Perfectly Polished (Keeney Builds #2)

Chapter 1

T hirteen Months Ago….

Forty-five minutes.

Fiona Han discreetly turned off the alarm on her smart watch.

It wasn’t that she was having a bad time, these were nice people.

But they were people who knew far too much about her, and she was ready for this day to be over.

With a small smile, she said, “I called an Uber. Hilary, thanks for inviting me. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. ”

“I’ll drive you home.”

Fiona blinked and stared at Tomas Alvarado. “Umm…thanks, but I’m fine.” She waved her phone at him and put it into her purse.

He stood and looked down at her. “I’ll drive you home.”

Eep!

She did not want to make a scene. He didn’t give off an axe-murderer vibe, and her friends were grinning at her like he was perfectly safe, but the rough-edged man who never seemed to smile, unnerved her.

Marcia Ortiz, a woman in her sixties, and best friend to Fiona’s mother-in-law Iris, touched her hand. “You’ll be fine,” she murmured. “You’ll be safe with Tomas.”

Really? Fiona wasn’t so sure. She rose on wobbly legs, tucked her purse under her arm, and accompanied Tomas to the stairs leading from Hilary’s deck to the driveway. She glanced back at Marcia, who winked at her.

Eep!

Descending the stairs, she was aware of the man behind her.

It seemed that, for the past two weeks, Tomas had been at her back without saying a word.

Reaching the driveway, she faced three white pick-up trucks bearing the logo for Keeney Building Supplies, the company Iris owned.

With a hand to her elbow, Tomas guided her to the one in the middle, distinguishable from the others by the rosary hanging from the rearview mirror, and opened the passenger door.

Fiona eyed the distance up to the seat of the truck, then down at her pencil skirt and heels.

Then she was up . Tomas placed her gently on the seat and reached around to buckle the seat belt.

“I’m not a child!” She glared up at him.

He met her eyes fully for the very first time. “I know you’re not.” He closed the door and walked around the hood of the truck.

Walk was the wrong word. Tomas prowled like a predator. Did that make her his prey?

He climbed behind the wheel, his presence sucking up all the air in the truck. Fiona wanted to open the window, to breathe, perhaps to crawl out.

Placing a large hand on the back of her seat, he ignored her as he turned to back out of the driveway.

She could smell him. Woodsy, with a trace of lime underneath.

If she turned her head ever so slightly, she could brush up against his hand and rub his scent all over her.

Where had that thought come from? It must be the wine. She shook her head and stared forward.

“I live on Dunlop Street,” she told him.

“I know.” Tomas met her eyes in the rearview mirror. “I changed the locks on your doors last week.”

“Right,” she said in a small voice. To keep the douche canoe of her soon-to-be ex-husband out of her house. Suddenly, she widened her eyes. “I haven’t paid you yet! I’m so sorry, I forgot all about it. I can write you a check when we get to the house. It’s just?—”

His eyes sliced to her. “It’s taken care of.”

“Oh.” Tomas worked for her mother-in-law. Iris must have had him do it. “Thank you.”

He drove in silence.

Not knowing how to converse with someone who clearly didn’t like to talk, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

She awoke to see Tomas scouring the word “cunt” off her garage door.

Fiona threw herself from the truck, stumbling as she hit the ground. Righting herself, she flew around the hood of the truck. Tomas whirled and grimaced.

“Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod,” she chanted, pacing back and forth in front of the garage. Scrawled in dripping red paint, each capital letter was at least two feet high.

Eddie.

He’d chosen a public and humiliating way to get back at her.

Tomas dropped a scrub brush and moved closer to Fiona, stepping between her and the offensive word. He pulled her hands away from her face and squeezed them. “Babe. Go inside. I’m going to get some paint and take care of this.”

The setting sun full in his face highlighted the ticking muscle in his jaw. The angry slash of his eyebrows mirrored the angry slash of his mouth, but his eyes were full of concern.

“You can’t…. Where will you….” She was unable to form a coherent thought, let alone a complete sentence.

He squeezed her hands again, bringing her attention back to him.

“I’ve got this.” He released one hand, led her around the truck to retrieve her clutch, and fished out her keys.

Still holding her hand, he guided her to the front door, unlocked it, and led her inside.

