Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
H er heart mule-kicked her ribs. Most of her assumed his idea was to make out on the sofa for the next hour or so… Or maybe that was what she was hoping he’d say.
He leaned forward a scant bit, drawing her in. His voice was quiet, sensual when he asked, “What if I was your only customer for the next three-to-six months?”
She blinked out of the fantasy of his lips on hers. “Come again?”
“Hear me out.” His voice was still low and rocky, and damned distracting. “I’m in a house for the first time, fixing shit, taking care of shit. I have a hundred questions a day. If you were on call, I could ask them all at once. Also, I’ve written more words tonight than I’ve written in the last year. In addition to being a kickass handywoman, you might also be my muse.”
She didn’t know what to say. Memories came up of the many, many discussions she’d had with Dustin about her getting “a cushy office job” like him instead of “fixing toilets” for a living. She’d politely repeated that office life wasn’t for her, but deep down she had been offended whenever he’d suggested a career change. She liked what she did and believed it to be an honorable profession. People needed her. She made others’ lives better.
Being referred to as a “kickass handywoman” by Brody was a welcome change of pace. Being his muse was another prospect entirely, one she wasn’t sure she fully believed. She focused on his offer to hire her exclusively. “I have customers who have standing monthly visits, so they would be my priority. No offense.”
“I respect that. Do you have a lot of customers?”
“A fair amount.”
“Could you answer the calls with your standing customers and work with me the rest of the time? No more after-hours stuff, I promise. Tonight was a one-time thing.”
Unbidden, disappointment flooded her chest. Kissing on the sofa seemed to have receded even further from reality.
“Name your price. I’ll double your rate for thirty hours a week. For the next”—he bobbed his head while he thought—“three months?”
“ Three months?”
“I’m here until the book is done. I’m committed to writing it fast, especially now that your magical muse powers have been revealed.” He wiggled his fingers like a sorcerer.
“That’s a very generous offer, but…”
“No buts. You’d be helping me out of a predicament. I have been shark diving without a cage, and yet I’m being handed my own ass by basic house repair.”
She offered a soft laugh, and he smiled, leaning forward as if expecting a yes. And why should she say no? She loved this house. The idea of upgrading it on Brody’s dime was tempting.
“What do you say?” His voice was accidentally sexy—although she was beginning to believe that accidentally sexy was his baseline.
“Okay.”
“Yeah?” Now he sounded excited.
She nodded.
“Ah, relief.” He flattened his palm against his chest and blew out a breath. “Write up an invoice for me. We can reevaluate in a few weeks’ time to make sure you’re not sick of me by then.”
She shook her head. If it was a line, it was a good one. Brody was interesting and fun. And so attractive her teeth hurt. Sick of him in a few weeks’ time sounded as outrageous to her as shark diving without a cage.
“Will you go back to New York when the book is finished?” she asked.
“That’s home base.” He shrugged. “I’ll continue to travel for a while until a new experience finds me.”
“What are you going to do with the house?”
“I don’t know. Might be attached to it by then and keep it. Or, hell, maybe I’ll give it to Jaylyn if she decides to stay in Chicago.”
Damn. If he was seriously considering giving it to his sister, there was no way he’d sell it to Reagan. Unless she was able to convince him otherwise over the course of the next three months…
She could be persuasive when she needed to be. What if he grew to appreciate her, both as his handywoman and his muse? What if he decided after he’d written the book that the best person to own the house would be Reagan?
“Shake on it to make it official?” He offered an outstretched hand.
“It’s a deal.” She grasped his hand with hers. “Our second today.”
Her best shot at convincing him to sell to her was to be here more often. And if he didn’t sell her the house, she’d still be able to upgrade it like she’d wanted to for years. Her heart leaped at the thought, and again when his thumb tenderly stroked her hand.
“One more question.” He cocked his head to one side. “Would it be a conflict of interest if I kissed you now?”
She didn’t hesitate to shake her head. “No.”
“Best no I’ve ever heard,” he murmured as he came closer. His gaze dropped before he set his lips on hers. The kiss was gentler than expected, his facial hair softer than she’d imagined. His mouth, firm and warm, with a hint of beer on his breath, was what she’d fantasized about for the last hour.
