Man Candy, page 3
“You’re in your twenties,” she reminded, saying it as if it was a huge deal like you have a raging case of herpes.
I couldn’t change my age, but if that was all that was keeping her from becoming mine, I could work with it. “I know what to do with squash,” I reminded, trying to keep things light. That’s what I did. Made people relaxed. Comfortable.
She looked to the pile of veg and grabbed one. A large one, held it between us and waved it back and forth.
“Sorry, I only like the big ones,” she countered, finally setting it in her cart.
I couldn’t help but laugh. Well played. She wasn’t going to make this easy, but it was going to be fun. She didn’t have a clue about how much I liked to win.
Trying to move around me, I stepped in, blocking her way. I looked left. I looked right. Then leaned in close so her hair brushed my nose.
“Sugar, I assure you, I’ve got one you’ll like just fine. It’ll be the best thing you ever put in your mouth.”
4
LINDY
* * *
Oh. My. God.
Dex James was… wow. I’d never, ever, gotten turned on in the grocery store before.
Until now. Until him.
About squash.
Maybe because he was the man of my naughtiest fantasies, the man who I’d just written into my latest sex scene.
I was attracted to him and that was a huge problem.
It’ll be the best thing you ever put in your mouth.
That was all I could think about–and putting his squash in my mouth–as I pushed my cart out of the produce section and away from the sexy as sin Dex James.
Would it be just like what I wrote earlier? That it would be really big, too big, for me to take it all? Would I have to grip the base and stroke it as I tried to take as much as I could? Would he hold my head in place as he came down my throat?
I veered to the freezer section to cool off, but it wasn’t going to help.
Ever since I met him when he showed up on my doorstep to take Bridget to Denver I’d been insanely aroused and obsessed with him. Which was a big problem.
I should have been excited about flying on a private jet.
A private jet.
Who had access to something like that?
He did. He was a billionaire. The youngest of the James brothers. He may not run the family business–the Fortune Whatever James Corporation–but he was loaded. Enough spare cash to have a plane.
I bought a new shade of lipstick or a pair of shoes with my spare cash.
We had nothing in common.
So what if I did a little ménage à moi and got myself off while whispering–no, screaming–his name even though I gave him a serious brush off in Denver.
Even after that, when I’d been really cranky, the guy still wanted to have dinner with me. Me!
Like the crazy person I was, I pretty much told him off via vegetables and walked away. Why did I resist the man who had a bank account equivalent to the GDP of a few small countries? Why did I resist a guy who was six-two, two hundred-plus pounds of solid muscle? Who had chocolate colored hair that needed a trim and a jaw that always had a five o’clock shadow? Who smelled like expensive soap and the rugged outdoors? Whose smile made my panties melt and his remarkably dark eyes seemed to follow me whenever we were together? Who called me sugar and made me want to do all kinds of dirty things with him like stick my hand down the front of his jeans and feel how big and amazing his squa–dick was instead of just imagining it?
Yeah, him.
Because he was twenty-seven years old.
I was thirty-five. These days, I tweaked my neck just sleeping weird. I tried so hard to find the One. Mr. Right. It irked me that Dex was an eager puppy–maybe a Rottweiler puppy–and into me when he was Mr. Wrong.
Not a local. Meaning he wasn’t sticking around.
He didn’t seem to have any kind of job or ambition, wandering between Colorado and Montana checking out waterfalls.
He didn’t appreciate how hard it was to earn a living.
He was young. Thinking of having sex with him, let alone actually doing it, was like robbing the cradle. Hot as hell, but he was too young.
At his age, his stamina had to be impressive. God, he could probably go a second round without any recovery time. And he’d be eager to please like that Rottweiler puppy, I was sure.
I didn’t want a puppy though. I wanted someone who knew what the hell he was doing and knew what I needed–like a mind (or body) reader–and gave it to me. Multiple times.
Like a spanking bent over the kiwis.
Gah!
Stamina, youth, vigor–all of that was irrelevant because what guy his age wanted to settle down and immediately work on making babies? I knew what I wanted, and I wasn’t going to waste time on fucking even the hottest man on the planet if it didn’t lead to marriage and kids.
Dex was forward. Direct. Bold about what he wanted and that appeared to be me. So I had to shield myself. Push him and his squash away.
My vagina didn’t agree because it was crying right now in the checkout line. My panties were soaked. They had been ever since the squash/dick conversation ten minutes ago. I was thankful I’d made a shopping list because my brain was only thinking about getting in Dex’s pants, not picking out ketchup and tampons.
“Have dinner with me.”
I turned as I was putting that box of tampons–which only reminded me I wasn’t pregnant or getting that way any time soon–on the conveyor belt.
Dex stood in line behind me. He eyed the box, then me, without even a blink.
“Dinner?” I questioned.
“We’ll put your squash with my chicken,” –he held up a package of poultry thighs– “and make something hot.”
Because he had a huge grin on his face, I couldn’t help but smile at him. Total puppy. “We don’t need to have dinner together because our siblings are dating.”
His dark eyes held mine. “I promise you; this isn’t about them.”
