“Is that the only reason?”
“God, I hope not.” He hesitated, still too close. He seemed to be asking a question…one she didn’t want to answer.
Shut. Up. He didn’t want her. He was just teasing. She knew it, and she was turned inside out anyway. But who wouldn’t be? He was definitely flirting, and he was seriously hot. Any red-blooded woman would respond to that…viscerally.
He gave Hell Cat a wide berth as he collected his stuff, playfully flipped his hat back on his head, and made his exit.
Estelle locked the door behind him, then stared at it dumbly. He was coming back. And they’d be alone. Alone with a bed. Rumpled from where she’d flopped on it earlier, it lay there in the studio space, teasing and full of possibilities. If Crosby could move as good as he looked, she was in a world of trouble. The best kind.
She was crazy. Crazy. Because they’d both agreed not to go there, and everything about going there remained the worst kind of idea. Still, she burned for his touch. Fortunately, logic tunneled through the haze. The knowledge that he could have already hacked her to bits, had that been his intention, offered little comfort. Being near him put her under some kind of spell, judgment skewed to hell and back. Determined to make at least one decision with a clear head, she made a beeline for her laptop and hit Angie’s List. In no time, she found that the existence of Fusion predated widely available conditioned air. They dealt with all things HVAC—heating, ventilation, and air conditioning—and boasted a shiny “A” rating and glowing reviews. No hacked-up customers.
But how many did he flirt with?
She shouldn’t have cared, but dammit, she wanted that to be for her. Not because she was some kind of obsessed whacko, but because as a woman, she wanted to know she had been the one to do that to him. If he handed out kisses like invoices, she’d be wrecked. And not in the good way.
Reluctantly, she tore herself from visions of his hard body and killer green eyes to Google him. Apparently he’d been working the family business since before high school. No college. No wife, no kids, and no arrest record. The guy was as clean as a whistle. And hot as holy hell. Flirting with him felt a little reckless, and she knew she shouldn’t. But they were friends, and she was a grown-ass woman. She could handle this.
She picked up the business card he’d left and tapped his cell number into her phone, followed by a short message.
I’m drenched. Hurry back.
She hit send and tugged at her damp shirt. Who was she kidding? He couldn’t want her…she was drowning in her own sweat. What she wouldn’t give to be back home. Not that she didn’t sweat in Weaverville—temps hit the nineties there, too—but there was something about the expansive green mountains that felt a whole lot like paradise.
She toyed with her phone for a moment, then dialed one of the volunteers who spent almost as much time in Estelle’s mother’s garden as she did. “Hey, Katie. It’s me. How are things there?”
“Rain,” she said, forlorn. “The weeds are taking over, and the tomatoes are splitting.”
There weren’t many veggies in the garden, but they all went to families who had trouble paying for fresh produce—people who counted on them. And split tomatoes wouldn’t last long. “I’ve only been gone two days.”
“I know. I’m counting the minutes until you return.”
So was she. “I’m so sorry to leave you stuck with this. I’ll take care of the weeding when I get home.”
“In two weeks there won’t be anything but weeds,” Katie said with a laugh. “We’ll take care of it. Just…have fun.”
“Not likely,” Estelle muttered. “Thanks for everything you’re doing.”
“You’ve got it. Just don’t forget to come home.”
“No problem,” she said. “You’re not the only one doing a countdown.”
Estelle ended the call in a cloud of guilt. She never should have left California. She had a break between design jobs, but the garden was a twenty-four-hour gig. Grady could have locked his doors, she could have stayed home, and her parents’ garden wouldn’t be on its way to ruin.
But it was, and it was all her fault.
Chapter Five
Crosby winced as his brother’s jaw dropped.
“You met a woman?” Sawyer said. “I wasn’t sure you knew what one was. You did say a woman, right? An actual woman?”
“Is there another kind? Wait, never mind. I don’t want to know.” Crosby shook his head. Sawyer, the second-born of the four brothers, was the prankster of the bunch. After asking such a dumb question, Crosby would probably wake to find an inflatable sex doll in his truck.