Delicious.
She hummed in the back of her throat as her eyes slid shut. The last man who’d kissed her had been Dustin—a peck on the cheek after they’d decided to end things. She couldn’t recall what it had been like to kiss him before that—not with Brody’s incredible mouth on hers.
He flipped his palm and laced his fingers with hers, squeezing gently as he tested the seam of her mouth with his tongue. She didn’t think about whether she should grant him permission, only opened and invited him in.
The act of kissing him, of her mouth being invaded by his tongue, was consuming. Her nipples peaked. The throb between her legs was an SOS tapping out the length of time it’d been since she’d last had satisfying sex. Which was what this reminded her of—a fully clothed sexual experience.
She reached out to touch him, not caring where her hand landed. It ended up on his arm—on round biceps that led up to a solid shoulder. From there she slid her fingers into the shaggy mass of short, thick hair at the base of his neck. She fisted his hair, the sound emitting from her throat needy and unexpected. He didn’t seem to mind. He scooted closer, his tongue delving deeper.
She cupped the other side of his neck and then gave him as much tongue as he was giving her. Kissing Brody Crane was thrilling . There was no other word for it. Never in her life had she been kissed with so much passion. With so much intention .
He took her hands from his neck, holding them in his as he ended the kiss. His damp lips opened to suck in a breath, and there it was—that sinfully sexy crooked smile. She wiggled in place in glorious frustration.
“Goddamn.” His voice was comically thick. He looked as dazed as she felt.
She sat back and focused on his face. “You’re really good at that.”
“Me?” He kissed her palm. “Honey, I hoped to be lucky enough for a taste of those lips and ended up having a four-course meal. Unconventional part of the hiring process, but I’ll take it.”
“I don’t typically make out with my customers. Ever, actually.”
“Not even the ex?” He slid a blond wave away from her lashes, a certain sweetness in the way he tucked it behind her ear.
“Dustin was never a customer, but he was a nice guy.”
“Say no more. I know the type. Polite. Friendly. Parents love ’im. Probably waited until your second date to kiss you.”
“Third.”
“His rule or yours?”
“Mine.”
“What you must think of me…” But Brody was grinning, proud that he’d broken her rule with hardly any effort. “Does that hurt my chances for a second kiss?”
“Not even a little,” she whispered.
At the same time, they leaned toward each other. One second before her lips touched his, the front door flew open.
A woman wearing all black, including thick swaths of coal-colored eyeliner around her eyes, stood in the doorway, eyebrows raised, face pinched. Then Jaylyn Crane spoke the words her face conveyed.
“Oh my God.”
What. The. Fuck.
His sister wasn’t due home for hours. Reagan had sprung away from him like he’d caught fire. To be fair, when she’d kissed him, he damn near had. Now a fire burned within him for a different reason. He’d been halfway to a hard-on, but his sister’s untimely interruption had killed that. His eye twitched in frustration.
“Um. Hi.” Jaylyn closed the front door with a soft click.
“Hello.” He greeted her flatly. “Reagan. My sister, Jaylyn. Jaylyn, my handywoman, Reagan.”
“Hi,” Reagan said. Her spine was snapped straight, her hands folded in her lap.
What terrible fucking timing.
“What are you doing here?” he asked Jaylyn.
“I live here.”
“No. I live here. You’re crashing.”
She sent him a withering glare that was as effective as it had been when she was a sulking teenager: not at all.
“Chloe is coming out with me. She said I could stay with her tonight, so I came back to pack a bag. I thought you were writing.”
“I should be going.” Reagan smoothed her hands down her jeans as she stood. She sidestepped Brody to retrieve her jacket from the kitchen.
Oh, hell no. No way was he letting his sister scare Reagan away. He followed, and when he reached her asked, “What about your ice cream?”
Her pupils darkened in response. He thought he’d picked up attraction from her earlier, but now he was sure. He wanted her, and she wanted him too. If it wasn’t for the intrusion, he might’ve had her halfway naked.
“Just so you know, he’s easily distracted,” Jaylyn told Reagan. “And he has to finish this book. He missed one deadline already.”
He glared at his sister.
“It’s fine.” Reagan settled a hand over his heart as if she sensed a pending explosion. “I’ll be back. We did make a deal. How’s tomorrow sound?”
