“THIS HOME IS GORGEOUS. The pictures didn’t do it justice,” the producer of Vintage Renovation murmured, strolling through the bare living room into the connected dining room.
The petite woman with her natural dark curls bound into a bun on top of her head glanced over her shoulder at Adam as she stroked a hand with short, pink nails over decorative scrollwork on one of the sliding doors that, once closed, separated the two rooms.
“It is lovely,” Adam agreed, standing a little distance away, arms crossed over his chest. “And there are more than enough strong bones here for the house to be fully restored to its former state.”
A low hum of anticipation buzzed beneath his skin as he surveyed the living room with its large bay windows and box storage seating that provided streams of light to the area. With the open floor plan, he could easily envision parties being held in this home, and guests flowing from the living room to the dining room. Or from the small vestibule area into the parlor and ballroom. Only the kitchen and bathroom were sectioned off and enclosed.
The rooms were airy with high ceilings, while the dark paneling prevented the space from being too cold or formal. Of course, how the homeowners decided to decorate this place could take these rooms from cozy and intimate to aloof and reserved. But that would be long after he finished his job. In the meantime, he would do his best to restore this home to its stately beauty while remaining as close to the original design and aesthetic as possible.
“Do you think you’ll be able to salvage anything in here?” The producer—Mira, was her name?—was coming back through the wide doorway into the living room.
Sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans, Adam cocked his head, taking in the finer details of the space, even though he could probably enumerate each feature in his head without looking. That was how often he’d been over the house.
“Definitely. Like I said, the structure is sound, and some of that elaborate crown molding—” he pointed to where the wall met the ceiling and around the door “—we’re absolutely going to save. Our goal is to conserve as much as possible. But we’ll end up having to replace some, of course. We’ve already gathered samples from throughout the house and sent them off to have them prefabricated to match. And at some point one of the owners replaced the fireplace with marble. We’ll redesign it with Italian tile, like the original, and change it back to wood burning instead of gas. That’s the theme of the renovation. Retaining as much of the original design as possible while keeping it modern and comfortable. The owner doesn’t want a showplace, but a home.”
“Please remember every bit of that for when we start filming. I will need you to repeat it,” she directed, smiling. “I have to admit, I’m eager to see the transformation. How long do you think the whole reno will take? We’ve estimated about sixteen weeks.”
Adam nodded. “That sounds about right. No longer than twenty, and that’s if we run into some unforeseen complications.”
He’d worked with a couple of home improvement TV shows before, and understood their production schedule, and how they preferred to keep it as tight as possible. But those prior projects hadn’t been as extensive as this one, and most of his job had taken place off camera, prior to filming. This one was different.
First Vintage Renovation didn’t shoot a renovation per episode. They dedicated an entire season to one rehab, each weekly installment focusing on one aspect of the reno. Or, as sometimes happened, an issue that cropped up during the reno.
So for the next four or five months, he would be surrounded by cameras as they followed the reformation from the beginning to when the homeowners arrived and set eyes on their fully restored home for the first time.
It had been a no-brainer to accept the job. It meant more exposure for him as viewers would see him weekly for months. And he couldn’t pass up the financial compensation for a project this size, as well. Those two factors evened the scales against the aggravation of having a camera in his face for nine to ten hours a day.
But of course, when he’d accepted the contract, he hadn’t calculated in the presence of a beautiful, distracting woman.
Shit. What were the odds?
He could count on one hand the number of women he’d been involved with since his divorce, and none of them had met Justine. How was it when he’d indulged in his first and probably only one-night stand, she had somehow ended up being his daughter’s new best friend?
Like father, like daughter.
He mentally winced. How could he blame Justine for being drawn to Flo? Sure, it’d been for vastly different reasons, but hadn’t he just as quickly been attracted to her? But unlike his daughter, he didn’t want a friend. Didn’t want any kind of...relationship. History had shown he was bad at them.
Like father, like son.
Only he wasn’t in denial about it like his father. He didn’t need to repeatedly go down that dead end to figure out a truth that blinked like a neon caution sign.
While he’d learned that lesson, Justine hadn’t. But at five, how could he expect her to? Still, he worried about her becoming attached to women because of her mother’s absence. Justine didn’t ask about Jennifer much, but the way she latched on to the women in her life screamed volumes. Women like Addie were fine; his sister wasn’t going anywhere.
