Chapter 2
Clayton
The furnace had been making groaning noises all week, but the sound it made right after Shelly’s call was different.
Louder. More ominous. Like the old beast was finally giving up the ghost.
I wouldn’t have taken in a renter tonight if I’d known the old unit was singing out a real death knell. I’d convinced myself it was just another false alarm.
Now I wasn’t so sure.
I grabbed my toolbox and headed for the utility closet, already running through the list of parts I might need. Shelly had said I was the last rental on the mountain tonight. Which tracked.
That was usually how my rental business went.
I didn’t have the Taj Mahal of accommodations to offer, so I got two types of guests: the cheapest people on the planet who balked at paying fifty bucks a night, or nervous city folks who looked like they were afraid my house might collapse on them while they slept.
Rachel was definitely the latter.
I knelt in front of the furnace and pulled off the access panel, my mind drifting back to the moment I’d opened the front door.
She’d taken my breath away. Just standing there on my porch, soaking wet with her dark hair plastered to her skull in a tight bun, and her fancy clothes clinging to every curve. She was a short, soft little thing, all rounded hips and full breasts that her structured blazer couldn’t quite hide.
Her brown eyes had been frowning at me through rain-speckled glasses, and something in my chest had tightened at the sight of her looking so bedraggled and miserable.
Could eyes frown? Rachel’s had.
I’d wanted to pull her inside and wrap her up in a warm blanket. Maybe sit her down by the fire with a cup of cocoa and watch the tension drain out of her shoulders.
Which was a strange reaction, considering I didn’t do women anymore. Hadn’t for two years, not since Michelle had packed her bags and told me I cared more about fixing other people’s problems than building a life with her.
She’d been right, probably. But knowing that didn’t make it sting any less. I’d been willing to try to make it work with her, but when she’d landed in another man’s bed a week after our breakup, that had been it for me. Even after she’d dragged her sad ass home and begged me to take her back.
I was the kind of man who didn’t hand out second chances.
And honestly, her leaving had been a big relief. Women were more trouble than they were worth in my opinion.
Lightning flashed, bright enough to light up the hallway through the window, and I thought about Rachel again. Somehow this woman had taken Michelle right out of my thoughts.
The way she’d straightened her spine when I’d made that crack about insurance, like she was putting on armor, had told me everything I’d needed to know.
The woman was a spitfire, and she knew how to fight back.
That feisty spirit had looked good on her.
She’d lifted her chin defiantly and pursed her full, pink lips, even though she was shivering so hard I could see her teeth chattering.
Rachel had a gorgeous mouth to go with all those curves.
And hot damn, she’d been wearing the sexiest heels I’d ever seen. Never mind that the tips of them had been covered in mud.
I’d had some kind of visceral response to her, and hell, I’d even felt my dick come back to life after a long hibernation.
My mind skittered away from that thought.
She was a tenant. And she’d only be here for a night or two. She didn’t need me breathing hot and heavy over her thick curves. It was rude.
Thunder cracked outside, rattling the windows, and I refocused on the furnace.
The blower motor was shot. I’d known it was on its last legs, but I’d been hoping to squeeze another month out of it before making the drive to Fernwood for parts.
I poked at the wiring, checked the connections, and tried a few tricks that had worked in the past. Nothing. The damn thing was definitely dead.
Had I been an ass?
Thinking through our initial conversation, an uncomfortable knot landed in my chest.
Fuck. I had been.
I’d seen the logo on her blazer, and any warmth inside me had curdled into something bitter.
HomeGuard Insurance. I knew that name.
They were the fuckers who’d denied Mrs. Andretti’s claim last spring after the ice storm tore her roof open, citing some bullshit about pre-existing damage being repaired incorrectly.
And they hadn’t had to watch Mrs. Andretti cry at her kitchen table. That had landed on me. I’d ended up fixing it myself with salvaged materials because she couldn’t afford to fight them.
That’s what insurance companies did. They took your money for years, and then when you actually needed them, they found reasons to say no.
But for a claims adjuster, Rachel had kind eyes.
And soft hands. I’d noticed that when she’d clutched her overnight bag on my front porch. She had the kind of hands I imagined got slathered with fancy lotion every night.
Her manicured nails had been the same light pink as her lipstick. She had the hands of someone who worked at a desk, not with tools.
I’d never seen a claims adjuster as sexy as her before. They were usually old, grizzled ex-carpenters.
Stop thinking about the damn woman, I told myself angrily.
She wasn’t here to get laid. She was here to sleep the night through before going on to terrorize innocent victims’ lives.
But that snap judgment didn’t match the woman I’d met.
When she’d laughed at my couch, really laughed, her whole face had changed.
The professional mask had slipped, and for just a moment I’d seen something warm underneath. And someone who might be worth knowing.
Her eyes had turned all nostalgic talking about that old couch, and it had set something gentle stirring in my chest.
Could good people work for an evil corporation?
Maybe.
But it’s not like it mattered. She’d be out of here in the morning.
I spent another hour wrestling with the furnace, but it was no use. The motor was gone, and I wasn’t going to resurrect it with willpower and duct tape. I’d have to drive to Fernwood tomorrow for parts, which meant tonight the house was going to get cold.
Really cold.
I sat back on my heels and wiped my hands on my jeans, thinking about the woman in my spare bedroom. The room at the back of the house was always the coldest, even when the furnace was working.
Without heat, it would be damn near freezing by morning.
There was nowhere else for Rachel to go. Shelly had said so herself. Every room on the mountain was booked.
Which meant I was going to have to offer her my bed.
The thought sent a jolt through me that I tried to ignore. I pictured her curled up in my sheets, all her soft curves inches away from me, her dark hair loose and spread across my pillow, and my body responded in a way it hadn’t responded to anyone in a long time.
I shut that down fast.
This wasn’t about attraction. This was about basic human decency. I wasn’t going to let a woman freeze in my house just because she worked for a company I hated.
But I also wasn’t going to sleep on the floor like some kind of martyr when I had a perfectly good king-sized bed.
We were both adults. We could share a bed without it meaning anything.
I stood up, my knees protesting after an hour on the hard floor, and headed down the hallway. The rain was still coming down hard, drumming against the roof. Another crack of thunder shook the house as I stopped outside her door.
The soft click of typing came from inside. She was working, probably writing up reports about all the ways people had tried to cheat her company out of money they were owed.
I raised my hand to knock, then hesitated.
Her laugh echoed in my memory. The way her eyes had stopped frowning, genuine and unguarded for just that one moment when she’d seen my couch.
Damn it.
I knocked.