I blinked because his usually carefree and playful demeanor had been replaced by an intensity that wasn’t exactly scary, but surprising. And potent.
I swallowed, grabbed the brownies and put them on the conveyor belt.
“Seriously. Have dinner. I make a really great pasta dish and I want to share it with you.”
I turned my head and studied him. He wasn’t fooling around, and he seemed earnest.
Before I could answer, my cell rang. I pulled it from my purse, saw the name on the screen. “Hi, Mr. VanMeyer,” I responded in my usually bright voice when talking to the older man. He probably didn’t want me to forget the brownies.
I turned back to my cart to grab a carton of orange juice.
“There’s been a little accident with the tree,” he said in my ear.
I froze, stared at the magazine display without seeing any of the covers. “Oh my God, are you alright?”
“Yes. But your house isn’t.”
“What? What do you mean my house isn’t okay?”
The next thing I knew, Dex was standing beside me, really, really close and he had his hand on my hip. I had to tip my chin up to meet his gaze. His concerned gaze.
“You’ll see when you get here,” Mr. VanMeyer said vaguely. “You’ll have to park down the block since the fire truck’s in the way. Don’t forget the brownies!”
Before I could question him further, he hung up.
I stared at my phone hoping it would give me answers.
“What’s going on?” Dex asked. His voice was gentle, the playfulness gone.
“My neighbor was chopping a tree down before I left and now he’s saying my house isn’t okay. That a fire truck’s out front. Did he set the tree and then my house on fire?”
His fingers squeezed gently, then slid to the small of my back to usher me through the checkout, abandoning our carts. “Come on. I’ll get you home.”
5
DEX
* * *
There was a tree in Lindy’s house like her place was the film set for Jumanji.
I stood beside her on the sidewalk and stared because I couldn’t believe it any more than she could.
Her next door neighbor sat on his back deck with a chainsaw at his feet. He must not be the sharpest tack in the box because… fuck.
He’d cut the huge tree at the base like he was a lumberjack in the woods. It had tipped over right onto her house. The main trunk fell into the side of it and huge branches pierced the roof and the exterior of the second story in four or five places. A window was smashed in. Drywall and insulation dangled in the open gashes.
The fire department was here because a tree limb had also taken out her gas line right at the meter. The power company had shut off electricity and got the gas capped so it was no longer leaking.
Lindy had been on the phone with her insurance company for the past ten minutes.
I didn’t leave her side, not sure what someone needed in a situation like this. No one was hurt, thankfully. The neighbor’s pride was dented–because he’d come over to apologize to her–but he wasn’t my problem right now.
Lindy was.
She ended the call and sighed. I didn’t know what that sound meant in this case. Sure, I knew when a woman was frustrated or angry or just plain tired, but a sigh when your house had been damaged by a tree? I studied her closely to make sure she wasn’t about to cry. I didn’t blame her if she did. I had experience with women, but not crying ones.
“What did they say?”
If she had shitty insurance and wouldn’t fix this, I would, after I cracked a few heads. Starting with the guy next door. Now I knew why Mav was focused on destroying the professor who’d stolen Bridget’s hard work and published it as his own. And got her kicked out of MIT.
“They’ll send someone over to take a look and start the process, but I don’t need an adjuster to tell me the house isn’t livable.” She glanced up at the clear sky. “Hopefully it won’t rain before they cover that hole.”
She pointed to the roof where a huge branch had poked through it. A huge skylight could be installed once it was removed. That wasn’t the only hole that would let rain in. Pretty much the side of her house on the second story was wide open.
Rain wasn’t the only thing that could get in. Squirrels, raccoons. Birds. Hell, around here, maybe even a bear. All of them could take up residence.
“Bridget hasn’t stayed here all week since she’s been back,” she continued, meaning her return from Denver, “so I assume she’ll keep staying with Maverick. I can go to a hotel until it’s all fixed–”
“You’ll stay with me,” I told her.
No way was she staying in a hotel. During the hockey season, I stayed in hotels more than in my own bed. It got old real fast. This was a big mess and wasn’t going to be fixed quickly. It could be weeks before she was back in. I didn’t know how long a construction project like this took, but Mav’s James Inn project was behind schedule, and he had a billion-dollar company pushing it to completion.
When I first got here, I was going to stay with Mav, but that was before Bridget. The last thing I wanted was to be in his house when the two of them were most likely fucking on every horizontal–and vertical–surface. So with a quick call to Mav’s assistant, the ever-efficient Bradley, found me a place of my own. A two-month rental right in town. A little old miner’s house that had been overhauled and restored. It was perfect for one. Or two who liked to be on top–or underneath–of each other.
Yeah, Lindy could fucking stay with me.
For the first time since we pulled up she looked my way. Her usually bright gaze looked weary. But no tears. Still…
“Oh sugar. Come here.”
I took her hand and pulled her into me. Hugged her. I’d be lying if I was doing it solely to comfort her. Besides me tucking her hair behind her ear at the grocery store, this was the first time we touched. That I held her. That I felt every soft curve of her body. Got close enough to breathe in her soft scent.
For a moment, she was stiff, then gave over and sagged into me, which was the most incredible thing ever. She let go for me, even if for just these few short moments.
