Chapter 4
Chapter Four
GIA
Pound. Pound. Pound.
I groaned, shoved my hair into a crooked bun, and stumbled toward the front door. Must be a crisis. Otherwise, why not call?
I yanked the door open and forgot every annoyed thought in my head.
Timothy stood on my porch with his fist raised to pound again. For one suspended second, neither of us moved. The rain hitting the porch’s roof in large drops echoed too loud.
His gaze dropped and skimmed over my thin sleep shirt and loose cotton shorts before snapping back to my face. He swallowed hard and lowered his hand when he seemed to realize touching the door again was unnecessary.
I was painfully aware that I was half-dressed in front of him. Cool morning air brushed my bare arms, but heat climbed up my throat.
His face settled into a carved, unreadable look.
“Uh…” His voice came out rough, like he needed a second try. He cleared his throat. “Air conditioner’s out? Buzz called it in last night.”
Only then did I notice the gray work shirt stretched across his shoulders with Hurst HVAC printed over his left chest, and the sleeves snug around arms corded with muscle. Entirely unfair to notice anything that sexy this early in the morning.
“Right,” I said, though my brain was still buffering.
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Can I check the thermostat?”
My gaze—traitorous thing that it was—dropped briefly to his mouth. Firm. Unsmiling. And those distractingly perfect lips. Mortification hit instantly. My eyes flew back to his. Heat flooded my face.
I stepped aside so fast I nearly tripped over my own feet. “Sure.”
He brushed past me, bringing with him the scent of clean soap and something warm and masculine that made my stupid lungs forget how breathing worked.
Worse, he moved through the house like he’d been here before.
He reached the thermostat and clicked through settings before asking in a sharp tone, “So are you back to help your father fleece us with this asinine lawsuit?”
My head jerked up. “What lawsuit?”
Disbelief flashed across his face. “Right,” he muttered darkly. “What lawsuit. Convenient to forget.”
He turned abruptly and walked straight into me. His hands caught my waist on instinct. Mine landed on his chest. Solid muscle. Hard heat. Broad enough to make me feel small. Every inch of us pressed together.
His breath hitched.
Mine disappeared completely.
His eyes dropped to my mouth for a second, but that second scorched. The anger was still there. But it was tangled now with something raw. For one reckless heartbeat, I thought he might kiss me.
Instead, he jumped back like I’d burned him.
He scrubbed a hand over his jaw and barked out a bitter laugh full of self-disgust. “Jesus Christ.” His voice came out ragged around the edges.
“I’m here to fix an air conditioner, not—” He broke off, shaking his head.
His eyes dragged over me once more before he looked away.
“Whatever game this is, I’m not playing it. ”
Heat crawled up my neck.
“I’m not—” My voice caught. “I didn’t do anything. It was an accident.”
I folded my arms over my chest, suddenly hyperaware of every inch of exposed skin.
“Most people call before showing up before seven-thirty in the morning.” I pointed at my sleep clothes.
“If you had, I could’ve made sure I wasn’t standing here half-dressed.
Or better yet, made sure I wasn’t here at all. ”
I let out a hard breath, humiliation curdling inside me. Then suspicion struck. My eyes narrowed. A horrible thought hit me. “You did this on purpose. Why else would the owner of the company be doing small potatoes house calls like this?”
His head whipped toward me.
I said, “This whole thing—showing up unannounced, catching me like this—was some twisted revenge fantasy so you could watch me embarrass myself.” My chest heaved. “You wanted to humiliate me.”
“I didn’t even know you were a tenant in Buzz’s place until you answered the door.”
“That’s hogwash. Everyone knows everything in this godforsaken town.”
“Which is why you pretending you don’t know about the lawsuit is stupid.” He stormed out the front door, letting it slam closed behind him.
I paced into Misty’s bedroom. Of course she was awake. She never slept much beyond five in the morning.
“What lawsuit is Timothy Hurst talking about?” I demanded.
“He’s here?” Misty sat up straighter in bed. “Timothy Hurst is here?”
“He’s fixing the air conditioner. What lawsuit?” I shouted it this time.
“Well, you know Dad. He found some old piece of paper from somewhere that he claims gives him the right to claim the Hurst property is his. He’s also suing for all the lost profits for the past few decades.” She rolled her eyes. “So ridiculous.”
“What?” I felt weak and slightly nauseated. No wonder Timothy hated me. Well, even more than a grudge for breaking his heart eons ago could explain. I had to fix this.
I slid on my flip flops, marched outside into the rain, and went around the house to where Timothy had the side panel off the air conditioner. He was kneeling, mostly sheltered beneath the roof overhang, which kept him dry.
I, meanwhile, got soaked.
I shouted over the pounding rain, “I didn’t know anything about this stupid lawsuit. I just asked Misty about it. I can’t believe he’s doing that. It’s stupid.”
He didn’t even look up. “Hang on. I’m—yep. That should do it.”
He slid the panel back on, screwed it into place, then finally stood and looked at me. He blinked. Then blinked again. His eyes dropped. Not politely. Directly to my chest.
He asked, “What are you—”
“I didn’t know about the lawsuit,” I repeated, defensive. “Not until I asked Misty right now.”
He made a strangled noise—half cough, half near-death experience—and continued staring like my nipples had personally insulted him.
Movement above him caught my eye.
Misty hung halfway out the upstairs window, pointing emphatically at her own boobs while yanking her shirt tight across them. Then she pointed at me.
I looked down. Well…shit.
My shirt was completely see-through. Not damp. Not clingy. Transparent. Without a bra, there were no mysteries left. No room for imagination. My breasts had introduced themselves, shaken hands, and handed out business cards.
Misty was laughing hard, even though I couldn’t hear it. I saw it.
I threw her the middle finger.
Timothy immediately took a giant step backward.
“Oh my God—no!” I yelped. “Not you. I was flipping off Misty.” I pointed above him. “She’s laughing at me because…” I waved at my chest.
He glanced up to her, then looked back at me. This time his gaze did a slow, traitorous sweep all the way down before snapping back up like he hated himself for having given in and looking.
I crossed my arms over my chest, which only made things worse somehow.
“Thank you for fixing the air,” I said in the crisp tone of a woman pretending she wasn’t currently starring in Wet T-Shirt: Small Town Edition. “Consider the nipple show your tip.”
I marched away with every ounce of dignity I could scrape together, which would’ve been more convincing if my soaked sandals hadn’t made a loud fwap-fwap-fwap noise all the way back to the house.
Inside, I could hear Misty laughing a deep, wheezing, I-might-need-an-inhaler sound.
When she finally emerged from her bedroom, wiping tears from beneath her eyes, I pointed at her. “You made that worse. Now he hates me even more. I sexually harassed him while he’s at work and flipped him off.”
“Sexually harassed?” Misty clutched her chest, wheezing out more laughter. “Honey, that man looked like he was fighting for his life out there.”
“That’s because a woman with decent boobs unexpectedly showed up in a see-through shirt. Any straight man would’ve looked.” I waved at my chest.
“Looked? Child, that man blue-screened. His whole system shut down. You gave him a full factory reset.”
I glared.
She grinned wider. “Also, calling it a nipple show before marching off like Dolly Parton in a thunderstorm?” She pressed a hand to her stomach as if that might control her laughs. “I may never recover from witnessing that. Highlight of my year. Maybe my life.”
I groaned and covered my face. “I panicked.”
“You sure did. Now that man’s got enough fantasy material to carry him through hurricane season.”
“Oh my God.”
“Possibly through Christmas.”
“Misty…”
“Maybe Valentine’s Day if he paces himself.”
I threw a couch pillow at her head.