Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
CASEY
I nfuriating man. I wanted to stomp over there and slap him.
And maybe kiss him.
But probably slap him.
I sat down and let my head fall into my hands.
How could one person be so confusing?
One moment, he was Jesse—relaxed, pleasant, even charming. I found him incredibly attractive. He was manly, yet slightly awkward. When he laughed, he was almost irresistible. That was the Jesse I wanted to kiss.
The next minute, he was Thorne. A drill sergeant, barking out orders. Demanding I obey him.
I snorted. Not likely.
He was the one I wanted to slap.
Maybe knock some sense into him. Or dislodge the stick he had up his ass.
I looked at the wind chimes I had started to make.
Unlike the commercial kind, which did tend to be rather loud and annoying and were made with cheap metal tubes and clappers, I made mine with tiny bells, little pieces of stained glass, seashells, and driftwood, along with small versions of the tubes and clappers.
The bells sang sweetly in the wind, the glass tinkled, and the clapper sang softly. It was soothing and lovely.
And according to my landlord, a definite no.
Too bad for him, I didn’t like the word no.
I sat down and got to work.
It took me the rest of the day plus the next morning, but as I held up my new set of wind chimes, I was pleased.
The light danced off the glass and the brass.
I added some crystal beads into it, and those shimmered in the sun.
I moved it around, letting the air current work its magic, and the bells rang out, the tiny tubes I added hitting the clapper perfectly, making the chiming sound so appealing.
It wasn’t loud since I only used smaller metal pieces. It was perfect.
And so pretty.
Some would say girly.
I opened the front door, standing on the porch, trying to decide where to hang my creation.
I would love to be able to hang it off the eavestrough, but the only ladder I knew of was the one I had used the other day, and it wasn’t very tall.
I had seen a long aluminum ladder in the garage when I’d taken the totes out of it that Jesse had told me about, but it was high on the wall, and I certainly wasn’t asking him to get it for me.
Once he found out why I needed it, he would refuse.
I pursed my lips as I studied the porch railings.
I could use the ladder and screw a hook into the top and hang it there.
That would work. But then I spied a hook already in place on the upper piece of trim on the wall that separated the two halves of the porch.
I dragged the chair over and climbed it, hanging the wind chimes.
Using my finger, I measured the width of the wood and was pleased to know the hook was more on my side than his.
I wasn’t encroaching on his space. I stepped off the chair and stood back, satisfied.
There was a light breeze today, swirling around the wood and tubes, setting off the bells and the soft echo of the clapper. It was melodic and sweet. Not too loud. Perfect.
I walked down the steps and looked at my porch.
With the wreath and the wind chimes, plus the welcome mat, it was homey and, yes, girly.
The table and chair I had set up were inviting, and I looked forward to sitting on the porch on nice summer days, reading and enjoying the sun.
I already imagined decorating it at Christmas.
Wrapping garland around the rails, adding lights and bows.
A huge wreath on the door. Maybe a Santa figure or a cute teddy bear that lit up. A huge urn of greenery.
“What the hell is that?” a voice snarled behind me.
I turned, my breath catching. Jesse had obviously been out on a run. His shorts hugged his muscular thighs like a lover clinging tight. Every sinew, muscle, and attribute was outlined.
And it was quite the attribute.
He had removed his shirt at some point, no doubt using it to wipe down his chest. His massive shoulders tapered to a thick waist, his six-pack tight and defined.
His arms bulged, and his pecs made me swallow convulsively.
The sudden urge to run my hand down his chest, to slip my fingers under his waistband and feel him—really feel him—as I kissed his frowning mouth overwhelmed me.
How could someone look so miserable, yet so desirable at the same time?
He glared at me, shifting his weight from one foot to another. I swore his attribute moved. Shifted a little as if swelling. Maybe it liked my attention.
I shook my head. Why was I thinking about his cock? He was Thorne. As in, a thorn in my side.
“What?” I asked stupidly, my voice thick.
What was what? Was I drooling?
I inconspicuously wiped at the corner of my mouth, but I was fine. Then I realized he was glaring over my shoulder and recalled the wind chimes.
“If you’re finished eye-fucking me,” he growled, “I believe I stated quite firmly yesterday, no wind chimes.”
