Chapter 10
“Fill My Stocking With a Duplex
and Checks”
Greyson stepped out of the shower, water still beading on his shoulders, and froze. Someone hammered on his front door with enough force to rattle the windows. He quickly wrapped a towel around his hips and dashed out of the bathroom, frowning when the knob jiggled.
He flung open the door, ready to rip someone’s head off, then stilled, mouth open and confused. “Wren?”
“Why haven’t you been depositing your checks?” She stormed into the house without invitation, bringing a gust of winter air and righteous fury.
“Huh?”
“Years of checks, Greyson! You’ve never cashed a single one! What the hell?”
“I...” This wasn’t on his bingo card for today.
“If you do jobs for me, then I get to pay you. That’s how it works!”
Did she have to be so sexy when she yelled at him? Her cheeks flushed that perfect pink that made his pulse hammer against his throat.
Get your head out of the gutter, Hawthorne!
He scowled. “Why are you yelling at me?”
“Why aren’t you cashing your paychecks?”
He shrugged, blurting out the first lame excuse that came to mind. “The bank’s on the other side of town.”
“Don’t give me that crap!” She flung her hair out of her face, cheeks tinged with the same pink that colored her nipples whenever she got heated. “I reviewed all my bank statements. You’ve been doing this for years. Years, Greyson!”
He wondered how she managed to run a business if she missed such an enormous clerical error. “You should keep a better eye on your books—”
“That’s not the point!”
“What do you want me to say, Wren?”
“I want you to fix it.”
He gave her a stern look that said that wouldn’t happen. If she didn’t realize he wasn’t cashing his checks, she likely spent the money elsewhere. The sum of money he’d let slide over the years would add up to a fortune by now. He couldn’t bury her in that sort of debt.
“I always tell you I don’t want your money.”
“If you don’t let me pay you, Greyson, I’m going to start hiring someone else.”
His jaw locked, muscles tensing with territorial fury.
Like he’d let someone else do the jobs he did for her.
She’d get ripped off left and right, not because she wasn’t sharp, but because most contractors overpriced their work and took advantage of anyone with limited options.
It was extortion. His prices were reasonable and fair, even if he didn’t take the money.
Done with this argument, he walked away from her. “That’s not happening.”
“Where are you going?” She followed him into his bedroom, her footsteps quick and determined. “You don’t get to decide what does and doesn’t happen in my business, Grey. This is my company, and I choose how it’s run.”
He yanked open a drawer and pulled out a pair of jeans, the denim rough against his damp hands. “And I’m running my business. I choose how I charge. Same difference.” He stepped into the jeans, pulling them up as he yanked off his towel.
“Oh!” She covered her eyes and spun around. He hoped she got an eyeful.
“This argument is over, Wren. I worked all day, and I just ordered dinner. I’m hungry—“
“No, this discussion is just getting started. It ends when we reach a compromise.”
He yanked up his zipper and closed the distance between them in two strides, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her skin. “The compromise will be you choose what to pay me, and I choose what to do with my money.” His voice dropped to dangerous quiet. “The. End.”
Her shoulders shook with frustration. “Are you dressed yet?”
“Yes.”
She pivoted and drew back. Angling her chin up, she glared at him with fire in her eyes. “That’s not fair, Greyson. You’re actually losing money on supply costs—“
He took a step closer, purposely crowding her until her back nearly touched the wall. He couldn’t intimidate her—she knew him too well for that—but, this time, she wasn’t getting her way. “It’s fair enough.”
“No, it’s not. The materials alone... Your labor...”
He wondered how anyone could have that much hair.
Distracted by her long braid, he remembered his earlier years on fishing boats and recalled his father teaching him and his brothers all about nautical knots.
Some part of him ached to braid her hair a thousand different ways, simply because he knew how.
“Are you listening to me?”
“No.”
“Damn it, Greyson!”
He grabbed the braid, sliding the thick length through his hand like silk rope and tugging her closer, the texture soft against his calloused palm.
“I...” She lost her train of thought, pupils dilating as her breath caught.
Good. He liked seeing her all worked up, cheeks flushed and eyes bright with anger. “You what?”
“I...”
He followed the braid to the tapered end, just above her ribs, and let his fingers linger there, feeling the rapid rise and fall of her breathing.
Her breath hitched. “Greyson...” She looked up at him in question, confusion and desire warring in her expression. “We’re having a fight.”
“No, we’re not.”
