CHAPTER TWO
Tess reached up and plucked another ripe peach from one of the trees behind her grandmother’s house and put it into the bowl she held in the crook of her arm. It was only eight in the morning, the grass still wet with dew, and the air redolent with the sweet scent of peaches and the promise of a warm, humid summer day ahead.
She’d woken up that morning craving peach pancakes for breakfast, just like her grandmother used to make for her. How great was it that she could step outside and pick the fresh fruit right from its tree? That was something she couldn’t have done from her small apartment in Atlanta, and the peaches at the market just hadn’t been as sweet and juicy as these grown at home.
Since the house had been vacant and the yard untouched for the past six months, the trees were abundant with plump, juicy peaches, and the ground littered with the spoiled produce. She’d have to get that cleaned up at some point as well.
Her stomach growled hungrily, and she smiled and grabbed another peach from a high branch, thinking maybe later, after she got some work done around the house, she’d make peach jam or cobbler and take some with her when she went to talk to Wayne. There was certainly plenty of the fruit for her to make enough jam for the entire town if she wanted.
With her bowl filled, she stepped back to retreat to the house, and something beneath the sole of her fluffy house slipper popped then squished under her foot—the third one this morning. She cringed, knowing she’d just stomped on yet another over-ripe peach. “Oh, ugh!”
Deep male laughter sounded from behind her, brushing down her spine like a seductive caress. Startled, she spun around and almost dropped the bowl of peaches, which she quickly steadied against her arm. She found Morgan leaning casually against the side of the house, his thumbs hooked into the belt loops of his jeans as he watched her with an amused expression on his face. How long he’d been there, she hadn’t a clue. But now she knew how it felt to be spied on, just as she’d spied on him yesterday before announcing her presence.
He continued to stare at her, a surprisingly sexy, lopsided smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as his gaze slowly slid from her disheveled hair all the way down to her fuzzy psychedelic slippers, then back up again.
A flash of heat zinged across her nerve endings, along with a ripple of undeniable awareness. Her breasts swelled and her nipples puckered in reaction to his hot stare, and it was all she could do not to fold her arms across her chest to hide that telltale response.
She hadn’t been expecting company and was still wearing what she’d slept in—a pair of pink and purple plaid boxer shorts and a ribbed tank top that was made for comfort, and not to conceal her curves and erect nipples.
She started toward him, careful not to step on any more rotten peach bombs on her way. “Morgan,” she said, her tone as cautious as she felt. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve reconsidered your request about hiring me to do the work around here,” he said, his eyes a warm, mellow shade of gray this morning—unlike the cool silver she’d encountered at his workshop yesterday.
What an interesting turn of events, she thought, curious to know what had changed his mind. Especially after his gruff reception with her the day before. But she wasn’t about to refuse his help, and she motioned toward the back door. “How about we go inside and talk?”
He nodded, causing a dark lock of hair to fall across his forehead. For a moment he reminded her of the bad boy she’d fallen in love with—until she remembered just how much of a man he’d become. But she didn’t doubt that he still had a reckless streak beneath all that maturity.
“That works for me,” he said easily, and followed her inside.
The door led into the kitchen, and she set the bowl of fruit on the Formica counter, which was old and cracked in places—one of the many items she needed to replace. “I was going to make myself some peach pancakes,” she said as she turned to face him again. “Would you like some?”
She fully expected him to say no to her polite offer, to tell her he was there for business and nothing more, but he went and threw her another curve she wasn’t anticipating.
“That sounds great.” He gave his rock-hard stomach a pat. “I’m starved.”
The low, rumbling way he said the word starved, coupled with the hungry way he continued to stare at her, made her feel as though he were contemplating her for breakfast. She shivered at the thought. If he was trying to throw her off balance with this new and improved attitude of his, he was doing a damn good job of it.
The kitchen was fairly spacious with a sturdy wooden table off to the side of the room, but with Morgan standing only a few feet away it seemed to shrink in size. Again, she became aware of her skimpy attire and knew she wouldn’t be able to carry on a conversation dressed as she was, and with his bold gaze blatantly admiring her breasts.
“I’m going to run upstairs and change,” she said as she moved toward the doorway leading to the other rooms in the house. “I’ll be right back. There’s fresh coffee in the pot, so help yourself.”
