Lust Thy Neighbor (4 page)

"He's not a mutt. He's a yorkie." But she laughed—a soft, contagious noise that left Declan grinning like a fool.

“Yorkie,” he said as if committing it to memory. “Noted.”

She tied a tight knot in the bag and held it up between her thumb and forefinger. "Got a trashcan around here?"

He nodded to the side of the house. “Right around the corner."

"Great." She went and disposed of the mess and her glove, coming back to stand with her hands awkwardly at her side. "Anyway, sorry about that. I'll keep a better eye on Bear."

"Your dog took a steamer on my new lawn, I woke you up early yesterday. Let's call it even. Deal?"

She licked her lips and for a moment, he imagined coming off the porch, snatching her against him, and doing the same, his hand wrapped around her dark hair as he tasted her beautiful mouth.  

"Deal," she finally said softly. They shook on it and, once again, Declan felt the goosebumps forming on the back of her small hand when he covered it with his own. He opened his mouth to speak but then he caught sight of a blond guy pressed against Violet's upstairs window staring down at them.

"Hey, Vi?"

Vi? Declan mentally rolled his eyes as he scrutinized the man observing them from above. He looked to be about his own age, maybe a few years or so younger. Like Jacob mentioned, the guy was good looking. In a filthy rich, I-come-from-old-money kind of way. Dressed in a shirt that could've likely financed the rest of Declan's paint budget, the blond man looked like the type to wine and dine his women at fancy French restaurants before tooling around in his German or Italian sports car.

"Oh Beck,” she sighed and raked her hand through her hair as she rushed on, “this is my neighbor, Declan. Declan, Beckett Caldwell."

Declan couldn't help but cock an eyebrow at the name. Old money indeed. "What’s up?"

"Hello." The other man nodded with a polite smile before turning his attention to her. "Violet, I made reservations for lunch in an hour. We'd better get going.”

"Okay." She waved him away and they watched as Beckett's figure retreated from the window. "Sorry again about the poop." She smiled at Declan, her sooty eyelashes lowering over her big blue eyes. "I'll see you around."

He nodded, feeling the unexplainable urge to try to get her to stay and talk some more, just so he could hear her voice. "Sure."

*

"W
ell, hello there,
neighbor
." Beckett narrowed his green eyes as he surveyed a bare-chested Declan once more.

"Get the hell away from there!" Violet hissed and tried helplessly to drag him away from the open window. "Stop spying on him. He’s going to see us and think we’re stalkers."

“It’s not like we have binoculars on the guy.” He turned and gave her a conspiratorial look, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. “You should, though. Neighbor guy is hot.”

She closed her eyes and tapped her fingers on her hips but conceded to the undeniable fact that her best friend was right, as usual. With his bronze features, unshaven face (God bless no-shave weekends), dark hair, and sinewy muscles, her new neighbor was incredibly handsome. Sexy in a rough, bad boy sort of way. Like he wouldn't be afraid of getting dirt under his nails or finishing a fist fight should that be needed.

She swallowed hard, wondering where that last thought came from.

"Stop ogling him,” she ordered, her voice suddenly hoarse. “I mean it, Beck.”

"Someone should. Speaking of which, what's his deal? Straight? Single?”

She edged her way next to her best friend who had turned back around, his golden head lowered as he peered down at Declan working in his backyard. From her spare bedroom window she had an uninterrupted view of Declan Pierce and his amazing display of ripped, uncovered muscles.

“I don't know,” she said at last. She wanted to add that she didn't care, but that would have been a lie.

"Didn't you ask?"

"Um, that didn't really come up."

"Why not?"

"Beckett." She let out an exasperated sigh. Leave it to Beck to immediately start trying to form a love connection between her and her new neighbor. "He's probably not interested in me like you’re hoping he’ll be."

He turned slowly to look down at her, his mouth set in a hard line. "Why the hell wouldn’t he be interested in you? You're beautiful, smart, and have plenty to offer any man."

She looked away when she heard the intensity in his voice, pretending to be more interested in an untucked corner of the comforter on her guest bed. "Aren’t you obligated to say that because you're my closest friend?”

She started to go but couldn't leave when Beck grabbed her shoulders and tucked his finger beneath her delicate chin, tilting her gaze up to his. He bent slightly so that his face was even closer. "Don't brush it off. Besides, I'm obligated to give you the truth and this is it: You should think about dating again. You’re too amazing not to give it a second chance.”

"No." Something tight and sticky weaved its way through her chest. "I don't think I'm ready yet."

"Don't tell me you still have feelings for Henry?" His voice lowered. “That's not what you're saying, is it?”

"I—I don't know." She faltered, her heart skipping a painful beat at hearing just his name. Even though it had been months since she had last seen him, Henry still had that power over her. Maybe he always would. In the beginning, when she met him, he was everything she wasn't. Tall and gorgeous, with the darkest blue eyes she'd ever seen, Henry was impulsive and extroverted, representing qualities that she found fascinating simply because she didn't possess them. And when he had set his sights on her, it had been wildly exciting to be wanted by that type of man.

The most thrilling part of their relationship had been the chase. They met in a coffee shop one day when the barista mixed up their orders. Violet had received Henry's latte and he took her black coffee. By the time they found out the mistake, he had already started to charm the panties off her. He had smiled and flirted, tenderly brushing a lock of wavy, dark hair out of her eyes. When she announced that she had to leave, he asked her out for dinner. She had started to decline, citing that she didn't know him at all, but for some reason, she heard herself accepting instead.

