Easton

by Kali Hart

  Easton

  Ryan Brothers Renovations Book 2

  Kali Hart

  Easton is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 by Kali Hart

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without express written permission from the author/publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Epilogue

  1

  EMMA

  “Emma, please give me the sledgehammer,” Amber orders when the cloud of drywall dust settles around me.

  A quick glimpse of my reflection in a nearby window reveals the crazed look in my eyes. One that probably has my older sister concerned for my sanity and wellbeing. When I invited her over for pizza and wine tonight, I’m sure this is not what she expected.

  “Emma?”

  I give her an innocent shrug. “I’m not done.” I lift my sledgehammer up, preparing for another swing at the tacky wall. Given the choice between removing decades old wallpaper or simply smashing the wall into oblivion, I thought it was obvious.

  She squeals and retreats as I take another satisfying swing, imagining my ex-husband’s face embedded in that gawdy patterned wallpaper that screams 1970s. I wait again as the dust settles, unable to hide my satisfied smirk. This is fun! “You want to take a swing?” I offer.

  “Nope.” She waves away the outstretched hammer. “I think you should stop before you do any real damage.”

  “I’m taking down a wall. Demolition is part of the process.”

  “Emma, you don’t even know if that wall is load-bearing.”

  “No sane person would plaster this wall with such atrocious wallpaper if it were load bearing.” At least the logic makes sense to me. I prepare to swing the hammer once more.

  Amber bravely steps in my way. She’s one of the best real estate agents in the area—dedicated and fearless. Something she’s proving in this moment as she makes herself the human roadblock between me and that awful wallpaper. “Honey, you should stop.”

  I don’t want to stop. I want to keep doing. “Move,” I say, lifting the sledgehammer in warning again. “I’m not done.” If I stop, it means I’ll have too much time to think. To let thoughts run rampant. I need the distraction more than ever right now, but I’m not about to admit that to my sister.

  “It’s only been two days.”

  “Your point?” It’s not as if I need reminding about the finalizing of my divorce. It’s why I can’t stop working. Tomorrow I can do something more practical like pick out tile for the bathroom or light fixtures for the kitchen. Never mind that I’ll be forced to look only in the clearance aisle thanks to he-who-shall-not-be-named.

  “I’m worried about you, Em. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m peachy. Just peachy.”

  “It’s okay not to be okay.”

  I roll my eyes at my sister. “You’re laying on the dramatics a little thick, don’t you think? It’s over, Amber. He cheated. He left me. All I got was this fixer-upper. She got him. I think I came out ahead, don’t you?”

  “Of course you did, honey.”

  My ex-husband and I bought this house shortly after we got married. We thought it would be fun to flip it together. To make it our own. Yes, I’ve heard the horror stories of home improvement projects and house flips splitting up couples. But I thought we could handle it.

  I guess I was wrong.

  “It’s been two days,” I finally agree because Amber won’t stop staring at me. “But he’s drug the divorce out for seven months. I’m ready to move on.”

  “You can still sell this place as-is,” she says, sounding more realtor than sister. “I’ll even waive my commission. That might help you break even. Or at least come close. Allow you to buy something more … move-in-ready.”

  I roll my eyes at Amber, making sure she sees me. “I picked out this house, remember?” My ex had very little to do with that decision. Though it was meant to be ours it never felt that way. It always felt like mine. It’s why I fought so hard to keep it in the divorce settlement. Never mind that he took most of the money set aside for a renovation budget in exchange.

  “It’s a money pit, Em.”

  Because I don’t want to respond to that, I bash another hole in the wall. When the dust settles, I catch a glimpse of a pipe that my strike missed by about an inch. I inwardly cringe realizing I nearly busted a water line.

  “I think you’re in over your head,” Amber adds.

  “I am not.” The response is automatic, but I can’t deny there’s truth to what she’s saying. Amber has always looked out for me, and she’s just doing that now.

  “You’ve learned everything from YouTube videos,” she counters.

  I drop the hammer before I swing again, the seeds of doubt no longer just creeping in, but flooding. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “I think it’s wonderful that you’re so ambitious to learn.”

  Uh-oh. Where’s the big but?

  I follow her gaze to the water line in the exposed wall that I had hoped she missed seeing. “But … you can do a lot more harm than good if you don’t consult experts. Whether you want to keep it or sell it, I think you need help to do this right.”

  “Fine. Tomorrow I’ll call someone.”

  EASTON

  This is a waste of time.

  The thought repeats itself in my head on my drive across town to look at a flipper.

  My brothers and I own a renovation company. We flip houses for a living. But we rarely take on houses when they’re owned by someone else who’s not willing to sell. It’s easier for us to acquire the property and sell it when we’re done.

  But that delicate voice I heard on the other end of the phone still tugs at me in a way I don’t understand. It was the voice of angel begging for my help.