But like Flo? Women who were transitory and would only disappear from Justine’s life in a few short months? That presented a problem. Their absence would rip off a barely healed scab and leave his daughter hurt all over again.
And it scared the shit out of him wondering how often that particular wound would be inflicted before the damage to his daughter was irreparable.
Locking down a sigh behind clenched teeth, he redirected his attention to the room that would be the focus of the first couple of episodes and the woman currently walking a circuit of the space.
“I have a shooting schedule, but to make sure the renovation finishes on time, construction will continue even after filming has ended for the day,” Mira said, stopping near the bank of bay windows.
“That’s fine. I’ll occasionally drop in during those hours to make sure everything is as it should be, though,” he warned her.
She flashed him a smile over her shoulder. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” She turned and headed toward the foyer. “The rest of the crew is arriving along with a couple of visitors. The mayor of this town, if I’m not mistaken.”
In moments she opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch. Adam moved across the floor to the window. Mira descended the steps, approaching a group of about twenty people carrying equipment in large cases as well as tripods, microphones and reflectors. And those were just the things he recognized.
Here we go.
Inhaling a breath, he held it, then deliberately exhaled. And followed in Mira’s footsteps toward the home’s entrance. Familiar nerves jumbled and snarled in his stomach. They visited him at the beginning of every project, and he welcomed them. What did his grandmother used to say?
If you’re not nervous, you’ve lost your passion.
He never stopped trying to better himself; he was his own competition. And that meant doing the best for all his clients. Being the best for them...and for Justine.
This job wasn’t his first restoration or his biggest. But it was his most important. This house in the small town of Rose Bend truly was the opportunity of a lifetime.
And he couldn’t fuck it up.
As he stepped onto the porch, he spotted the person who could be a threat to that vow.
Florence Dennison.
Look away, goddammit. Look. Away.
The order from his brain ricocheted off his skull, but he couldn’t cooperate. Couldn’t snatch his gaze from the woman who already had his cock thickening beneath his zipper from just a glimpse of her.
One glimpse.
Damn. How was he going to survive several months working with her?
Because you will. Because you have no choice.
Because you have to keep your dick in your pants.
With this warning ringing in his head, he forced his attention away from her and concentrated on the crew gathered on the walkway and lawn. Yet, even as he went to meet them, he couldn’t burn away the image of Flo Dennison from his mind’s eye.
Hell, if he could do that, he would’ve accomplished that feat days ago.
But for now, he still saw those heavy-lidded brown eyes under dark brows. The long locs he’d smoothed with his fingers were gathered in a bun on top of her head, providing an unrestricted view of her elegant bone structure. The pouty mouth with its almost too full bottom lip. More than once during their night together, he’d sunk his teeth into that curve. A cropped denim jacket accentuated the thrust of her firm breasts and her tucked-in waist. Dark blue jeans conformed to the flare of her hips and the long length of her slender legs.
His hands itched with the sensory memories, with the knowledge of how those curves fit into his palms. Of the butter-soft texture of that beautiful brown skin.
No, he didn’t need to be looking at her for her image to be imprinted on his brain. Didn’t need to be standing right next to her to inhale that sweet, woodsy scent of jasmine and cedarwood and subtle notes that had no name. They were just...her.
“Mr. Reed.”
Adam turned at the sound of his name and smiled as Cole Dennison approached him. He’d met Rose Bend’s mayor during one of the meetings with the producers of Vintage Renovation, and had liked the other man, respected his vision for his town. Given Cole was about Adam’s age and had accomplished so much impressed him, as well.
“Adam,” he corrected, extending his hand toward Cole. “Please call me Adam. And it’s good to see you again.”
“You, too.” Cole took his hand in a firm, friendly grip, briefly shaking it before releasing him. “I hope your move to Rose Bend has been smooth. In other words, I hope settling here hasn’t felt like you’ve stepped into the Twilight Zone.” He grinned. “It’s different from Chicago.”
“That it is,” Adam agreed with a chuckle. “But no, it’s been great. My daughter can’t get enough of the playset in the backyard. And as long as she’s happy, that’s half the battle right there.”