“I am not eye-fucking you,” I retorted snidely, because really, I was eye-fucking him. He was rather delicious to look at, even hot, sweaty, and angry.
Or maybe that added to the attractiveness.
Jesus. I needed to get a grip.
I crossed my arms. “The wind chimes are on my side of the porch. I checked the tenant rights online, and there is nothing that says you can stop me from having them.”
“It’s on my beam,” he snapped.
“I measured. The hook is more on my half than yours.”
He stomped past me, and I couldn’t help but ogle him as he did.
He rippled. His muscles bunched and flexed, moving under his skin like a wave on the ocean. His thighs and calves were well-developed, and I could imagine him carrying someone out of a fire with ease.
I found myself imagining him carrying me around with that ease. If he flung me over his shoulder, I could touch that spectacular ass of his. I wasn’t sure I had ever seen an ass on a man so well-formed.
His voice brought me out of my musings. I frowned as I realized he had a tape measure and was holding it on the beam. “The hook is on my side, if you want to be exact,” he said smugly. “In fact, that means these belong to me.”
Before I could protest, he deftly unscrewed the hook and took my wind chimes, walking into his house and shutting the door.
Firmly.
I paced around the living room, unsure what to do.
Walk over and demand my wind chimes back?
Break in and steal them?
I stopped as I wondered what he was doing to them. Had he thrown them out? Was he destroying them?
I scratched my head. I could make another set, although maybe not as elaborate. Maybe if it were smaller and not so close to his side, he would let it go.
I mean, he couldn’t rip down every single one I made, right?
I sat down and got to work.
The next morning, I went to the hardware store and bought some cup hooks.
Easy to install, and they held enough weight that the wind chimes would stay up.
The new set I made was smaller, still pretty, and made a lovely sound when the thin tubes hit the clapper.
I only used four bells and limited glass, but the echoing noise was still effective.
I peeked out back, but Thorne’s truck wasn’t there, so I hurried to the front and screwed a hook into the side of the porch rail at the top and hung the new set of wind chimes. Being more open, it immediately began its dance, the sound melodic.
I sat down, enjoying it for a moment, then heard my phone ringing and hurried inside, hoping it would be the client I was waiting to speak with. I was pleased to see it was, and I sat down with my notepad and pen ready.
As I was discussing a new software package he wanted installed, I heard Thorne’s truck.
I waited to see if cursing would follow.
Heavy footsteps on my stairs. Then I could lambaste him, accuse him of trespassing, and insist he give me back my other set of wind chimes.
I had a bunch of ideas I had gotten off the web to threaten him with.
But I heard nothing. I felt oddly disappointed, but I concentrated on the client. After we hung up, I peeked out the window, but my chimes were still there.
Thorne had either given up too easily, or he hadn’t heard them yet.
I should have made them louder.
Except I decided to claim this victory, so I reached for my headphones, laughing at the irony. I loved the sound of the chimes, but I needed total silence to work. It was the only way I could concentrate. I did plan to enjoy them once my work was done. Coffee on the porch sounded like a great idea.
An hour later, I stood and stretched. I was hungry and needed a break. The code I was writing was complex and demanded my utmost concentration. But once it was finished, it would add a nice chunk of change to the bank, and I wouldn’t have to worry about landing too many clients too fast.
In the kitchen, I put together a sandwich with the last of the roast beef. I smiled, recalling Thorne telling me how delicious it was and how much he had enjoyed it.
Thinking of Thorne made me remember yesterday. Him in his sweaty, angry glory. I had thought of him that way last night when I was lying in bed, unable to sleep. I could picture him hot and sweaty for another reason. Imagine him in my bed, his attributes on display.
And what a display it was.
He might act like a dictator, but from what I had seen, his dick was much larger than the average tater.
That thought had made me laugh so hard, I’d had to roll over to cover my guffaws.
Then my fantasies took flight, and before I knew it, my fingers were sliding over my clit as I heard his growling, low voice in my head, whispering dirty words and promising to put out the fire with his huge hose.
I came hard. Twice. His name on my lips both times.
I shook my head, adding some mustard to the bread. I’d take my sandwich and sit outside and enjoy the sun. Listen to?—
I stopped, realizing the air was silent. I raced to the front door, flinging it open, and gasped. My wind chimes were gone.
So was the hook.