With a hand on her jittery stomach, she jogged up the stairs to the upper landing and the room she’d been given when she’d come to live here permanently after her mother had been killed in a car crash with her boyfriend. The master bedroom was down the hall and much larger with a connecting bathroom, but Tess hadn’t been able to bring herself to move into what had been her grandmother’s room. She still missed her grandmother, and there were just too many memories still lingering in her bedroom. Besides, she wasn’t going to be in Wynhaven long, anyway, so she’d rather stay where it was cozy and familiar.
She changed into a pair of soft worn jeans and a loose Georgia State University T-shirt, ran a brush through her hair to restore order to the tousled strands, and returned to the kitchen in less than ten minutes. She found Morgan standing by the sink, in the process of peeling the skin from the peaches. Two steaming mugs of coffee sat on the counter next to him.
He looked perfectly at home in her home, and she wasn’t sure what to make of it…or where all this niceness was coming from or leading to.
Heading to the counter next to him, she poured cream into one of the mugs of coffee and stirred in a spoonful of sugar. “You don’t need to peel the peaches for me. I can do it.” She took a sip of her coffee, certain she needed the kick of caffeine to help bolster her fortitude for whatever was to come.
“It’s not a big deal.” He rinsed another ripe fruit then dragged the sharp knife along the surface, quickly and efficiently paring the peach and making good use of those big, capable hands of his. He placed the skinnned piece of fruit into a colander and grinned at her. “I just thought I’d help you get started on those pancakes.”
She gathered the ingredients she needed for the batter, all the while contemplating the best way to approach Morgan about his impromptu visit. Just get right to the point, she supposed.
And so she did. “What’s going on, Morgan?” she asked as she measured out the flour, baking powder, and sugar into a big mixing bowl. “Yesterday you didn’t want to have anything to do with me and today you’re Mr. Hospitality. And don’t give me any crap about being neighborly, because I’m just not buying it.”
He chuckled at her outspoken manner and began chopping the peaches into small pieces for the batter. “Don’t sugarcoat things on my account, sweetheart.” That endearment… God, coming from him in that lazy, sexy drawl he’d once used to coax her into letting him do sinful things to her—with her. It still had the ability to make her weak in the knees, and damp in secret places. He’d always been able to seduce her with his voice and words alone, and he hadn’t lost the ability to do so now.
“I guess I’m just not the genteel Southern girl I used to be,” she replied with a bit of impudence as she whipped the rest of the ingredients together in quick, frenzied motion. “So, quit beating around the bush with your reasons for being here.”
“Alright,” he said, his tone and features turning serious. Finished slicing up the fruit, he washed his hands and dried them with a kitchen towel. “I came here to offer a truce, along with my restoration services.”
She gently folded the peaches into the batter and slanted him a sideways glance, trying not to let her relief show. She was grateful that he was willing to put aside the estrangement between them, but she suspected there was more to this friendly reconciliation than he was letting on.
Still, she wasn’t about to turn away such an unexpected and welcome gift. “Truce accepted.”
“And my services?” Reaching for his coffee, he watched her over the rim of the mug as he took a drink.
She dropped a slab of butter into the hot skillet on the stove and waited for it to melt. “Depends on why you changed your mind.”
He shrugged. “It’s a job, and money is money, no matter who it comes from. My father always taught me not to discriminate, so I guess I shouldn’t start now.”
She couldn’t stop the smile that eased across her lips. “Your father always was a smart man.” Mr. Kane had also been hardworking, openly affectionate with his family, always kind to her, and someone she would have loved to call her own father. Especially since she’d never known her own dad and still felt that empty sense of loss even now that she was a grown adult.
Scooping up a cup of batter, she poured it into the sizzling frying pan, making two large pancakes. “So, this is a business decision then?”
“And a personal one,” he admitted, but didn’t elaborate on that. “I figure the sooner I help you knock out the work on this place, the sooner you can return to Atlanta and do your thing.”
“You mean play?” she said, teasing him.
Returning her humorous grin, he leaned his hip against the counter and slid the fingers of one hand into the front pocket of his jeans. “I was thinking more along the lines of you finding another job.”
A sigh unraveled out of her as she turned over the flapjacks. The tops were brown, buttery, crispy, and smelled heavenly—just like her grandmother taught her to make them. “Yeah, there is that.” She wasn’t looking forward to getting back to that nine-to-five grind, the hectic pace, the traffic, the stress of having to work against tight deadlines. “I certainly can’t live on my severance and savings forever.”
“I’m sure the money from the sale of this place will help you out.”
