“Oh yes, didn’t you hear? It happened yesterday. She slipped going down the basement stairs in the morning, and Doc didn’t find her until he came home for lunch hours later.”
“Is she okay?” The girls spoke at the same time again.
“She’s in surgery, actually. She broke her hip. I’m going to head over to the hospital now.”
After giving Bruiser “smooches,” Mrs. Polly waved at them before leaving the shop. “I told them that house was a death trap, and now look what happened.”
Leah had thought the same thing when Doc told her they were going to be buying the old Newman place. He’d explained that they were purchasing it for the land, but Leah had serious reservations about the hundred-year-old home itself. Besides the ancient plumbing and electrical, she’d honestly wondered how the walls were holding up the roof.
Ever since they’d moved in, she’d been worried something like this—or worse!—might happen.
When the Taylors had the twins over for dinner after moving in, Leah’d walked in and whispered to Bea that it looked like something out of Deliverance. Bea told her to “be nice.”
Doc Taylor and Kitty had unofficially adopted the twins when they moved to Harper’s Crossing five years earlier to open Barks, Balls & Bellyrubs. Leah and Bea didn’t have any family in Illinois. Doc and Kitty only had one grandson, and he lived hundreds of miles away. It was a perfect match.
The Taylors were two of the first people they’d met in Harper’s Crossing, in fact. They’d had to rush Indy to the vet because he ate their remote control the very first day they arrived in town. Thanks to Indy’s propensity for eating anything and everything he saw, they’d gotten to know the vet and his wife very well, and very quickly.
At the time, Bea was recovering from losing her fiancé and Leah was doing everything in her power to make sure her sister was okay. Leah had always assumed the instant familial connection had been forged because the Taylors had lost their son Miles tragically, and when he was the same age that Bea’s fiancé had been.
That was a sad thing to bond over, but Leah couldn’t be more grateful for the couple—especially Kitty—for helping Bea through her grief.
Leah sure as hell hadn’t known what to do. She’d never come close to loving anyone the way that Bea had loved Jordan. Her sister had been with Jordan since they were in middle school.
The longest relationship that Leah’d ever had was six months, and that was with a musician who was on tour for four of those months. The second-longest clocked in at just shy of the six-month mark. He’d asked her to marry him and she’d been considering it.
So much so, in fact, that she’d run a background check on him. That was when she found out that he’d hidden two felony convictions. He was one strike away from being locked up for life, and she’d been ready to walk down the aisle with him.
“I’ll head over after work,” Bea assured Leah after Mrs. Polly had left.
Leah despised hospitals and her sister knew it. When they were eight, they’d both had to have their tonsils removed. Leah’s operation went smoothly. Bea’s did not—she’d contracted an infection and the doctors had been unable to get her fever down.
Bea had been in the ICU for two weeks. Those were the longest two weeks of Leah’s life. She’d begged her parents to let her stay with her sister, but they wouldn’t even let her visit. They’d been worried that she’d contract the same illness that had afflicted Bea.
Even as an adult, she couldn’t pass a hospital without feeling nauseous, sweating, breathing fast—having a near-panic attack. People always thought it was strange that she ended up being the one with such an aversion to hospitals since Bea was the one that had been in the ICU. Leah might not be able to explain her phobia, but that didn’t make it any less real.
“Okay.” Leah gathered the rest of the dirty towels from the hamper and tried to put Kitty’s fall out of her mind. She’d never done real well with emotions. Well…that wasn’t strictly true. She was fine with happiness, and anger. It was fear, love, and sadness that she ignored and avoided at all costs.
“And you’re totally right about the wrong guys,” she said as she backed into the screen door that led to the common mudroom area that housed the washer and dryer for the building. “No more tattooed, motorcycle-riding bad boys. If they have abs and a rap sheet, then I’m not interested.”
She stepped into the laundry area and what she saw caused the basket of towels to slip from her hands. She blinked several times, sure that she must be seeing things. She wasn’t in the middle of a desert, but the sight before her had to be an apparition.
A man stood at the opposite side of the room, and he didn’t merely rival Charlie Hunnam, Brad Pitt, and Idris Elba in the sexiness department. He blew them out of the freaking water.
He had deep brown eyes surrounded by dark lashes that she was sure kissed his cheeks when he blinked. His jaw was covered with just enough scruff to make her thighs tingle at the thought of his face brushing against her bare skin.
The white T-shirt he wore didn’t cling to him, which was a shame. But what it did do was almost as appealing. It molded only to specific areas of his body, namely his biceps and the broad planes of his chest, and the result was toe-curling sexiness.
His neck arms and—ding-ding-ding—very large hands were covered in tattoos, and Leah feared that she might possibly have just accidentally fallen in love.
She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. This sexy stranger had done the impossible. He’d rendered Leah Ann Porter speechless.
Chapter 2
Lance Taylor didn’t get tongue-tied. Ever. He didn’t get nervous. He didn’t get butterflies, or “bubble guts” as his grandmother used to call them. He didn’t get the warm freaking fuzzies.
But this woman had him feeling all of those things and more. He was tied up in the worst way, and he really wanted to unravel himself, but that was proving to be easier said than done.