“I’m just saying,” Sawyer said. “You don’t date.”
“I don’t have time to date! I’m trying to keep Fusion in the black.” Easier said than done, and a losing battle at that. It seemed every old building in the city had been retrofitted with massive systems serviced by national companies.
“No one expects you to do that single-handedly.”
“Maybe not, but Mom and Dad are depending on me. Oldest son, family legacy, grandfather kept it afloat during The Great Depression, all that stuff.”
“Yet, you may have noticed all six of us are wearing the same shirt.”
Yes, but while his younger brothers were happy to have a job, the family business was more of a stepping stone to them. Crosby, on the other hand, had been close to his grandfather before he’d died of a heart attack. His grandfather founded Fusion Air, built it with his bare hands, and nurtured it into one of the city’s most successful small businesses. Crosby had loved working alongside his grandfather to keep it going, even bringing a few twenty-first century ideas to the mix, like an online and mobile appointment calendar and a web-based GPS tracker that allowed customers to see exactly how far away their repair professional was.
But after his grandfather had retired and then passed away, his father had made a few poor decisions, and now the company that had belonged to Crosby and his brothers for over a decade was in danger of going bankrupt. And Crosby wasn’t about to let go of the company that was not only his livelihood, but the last piece he had of his grandfather.
Crosby’s phone dinged. “Which brings me back to my last job,” he said as he checked the notification. “It’s a small studio apartment almost identical to mine, maybe five-hundred square feet. What do we have sitting around?”
I’m drenched. Hurry back.
His jaw dropped. The innuendo tore through him like a Taser—a feeling with which he was familiar, thanks to his younger brother, who was staring at him like he’d grown another head.
“You okay in there?”
Crosby looked at Sawyer and, upon realizing his mouth hung open, snapped it shut. “Yeah. Just…yeah. Do we have a unit around here or not?”
“There’s an 18,000 BTU laying around,” Sawyer said slowly, as if he was still trying to get a read on Crosby. “I think it’s the smallest we have.”
“That’s enough to refrigerate a space that small.”
Sawyer shrugged, the mischievous light in his eyes a direct contrast to the passive gesture. “What can I tell you, big brother? You’ll just have to keep her warm.”
Not a bad idea under any circumstances other than theirs. Nevertheless, Crosby was still thinking about it two hours later when he hefted the hundred-pound unit past the “Out of Service” sign on the elevator and up four flights of stairs. He knocked with the toe of his boot.
The door flew open, startling him.
“That was quick,” Estelle said.
“Would have been faster if the elevator worked.”
“Not necessarily,” she said dryly.
“Excuse me, excuse me!” a voice called behind him.
Crosby fought to keep his balance as something pressed against his back, causing him to sway with the air conditioner. He caught a sideways glimpse of an elderly woman bustling around in the hallway as he steadied himself and walked in the general direction of Estelle’s kitchen table, where he set down the unit a
nd prayed the table would hold the weight.
He’d forgotten all about the cat.
When he looked away from the appliance, he found himself eye to eye with what was indeed the ugliest animal he’d ever seen. A passing glance before hadn’t done the creature justice. It had to be her scary fire escape thing. It had actual fangs hanging out of its mouth, and they were as yellow as its eyes. The realization came in the split second before the cat reached out and smacked his nose with a wide paw that felt like a small, furry catcher’s mitt.
He jerked backward, nearly stumbling. Then he realized the impact had been soft. No claws. Which meant he probably still had his face.
“You took my kitty!” The old woman from the hall barged through the door and hit him in the head with an oversized straw bag. Unlike her ugly cat, she and her ugly bag packed some punch.
He blinked, seeing stars, and eased down to the floor. “Um, no I didn’t.”
