14. Jess #2
My mouth opens and closes again—I’m doing a pretty great impression of a salmon myself. I’m floundering (pun very much intended) for any words that can be said to describe this place.
“It’s… pink.”
“That, it is,” Conor agrees with a wink.
He beckons me to follow him, and we walk into a small, boxed off kitchen with orange wood cupboards and a pink and gray speckled countertop.
He jumps up to sit on it, dangling his long legs.
“The lady I bought it from hadn’t renovated the interior in about half a century. ”
I laugh. “That much is clear.”
Conor flashes me another deliciously dimpled grin as he explains how he bought the house with the intention of flipping it. He decided to keep it for himself after he drew up the plans for the renovations and fell in love with his vision for the place.
“It’s a total gut job, but it’s going to be worth it.” Conor’s face is animated as he speaks. “Thank goodness for Aiden letting me crash in the meantime.”
I look around, then frown. “Wait, what does this have to do with goggles?”
“Well, I’ve been spending any extra time I’ve had in the past few weeks cleaning out this place and getting it ready for demo.” Conor’s eyes twinkle. “It’s finally ready.”
I purse my lips, not understanding.
He passes me something—a pair of goggles.
Safety goggles.
“I know you’re hurt right now, Jess. But, sometimes, when we get hurt by people, it makes us really angry. And you know what I like to do when I’m angry?”
My heartbeat picks up a touch. “What?”
Conor jumps off the counter, puts on his own pair of safety goggles. His eyes are intent on mine and I almost forget where we are. He takes a step towards me. And…. holds out a crowbar.
“Smash things up,” he says huskily.
HECK TO THE YES.
I grab the crowbar out of his hand, heart beating wildly. I might not have watched enough home reno shows to know the ins and outs of staging, but I definitely know what’s going on right now. “Are you telling me today is demolition day?”
“I’m telling you today is demolition day.” That slow, sexy smile is forming on his face again. He picks up a sledgehammer and bounces it in his hand, making those arm muscles ripple. “What do you say, Jess?”
I glance around, but my decision is made. “Where do I start?”
“Anywhere. This whole room is getting destroyed.”
He flips on the old radio in the corner. A shrieking, ear-bleeding scream reverberates around the room, followed by the clash of guitar chords as a rock song blares at a deafening level.
I clap my hands to my ears, and Conor cracks up.
“It’s just a little mood music!” he yells over the roar. He brandishes the sledgehammer in one hand and lifts it over his shoulder. His broad back muscles tense before he slams it full force into the wall.
Boom!
Chunks of drywall fly everywhere, spraying the air with salmon-colored confetti. A huge, gaping hole is left in the sledgehammer’s wake. Conor grabs the edge of the wall hole with his free hand, ripping a whole piece off in one go.
I can’t look away. My eyes are fixated on him and my mouth is dry.
Not only is it wildly sexy to watch him with the sledgehammer, but seeing this is like unwrapping a whole new piece of candy in the box of chocolates that is Conor.
Gone is the carefully controlled man with suggestively glimmering eyes and a slow, deliberate smirk.
In his place is this completely undone, untamed, powerful force of destruction.
And forget restraint, because I am HERE FOR IT.
After he’s torn down about half the wall, Conor glances at me. A trickle of sweat dribbles down his temple and I have to bite my tongue to stop the urge to lick it.
He smiles at me and gestures a hand towards the kitchen. “Your turn.”
He doesn’t need to tell me twice. Filled with a strange, heady mix of anticipation, fear and burning attraction, I seize my crowbar with both hands and charge at a kitchen cabinet. I swing. Hard.
Crack!
The crowbar connects with the glass front, shattering it into a million pieces. My stomach leaps, and my head spins deliriously. This feels good. Like the sweet relief of jumping into a cool ocean in the hottest heat of the day. The first bite of chocolate cake after a juice cleanse.
I feel strong. Reckless. Completely out of control in the very best way.