First of all, there was the obvious. The woman who’d just appeared in front of him was hands down the hottest, sexiest, most stunning thing he’d ever laid eyes on. He wasn’t sure that he’d ever seen a more aesthetically pleasing human being.
But there was more than that. There was an energy surrounding her. It was like a magnetic field, and he felt himself being pulled into it.
“Who are…what are you doing back here?” Her words came out semi-breathless and Lance wondered if she might just be as affected by him as he was by her.
He swallowed over the large lump that formed in his throat and tried not to notice the thin sheen of sweat that broke out on his forehead. Hoping to sound totally unaffected, he stated, “I’m meeting someone.”
The corners of her eyes crinkled as she narrowed them. “Who?”
Besides not being a big feeler, Lance wasn’t a big sharer. With a past like his, he felt like everyone was on a need–to-know basis, and ninety-nine point nine percent of people didn’t need to know jack shit.
When he didn’t immediately respond, she looked around and out the window that faced the back parking area.
“Is that your bike?” Her arms crossed in a defensive stance.
That was his baby, his pride and joy. But sure, he’d go with bike. “Yeah.”
“Of course it is…” she mumbled.
He was just about to ask her what she meant by that when she gasped.
“Holy shit!” Her eyes widened and she dropped her hands. “Are you BigRod69?”
Lance was tempted to look for hidden cameras. “Is that a joke?”
One minute he was scrolling through his phone, killing time, and the next she appeared. Every male fantasy he’d ever had come to life and she said the words big, rod, and sixty-nine. This had to be a joke.
“What’s your name?” She didn’t ask. She demanded.
A small thrill raced through Lance’s veins. He’d always been attracted to women who didn’t take any shit, and the woman standing in front of him definitely ap
peared to fit that bill. But that didn’t mean he was going to answer her.
“What’s your name?” he volleyed back.
He didn’t give out personal information to strangers, even if that stranger made Aphrodite look like a plain Jane, and had a fire in her eyes that burned him from across the room.
“Are you seriously not going to tell me your name?” One of her perfectly shaped brows rose in an even more defined arch.
“Are you seriously not going to tell me your name?” he countered.
“Stop repeating what I say.”
The twelve-year-old kid in him was tempted to keep doing exactly what she’d ordered him not to, but thankfully the thirty-two-year-old man overrode the impulse.
She seemed to have the same aversion to ponying up personal information as he did because she held her ground, silently. They both remained stock still, eyes locked, neither speaking. It was clearly a standoff and one that he had no intention of losing.
Some people felt the need to fill in moments of silence because they got uncomfortable, or out of some sort of social grace. Lance suffered from neither of those afflictions. He could stand there in a stare-off until the cows came home, as his nonna liked to say.
The eye-lock continued and Lance began to notice things about the stunning vixen that made his ability to think diminish since all of the blood that normally circulated in and around his brain traveled south at warp speed.
As a tattoo artist who specialized in pinups and portraits, Lance instinctively noticed details and proportions on every person he came into contact with. It wasn’t something that he actively examined. It was all done on a subconscious level, and it was as natural to him as breathing.
The first thing that stood out was the way her pink hair perfectly complemented her skin tone, reminding him of Natalie Portman’s character in the movie Closer.
But this vision in a white tank top with a logo with triple Bs in the center and cutoff jean shorts had a body that defied the laws of nature, and Lance had a feeling it wasn’t surgically altered. Not that he had anything against plastic surgery. He was a firm believer in the idea that everyone should do exactly what they wanted with their own body.
Hell, he couldn’t count the number of people that judged him because of the tattoos he had covering much of his skin. Noticing that her curves were au natural was just an impartial observation.
Just like he observed tiny specks of gold floating in the swirl of emerald irises, which made a mesmerizing combination with the stark black ring they were surrounded by. Or the way her nose tipped up at the end. And that her cheekbones rivaled those of a fashion model.
Her lips, though. Those were what really drew him. They were full, red and pouty. He had an overwhelming desire to sink his teeth into her bottom lip and suck.
Forcing himself not to linger on her bite-worthy mouth, his eyes once again lifted to meet hers. When their gazes met, his heart slammed into his chest and he found it difficult to breathe. A vague memory of her asking him his name floated in the recesses of his brain. But at this point he couldn’t have answered her even if he’d wanted to. He didn’t know who he was, where he was, or what he was doing.
“Sorry, I’m late. I got held up on a call.” A tall, thin man in a tailored suit and a strong dose of cologne entered the small space, staring down at his phone and typing furiously.
The new arrival served to snap Lance out of the trance that he’d fallen under. Once the fog cleared, he remembered why he was there. He was waiting for a property manager and assumed this must be the man.
“Hello, Oscar.” The pink-haired vision in jean shorts spoke.
Yep. It was definitely the man he was meeting. Oscar de la Hoya, no relation to the fighter. When he’d seen the name on the listing for the workspace, he’d thought it must’ve been a joke. Kind of like this encounter, in fact.
“Oh!” Oscar, apparently startled by the woman’s voice, spun around. His phone flew out of his hands. Acting on pure instinct, Lance reached out and grabbed it and handed it back, all in one smooth motion.