Closing the door, he pressed her back against it and said, “Stay here.”

He waited for her to nod, then moved quickly through the house.

When he returned and said, “All clear,” Fiona relaxed.

Once again, Tomas took her hand. He led her to the living room, gently pushed her onto the couch, and sank onto the coffee table facing her.

His gaze roamed her face, and Fiona took in a deep breath and squared her shoulders, feeling slightly less wobbly.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can. Lock the doors behind me and try to relax.” He gently unclenched her hands from around her purse, opened it up, and pulled out her phone. “Add me to your contacts. I don’t think you’ll need to, but call me—don’t text— call me if you get scared.”

Tears welled in her eyes. She tried to blink them away, but one escaped, and he wiped it away with a calloused thumb.

His eyebrows rose in a silent question which she answered with a quick nod, then he got up and moved to the door.

She locked the door behind him and headed to the kitchen to find the wine.

H is truck’s headlights illuminated Fiona when he pulled into the driveway an hour later. She turned away from the garage door and squinted into the bright lights. Standing barefoot, her beige pencil skirt wrinkled and spattered, black hair escaping her chignon, she wove slightly.

Tomas swore softly as he got out of the truck. A frightened Fiona he was expecting. A drunken, disheveled, grinning Fiona he was not. Polite Fiona with perfect posture aroused him. Fiona with messy hair, smeared makeup, and smelling like spilled wine, undid him.

“Hey,” she said brightly. As if standing in her driveway in the dark painting over obscene words was a normal part of her day.

For she had painted over the word. Or, more accurately, she had painted within and around the word, adding dots, splashes, rays, and swirls, until the ugly word had become… beautiful.

“Nail polish?”

A small table stood to the side, covered with bottles of polish in an array of colors.

Fiona shrugged, the movement causing her to sway. “It’s what was available.” On unsteady legs, she approached the table, reaching for the wineglass on it. She knocked it over, and it crashed on the driveway. Tiny shards of glass sparkled in the lights that framed the garage.

Fiona looked up at him and giggled. “Oops,” she said.

He scooped her up and headed for the open front door. “Come on, Princess, I think you’ve had enough.”

“Okay,” she said with a goofy smile. She wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled against his chest with a sigh.

For a man who hauled lumber and bags of concrete for a living, carrying Fiona Han was the easiest thing in the world.

He breathed her in, separating the scents of paint and polish and wine until he smelled her , a heady mix of jasmine and sandalwood.

He wanted to sink into the couch, settle her in his arms, and share his heartbeat with hers.

Instead, he carried her to her room and placed her on the bed.

Fiona wouldn’t let go. She opened eyes that were big and brown, unguarded and trusting, and fixed them on his face. “I love your eyebrows.”

Said eyebrows came together in a frown.

“Ooh. I especially love it when you do that. All frowny and forbidding.” She released one hand and drifted her fingers softly across his eyebrows and down the side of his face. “You’re like an Aztec god.”

He didn’t feel like a god. He felt like a man close to a beautiful woman he’d very much like to kiss. Frozen in place by her touch, he held still as she traced his lips with one hand, and drew him down with the other.

She was drunk.

She was distraught.

He shouldn’t be there.

Tomas touched her lips lightly with his own, and drew back.

Her plump bottom lip held a trace of moisture.

Holding her gaze, he leaned in and tasted her, stroking his tongue along the seam of her lips.

Her lips parted and invited him in. He cradled her face, the scarred, brown skin of his hands a contrast to her pale, porcelain perfection.

Fiona moaned beneath him, a sound that echoed deep in his throat. She whimpered when he pulled back and sat up.

“Stay,” she said.

It was incredibly tempting, but he shook his head. “Another time.” He ran a hand through her hair, removing the remaining pins and placing them on the bedside table. Holding her gaze, he said, “I promise.”

Fiona sighed and turned to her side, snuggling into the pillow.

He found a blanket and covered her. Stroking a finger down her cheek, he tucked a strand of silky, dark hair behind her ear, and reluctantly rose.

She looked so peaceful but it would all come back to her tomorrow, and he vowed to be there for whatever she needed.

Every day for the next four days, he called. Each call went to voicemail.

None were returned.