“Yes, it will.” She was lucky the house was paid for, which meant a huge sum of money for her, a nest egg that would go a long way in helping her to move out of her apartment in Atlanta and finally buy a house of her own. That was her plan, anyway.
He set aside his coffee mug. “So, what can I do to help?”
“You can set the table while I finish making the pancakes.” She pointed her spatula toward the cupboard behind him. “The dishes and silverware are still in the same place.”
With a nod, he gathered the plates and utensils and put them on the table, then the butter and syrup from the refrigerator. He hadn’t eaten there often, just when her grandmother wasn’t around, but he had no problem finding whatever they needed for breakfast now. Whereas his parents had always treated her like one of their own kids, Helen Monroe never did embrace Morgan or Tess’s relationship with him. They had had to sneak around to be together, even though her grandmother had been smart enough to figure out what was going on behind her back and made sure Tess knew her feelings on Morgan Kane: that he was wild and reckless and pure trouble, and if she wasn’t careful Tess was going to end up like her mother. Knocked up and on her own, with no way to support herself and her child.
The pain of those words still had the ability to pierce Tess’s heart. She never believed Morgan would ever do to her what Tess’s own father had done to her mother. But at the age of eighteen, with her grandmother pushing her to make something of her life outside of Wynhaven, Tess had not only been conflicted and confused, but she’d felt an obligation to her grandmother after everything she’d sacrificed for her.
And where had any of it gotten her? Educated beyond high school, yes, and working a well-paying job, and getting engaged to the right kind of man by her grandmother’s standards, but she’d given up so much in exchange for that distinction. Important, deeply meaningful things she might never be able to reclaim because of the emotional damage she’d inflicted on the one person who’d meant so much to her as a result of the choices she’d made.
She harbored a wealth of regrets about the past and her actions, but she couldn’t change any of it. All she could do now was be true to what was in her heart and see where it led her.
Once she finished the pancakes, she brought them to the table on a big platter while Morgan refilled their coffee mugs. They sat down across from one another and dug in, with Morgan piling four of the flapjacks onto his plate while she took just one. After buttering the pancakes and pouring syrup over them, he took a few bites of the peach confection and groaned his appreciation.
He swiped his napkin across his mouth and glanced across the table at her, a playful gleam in his eyes. “I’m glad to see you haven’t forgotten how to cook.”
She raised a brow, more amused than offended by his comment. “Now what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Being a working girl, I’m sure it was easier to grab something on the run, or put a frozen meal into the microwave.” He popped another big bite of pancake into his mouth and was already slicing into another section to eat.
“It was easier,” she admitted and took a drink of her coffee. “And it isn’t much fun cooking for one person.” As for Patrick, he’d preferred to eat at his favorite five-star restaurants around town where his lawyer father had open accounts for him to use.
She watched Morgan devour the rest of the pancakes on his plate and take the last two from the platter. She shook her head as she took a dainty bite of her own breakfast, near to being stuffed on just one flapjack. The man’s appetite amazed her, but she was pleased that he was enjoying the meal so much. It was nice to know she hadn’t lost her touch in the kitchen, because she’d always loved to cook. Missed it, actually.
“You’d better be careful how much you eat or you’re going to go soft around the middle,” she said, just to tease him.
He raised his smoky gray eyes to hers and grinned rakishly. “Don’t worry about me, sweetheart, I burn off plenty of calories to make up for how much I eat.”
He followed that up with a waggle of those dark brows of his, insinuating something of the sexual variety. Her pulse leapt and she glanced back down at her own breakfast. She wasn’t going to touch that statement, because her fertile imagination was doing just fine on its own without him adding more fuel to that fire.
“How’s your sister doing?” she asked, as much to change the subject as to find out how Amy had fared in the eight years that had passed between them. Amy had been her best friend growing up, even after Tess had fallen hard for her older brother.
“She’s still happily married to Jake Barber with two adorable but rambunctious little boys. Todd is six, and Gavin is four, and she’s pregnant with number three. They’re hoping for a girl this time.”
“That’s so great.” As young girls, she and Amy had always talked about getting married and having kids, and being a wife and mother. It was what they’d both wanted, and at least one of them had achieved her dreams. To pursue her grandmother’s wishes, Tess had given up hers, along with the man sitting in front of her with whom she’d wanted to have those babies.
She set her fork on her plate and pushed it aside. “I’ve missed her friendship.” She couldn’t help the wistful quality of her voice.
