Chapter 3
REED
Maya stands frozen by the kitchen doorway, her eyes wide and lips slightly parted. She exhales the word Oh with a breathlessness that ratchets up the desire already burning through me. She’s looking at me like she wants to devour me. And my cock wants to let her.
“You need to get out of those clothes,” she says, her face immediately flushing in a distractingly pretty way. “I mean, you’ll catch pneumonia. There are towels in the hall closet.”
I grab towels from the closet she’s pointing to, acutely aware of how her eyes never leave me. “Thanks.”
I change into dry clothes in the guest bathroom. When I emerge, she’s sitting on the couch shivering, phone in her hands, but it’s clear she’s not actually focused on the screen.
“Hey,” I say, and she startles. I slide out of my hoodie and hand it to her. “You’re shivering. You need to warm up, too.”
Maya looks up at me and at the hoodie, hesitating for a moment before taking it. She motions for me to turn around. I do, though the image of her taking off her shirt blazes through my body and wakes my cock up.
“Okay. I’m decent again,” she says.
Pity.
“Hungry?” I head to the kitchen and unpack the groceries, needing something to do with my hands that isn’t reaching for her. “I can make something decent with what we’ve got.”
“You cook?” Her voice sounds strained.
“I learned to cook when I was a kid. It was just my mom and me, mostly, and she worked a lot of nights.” I organize the food I brought in, leaving items on the counter for pasta, and putting most of the rest in the refrigerator.
If I’d known I’d be cooking for a beautiful woman, I’d have brought better groceries.
“Plus, I enjoy cooking, even if it’s just for myself. ”
“Are you alone by choice?” She watches me as I find some pans and start heating water for pasta.
“It’s easier to be alone,” I say simply, hoping she doesn’t push her questions too far.
“Easier how?” She moves closer, taking a seat on one of the stools by the counter.
My hands pause on the pasta box. “Fewer complications.” I keep my tone light, but something flickers in her eyes like she wants to ask more.
“So. Is this like your other projects?” she asks.
I’m grateful she changed the subject. “Not really. I’m usually a bodyguard – CEOs with kidnapping threats, celebrities, that kind of thing.”
“Lucky me, being the variety assignment.” She accepts the beer I hand her, already opened. Our fingers brush, and electricity jolts up my arm. “How long have you been doing this?”
“Five years. Since I got out.” I stir the sauce, grateful for something to focus on besides the way she’s leaning against the counter, almost like she’s flirting with me. “You? Always wanted to run construction projects?”
She laughs, and it transforms her face. “In a way. I wanted to be an architect. I used to build entire cities out of Legos.”
“What changed?”
She takes a sip of beer, and I watch her throat move.
“Heartland Real Estate is the family business. I’d have needed a damn good reason to pursue anything else.
But,” she sighs, and her eyes cloud over, “my dad is resistant to the expansion I want to do, starting with this project. If I can’t design the houses, I figured I could work on building developments like this one.
It’s been an uphill battle. I need my dad to see I’m the best person to take over the company. ”
“And your brother?”
Her expression tightens slightly. “Not interested in the responsibility. Martin has told me he’s fine with me taking the lead, though he hasn’t said that in so many words to our father. He’ll take the lead if Dad asks, but we both know I’m more interested in the role and better qualified.”
I hear what she doesn’t say. That she has the weight of the world on her shoulders, and a distinct lack of outward support from her parents.
“Must be a lot of pressure,” I say instead, keeping it neutral.
“You could say that.” She watches me drain the pasta and add the sauce. “My father has opinions. Strong ones.”
“I gathered that from the phone call.”
I want to ask more, but that would lead to a conversation more personal than professional.
“This is about ready,” I say, turning the heat off for the sauce. Maya grabs some silverware and napkins and sets the table for us.
We eat in comfortable silence as the storm builds outside.
Thunder shakes the house, and a flash of lightning brightens the dark sky.
Maya jumps slightly, her hand reaching out. As if realizing what she’s done, she quickly pulls it back. “Sorry. I’m not usually jumpy. It’s been a long day.”
I nod, then realize how much I wanted to hold her hand.