“Ah, the playset. Proof that God does love us.” Cole barked out a laugh. “I don’t know if I told you, but I have two daughters. One is five and the other just turned one. As long as everything is okay with them—and no one’s screaming bloody murder—then all is right in the world.” Cole shook his head, affection and humor lighting his voice and eyes. “If I remember right, your daughter is five, as well?” When Adam nodded, Cole held up his phone. “I have your cell number and I’ll make sure you have mine. Let me know if you want to get together and have the kids meet. My family owns the local inn here, Kinsale Inn, and we are a huge clan with kids of all ages underfoot. We’d love to have you and your daughter over for dinner. That way, you get to know the people you’ll be spending the next few months with, and your daughter has some kids she can call friends. One thing you’ll discover about Rose Bend, the people will be here for you if you need them.”
It sounded like something out of a Hallmark movie—too good to be true. And the cynical part of Adam probed his words, trying to find the catch. Maybe the skepticism could be attributed to living in a big city for most of his life, except for those pockets of time when his job carried him to different locations.
But he suspected his natural distrust was more a byproduct of how he grew up—or rather who he grew up with. Nothing in his family had been free. If his father doled out any kindness, it always carried a price tag.
Turning off the part of him that didn’t trust easily would be akin to shutting down his lungs for breathing. Impossible.
“Thank you.” Adam nodded. “I appreciate the invitation.”
“You got it. Hey, you haven’t met my sister yet.” He shifted, glancing over his shoulder, and held up a hand. “Flo, can you come over here for a moment? I’d like to introduce you to the architect over the renovation.”
Flo?
His sister?
No fucking way.
Frowning, Adam looked from Cole to Flo as she extricated herself from the TV crew and headed toward them. Dennison. Their shared last name had gone completely over his head; it was common enough. And studying her features, searching for the resemblance to the man in front of him, Adam still couldn’t find it. The mayor appeared to be Latino, and Flo was a Black woman. Maybe they shared a parent...
Cole softly chuckled, drawing Adam’s attention back to him.
“I recognize that expression.” He wrapped an arm around Flo’s shoulders as she came to stand by his side. “Flo, this is Adam Reed. I just mentioned you were my sister.”
She snorted, a smile flirting with her full lips. He really shouldn’t stare at those lips. Damn sure not right in front of the man she called brother.
“Just wait until he sees Wolf,” Flo drawled.
And though Adam didn’t get the joke, Cole grinned.
“If you accept that invitation to dinner, you will get to meet my brother Wolf as well as the rest of my family and see that we’re kind of Rose Bend’s clap back to This is Us.”
Oh. Now it made sense. The famed TV show had featured a family with two white siblings and an adopted Black brother.
Adam jerked his chin up. “Good to know. Now when I eventually meet this Wolf, I’ll make sure to mention the family resemblance.”
Barking out a laugh, Cole’s grin widened. “Please do. And feel free to drop in that I obviously got the lion’s share of the looks and brains in the family.”
“Uh, excuse you?” Flo arched an eyebrow. “I’m standing right here.”
“Well, present company excepted, of course.” He paused. “You’re almost as pretty as me.”
Flo elbowed him in the stomach, and Cole’s chuckle ended in an oof.
“You’re a little late, Cole. Mr. Reed and I have already met.” Her brown eyes met his, and for a moment he got tangled in them, powerless to unravel himself from their snare even as a sliver of panic rippled through him. Surely, she wasn’t about to tell her brother about their night... “I had the pleasure of meeting him and his little girl a couple of days ago when I stopped by here after work.”
Relief smoothed out the jagged edges of alarm, and he caught the twitch at the corner of her mouth. Very funny.
“Yes, Justine is still talking about her friend Flo,” he said, tone wry. “You made quite the impression.”
“Same. She’s adorable and funny. And to avoid her shade, I’ve now started carrying candy and gum on me at all times.” In spite of the awkward situation, humor trickled through him. Jussy was a staunch advocate of treats. Flo shifted her attention away from him, and he vacillated between releasing a relieved sigh and demanding she fix that beautiful, soulful gaze back on him. “Is she here? I’d like to say hi.”
“No, she’s with her babysitter, but I’ll let her know you said hello.”
Cole smiled, dropping his arm from around Flo, stepping back. “Since I’m not needed here, I’ll go meet the rest of the crew as the official Rose Bend welcome wagon.” He pressed a kiss to the top of Flo’s head, murmuring, “Knock ’em dead, lil’ sis.”