“What deal?” Jaylyn asked.
“None of your business,” he snapped.
Reagan slipped her hand from his chest and addressed his sister directly. “Your brother hired me to help with repairs that are outside of his expertise. You know, so he doesn’t miss that deadline you mentioned.”
“Are you insane?” Jaylyn aimed that question at him. “You’re supposed to be focusing on what matters, not playing house with the handywoman.”
Face hot with anger, he sucked in a breath to shout what, he had no idea, but Jaylyn had already breezed past him and down the hallway. Her storming off preceded a door slam worthy of a thirteen-year-old.
“You matter,” he said to Reagan. “Don’t pay attention to her bullshit.”
She put her hand on his chest again and smiled gently. “I appreciate that.”
“What the fuck was that about?” He wasn’t sure who he was directing that question to—himself, Reagan, or God Himself. “I’m sorry about her. She’s—” He lifted his hand and dropped it, unable to explain away Jaylyn’s overreaction. “I don’t know what her problem is.”
“You should talk to her.”
“Are you kidding me? After that brat move she can sulk by herself.”
“Sounds like her feelings are hurt. Maybe something happened tonight—maybe some guy was being a dick and she ran home hoping you’d protect her and instead found you preoccupied with me.”
His lips pulled into a deep frown as he considered that possibility. “I’d rather be preoccupied with you.”
Reagan patted his chest, exhibiting more patience than he was capable of at the moment. “Women are complicated. I didn’t take what she said personally. You shouldn’t either. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Okay.” He pressed a final kiss to Reagan’s lips, wanting nothing more than to pull her close and keep it going until they were both panting with need. But. Jaylyn was in her room, majorly cramping his style.
He walked Reagan to the door, albeit reluctantly. If she was right, and Jaylyn had been hurt by a random guy at a club, Brody wouldn’t let her sob into her pillow alone.
“Thanks for the pizza.” With a breezy smile, Reagan exited via the screen door and left him standing at the threshold. Then she climbed into her truck and drove away.
He scrubbed his face with one hand, hoping to swipe away every lustful thought of Reagan that existed. By the time he was standing in front of Jaylyn’s bedroom door, he’d done a fair to middling job of it.
He rapped on the door with his knuckles. No response, just as he’d expected. He twisted the knob, opening the door a couple of inches to say, “Can I come in?”
Her muffled “no” sounded more watery than strong. He stepped into the guest bedroom anyway and found her with her back against the headboard, hugging a pillow to her chest. He sat on the edge of the mattress, his heart cracking as he took in her vulnerability. Yes, she’d been rude and immature, but seeing Jaylyn hurt made him feel a special brand of helpless. She was dressed like a badass in black leather and spiked heels, but at the moment she appeared younger than her twenty-five years.
“If something happened to you at the club, tell me so that I can drive there and beat the living shit out of whoever hurt your feelings.” He gave her a soft smile and earned one in return.
“I can handle myself. But thanks. Nothing happened. I danced a while and then spent about an hour at the bar drinking soda and texting friends. When Chloe called, I left.”
“And showed up here to insult Reagan.”
“Who even is she?”
“She’s the repairwoman I hired?—”
“Right. Hired. You were making out with her.”
“I know.” He couldn’t help smiling.
Jaylyn punched him in the arm. “You promised you’d live here for three months!”
“Fuck, J!” He rubbed his arm where a bruise was likely forming thanks to her skull ring. “What’s your point?”
“If you start up with Reagan, dumbass , you’ll end up bailing in a matter of weeks. If you last that long!” Worry crept into her expression.
He took a deep breath, mystified by her explanation. “Tell me what this is about. Really about.”
The stubborn set of her jaw suggested she might keep her reasons to herself. But then she said, “Zander’s here. You’re here. I’m here. I plan on asking Dante to visit.”
Brody shook his head, not understanding.
She laid the pillow flat on her lap and slapped it with both palms. “We’ve never been together like a real family. Yes, on holidays, and during vacation, or after Emily died, but not hanging out every day. Like Reese and Tag and Eli do.”
“They don’t hang out every day. They have jobs and families, other friends. What’s this have to do with our cousins?”
