Chapter 7
SHAW
My realtor would have earned a higher commission if she had mentioned that the woman who lived next door was Presley Marks.
“Isn’t this a surprise?”
“Is it?” Presley asked, frowning as I descended my steps and crossed the lawn, meeting her in her driveway. She raised a dark blond eyebrow. “Because it sort of feels like stalking.”
I chuckled. “I swear I had no idea you lived next door.”
But what a bonus.
I wouldn’t have to make excuses to stop by the garage to see her. She could tear that insurance waiver to shreds. Presley had to know I didn’t give a damn about that bike they were building for me.
“You bought this house?”
“Yeah.” I reached for the grocery bags she had in her hands. “Here, let me help.”
She twisted away. “I’ve got them.”
“Come on.” I stepped forward and she took a step back. Wait, did she really think I was stalking her? “I’m just trying to help. I mean, I’ll probably start writing down your daily schedule so I can make sure our paths cross at least once a day. But that’s normal, right? For stalkers?”
“Are you being funny?”
My smile flattened. “I guess not.”
Presley took a wide step around me, hefting the grocery bags higher as she walked toward her porch.
I caught up to her with a long stride and slipped my hand through the handles of her paper bags, stealing them from her grip.
“Hey.” She shot me a glare.
“Let me help before you dislocate a shoulder.” Stubborn woman. “If you want to return the neighborly favor, I’ve got about fifty boxes to unpack.”
She climbed two of her steps, shifting bags to her now free hand to balance the weight, then she turned and met me at eye level. “I’m not going on a date with you, or to dinner, or whatever you called it.”
“Did I ask again?”
She rolled her eyes.
“Can I help you take these groceries inside? Or would you like to stand out here all evening? Because I really do need to unpack.” I needed to unearth the sheets for my bed and towels for my bathroom.
She grumbled something under her breath and took the rest of the stairs, digging her keys out of a pocket of the baggiest pair of khaki cargo pants I’d ever seen in my life. They probably would have fit me, except the hems had been cut off to accommodate her shorter legs.
The bottoms were cuffed, rolled halfway up her calves. These hideous pants allowed no hint of the curve of her hips or the shape of her ass. Except they were oddly not so hideous and kind of sexy because they were cinched tight by a red belt low on her waist, highlighting her trim physique.
One tug of that belt and the pants would pool at her feet. That’s why they were sexy. They tempted, they begged to be set free.
Presley’s gray tank top was thin and tight and, unfortunately, covered her bra straps. Was it the red one to match her belt? My imagination took off like a sprinter from the starting blocks. Let it be the red one biting into the smooth skin of her shoulders.
“How was your day?” I asked as she unlocked the front door, needing a distraction before I touched the bare skin of her arm.
She snarled.
“That good?”
“I’m ready for it to be over.” She pushed inside her house and flipped on a light, brightening the entryway as she walked down the short hallway and turned to the kitchen.
“Have you ever been next door?” I asked, following her to the kitchen and setting the bags on the counter.
“No. Why?”
“Everything is opposite. My kitchen is on the other end of the house, which means our bedroom windows are facing each other.”
She gave me a sideways glance. “Am I going to hear you grunting some woman’s name in the middle of the night? Because if so, I’ll need to buy new ear plugs.”
I slapped a hand over my heart, feigning insult. “You think I’m a grunter? How could you? After all we’ve been through, you’d degrade me to a grunter. I’m wounded.”
That earned me a lip curl as she began unloading groceries.
I had no desire to bring any woman to my home unless her name rhymed with Wesley and her last name sounded a lot like larks.
Every minute I spent with her intrigued me more.
Presley rarely did what I expected, and for a guy who was fairly good at anticipating other people’s reactions, it was refreshing.
I dove into the bags I’d brought inside, taking out a loaf of bread and bag of baby carrots. Then another bag of carrots. And another bag of carrots. “Do you have rabbits?”
“No.” Her cheeks flushed as she swiped a bag from my hand. “I just like carrots.”
“How long will it take you to go through all of these?”
She shrugged and opened the refrigerator door. “I don’t know. A week?”
“A week?” My eyes bulged. “That’s more carrots than I eat in a year.”
“Carrots are good for you. They’re good for your vision.”