“My Mortimer never strays from home,” the old woman snapped in a shrill, wobbly voice. Crosby didn’t recognize her, which wasn’t all that strange considering half the tenants in the building were shut-ins. “He certainly wouldn’t be in here if you hadn’t taken him,” she went on.
Estelle knelt next to Crosby and touched her fingertips to the side of his head. “He came in through the fire escape,” she said of the cat. Looking toward the woman, she added, “Which is how you’re about to leave if you hit my guest in my apartment again.”
The batty old lady faltered for a moment. He couldn’t blame her. Estelle’s words belied her calm tone, although he barely noticed. She was way too close for him to think about anything other than her body. Suddenly he wasn’t sure if the stars he saw were from carrying the unit up four flights of stairs, getting knocked upside the head with a brick of a purse, or the smokin’ hot woman crouched next to him.
“Come, Mortimer.” The old woman’s wrinkled face unwound just a bit as she called to her feline, who placidly hopped from the table, where he had sat the entire time, and nudged Crosby. Unsure of the proper etiquette in such a situation, he tentatively reached out to pet the cat, which in turn nudged hard against his thigh.
Then bit him on the ass.
“OW!” For a moment, he thought he imagined the sharp pain, but after it refused to subside, he knew it was real, and the cat had really, truly bit him on the ass. And smirked at him as he walked off toward his owner.
“Does your cat have all his shots?” he called after her.
“Of course he does. Are you saying I don’t take care of my Mortimer? He’s like a child to me.”
“Your child needs to see a dentist,” Estelle said.
The cat jumped into the woman’s arms, and she turned with a classic “hmph” and walked out of the apartment. Estelle shut and locked the door.
She regarded him with a hint of bemusement. Either that, or he made too much out of the play at the corner of her lips. “That was hilarious.”
“Good for you,” he said. “Amusing neighbors. Score one point for me and the city.”
Her brow raised. “I’m not sure you get credit for her. Why did you ask about shots?”
“Because the cat bit me.”
Estelle rushed over and knelt by him. Her concern totally made the puncture worth it. “Where? When?”
“On the ass,” he said, deadpan.
She froze. “Are you serious?”
“I am.” She was so close. And drenched. He’d yet to shake her words…or his constant analysis of them. He didn’t want to be a jerk and assume they were any kind of invitation, but after a near-kiss that had shredded his ability to think platonically, he couldn’t seem to take them any other way. He’d already seen too much. Frankly, he’d let a California grizzly bear have a go at him if it meant she’d touch him again, but he suspected that was poor judgement on his part.
Her expression bordered on studious, none of the heat which he felt apparent in her eyes. “That might need treatment. Let me see.”
He nearly choked on her demand. “Let you see my ass?”
She pursed her lips. “Let me see where the cat bit you.”
“Which is my ass.”
Humor lit her eyes and quirked the corners of her mouth. He was sure this time. “Okay, let me see your ass.”
He stood and pulled her to her feet. She landed briefly against him. He steadied her and prayed she couldn’t hear his heart hammering in his chest. Forcing calm to his voice, he said, “I’m intrigued by the invitation, but let me get this unit working before we both die of heat exhaustion. It’s got to be over ninety in here.” Because you’re drenched.
On cue, she lifted her shirt and fanned her stomach. He had to stop himself from dropping to his knees and pressing his lips to the bared flesh. The heat had to be getting to him. He was normally a fairly sane person. He didn’t stand in a thousand-degree apartment and give serious consideration to licking his customers, but Estelle was no ordinary customer.
He tore his attention away from her belly and turned his focus to the broken down A/C unit. He used his adjustable wrench to loosen the bolts holding the old appliance and wrestled it into the apartment, then set the new one in place and had her steady it from the inside while he went out and adjusted the support so it would sit at the proper angle. He was dripping sweat by the time he crawled back inside, but when he plugged in the unit and hit the button, the machine immediately kicked on.
“My hero,” Estelle said. “Seriously.”
