Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
EMMA
MARCH
A strange man with a mustache stood on my doorstep, but not the mustachioed man who was now a frequent visitor to my texts.
“We’re not interested,” I said through my doorbell camera.
The man jumped, then glanced back toward the large box truck at the bottom of my driveway.
“Ma’am, hi, this is Dave from Dave’s Pools and Spas. I have a delivery for you.”
I wrinkled my nose. “What is it? I don’t have a pool.”
“It’s a,” he checked his clipboard, “new hot tub for you. Nicest one we’ve got, actually. And the regular maintenance program too.”
“There must be some mistake,” I tried.
“A Harlan Royce sent it,” he said. “Think he’s on the local soccer team or something. A goalie. He was weird.”
Ah, yes. That other mustachioed man. I picked up my phone to text him.
EMMA
I’m not accepting a hot tub
HARLAN
That’s good because it’s a whirlpool jacuzzi
EMMA
I’m not accepting a whirlpool jacuzzi then
HARLAN
I’m showing you how nice I can be
EMMA
You’re not on the prison slop list. Take the thing back.
HARLAN
I don’t want you to be in pain. You won’t get in my hot tub, so I got you your own
“Ma’am?” Dave from Dave’s Pools and Spas said. “I was instructed that if you don’t accept it, we’re to leave it on your lawn.”
“Isn’t that vandalism?” I tried. “Littering?”
Dave pulled at his collar, and I decided to have some mercy. Harlan Royce was not Dave’s fault. Harlan Royce was Harlan Royce’s fault.
“Never mind. I’ll come let you in.”
I knocked on Harlan’s door at the pre-appointed time.
“Hey, Chef.” Harlan was dressed in what I was starting to gather was his home uniform: white T-shirt, bare feet, gold chain, gray sweatpants, kitchen towel over the shoulder. But today he was shifty, moving from foot to foot and not meeting my eyes.
I looked around as I stepped inside. “Am I interrupting something?”
He tugged at the crotch of his pants and ran his other hand through his hair. His response was winded. “No. No. Not at all.”
I knew this behavior. I had a teenage son, after all.
It’s a normal and natural thing, and of course, I never gave Liam any shit about it.
The one time I accidentally walked in on him, I apologized profusely and told him it was fine later.
Now, I didn’t even go near his room if I thought such a thing might be happening.
But here, I didn’t know how to handle it.
I was almost certain Harlan had just been participating in a private activity.
But whereas with my son, I wanted to crawl in a hole and die a little, thinking about how Harlan had just been doing that issued a surge of lust in my body.
Was I imagining it, or did he smell like sex?
And why did that make me want to get in his lap and nuzzle his neck?
I became a cat in heat in seconds, just with the man opening the door. Get a grip, Emma.
“Uh, let me take your jacket.”
Harlan’s musk surrounded me as his hands met my collar. His fingertips brushed my collar bone and I shivered. I fucking shivered. I didn’t want to shiver. I didn’t want to have a bodily reaction to his scent and the little brushes of his fingers, particularly not under the current conditions.
I knew, or at least I thought I did. He knew I knew. And he really knew when he helped me out of my jacket and I caught sight of the fucking gargantuan steel rod occupying his sweatpants. Holy shit. He’d either just finished or I really had interrupted. But he knew I was supposed to be here now.
Was this . . . on purpose? Did he want me to catch him?
And why did that thought make my mouth water?
Don’t flatter yourself, Emma.
“Are you sure we don’t need to reschedule?” I offered, my voice cracking.
My gaze fell to the long and thick—was that thing forearm-sized?—one-eyed monster inhabiting his pants. And his gaze went where my gaze went.
He cleared his throat. “No. Of course not. I’ve got everything ready in the kitchen. Unless you need to go?”
“No! I’m fine!” I slipped my shoes off and saw a pair of clogs next to where I put my shoes.
“Those are for you, by the way. Kitchen shoes, for here. I just got an average size.”
My tongue pressed to the roof of my mouth. “That’s . . . really nice.”
Harlan let out a breathy chuckle. “Told you I was nice.”
I stepped into the clogs and together, we walked to the kitchen.
“How’s the hot tub?” he asked.
“I haven’t used it. It’s really too much, Harlan. You have to take it back.”
He scoffed. “And upset Dave of Dave’s Pools and Spas? I think not.”
“Dave isn’t my problem,” I shot back. “He’s yours.”
“Actually, Dave’s not my problem, because you’re going to keep it. You’ll use it, and you’ll fucking love it.”
“You can’t tell me what to do,” I said so petulantly that I reminded myself of Liam in his pre-teen years. I even crossed my arms, like that would show how big and brave I was.
Harlan planted his hands on his kitchen counter and hung his head. “I’m the reason your back hurts. You have to let me do something about it.”
“Sorry, am I a receptacle for your guilt?”
He straightened and raked his fingers through his hair, grabbing the ends. “You are so difficult!”
“No, you are!” I stepped closer to him. “I keep you from getting hit by a bus and all of a sudden I owe you—”
“I’m trying to fix it,” he bit out over top of me. “If you weren’t so stubborn—”
“I don’t need you to fix anything!”
That finally shut him up. I panted, our faces inches apart from where our argument had drawn us together.
His voice softened. “But I could. Fix it.”
His navy blue gaze passed over my face. I could so easily turn the tide of this encounter. Rub my palm over that bulge in his sweats. Let my lips explore his. Feel his heated breaths against my skin.
“I don’t need that,” I whispered.
The corner of Harlan’s lips curled up, but instead of being annoyed, heat bloomed from my chest.
“What do you need, Em?” His eyes were locked on my lips. Was he offering me sex, or kisses, or attention as payback for what I did for him?
Was it pathetic if I did want all those things?
Was it worse if I wanted them from him?
My stomach swooped when he used a single finger to brush my hair behind my ear.
His fingertip traced all along the shell of it, and it made my chin lift that much more, my chest thrusting toward him, my head tilting back.
Harlan’s thumb pressed just below my bottom lip.
What was I supposed to do with my hands?
Was this really happening? It wasn’t so different from that dream I had, but if I put my hands on him right now, the line would officially be crossed.
My horniness couldn’t win out over my son’s college tuition.
And anyway, there was no way he actually wanted those things with me. He was just doing it because he could atone for his sins or whatever.
Which . . . I wouldn’t. Because I couldn’t.
“We should get cooking,” I croaked on a dry throat.
He nodded with a wry smile and tapped the tip of my nose. “Okay, Chef.”