I kissed the top of her head because… how could I not?
“This is a fucking mess, but it’s fixable,” I murmured, hoping I was being reassuring.
She nodded against my chest. “Yeah, I know. The house is turning into a money pit. Last winter it was the hot water heater. After that, I had to replace the toilet in the powder room because it leaked. Then the fridge–”
“The guy next door’s paying for this clusterfuck. Not you. I’m sure your insurance company will get in touch with his to cover it all.”
“Probably.”
Not just probably. Definitely.
“It’s a big house for just you.” I turned my head and looked at the place. Two stories painted white with ivy growing up trellises between the lower windows. Besides the tree in it, the house was well maintained, the yard perfect with mulched flower beds. Not a stray leaf dared blow onto her recently cut grass. Meticulous, just like the owner herself.
“It was my parents’ house. I inherited it.”
I stilled, stroked her hair then gave it a slight tug so she’d look up at me. There, in her blue eyes, was a mix of emotions. She would be a horrible poker player. I saw weariness. Surprise at the slightly controlling touch. And arousal.
Was it how I firmly gripped the back of her neck? Or the pull on her hair? Or being in my arms? I was going to find out. I wanted to know this and everything else about her. While her lips were right fucking there, I wouldn’t have our first kiss be in front of her damaged house with a fire crew milling about.
“What happened to them?” Inherited meant they weren’t alive.
I had lunch with Bridget and my brothers last week and we’d gotten to talking about our fathers. She mentioned hers had died but hadn’t elaborated. She certainly didn’t say anything about her mom being gone, too.
“Car accident when I was twenty-three,” she explained matter-of-factly. “Bridget was with them, driving home from one of those princess shows on ice in Billings. She was in the back seat, asleep. Not a scratch on her.”
Holy fuck. Lindy lost her parents in one go, and almost her sister at the same time. No wonder she wasn’t freaking out about the tree through her house. Worse things had happened to her. She knew true tragedy. Lived through something that wasn’t fixable and could only move on as best one could.
“Oh sugar.” I kissed her head again and held her close. She didn’t resist. We stood there until a fireman approached. He had on bunker pants and boots but skipped the jacket. He was totally ripped. Instead of wondering if Lindy found him attractive, I should be thankful the civil servants of the community were so fit.
Still, telling him to fuck off, that Lindy Beckett was mine, was on the tip of my tongue, but he was doing his job, not proposing.
“Hey, Lind.” He gave her a smile that screamed familiarity right along with how he shortened her name.
Damned small town.
“Gant,” Lindy said.
She pulled back and I let her go, but I rested my hand on her shoulder.
Gant noticed the placement.
That’s right. She’s mine.
“You can go inside, but obviously you won’t be living there.” He glanced over his shoulder at the house for a moment, then back to Lindy. “They won’t turn the gas or electric back on until the tree’s removed and the wiring’s been inspected.”
“Right,” she replied.
“You got a place to stay?” he asked.
I wasn’t sure if he was offering his bed or ensuring she was settled somewhere. Either way, it didn’t matter. I took care of what was mine.
“With me,” I told him.
She looked at me with wide eyes because she hadn’t said yes. I was taking her options away and speaking for her, but… well, I didn’t give a shit.
“It’s safe to go in and get some stuff,” the guy continued. “Clothes and whatever you might need. We’ll board up that lower window that’s damaged to keep people out, but there’s not much we can do about the rest of the holes.”
“Mr. VanMeyer called his insurance company and mine is sending someone and said they’d connect with a tree service and contractors.”
“Good.” He tipped his head toward the house. “Go ahead in.”
I followed her through the front door. From the entry, it didn’t look like anything happened. The back of the house was where the extent of the damage became clear. The kitchen had a broken window, which was easily fixable, but there was a branch that came down through the ceiling and pierced the top of the stove.
Upstairs, there was a tree branch that poked through the ceiling in the hallway and another through the bathroom. It was Lindy’s bedroom that took the brunt. She stood in the doorway and stared. A big section of the exterior wall along with a large picture window were gone because the trunk of the tree was through it and across her bed. I could see where an offshoot branch went down into the kitchen.
“Holy shit,” I muttered. What if she’d been home? Asleep?
Lindy blinked, then started moving about. She went into her closet, which was unharmed, pulled out a bag, then started pulling clothes off hangers.
“I need clothes for work. Yoga. Toiletries. Bridget will want some things. I need to clean out the fridge as the food will spoil.” She paused and ran a hand over her face, then continued. “I need to make a list.”
“Slow down, sugar.” I reached out and took the bag from her. It was cloth and quilted or some shit with flowers on it.
“Slow down?” She set her hands on her slim hips. “You know what’s worse than telling a woman to slow down? To calm down.”
I bit my lip and tried not to smile, but it was really fucking hard.
“I had work to do tonight, Dex. A schedule. I’ve barely talked to Mr. VanMeyer.”
The lumberjack next door.
“I think Mr. VanMeyer’s been talked to. By the fire department. The police, most likely. The gas and electric guy. His wife, who should have told him to slow the fuck down with that chainsaw.”