Morgan stopped eating and raised his eyes to hers. “I know she missed you, too, Tess. You were her best friend.”
That was yet another regret to bear, and one she wanted to mend. A lump rose in the back of Tess’s throat and she swallowed it back. “When I left…after the way you and I parted ways, well, I didn’t think she’d ever want to speak to me again.”
“I won’t lie to you, Tess. Amy was pretty upset at first, mostly on my behalf, but I know over the years she wished that things had ended differently between the two of you.” Then he did the unexpected and reached across the table, placed his hand over hers, and gave it an encouraging squeeze. “Look at it this way. I’m speaking to you again, so there’s hope for my sister, too.”
His sincerity was unmistakable, the warmth of his touch oddly comforting. “I’d like to think that your sister might come around.” She withdrew her hand from his, stood, and stacked the empty plates and utensils. “Since I’m going to be in town for a while, I’ll stop by her place sometime and say hello.”
“I’m sure she’d like that.” After finishing his coffee, he stood, too, and helped her clear the table. Once that was done and she was rinsing everything to put into the dishwasher, he said, “I’m going to go get my tablet from my truck and we can get to business on an estimate.”
She nodded as she scrubbed the skillet clean. “Sounds good.”
He returned minutes later, just as she was closing up the dishwasher. She rinsed her hands, wiped them on a dry towel, and turned around to face him. He held a small computer tablet in his hand and was busy typing information onto what looked like an invoice on the screen.
He was back to being all business, their earlier moment of bonding over with. “How do you want to handle this?” she asked.
Finished typing, he glanced up at her. “First we’ll go through the house together and make a list of what needs to be done, and from there I can give you an estimate of what it’s going to cost.”
She pushed her fingers into the back pockets of her jeans. “Fair enough.”
He glanced around the room, his gaze scrutinizing everything from the ceiling to the floor and everything in between. “Let’s start here in the kitchen, head outside to see what needs to be done there, then work our way up to the second level.”
She stated the obvious problems in the kitchen. “The linoleum and Formica countertops are cracked and torn and need to be redone, and that back screen door is rotting around the hinges, so I’d like to get that replaced, too.”
“That’s easy enough.” He measured the length of the countertops, input the figures on his estimate form, then squatted down and peeled back a corner of the old linoleum covering the floor. “You’ve got hardwood floors beneath all this. If you had them refinished, it would match beautifully with the rest of the downstairs.”
She was surprised to find out that her grandmother had covered up the beautiful wood. “That would look great.”
From there, they headed out the back door and assessed the damage on the outside of the house. Morgan told her he’d hire some teenage boys to clean up the yard and rotten peaches, and plant a few rose bushes around the front to make the place more appealing to the eye of a prospective buyer. The planks along the porch needed to be replaced, along with the front stairs that threatened to collapse beneath Morgan’s weight. The old, cracked and peeling paint on the house and along the trim needed to be sanded and restored to its former luster and beauty.
Back inside, they went from room to room, noting problems and concerns, which included a new banister, the plumbing in the third bathroom upstairs that was leaking, a few electrical issues, and ancient light fixtures that needed to be upgraded. Just like the outside of the house, he told her that a fresh coat of paint would go a long way in brightening up the interior of the house and make it more inviting.
Lastly, they ended up in her bedroom, and with Morgan standing close beside her she was swamped with instantaneous awareness and provocative memories of the times the two of them had sex on her bed. Her mind conjured up the way they’d looked together, with her legs wrapped tight around his hips, her fingers digging into the muscled flesh along his back, and her body eager and straining beneath the heat and hardness of his.
She cleared her throat before one of those telltale groans could escape and give Morgan too much insight into her lustful thoughts, and walked to the bedroom window. She unlatched it and gave it a tug, but it wouldn’t budge.
She released a frustrated sigh. “This window is stuck and won’t open, no matter how hard I try. It would be nice to get it to work again so I can have some fresh air at night.”
He set his tablet on the bed before coming up next to her and giving it a hard, upward jerk. With a crackling, peeling sound the wooden casing came loose and separated from the frame, allowing the window to open about a foot and a half before it came to a stop again.
She rolled her eyes. It figured he’d be able to open it so effortlessly after she’d been struggling to do it on her own. “I guess those muscles of yours come in handy after all, don’t they?”
He just laughed as he examined the tracking along the sides of the window. “It looks like the wood around the frame has swelled from dampness and rain and not being used often enough. A bit of shaving and resealing along the edges ought to make it as good as new.”
