August 5

So Callaway must have listened to me yesterday when I said she didn’t need to give me space, because I hear her coming up the stairs. It’s a nice surprise, because it’s around noon. I get this funny little feeling in my gut, listening to her footsteps—like the flutter you get Christmas morning as a kid when you wake up and you know it’s going to be amazing, and you can’t wait to unwrap your presents.

It’s the same with her—I can’t wait to see her. And unwrap her.

Last night we made out down by the water like a couple of horny teenagers. I couldn’t keep my hands off her and started to unfasten her bikini top, but she stopped me, blushing and laughing and pointing out the kayaker gliding by who would get an eyeful if I kept going. It was probably just as well, though—I had to leave (reluctantly) for a softball game. She acted like she was totally fine with that, but I could tell she wasn’t, because she does this thing with her shoulders and her chin when she’s disappointed and trying to hide it. She pushes her shoulders back a little bit when she exhales, and she lifts her chin just the slightest bit. It’s really subtle, but I’ve noticed, and I have to kind of clench myself inside so it doesn’t get to me. I told her I’d make it up to her and we’d have a night very soon.

I’m sponging mortar off the tiles on the shower wall when she walks in the bathroom, looking smoking hot in a sleeveless pink dress and heels with her hair up, a few pieces curling around her face. She’s got a glass of lemonade in her hand and a small plate with cookies.

“You’re spoiling me again, Callaway.”

Her eyebrow lifts. She has this teasing look on her face. “So you don’t want the cookies?”

“Hell, yes, I want the cookies. Not sure I deserve this kind of treatment. But I appreciate it.”

“After how you’ve, um, helped me? Oh, you deserve it, Decker. Believe me.” She’s laughing now, and so am I. It feels good, easy, flirting with her like this.

I help myself to a cookie. It’s awesome—chocolate and peanut butter no-bake. “How did you know this was my favorite kind?”

“It wasn’t hard to guess...kids love no-bakes.” She winks as she hands me the lemonade.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“Maybe.”

“I might have to take you over my knee for that,” I warn.

“That wouldn’t exactly be a punishment.” Her eyes glaze over as she looks at me. My balls tighten. Fuck, she turns me on. Got to watch myself, or I’ll be taking out a very special kind of tool.

“I’m giving you triple points for that one.” I smile at her, and she blushes like crazy. “You home for the day?”

“Just for lunch.”

“Nice. It’s good to be the boss, isn’t it?”

Madeline nods, leaning against the door frame and folding her arms.

I want to kiss her.

“Jack...I’ve got to admit something.”

“You’re an impostor. This isn’t your house. You really can’t cook. The cookies are store-bought.”

She giggles, shaking her head. “Seriously, I need to tell you what I did.”

I set the glass of lemonade on the vanity top and pick up my trowel to start on the next section of tile. “All right. Tell me.”

“I...um...Googled you.”

Okay, so this comes as somewhat of a surprise. “Did you find out what you were looking for?”

“I don’t even know what I was looking for. I was just…looking.” She’s flustered. “I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have done it, but my curiosity got the best of me, and I just wanted—”

“Relax, Callaway. I’m not mad.”

“You’re not?” Relief smooths out the tension in her face.

“Nope. I’m kind of flattered, actually, that you wanted to know more about me.”

“I do.”

“Did you find answers? Or did they lead to more questions?”

“Both, I guess. I found out that New England Home Supply is your family’s company, but you left.”

“Correct.”

“Which does lead to a question...why?”

I dip my trowel in the bucket of Thinset and smear the mortar on the wall, my motions as smooth as my words. I don’t really want to go into gory detail about all of it, but maybe if she hears about my past, she’ll understand how this has shaped my present.

So I tell her, and the words spill out like paint from a can. It’s like telling Ed was a rehearsal for this. “New England Home Supply started out as my father’s little hardware store in Scarborough with squeaky hardwood floors and plywood shelves. He sold nails and screws by the pound and wire by the foot. He did so well he opened up a second store in Yarmouth, and then it just took off from there. He bought out a couple competitors, went state-wide and then expanded into New England. I think they’re up to twenty locations now...I’ve lost track. And interest, honestly.”

I bend over to pick up another tile, back-butter it with my trowel and press it into the fresh mortar. “I worked for my father from the time I was thirteen sweeping up in the old store and stocking shelves. After I graduated from Bowdoin, Dad named me vice-president of sales.”

Madeline’s eyes widen at the mention of my alma mater. She’s impressed, and probably a little shocked that an Ivy Leaguer would have traded in a corporate career for a tool belt. But she hasn’t heard the whole story.