“And they make your skin orange. You’d get along with one of my nieces. She used to love carrots as a baby. That was all she’d eat—carrots from those little glass jars. Until one day I came over to visit and her skin was orange. My sister had to limit carrots from then on out.”
“I eat these many carrots regularly. Do I look orange?” She waved a hand up and down her body.
“No. You don’t.” Not orange, but she did look fucking delicious. My mouth watered at her imagined taste. I bet she was sweet, and that pert mouth would taste better than honey.
My gaze zeroed in on her lips, so soft and the perfect shade of pale pink. I’d be able to cover them with my mouth, suck them until they were their own shade of red.
Presley’s breath hitched and she twisted away, hurrying to unload another bag like she’d heard my thoughts.
I turned my back to her, hiding as I made a quick adjustment to my dick. Between the attitude she dished out and that firm body, being around her was taking more and more restraint.
Did she feel this tormented tension too? Did she have any idea how much I wanted to shove the groceries onto the floor, heft her up on a counter and take that sweet mouth?
I sucked in a sharp breath through my nose, taming my arousal before it got out of hand. If I didn’t stop imagining Presley naked, I’d have to hobble my hard-on home. As it was, I’d be in for a cold shower.
I really needed to find the towels.
Behind me, Presley rustled through bags, opening and closing cupboards as she put her items away. “So what are you doing here?”
“Helping unload groceries.”
“No, here. As in the house next door. I thought you were staying at the Evergreen.”
“I was.” I handed her the loaf of bread.
“Motels are fine for short location shoots, but I’m going to be here too long to stay cramped in a single room.
Someone else can have that spot. I needed more space anyway, and I didn’t want to take a trailer.
Besides, real estate is a good investment and that house was cheap. ”
“Cheap?” She stiffened. “Owning that house would take me twenty years to pay off. It’s not cheap.”
Shit. Someday, I’d get through a conversation with this woman where I didn’t manage to piss her off.
“I’m sorry.” I held up a hand. “I’ll admit my perspective on money is skewed.”
I had to watch myself around my family too. On more than one occasion, I’d shoved my foot into my mouth when it came to wealth. My parents and my sisters were proud of my success but didn’t want handouts.
I’d offered to buy my mom a new car. She’d informed me she could buy her own vehicle, thank you very much.
I’d gone overboard with Christmas presents a few years ago, buying my sisters each a diamond bracelet.
They’d been gracious, but Matine had pulled me aside later and said the gifts were too much.
Apparently, diamonds made things weird. So last year I’d bought them each a fancy new coffee maker.
The year before that, house slippers and a massage.
The only extravagant gift I’d been able to arrange in recent years had been getting my sisters and brothers-in-law to let me pay for my nieces’ college educations.
Now that I was getting to know Presley, I saw that same kind of pride. My wealth held no appeal. Hell, it was probably working against me.
That credit card stunt the first day I’d met her had definitely been a bad move.
Presley wouldn’t look at me as she folded the paper bags into a neat stack.
“Truly, I didn’t mean any offense,” I said. “I’m going to be in Clifton Forge for a while and wanted a place of my own. It’s a very nice house, as is yours.”
Her shoulders eased and she met my gaze. “How long are you here?”
“We’re on an aggressive shooting schedule, but we’re trying to be authentic—your favorite word—so we’re filming most scenes on location. Right now, we’re projecting eight weeks total. Two down. Six to go if we stay on track.”
“Then what?” she asked. “Wait. You’re not going to stay here, are you?”
“No.” I chuckled at the panic in her voice.
“I’ll be out of your hair as soon as we wrap here.
We’ll go back to California and shoot some scenes on set.
The movie will go into postproduction. We’ll have edits and retakes and sound.
By the time we actually start marketing the movie, you’ll have forgotten all about me. ”
She nodded along as I spoke, though I could tell she had no idea what any of the movie terms meant. Not many did unless they were part of the Hollywood world.
I’d done the same thing when Isaiah had walked me through the custom bike design. He’d named parts I’d never heard of, and besides the seat, handlebars, gas tank and wheels, I’d been at a loss to understand how the pieces fit together.
My blank stare had probably looked a lot like Presley’s at the moment.