  My brothers think I went on a coffee run. Had they known what I was really up to, they’d have stopped me.

  We started our business together after our parents died. It was our pact to stick together as a family, because we’re all we have left now. Though each of us has our own specialty we bring to Ryan Brothers Renovations, we make all the important decisions together.

  If they find out what I’m to this morning, I’ll never hear the end of it.

  I slow in front of a ranch-style home on a corner lot. Though it has some curb appeal, the white siding has seen better days. The first thing I’d do is rip it all off and replace it. I can tell from the curb that there’s water damage. I wonder if the owner has that figured into her tight budget.

  Though I don’t want to give the woman false hope, I grab my metal clipboard, intending to treat this like any other house I assess for our company. Years ago, I was a certified home inspector. It’s my job to make sure any property we decide to take on isn’t too far gone or isn’t harboring any dark secrets that would suck our budget dry.

  I’m halfway up the sidewalk when I spot her through the bay window—one feature I particularly love about this house. She’s wearing jeans and a pink tank top that hug all of her curves in a perfect way. She’s gorgeous. I swallow h
ard, reminding myself this is just a business appointment. Nothing more.

  But as I watch that ass back down a ladder, my dick twitches beneath my jeans. Seems not all of me can keep this professional right now. I dismiss the lust away, convinced I’m only feeling it because it’s been a while since I’ve been with a woman.

  One step from the bottom of her ladder, the woman turns her head over her shoulder. I’m caught, standing there on the sidewalk gawking at her. I give a wave so I don’t come off as a total creeper.

  She waves back. And fuck me if it’s not the cutest damn thing I’ve ever seen.

  Make this appointment quick, Easton. For your own good.

  She disappears from the window, headed toward the front door. I steal a moment to double check her name from my notes. Emma Benson. I tell myself it’s because I want to address her by name, like any professional would do when meeting a client. I try to ignore the part of me that wants her name for inappropriate reasons later tonight. When she appears in the doorway, my gaze rakes her body certain I’m going to hell. Because tonight I’ll be stroking myself to this very image of her while I call out her sweet name.

  “You must be Easton,” that angelic voice calls from the landing outside the front door.

  “And you must be Emma.”

  “The one and only.”

  As I approach her, I can’t seem to stop staring at the way her wavy blonde ponytail drapes over her shoulder, the edge of it tickling the hardened nipple poking through the thin pink fabric of her shirt. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Emma.” By some miracle, I remember my professionalism and extend my hand.

  “You as well.” I swear she purrs those words to me. “Why don’t you come inside.”

  As I follow her across the threshold, something feels forever changed. Like meeting Emma Benson might have the biggest impact on my life to date. The unexplainable yet certain gut feeling should be enough to send me back the way I came—far, far away from here.

  Instead, I close the door behind me. “Take me on a tour, Emma.”

  2

  EMMA

  My heart races erratically in my chest as I hear the click of the front door. When Amber suggested I call Ryan Brothers Renovations to come look at the house, I expected some older man to show up. One who would show me pictures of his grandkids at the end of the home tour.

  But Easton … whew! Easton Ryan is not only not a grandpa, he’s the hottest man I’ve ever laid eyes on. Hands down. He looks like he jumped right out of a men’s fitness magazine. Though I can only get a good, hard look at his muscular arms, I’d bet the house that everything underneath those pesky clothes matches.

  “Emma?” His deep, gravely voice has my nipples tingling. I don’t even know this man, but those damn nipples are begging for his mouth to take them. It’s been so long since a man has given them any attention … “Emma?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Can you show me around the house?”

  I spin away from him to hide the blush, reminding myself that he’s here to do a job. Not get me naked and do naughty things to me. Though I really do want him to do naughty things to me. I suck in a breath and call over my shoulder, “Follow me.”

  We walk from room to room, and somehow I find my words again. Words that were tripped up by his utter hotness and the inappropriate fantasies they triggered. I give Easton my assessment of what each room needs; my hopes and dreams for them. Despite how my dwindled budget no longer supports all of those wants. Stupid greedy ex-husband.

  He nods, listening to everything I’m saying as he takes notes. He doesn’t interrupt or talk over me, like my ex used to do. “You’ve really thought all of this out,” he says to me at the end of the tour. Which just so happens to be in the master bedroom at the back of the house. “I’m impressed.”

  “I wanted to do it on my own,” I admit, leaving out the part that my ex was originally included in this project. “But I realize I have a lot to learn about remodeling an old house.” Things even YouTube can’t teach me. What if Easton could teach me instead?

  Easton takes a step closer, his musky scent drifting toward me. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.” He places a gentle yet firm hand on my bare shoulder. The heat sears my skin, causing tingles to shoot throughout my entire body at his touch. “You’re in a lot better shape than most clients I’ve met with in similar situations.”