I continue. “When my brother James graduated from Harvard three years later, he was made vice-president of operations. Everything was real cozy and nice until my fiancée decided she preferred the younger Decker model. Not only was she fucking James, but she told him the idea I had for expanding the company, and he proposed it to my father. Because of that, he ended up being promoted to president when dear old Dad became CEO.” I laugh. “It was a trifecta of treachery. Fiancée, brother, father…all three of them screwed me over.”

She’s not saying anything, so I look over. Her face is a mixture of shock and sadness. I quickly reassure her. “Hey, I’m over it. No worries.”

“I’m sorry. My God, I had no idea.”

“It’s okay. Really.”

“So this is what you meant when you were talking about family dynamics, the night your dad went in the hospital.”

“Yep.”

“And why you could relate to my husband cheating on me.”

“Yes.”

Madeline pauses for a few seconds and gives me a sad little smile that just about does me in. “And it’s why you’re the way you are—with women. Because alliances are safe. Friendly agreements where no one gets hurt.”

“Bingo.”

“You’ve become a master at self-preservation, then.”

“I suppose you could say that. It’s worked out every time.” So far.

“But...” She moves toward me, reaching out to put a hand on my arm and making my heart do a little jump. “Don’t you ever get lonely?”

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I’ll wake up and roll over, and I feel as empty as the space next to me. Like there should be someone lying in bed with me, with her hair swirled all over the pillow. Mahogany-colored hair.

Like yours.

I look into her deep, dark eyes. “No. Not really.”

She studies me for a few seconds, her earnest expression melting away. It starts to get a little awkward, and I’m thinking of what to say to make her smile when she leans to the right to look around me.

“Wow—that’s a big one.”

“That’s what she said.” I grin, glad that the focus has shifted, and turn to look in the upper corner of the shower where she’s staring. “What are you—holyyyy shit!”

I leap out of the shower, almost tripping over the bucket of Thinset and the box of tiles. Every hair on the back of my neck feels like it’s standing straight up, and I’ve got shudders rippling through me from my scalp to my shoes like electricity, because my biggest nightmare is crawling across the ceiling.

“Jack?” Madeline bites her lip. It’s obvious she’s trying not to laugh, and I know I must look like a spineless idiot or a paranoid wack-job or both, but this thing is fucking huge. “You’re afraid of spiders?”

“Uh, yeah. You could say that.” I run my hand through my hair, because who knows if that thing has relatives or friends that might want to use my head for an amusement park.

“But you’re so...big. And spiders are like whispers with legs.”

“Whispers?” I snort. “That one’s more like a scream. Jesus, it’s got a belly the size of an avocado.”

She bursts out laughing. “A small grape, maybe. You’re seriously scared?”

“No. I’m seriously terrified.”

“So that Spiderman theme for dinner the other night was quite apropos.”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” I look around for something to smash it with, shuddering all over again at the thought of one of them coming back—you know, for revenge. The broom will work, because it has a long handle so I don’t need to get too close. I start to go toward it, but Madeline steps in front of me.

“Wait—don’t kill it.”

“I know, I know—bad luck, or it’ll make it rain...or even worse, sometimes you think they’re dead, but they uncrinkle themselves.”

She’s smiling again. “Uncrinkle? Is that even a word?”

“Probably not, but it should be.”

“Hang on...leave it alone. I’ll be right back. Keep your eye on it. If you dare.” She winks before leaving.

I take a few steps back and reluctantly watch the cantaloupe with legs from a safe distance. Madeline returns holding some sort of stick-like device—it looks like a grabber that an old person would use, except it’s got bristles on one end.

“I’m betting you don’t have this tool,” she says, grinning. “But you need one. Watch.”

She positions my step stool on the shower floor, stands on it, and reaches the bristly end of the stick toward the tarantula. As she squeezes the handle, the bristles open up, and quicker than you can say daddy long legs, the spider’s inside them.

I’m impressed. Mostly because I didn’t need to do anything.

Smiling triumphantly, Madeline steps off the stool. “Cool, huh? Safe for the spider, and safe for the scaredy-cat.”

“Yeah, very cool. Just don’t be waving the bristly part near the scaredy-cat.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you. But I have to say, I love seeing this side of you. You’re absolutely adorable when you’re terrified.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment. But thanks.”

“It is most definitely a compliment.” She tosses me a smile over her shoulder. “I’m going to go set Charlotte free. Be right back.”

After glancing up to make sure there’s no other creepy-crawlies lurking on the ceiling, I step back into the shower to resume my tiling. I’m pretty sure that this is the first time I’ve let a woman in on my arachnophobia secret. And I’m okay with it being Callaway.

She enters the bathroom again, and I turn to look at her. She gives me a thumbs up. “Charlotte has left the building.”

“Probably headed for my truck.”

“You are cracking me up.”

“You can honestly tell me that you’re not scared of spiders?”

“I am not scared of spiders.”