Heat rose on Lance’s left cheek. He could feel the woman’s stare on him as if it were a physical touch. And despite himself, he liked that she’d seen him pull that off.
Lance didn’t make a habit of caring about what people thought, and he sure as shit didn’t care if he impressed them or not. So why in the hell did it make his chest swell with pride thinking that she’d just witnessed him doing something as asinine as catching a phone?
“Thanks.” Oscar spoke to Lance, pressing his hand to his chest in relief, then turned his attention to the pink-haired goddess. “Leah, I didn’t see you there.”
Leah. Her name was Leah.
“Really?” The small grin that pulled at her full, ruby lips sent blood pumping furiously in the area it’d all just migrated to, which caused the zipper of his jeans to tighten. “I’m hard to miss.”
“That’s the understatement of the century.” Oscar said exactly what Lance was thinking.
“True.” Leah spoke with a confidence that Lance found equally as sexy as her sass.
In the span of ten minutes this woman had managed to check every single box on the list of what Lance found sexy, attractive, and irresistible.
Which meant there had to be something seriously fucked up with her. Lance had loved two women in his life, and they’d both turned out to be nightmares. Each in totally different ways, but both nightmares all the same.
“Are you going to rent the space upstairs?” Leah directed her attention back to Lance.
“You ask a lot of questions,” he responded, already missing the banter that they’d had moments before.
“You don’t give a lot of answers.”
There was an electric energy flowing between the two of them, and for a moment Lance was once again pulled under Leah’s spell. He forgot that Oscar was in the room. Hell, he forgot anyone else even existed on this earth. The only thing he was aware of was this smoking hot siren in front of him. Every cell in his body was alive with the frenetic tension that the two of them were creating.
Instant chemistry was a real thing. He’d read the phenomenon was attributed to pheromones. He didn’t know what the science behind it was, but he knew that he’d experienced it in his life before. Never to this magnitude, though. Nothing had ever come close to this encounter. Which was exactly why he needed to stay the hell away from this woman.
And, again. If the other women he’d felt this for were any indication, there was something seriously wrong with the individual in front of him.
“Okay…well, I don’t mean to interrupt, but I only have a few minutes,” Oscar said pointedly before heading upstairs. “I think it will be a perfect spot for you.”
Lance started to turn and follow the well-dressed man but found his eyes drawn back to the bold vision in denim shorts. She was unapologetically staring at him and he felt his mouth curl up in a grin as he said, “Nice to meet you.”
“You didn’t,” she challenged, tilting her head defiantly.
Damn. Her response made him want to blow off seeing the space upstairs and introduce himself properly to Leah before doing very improper things to her. Remaining where he was proved a greater temptation than he’d ever faced. But he knew better than to follow his base instincts. If he wanted her, she was crazy. Or a liar. Or both.
“Bye, Leah.” He reluctantly shifted on his heels to head upstairs, but not before he saw a flash of heat flare in her emerald gaze. He wasn’t sure if it was due to irritation because he hadn’t taken her bait and revealed his name, or if it was attraction because he hadn’t taken the bait. He hoped it was the latter.
Oscar was going over details of the space as the men ascended the wooden staircase, but Lance wasn’t really paying attention.
Leah had imprinted herself on his brain, but he only had half a picture, if that. He wanted to find out more. He wanted to know everything about the woman who’d dropped a basket full of towels when she’d s
een him.
Due to the logo on her tank top, he assumed that she worked at the pet shop he’d noticed when he’d gone around back. But how long had she worked there and why did she think he was “big rod sixty-nine”? And who was big rod sixty-nine?
“So this is it.” Oscar fanned out his arms when they reached the top.
Lance walked the space. The loft was a seven hundred square foot space that took up the entire second floor of a brick structure, with wooden floors and exposed ventilation and plumbing.
It had an urban feel, which he appreciated, being from New York. There were large windows lining all four walls, and the building backed up to a large river that ran through town. The view was picturesque and quaint.
“You mentioned that you were looking to rent it week to week?”
“Yeah. I’m not sure how long I’ll be in town.” Lance hoped it wouldn’t be long. Small towns weren’t his speed.
Although, he might need to rethink his stance if they offered women like Leah in them. He’d sure as hell never seen anyone like her in New York, where he was raised, or even in Miami, where he’d been living for the past two years.
Then again, since he was proactively avoiding women like Leah, maybe his stance should remain firmly in place.
“Normally, I wouldn’t consider anything less than twelve months on a commercial property.” Oscar’s phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket as he declared, “But for you, I’ll make an exception,” before taking the call.
Lance wasn’t sure if the exception was because of his familial connection to the town or if it was because of his reputation in the tattoo world. He noticed that Oscar had a neck tattoo peeking out from under his crisp, white collar. He also had a tat on his left wrist that was visible when he lifted his arm.
Whatever the cause of the preferential treatment was, Lance appreciated it. He loved the space. The only thing holding him back from taking it was the bombshell he’d just met downstairs.
Just One Look - Leah and Lance (Crossroads Book 15) Page 2