  I frown at the word clients though it’s totally ridiculous. I don’t even know this man I just met. He doesn’t know me. Yet, a tugging in my heart tells me we’ve known each other for … years. For forever.

  I quickly shake away the notion, blaming the wine from last night on my crazy thoughts this morning. I didn’t have that much, but apparently enough that it’s still messing with my sensibilities. Love at first sight and soulmates and all that is just a load of crap. But the way my skin reacts to his touch …

  “I have some questions for you,” Easton says to me, slowly sliding his fingers away from my shoulder. I feel the absence of his touch immediately. It makes me feel empty. I don’t like it. Maybe it would help if I stopped staring at the bed, picturing him naked on it.

  “Questions?”

  “Just some basic things. Budget, what materials you already have purchased, what your plans were with that green wallpapered wall.”

  “The wall…” Luckily I stopped banging on the wall with a sledgehammer after that water pipe popped out at me. There’s not a dime in the budget for unnecessary repairs. “I … uh … wanted to open up that space.”

  Easton quirks an eyebrow at me. “You wanted to open up the hallway to the bathroom?”

  “Okay, so maybe I just really hated that wallpaper.”

  Easton’s laugh is deep and sexy. It rumbles in a way that goes straight to my core. The longer we’re together in this house alone, the harder it is to behave myself. I’ve fought the urge to pounce on him on a handful of occasions already. It’s the fear that I would mortify the man that keeps my hands at my sides.

  “I still need to do a walk around outside,” Easton says. “We can go over my questions out there when I’m done. Sound good?”

  Sounds safe anyway.

  EASTON

  Getting the both of us outside was the only thing I could do to keep my hands off of Emma. My fingers have been curled tightly around my clipboard because all they want to do it mold themselves to her body.

  “There’s some water damage with this siding,” I say, trying my damnedest to remember the job I’m here to do. “Was that figured into your budget?’

  When I see her beautiful smile fall, I hate myself for asking the question. The answer is written all over the hopeless expression she wears. “No. I was planning to repaint it.”

  “It has to come off. At least on the west side of the house. It’s rotted.”

  “Is that expensive?”

  It’s more expensive than she wants to hear, I know that. “Why don’t we go sit down?” I nod at a set of patio chairs at the back of the fenced-in yard. Despite the shortcomings of the house, Emma has done a great job with the yard. Flowers and fresh mulch line the fence on one side. Though the pavers leading to the firepit area will need to be redone in the next couple of years, they’re mostly uncracked and free of weeds now.

  Before I can take my seat, I feel the buzz of my phone in my pocket. One of my brothers no doubt wondering if I got lost. I ignore it.

  “We need to discuss some things,” I say as gently as I’m able. The reason my brothers nominated me for this job wasn’t just because of my home inspection experience. It was because in any other circumstance, I have the ability to remain objective. To look at numbers and facts and make my assessment based on those things solely. But with Emma, I find it harder than ever to leave emotion out of the equation.

  “Like?”

  I fight the urge to reach across the patio table to take her hands in my own. There’s a burning desire inside me to provide her comfort. To protect her from the disappointment I will inevitab
ly have to deliver before the week is over.

  Though the budget is the first thing we should discuss, I start with an easier question. “What are you plans with the house? Do you want to sell it? Keep it?”

  “Keep it.” Her answer is quick and sure. “This is my forever home.”

  Ideas bounce around in my mind, wondering if I can’t convince my brothers to come to her rescue if I could take on the work on the side instead. Fix things up as her budget allows. But I saw a number of concerning issues that need immediate attention. Issues that add up quickly.

  “What’s your budget?”

  She scans the backyard, letting her gaze bounce from flowers to shrubs to the sad screen door leading into the back of the house. She avoids looking at me. “Smaller than when I started.”

  I tear the corner from a sheet of paper inside my clipboard and hand it to her with a pen. “Why don’t you write it down?”

  She nods, taking the pen from me. Our fingers graze and electricity zips through my entire body, just like it did inside when I touched her shoulder. I’ve never experienced such an intense reaction to touching a woman before. I know it’s more than lust. It’s much more than I can hope to explain.

  “It was four times this before my divorce,” she says with such defeat in her voice it cracks a piece of my heart open. She still refuses to meet my penetrating gaze as she slides the piece of paper toward me. “I bought this house with my now ex-husband. It was supposed to be our project together. But he decided his secretary was more fun than fixing up an old house with his wife. Giving him seventy-five percent of the budget was the only way I could keep the house.”

  Anger bubbles up inside my chest at this news. It’s unbelievable to me that any man would let such an amazing woman go, much less take advantage of her like this. I’ve only known Emma for an hour at most, but I can see the ambition, the drive, the spark that makes her unique. It makes me want to ream the man who took that for granted. “He didn’t deserve you.” The unprofessional words slip before I can sensor them.