“Well, that’s unusual. Most women are.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Jack...” Madeline’s eyes are sparkly as she folds her arms across her chest. “I’m not most women.”

Oh, I’ve noticed. “So if it’s not spiders, what are you afraid of?”

The question surprises both of us. She takes a couple seconds to answer. “Betrayal.”

I nod in understanding. That’s on my list, too.

“Can we stop talking about scary things, Jack?”

“Sure. I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to bring you down.”

“You’re not. I just don’t want to waste any time with you. Because, you know—how you’re finishing up here soon and all. I want to make every moment count.”

Something grabs in my gut, hearing her say that.

“You’re making it hard for me to focus on my tiling, Callaway. Literally, hard.”

She ducks her head, laughing softly as a pink glow creeps into her cheeks. Then she fixes her eyes on me, and the look in them basically pulverizes me. “Maybe we should take advantage of that.”

My jeans seem to have become tighter in the front. “You think so?”

Madeline walks over to me in the shower stall and loops her arms around my waist. “I know so.” She tips back her head in a wordless invitation for me to kiss her. I take in the sight of her shining, expectant eyes, her parted mouth, her bare neck...she is girl and woman both at once.

Madeline Callaway, I accept your invitation to kiss you. I set my trowel on the built-in shower shelf and pull her in to me, liking the way she bends her back to mold herself against me. As tiny as she is compared to me, she feels just the right size.

I cover her mouth with mine, my cock stiffening as I hear the little sigh she makes when my tongue meets hers. In the back of my mind—the part that pays attention to business—a nagging little thought takes root. I should be finishing the tile, because the Thinset isn’t going to be any good if it sits out much longer. I know I should tell her, but the fact that this girl is a fucking awesome kisser is currently squashing down all other rational thought. 

She’s a client first, Jack. Got to always keep that in mind.

Yeah, yeah...I know. I grimace inwardly. It’s hard to think of her as anything other than the sexiest woman on the planet right now. But I use all the willpower I have so that Decker Renovation overrules Big Deck.

I hate to interrupt this, but I pull back a little, breathing hard. “Callaway...I don’t want to stop—believe me—but my mortar’s going to get hard.” I smirk, anticipating her reaction.

“Isn’t that the whole point?” Eagerly, she tries to pull me back down to her mouth, but I take her wrists in my hands, chuckling.

“I won’t be able to use this mix. I’ll have to buy another bag. Twenty bucks.”

“Add it to my bill. I’m more than happy to pay for it.” She wriggles out of my grip, takes my hand in her own and gently pulls me into the bedroom.

Spoiler alert: I don’t resist.

When we reach her neatly-made bed, she turns around to look up at me again. “Remember when you said as long as you’re working for me, I could consider you mine?”

“That’s the deal.”

“Well...if you’re mine, I have a request. Actually, it’s more like a command. I want—I want you out of these pants.”

Her hands go to my belt, and I suck in my breath. Jesus, her boldness. I like it. A lot. I have a raging hard-on even before my zipper begins a downward descent. She slides my jeans down and kneels on the floor to unlace my work boots.

“Ms. Callaway, you are making it impossible for me to get any work done.”

Her voice is thick with desire as she helps me step out of my pants. “I assure you, Mr. Decker, it’s completely intentional.”

I close my eyes and spread my feet apart a bit as she reaches in my boxers. Fuck. Her hand is cool cupping my balls. I let out a low groan as she slides it along my shaft.

“God, Jack—I want you. Right now.”

You’ve got me, Callaway. You’ve got me.

My cock is heavy and aching, straining towards her. She started this, and I’m going to finish it. She doesn’t have to say anything; I know she wants me to take over.

I grasp the bottom of her dress and yank it up over her hips. I’d love to take my time with her, but it’s not going to happen—I’m too fucking horny. I grab my jeans off the floor to take out my wallet, silently thanking God there’s one more condom in there. “This is going to be quick, sweetheart.”

“Do you have somewhere to be?”

“Only inside you. And I can’t wait a second longer.”

Madeline gives a little choked cry that pierces me to my core. She grabs the front of my shirt to pull me down on the bed with her. I devour her mouth with mine, sucking her tongue, kissing her hard. I prop myself up over her so she can wiggle out of her panties (pink, to match the dress) and then slide my hand down to her pussy. Soaking wet, slippery, hot. I’d love to bury my face in it, but the urge to fuck her takes over, and after one quick stroke down her slit, I’m on top of her, jamming my cock between her legs and fucking her like my life depends on it.

We’re both moaning, gasping, our hot breath intertwining as she grabs my shoulders and bucks beneath me, and we become one shuddering, shattering climax that wrecks me so much, the words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

“Christ, Callaway—it gets better every time. I can’t get enough of you.”

It’s the truth, and the way she looks up at me with those dark, pleading, glistening eyes makes me glad I said it.