The second beer makes everything softer. We’ve moved to the couch, sitting at opposite ends but facing each other. The lightning and thunder have stopped, and rain comes down in sheets outside.
“Your turn.” I gesture with my beer. “Why does your office have zero personal photos?”
She pulls at the wristband of my hoodie, and I try not to notice how gorgeous she looks wearing my clothes. “Same reason yours probably doesn’t. Keep work and personal separate.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
She laughs, but there’s an edge to it. “My family has...expectations. Very specific ones. Sometimes it’s easier to just be Maya Raymond, Project Manager, instead of Maya Raymond, disappointing daughter.”
“Disappointing how?” I keep my tone casual, but I’m genuinely curious.
She peels at her beer label, considering. “Oh, you know. Thirty, single, running construction sites instead of planning my wedding. My mother has opinions.”
“That doesn’t sound ideal.” I take a sip of beer.
She pulls at the zipper of my hoodie, working it back and forth nervously. “It’s not. Mom calls twice a week with new prospects.”
The lights flicker again, longer this time. We both glance at the windows where rain is lashing down.
“We should find some candles,” I say, standing. “Or flashlights. In case we lose power.”
“There’s a box of emergency supplies in the hall closet.” She stands too, and suddenly we’re close that I can see the gold flecks in her green eyes. I could spend a lifetime staring into her eyes, and it wouldn’t be enough time.
“Top shelf,” she says, but she’s not moving, and neither am I.
We find the supplies together, our hands tangling as we both reach for the flashlight. The touch is electric, and we jerk back like we’ve been burned.
“Sorry,” she breathes.
“Don’t apologize.”
We should move. We should step back. We should do anything except stand here in the narrow hallway, close enough that I can feel her body heat, hear the hitch in her breath.
“Reed?” Her voice is barely a whisper.
“Yeah?”
“This is probably a bad idea.”
“Definitely a bad idea.”
“We should be professional.”
“Absolutely.”
But neither of us moves. The storm howls outside, the lights flicker again, and still we stand there waiting.
Then the power dies completely, plunging us into darkness.
“Shit,” Maya gasps, her hand finding my arm in the dark, fingers curling around my arm.
I flick on the flashlight; the beam cutting through the darkness to illuminate her face. She’s close enough that if I leaned down just a little…
“We should check the windows,” I say, my voice rougher than intended. “Make sure everything’s secure.”
“Right. Windows.” But her hand is still on my arm.
We move through the house together, checking locks, watching the storm rage. At each window, we stand close, her shoulder brushing mine, the darkness making everything feel more intimate, more dangerous.
“Last one,” she says at the main bedroom window.
Lightning illuminates her profile, and I clench my fists to keep from reaching for her.
“This storm is really something,” she says, but her voice trembles.
“You okay?”
“I think so. I’m not usually so jumpy.” She stops abruptly.
“You’ve said that.” Her habit of apologizing doesn’t mesh with the strong woman I’ve met, and it drives home that she has more layers than I’ll probably ever know.
Thunder explodes overhead, so loud she jumps, pressing against me instinctively. My arms come around her before I even realize what I’m doing.
I look at her, and for a heartbeat, I think she’s going to kiss me.
Her eyes drop to my mouth, her body sways closer, and every cell in my body screams to throw her on the bed and show her what she does to me.
It wouldn’t matter if Knox or Marlon fired me for sleeping with a client, because it would be worth it with Maya.
I’m scared of how much looking at her feels like I’ve found the missing piece in my life.
“We should,” she clears her throat loudly. “We should probably try to get some sleep.”
“Right.” I step back too, giving her space. Space is the last thing I want to give her. I want to share the bed with her – we wouldn’t sleep a wink. “You take the bed. I’ll take the couch.”
“You sure? It’s your supplies, your—”
“I’m sure.”
We stand there in the dark bedroom, lightning flashing through the window and thunder shaking the house.
“We should sleep,” she repeats, her voice barely audible over the rain.
But neither of us moves.
Eventually, we agree that she’s taking the bed and I’ll sleep by the window. This didn’t start as a bodyguard assignment, and I realize I’m now guarding her as much as the development.
And anyone stupid enough to come after Maya is going to have to deal with me.