Giving a last wave, Cole turned and walked toward the crew, leaving his sister alone with Adam. If the other man suspected just how well he knew his baby sister, Adam doubted Cole would’ve been so magnanimous.
“You gave me your real name,” she softly said. No, accused.
He stared down at her, momentarily taken aback. By both her blunt words and by the almost instinctive urge to give her an excuse.
But I couldn’t stand the thought of you calling anyone else’s name but mine when you came probably wouldn’t go over well. It was the truth, but he doubted she would appreciate it. And he could barely admit that to himself much less to her. So he went with something less incendiary to his pride.
“You said any would do. And I chose to give you mine.” Simple. And still honest.
Mostly.
Her eyes narrowed at his answer, and he would be lying if he denied the spark of anticipation that glimmered inside him. This was what had drawn him to her that night at the bar. Yes, she was beautiful. But it’d been that barbed wit, the glints of vulnerability and the sensual charisma that had kept his ass on that stool. The desire to discover how that clever, sharp tongue and unexpected hints of softness would translate to sex...
Now he knew. And fuck his curiosity. Because now he couldn’t forget. Even when he wanted to. When he needed to.
“Semantics seem to be your thing,” she murmured, the bite in her tone unmistakable. He checked himself before he could lean in, feel the razor edge of it scrape over his senses, his skin. “First with your name and then about whether you were from here or not.”
“I didn’t lie.” He hadn’t given her all of the information. But he hadn’t lied. “I’m from Chicago, not Rose Bend.”
“You knew what I was asking,” she bit out, glaring at him. “If I’d believed for one second that I would run into you again, there’s no way in hell I would’ve...”
She trailed off, a frown creasing her forehead. Adam crossed his arms, cocking his head.
“I believe the words you’re looking for are ‘fucked you.’ There’s no way in hell you would’ve invited me home to fuck me,” he calmly supplied. He huffed out a short, acerbic chuckle. “I’m having the damnedest time imagining you at a loss for words.”
Especially when she’d been so bold about what she wanted that night.
“Well, when I’m just feet away from my brother and a whole crew of people with cameras and microphones, then yes, I’m at a loss for words. Particularly those,” she snapped.
On reflex, he cast a look around them, scanning the front lawn to see if anyone had overheard.
“That’s fair,” he said, returning his attention to her. “But I did warn you about regret, didn’t I?”
She didn’t quite manage to conceal her flinch. And though it made zero fucking sense, a hole opened up behind his sternum. One that eddied with resentment and—God, help him—sadness that he’d become something she looked back on with remorse.
A one-night stand. That was all he was to her, and she to him. And after the lust cleared and reason returned, a lot of people probably regretted having them. This wasn’t anything special. What they shared hadn’t been unique.
Even in his head, the words fell flat.
“If it’s any consolation, if I had known you would end up being the photographer on my next project, I would’ve made a different choice, too,” he said. Because he didn’t shit where he ate.
Ever.
He’d made that mistake with Jennifer and look how that had turned out. A miserable marriage that had ended in divorce, and a daughter with an absentee mother. Not that he regretted Justine. God, no. And he’d suffer through the hellscape of his marriage all over again just to have her. But would he have willingly chosen a mother who’d rather be on a plane to the next adventure—and by adventure, he meant party—than actually mother? No. No, he wouldn’t have wanted that for Justine.
Flo glanced away from him, her hand lifting and hovering near her bound locs before her arm dropped back to her side.
“About that. I need to clear the air.” When her gaze met his again, her frown hadn’t completely faded, a small crease wrinkling the space above the bridge of her nose. “I don’t want you to think I lied in the bar. I had no clue you were the architect on this renovation. Hell, I didn’t even know about the renovation or the show until days later when I spoke with Cole. I wouldn’t have placed you, or myself for that matter, in this uncomfortable position. I just...” She did that almost-touch thing again with her hair. “I wouldn’t have lied about that.”
“I didn’t believe you did,” he said, and relief flashed in her eyes, and her shoulders loosened just a bit. Maybe no one else would’ve noticed those details, but he did.
Nothing much about her escaped him, dammit.
“Oh good. I didn’t—”
“But if we’re being honest, I have to admit I don’t think you are the appropriate person for this job.”