He leaned out the window to check the condition of the outer frame, and when he came back inside he was chuckling.
“What’s so funny?” she asked, unable to figure out what he’d found so entertaining.
He shook his head, though there was a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Nothing.”
She didn’t believe him. “It was obviously something.”
He propped his hands on his waist and hesitated a moment before sharing what had amused him. “Remember the time we ditched school and spent the day up here in your room?”
A quiver surged through her. Oh, yeah, she remembered vividly. With her grandmother spending the day with a friend shopping in Atlanta, it had been an afternoon indulging in sexual decadence and forbidden pleasures for her and Morgan.
Still, she didn’t get the joke. “And you find that memory funny?”
“No, I find it damn arousing,” he said, his drawl deep and rich and seductive. “But what we did up here together wasn’t what I was laughing at. I was thinking about how your grandmother came home earlier than you’d expected and when we heard her calling your name from downstairs you completely panicked.”
Her eyes widened as the recollection poured through her mind, thrusting her back into the past. Fearful of what would happen if her grandmother found her and Morgan together, she’d pushed him out of her bed, whispering frantically for him to put on his clothes and go while she’d tossed on her own blouse and shorts. But the only way out of the room without getting caught was the window, and they both knew that was the exit he’d have to take.
When her grandmother’s voice echoed up the stairway, Tess had pushed a half-dressed Morgan toward the window and shoved him out, hoping to God that he’d be able to use the trellis along the side of the house to help him get down to the ground safely. But that hadn’t happened at all.
A giggle bubbled up into her throat, and she clapped her hand over her mouth to keep it contained.
“Go ahead and laugh.” His eyes danced with the same humor tickling through her. “You didn’t even give me the chance to get my pants up around my hips before you were jamming me through the window as fast as you could. So, with my bare ass half hanging out of my jeans, I lost my grip and fell into the flower bed and nearly broke my neck.”
She was laughing now, a deep throated chuckle that matched his. The whole scenario was hysterically funny now, but at the time she remembered the horror of watching him fall two stories down. He’d landed on his side, crawled out of the flower bed, and with a grimace of pain he’d waved at her that he was okay before fleeing the back way toward his parents’ house.
As for her, she’d had just enough time to grab a school math book, plop herself back onto her bed, and pretend she’d fallen asleep while doing homework before her grandmother had opened the door to her room to check on her.
Once her mirth subsided, she wiped the moisture from her eyes. “Oh, God, Morgan, what were we thinking to take that chance fooling around up here that day?”
“I don’t think either of us were thinking.” Lifting his hand, he gently brushed the tips of his fingers along her smooth cheek, then cradled the side of her face in his large palm. “We were feeling all kinds of good stuff, and we lost track of time.”
All traces of laughter and amusement between them faded at that moment. Her face warmed beneath his touch, and she felt herself falling, spiraling straight into the kind of desire and need she hadn’t felt in so, so long.
His gaze locked on hers, and she watched, fascinated, as his eyes darkened and turned to slate. She knew that hot, sexy look of his that reminded her of a male alpha wolf on the prowl. Remembered it well. And it obviously still had the power to delight and excite her.
“Morgan, what are you doing?” Her voice was a croak of sound.
“I believe I’m about to mix business with a little pleasure.” His thumb skimmed across her bottom lip, tugging it open ever so slightly. “The moment I saw you in my workshop yesterday I wanted to kiss you, and since we’ll be working so closely together and I’m constantly distracted by thoughts of kissing you, I figure we might as well get it out of the way now.” He stepped closer, bringing with him an earthy, elemental scent that made her dizzy with want for him. “Do you have a problem with that, sweetheart?”
Her mind told her to tell him yes, she had a huge problem with him putting his lips on hers, because she knew how lost she’d be once he did so. Their business deal didn’t include the kind of pleasure his eyes were promising, but she had intimate knowledge of just how well this man could kiss.
Slow and thorough, and just wet enough to electrify every one of her feminine senses. Soft, deeply erotic kisses that gradually escalated into a fierce and urgent hunger.
His irresistible kisses had been the ones she’d judged all others by—and found each one lacking in comparison.
Her heart beat erratically in her chest. Her breathing deepened, and she had to swallow hard to speak. “No, I don’t have a problem with that. Not at all.”
“Good,” he said, and finally lowered his mouth to hers.