell her, but selfishness came with the Prescott Y chromosome. Making a mental promise to both of us that I’d never break into her house again, I dropped the topic and moved on.

  “You ready to think about work stuff?”

  “I was born ready.” A blush colored her cheeks and she sat back down, laughing into her lap. “That sounded cooler in my head.”

  I shuffled through the mess of papers in my bag and found the contract my lawyer drafted over the weekend. The corners were creased, and I had to brush dirt off the back before I put them on her table, but other than that, they were no worse for wear after my unplanned exit. “This outlines salary and job expectations. Editing. Revising. Basically, I want you to be the first eyes on my new manuscript and talk through the storyline with me.” I outlined the non-disclosure clause my lawyer made me add, then slid the contract her way. “Just needs your scribble on the dotted line and we can get started.”

  Evie flipped through the pages, her eyes widening when she saw the salary. “This feels too good to be true.”

  “You know what they say about that statement.”