“They’re close .” Her voice was small when she added, “Not us. Zander and you and Dante and me… We’re geographically scattered. Do you know that our cousins have dinner together every week? Just takeout, but they sit around the same table and talk about their week.”
He did know that. He’d been invited to Eli and Isa’s warehouse, and the whole gang had been there, including Uncle Alex and Aunt Rhona. Brody was starting to understand why Jaylyn was upset. “So, you think if Reagan and I have a go of it and don’t last, I’ll leave town before you’re able to wrangle the family together for dinner every week.”
She lifted and dropped one shoulder, refusing to look at him.
He scooted onto the bed and leaned back against the headboard, shoulder to shoulder with her. “You, me, Dante, Zander, Dad, we are a real family. We’re…atypical, but that doesn’t mean we don’t love each other.”
“Atypical.” She grunted. “Is that a nice way of saying we’re fucked up?”
He smothered a smile. “No. We are not fucked up. We’re living our own individual lives. And that’s okay.”
“We have four different moms and a dad who’s AWOL at the first whiff of perfume. We’re not normal.”
That was fair.
“No one’s normal, J.” He grasped her hand. “Trust me, if you’d heard some of the shit Reese has done, you wouldn’t think he was normal either.”
His sister sighed before she trained dark eyes on him. He released her hand to hug her shoulders, curling her against him. “No matter what happens with the repairwoman, I promise I will stay in Merriweather Springs until I finish this book. You have my word.”
“You run away, Bro. You’re a runner.”
“I don’t run away,” he said through clenched teeth. “I just like to be on the move. There’s a difference.”
“You ran away from Lindy, and Alexis. And then left Manhattan altogether!”
“Jaylyn, I’m telling you now. I’m not going anywhere until this book is done. I own this house, remember? I have a lawn to mow. Shit to do.”
She pursed her lips as if deciding what to say before saying the last thing in the world he expected. “I found my own apartment.”
“You… What? When?”
“Today.” Her face brightened. “It’s white and has a lot of windows. It’s airy and spacious and it’s mine. I’ve been low-key looking for my own place since I arrived, so I didn’t lease the first one I found or anything.”
“You found a place in Chicago because Zander and I are nearby?” She could be so fucking sweet sometimes—when she wasn’t being demanding.
“I love you and Zan, but I don’t want to live with you guys. He and Chloe are probably never dressed, and now you’re going to be having tantric sex with the handywoman.”
“Jesus, J.” He couldn’t help laughing at her ridiculous descriptions, but then doubled down with, “Your lips to God’s ears.”
“Gross.” She wrinkled her nose, but she was smiling too.
“Will you be nice to her? I don’t want her exacting revenge by loosening nails in the floorboards or balancing buckets of water onto the doorframes.”
“Your brain is filled with cartoons.” Jaylyn shook her head.
“You don’t have to move out.”
She trained her gaze on him. “Neither do you.”
“Touché. You think you can convince Dante to visit?” Brody couldn’t imagine their brother taking time out of his work schedule to pop in for a weekend.
“If anyone can convince him, it’s me.” She swiped her fingers under her eyes and then went to the full-length mirror to check her hair. “I’m going to pack a bag for Chloe’s. Can you drive me to her place so I don’t have to call a car? It’s the last favor I’ll ask of you.”
“I highly doubt that.” He stepped into the hallway. “Next time you’re feeling some kind of way, can you calmly tell me what’s going on instead of taking it out on whoever I’m kissing on the couch?”
“If you insist.” Jaylyn rolled her eyes.
“I insist.” He started to walk away but then paused, his hand on the doorframe. “You know that no matter where in the world I am, or where in the world you are, I will always drop everything to come to you if you need me…right?”
She blinked watery eyes at him, nodding as her chin quivered.
“I mean it.” He’d do anything for his siblings, especially for his baby sister.
“I know.” A tear tracked down her cheek, and she hastily swiped it away.
As he reached the living room he heard Jaylyn shout, “Damn it, Brody! You made my mascara run!”
“Love you too!” He sat on the couch and then reached for his laptop. As he opened the screen and typed in his password, he chuckled to himself. “They broke the mold with that one, that’s for fuckin’ sure.”