He told himself this wouldn’t happen again, but then she stormed into his home, feisty and hot-tempered, and he forgot why he made such a promise. He could throw her onto his bed and bury himself inside of her in two seconds flat.
Would she stop him?
Given the current trend, probably not.
His cock throbbed at the possibility and he swallowed hard. The temptation only an inch away. His bed a mere ten feet. He pictured the tight grip of heat and—“You shouldn’t have come here.”
She noticeably swallowed, her shoulders lifting with each shallow breath. “Why?”
“You know why.”
Her gaze lowered to his bare chest and held, taking in every ridge of muscle and each old scar. She trembled, but he didn’t think it stemmed from fear. She knew he’d never hurt her. But he wasn’t sure she was safe with him anymore.
Taking a baby step forward, her chest brushed his through that negligible strip of clothing she tried to pass off as a shirt.
He took in every subtle tell. The hitch of her breath quickening. The slight parting of her lips. The way her body trembled harder than it had a moment ago.
“Do I scare you?”
“No,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I’m only afraid you’ll push me away.”
A realistic fear to have. And strange how he feared this time he might not possess the strength. “You don’t want that?”
“No, Grey, I don’t want that. I’ve had that, and it hurts.”
He never wanted to hurt her, but somehow always managed to. “You shouldn’t look at me like that, Wren.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
She chewed her lower lip, something she only did when nervous. Her lashes lowered, hiding her gaze.
“You could have called on the phone.”
A slight nod. “I wanted to see you.”
“Why?”
She didn’t answer immediately. Her breathing turned labored as she kept her head bowed, pulse fluttering at her throat. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
Another beat. “I wanted…to see you.”
“Then why aren’t you looking at me?”
“I don’t know.”
Maybe it was easier not to look at each other. Easier to be honest about what they both seemed to be fighting.
“Turn around.”
With a shaky breath, she slowly pivoted to face the wall, no questions asked.
“Good girl.”
He glided his palms over her shoulders and down her arms. Goosebumps rose under his touch. Lifting her hands, he pressed them into the plaster, angling her body forward. Stepping closer, he closed the distance, showing her exactly how hard he was.
“Is this what you want?” His hand flicked under the hem of her shirt, teasing her bare skin that felt like silk under his calloused fingers.
“I...” She nodded, her voice barely a whisper. “I came because of the paychecks.”
“Enough about the fucking checks, Wren.”
She wore those high-cut, loose yoga pants again, and his hand slipped easily past the waistline into her panties. He delved right between her folds, finding her soaked and ready.
Her breath caught when his finger narrowly slid deeper, teasing without fully penetrating. Fuck his promises. He tapped her ankle with the side of his bare foot.
“Show me you want this. Don’t make me question it.”
Her steps widened and her head lowered in surrender.
If she kept putting herself in these situations, he’d show her exactly why it was dangerous. “Is this what you need?” His finger glided deeper, but he kept his touch light, almost reverent. “You want to feel something, Wren? You want me to get you off?”
“Yes,” she breathed, and the soft confession nearly dropped him to his knees.
He barely moved. “I can do that for you.”
The tight way her pussy clenched around his finger reminded him of her innocence. He both loved and hated the reminder. In one aspect, it showed just how precious she was. No other man had ever been inside of her. In a way, he felt like that made her…His.
But it also made her fragile. Breakable. He’d kill anyone who hurt her. What if he ended up being the worst of them? Maybe the best thing he could do involved protecting her from himself.
Her breath hitched, and he stilled. “Still okay?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Good.” He teased his finger deeper, gently brushing his palm over her swollen clit.
The thought of anyone else touching her so intimately made him insane. Part of him wanted to claim her innocence—here and now—so no one else could, but that wasn’t a good enough reason.
“Does that feel good, baby?”
Every jagged breath spoke of her tense desire. “Y-yes.” Her sudden shyness further confirmed her inexperience. Thirty-fucking years old and still a virgin? How did that even seem possible?
Maybe he bore the blame.
Maybe he wasn’t even sorry.
God, he was a prick.
He at least owed her this much. “I’m going to make you come harder than you’ve ever come before.” He rocked his hips forward, showing her what she did to him. The nearly imperceptible motion nudged her into a slow swaying rhythm.
“Who else touched you here, Wren?” He wanted names, so he could hunt each one down and murder them.
Her voice became a sliver of its usual strength. “Only me.”
Fuck.