“Until your brother sees his electric bill. Otherwise, it’s the least I can do after the pickle thing.” He tightened the rest of the bolts and tossed his wrench on the table. He’d left the tool bag in the truck since simultaneously carrying that and the behemoth air conditioner wasn’t even worth attempting, and the wrench had fit easily enough in his pocket. And now if he forgot it, he had a great reason to return.
Cool air already infiltrated the apartment, but not quickly enough. He took off his wet Fusion shirt and wiped his face with it, for all the good it did, before laying it over the back of a chair.
Estelle handed him a glass of ice water she’d grabbed from the kitchen and stared at his bare chest. “A little ridiculous, don’t you think?”
“What?”
“Your stomach. Overkill, isn’t it? Way to make the rest of us feel inferior.”
He blinked. Her words registered. And ever so slowly, he returned the favor. With just a fingertip, he eased the hem of her shirt up an inch, then two. “Inferior, my ass. This is sexy,” he said. “Curves. Soft planes. That’s what men go crazy over. A woman might want everything hard as a rock, but a man wants to sink into something soft.”
Thick tension filled the silence that followed. She took a half step back, and he had to force himself not to follow.
She swallowed. “The pickle thing is completely forgiven,” she said, her voice a little shaky. “Remember? You bought my breakfast.”
Her gaze drifted south of his eyes, and he returned the favor. She wore a thin, hot pink tank top, the platinum streaks in her ponytail wildly bright against her shirt.
She was also holding an ice cube to the base her throat. She probably hadn’t meant it as an outright seduction, but the water droplets that escaped and trickled toward her cleavage made it absolutely impossible to be anything less. He was hot in ways that had nothing to do with the temperature. So much so that it took him a minute to realize the blast of skin-prickling heat that assaulted him wasn’t the lure of sex, but the window he’d left open. He turned to close it and froze.
The damned cat was back, demurely perched just inside the sash.
“Straight out of a horror flick,” he said.
“Window stays open, I think.”
He took a long drink of water that was so cold he felt it all the way down. “Agreed,” he said when he’d drained the glass. “The window unit can handle it.”
“Good,” she said, grinning. “Because it’s about to get hot in here. Now take off your pants.”<
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Chapter Six
Knowing Crosby’s eyes were glued to her every move, Estelle let go of what was left of the ice cube. It dropped immediately to the valley between her breasts, offering the smallest of thrills before the cool sensation dissipated into heat.
“Take off my pants?” He looked a little shocked. Hard to believe these sophisticated city girls weren’t more forward, but then again, she wouldn’t have been either if he hadn’t been bitten in her honor. Or at least in the name of conditioned air.
“Yeah. Cat bite to the ass, remember?”
“The bite is fine.”
“You don’t want to take off your pants?”
He simply grinned, then crossed the small apartment and swiped an ice cube from the freezer, then came back and touched it to the hollow of her collar bone. “Estelle, if I take off my pants, I can guarantee my ass will be the last thing either of us are worried about.”
She shivered, more from the promise than the ice. The look in his eyes wasn’t one she’d seen before. On any man. Ever.
He watched her intently as he moved the ice from her neck to the hollow behind her ear to her nape. The cool water dribbled down her back, and she bit back a gasp. The ice was cold and the air conditioner rapidly cooled the room, but neither had any chance against the heat coursing through her body. She’d once stepped barefoot on an electric fence in morning dew, and she was certain it hadn’t affected her more than this man.
“Do you have to go back to work?”
A slight frown briefly marred his face but quickly vanished. “No.”
“No?”
He shook his head nearly imperceptibly, a whisper of a smile shaping his mouth. “No.”
“Want to order a pizza?” she asked. She tried desperately not to stare at his bare chest, but it wasn’t working. “It’s on me. For the use of the air conditioner.”
“And the bite on my ass.”
And with any luck, we’ll need our strength. “Yeah, that, too.”
“I’m guessing you like jalapeños on your pizza?”
“And spinach.”
Five Things I Love About You Page 4