Her lips parted, and her slender frame stiffened again. Those brown eyes, more expressive than she probably wished, widened for a fraction of a second, betraying her shock and...and something else. The thick fringe of her lashes lowered too fast, hiding that something else from his view.
“Wow. That went right from awkward to super fucking awkward.” She huffed out a chuckle that he didn’t dare misinterpret as humorous. “How can you make that determination when you’ve known me for five minutes? And three of those were spent—” she cut off the rest of the sentence, her full lips momentarily flattening as she glanced behind her “—spent not talking,” she finished on a low growl. “That’s pretty presumptuous and asshole-ish of you.”
“Maybe,” he said, cocking his head. “But this is a big project partnering with a major cable network. It needs a photographer with experience. Tell me, Flo—” he crossed his arms over his chest “—how many of these have you worked on? Or, since opportunities like working with a television show don’t come by often, what about smaller jobs? Have you undertaken smaller, similar assignments? Because this—” he waved a hand toward the Victorian “—is different than taking travel pictures of an exotic location or babies on blankets.”
Yes, he’d done a little bit of research on her since the evening they met right there at the house. At twenty-four, she was the proprietor of and sole photographer for Perfect Images, the local photography studio. While owning her own business at such a young age was impressive, it didn’t mean she was ready or the best choice for a job of this magnitude.
Amazing sex and an unfortunate fascination with those sleek cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes and overtly carnal mouth didn’t blind him to those facts.
“Are you listening to yourself? Are you even the least bit bothered by how condescending you sound?” she scoffed, waving a hand. “I think you’re more bothered by the fact that you’ll have to face me every day after seeing me naked.”
Shit.
Unbidden, an image of her slender yet curvy body, beautiful brown skin damn near luminescent with perspiration, burst across the vivid, HD screen of his mind.
A growl threatened to rumble through him, that mental picture pumping arousal into his veins like a hydraulic engine. He clenched his jaw, imprisoning the betraying sound inside him.
“Oh, it definitely bothers me,” he admitted, a hint of gravel roughening his voice. Uncrossing his arms, he stepped closer and lowered his head and voice so only she heard his next words. “That I’m standing right here with about thirty witnesses only feet away from us, and I know exactly how your breasts fill my hands and the precise shade of your nipples after they’ve been teased by my mouth. Or that those gorgeous, strong thighs tremble just before you come... Yeah, it bothers me, Flo. Because all my focus needs to be on this project and not on the beautiful flush that spreads over your skin when you’re aroused.” He ignored her sharp, soft inhale. But damn him, he couldn’t pretend not to see the lust darkening her eyes. Those fucking eyes. “But what bothers me more?” he ground out. “That nepotism and favoritism got you this job and robbed it from someone else who has the experience to pull it off.”
She blinked. Stared at him. Then shifted backward a step.
Had he thought her face, her eyes, too expressive?
He stood corrected. Her expression wiped completely clean, as if she took an eraser to it and swept every emotion away.
A curious twist screwed tight behind his chest bone, pulling taut. It didn’t sit well within him that he couldn’t read her, couldn’t decipher the thoughts running through her head. He didn’t like it...although he’d been the cause of it.
But he couldn’t take back his words, because they were the truth. She was young—too young to have acquired the work experience a project like this required. But he couldn’t do anything about it. The town council had hired her, and while he and Vintage Renovation would use some of her photos, the coffee-table book would belong to Rose Bend. He didn’t hire her and couldn’t fire her.
Still... He had to force his arm to remain by his side or he would rub that sore spot in the middle of his chest.
“Just because you’ve been inside me doesn’t mean you know me,” she quietly said, but the intensity behind the words razed his ears like a piercing scream. “And your opinion doesn’t move me. It’s a nonfactor since the people I respect, the people who are aware of my experience and talent, have already hired me for this job, and I will not walk away from it, whether you believe it’s merited or not. So if me being here bothers you then you’ll have to quit or deal with it. Because that’s your issue, not mine. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She moved again, inserting more space between them. “I’m going to meet more of my coworkers. But you have the day you deserve.”
On the heels of that parting shot, she turned and strode away from him.
Have the day you deserve.
Damned if that wasn’t the most polite “fuck you” he’d ever heard.