“Woooooo!” Conor yells, throwing his arms in the air. “Again!”
My heart thrums in time to the raging, angry rock song, pumping blood and adrenaline through my veins.
“AGGHHHH!” I give a war cry that would put the Spartans to shame, and charge at the cabinet again, crowbar above my head.
I bash the bar on the cabinet over and over and over. I’m vaguely aware of Conor laughing and cheering me on, of the pain in my arms from the effort. But, all I can focus on is how good this feels, how splinters of wood and glass are raining down around me with my insistent pummeling.
When the rock song clashes to a screaming end, I stop for breath. Conor is leaning against the counter, watching me, and his eyes are smouldering with something new. An emotion I’ve never seen in his gaze before… Pride?
I redden under his scrutiny. “Did I do okay?”
“Well, how do you feel?”
I exhale happily. “Lighter.”
“Then, you did amazing.”
I nod at the sledgehammer in his hand. “Think I can have a go with that?”
A hint of a smile tugs at his lips. “Sure.”
“This house flipping business is a cakewalk! I’m practically a professional on my first try,” I gloat as Conor extends the sledgehammer towards me. I reach for it, filled with confidence. I am strong, I am capable, I can do anything I put my mind to.
I am woman, hear me roar!
I grab the weapon out of Conor’s hand eagerly…
And, it immediately hits the floor.
“Oof!” My shoulder is practically pulled out of its socket. The thing weighs about a hundred pounds.
“Heavy?” Conor quirks an eyebrow, eyes dancing. He knew that was going to happen. Jerk.
“How were you swinging that around, making it look so easy?” I demand.
Conor’s tongue runs along his lower lip, a mesmerizing sight. “Practice.”
I’ll bet.
I gingerly wrap both hands around the handle of the sledgehammer and lift it off the ground about an inch. Yup, it weighs a ton. There’s no way I can swing this thing by myself.
I’m about to admit defeat and let my confidence be taken down a few pegs when Conor is suddenly right behind me. Electricity crackles through my body.
“Want me to show you?” he says quietly, his breath warm on my neck.
I shiver involuntarily. “S-sure,” I stutter, my heart leaping like a salmon. Which is appropriate, given our surroundings.
He takes a step closer so that his chest brushes against my back. Slowly, he circles his arms around me, and places his strong hands over mine. They’re calloused and rough in the best way. He gently moves them to clutch further down the handle, one directly above the other. “Like this, see?”
I nod dizzily, my head full of Conor’s clean smell. My nerve endings tingle where he touches me.
“Now,” he breathes. “We just pull back, like so.”
With Conor’s hands still covering mine, we lift the sledgehammer together and swing it backwards. My heart thunders, beating like a drum as I lean into him, letting his large frame envelop me as we drive the sledgehammer into the wall.
Bang!
The sledgehammer connects with so much force that my arms tremble. A dusty cloud of drywall erupts around us and I shakily sink further into Conor as I take in my—our—handiwork.
We pause for a long moment, both silent. I can feel his heart beating against my back. Strong and reassuring.
“Again?” he asks, his voice gruff.
“Yes,” I practically gasp.
Together, we raise the sledgehammer again and do more damage to the wall. But, I’m no longer thinking of how good it feels to smash things up. Instead, all I can think and feel is how good his body feels pressed against mine. How downright sensual this entire experience is. I’m an absolute mess.
All too soon, he lowers the sledgehammer, slides his hands off mine, and steps away. He puts enough distance between us to help clear the fog around my head, but my body unashamedly yearns for his. Come back!
“Nice work.” Conor grins. “Destruction successful.”
And then, something awful happens. He holds up his hand… For a high five.
A high five.
A high freaking five.
I’m rudely ejected from my trance, reality catapulting towards me and splatting me in the face like a cowpat. I raise a hand and slap his limply.
There I was, fantasising about this being a sensual experience… and he wanted a high five. Ain’t nothing sensual about a high five.