But when the chase was over, and Henry had caught Violet, they quickly settled into a routine. When her landlord upped the rent on her apartment without very much notice, she had moved into Henry's swanky high-rise building in the heart of Philadelphia. It shamed her to admit, retrospectively, that she loved the luxury. She enjoyed the fancy dinners and the lavish gifts he gave her. And though their chemistry was sizzling at first, it fizzled out at an alarming speed. Still, she had deep feelings for him. When he told her that he loved her, she said it back and meant it. And six months later when he proposed, she accepted with happy tears gleaming in her eyes.

What kind of woman wouldn't want to marry a man like Henry Abee?

And then, he obliterated her heart.

"Oh damn, we're going to be late." Beck’s voice jarred her away from her memories as his feet retreated out of the bedroom and down the stairs. "They have this steak I’ve been wanting to try after I saw it on Food Network. Hurry up! I'll buy you dessert too. Double chocolate fudge brownie. Death by chocolate—even better than a good lay."

“If you say so, friend,” Violet said under her breath before joining him downstairs.

D
eclan stood at the stove, armed with a spatula and a bowlful of pancake batter. The first batch hadn't turned out right, which was the moment he realized that he had forgotten half the ingredients. The second one seemed to be doing better, rising like it should but even then they were lopsided and kind of pathetic looking.

He flipped the pancakes over, one at a time. The third one landed halfway on top of the second and he tried to scoot it over, leaving a streaky mess of batter instead. He winced. God, if it didn’t involve a grill, he was horrible at cooking. Glancing at the microwave clock that read seven fifteen, he yelled in the general direction of the stairs, "Jake! Get up and get dressed! Hurry up."

"I'm coming, I'm coming." His brother rushed down the steps, shrugging his shirt over his head.

"Sit. How many do you want?"

Tearing off the sales tag dangling beneath the armpit of his new shirt, Jacob made a face at Declan’s attempt at pancakes and shook his head. "No, I don't think I can eat anything."

He turned and caught a glimpse of his brother's pale face. "What's wrong, you sick?"

"No."

"Nervous about school?"

Thinning his eyes into tight slits, Jacob fisted his hands then relaxed them. "What the hell do you think?”

"Hey." He tossed the spatula down on the island, not caring about the mess, and gave his brother’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. He didn’t know what else to do. "I swear it’s gonna be fine."

"You don't know that." Jacob grabbed the spatula and got up to flip the pancakes himself. "You suck at cooking pancakes, dude. Besides, Mom and Dad once told me you hated high school. What if it's, I don't know, genetic or something?"

He tried to keep from smiling, but he couldn't help himself. "I don't think that kind of thing is genetic. That stupid cowlick we both have in the front of our head is. And our weird ears, but this?” He shook his head. “Never. I don't think you can inherit a hatred for high school. And besides, you're smart. You got that from me." Declan smirked when Jacob looked up to the ceiling and shook his head.

When his brother lowered his face to the griddle, it had finally split into a tiny semblance of a smile. "Dad always said I got your brains without the attitude."

"Yeah, well he wouldn't say that if he saw you now." As soon as he said those words, he regretted them and winced. He hadn't meant to remind Jacob that their parents wouldn't be there to see his first day of high school and suddenly he felt like an epic ass. "Sorry. Didn't mean to bring that up."

Jacob lifted his shoulder and stared down at the blobs of pancakes. "No big deal. It's true. They're not here."

"Still sucks to be reminded." The first day of high school was a major milestone for his brother, and he wanted to make the most of it. He took the spatula out of Jake’s hand and nodded to one of the stools at the center island. "Sit down and eat. We have a half an hour before I drop you off."

"I can walk."

"No, I'll drive you." Bringing over two plates of pancakes loaded with butter and syrup, he gestured with his chin for Jacob to eat. "But you're going to have to walk home. I won't be home until five-thirty."

"Fine."

"Maybe you can think about doing a sport after school."

Jacob lifted a sardonic brow that reminded him so much of their dad. And himself. "A Pierce playing on an organized team? Has hell officially frozen over?”

"Stranger things have happened."

"I don't think so. I suck at throwing any kind of ball. Dad put me in baseball that one year l, and I spent more time with concussions than I did actually playing."As if to prove his point, he scrubbed his hand over the back of his head, tousling his shaggy hair even further.

“Then you can run and do track. Or swim." A thought entered his head and Declan leaned close to his brother. "Hey, you love the water. You and Dad used to surf all the time. Maybe you can do water polo or something?"

"I don't know."

"Think about it, okay?" he asked softly.

He wanted Jacob to be engaged in something. There were times when they were home and he would peek into Jacob's room to see his brother sprawled on his bed, wearing a pair of headphones with a book or magazine in his hands. It was eerie; seeing Jacob sometimes was like a window into his own past. But now that he was older, Declan knew that it wasn't healthy for Jacob to retreat so much from the world. Their old therapist in New York had gently suggested that he get his brother involved in something that didn't revolve around the two of them. Dr. Gardner had said that getting Jacob passionate about other things would help him from dwelling on their parents’ death.

"I packed you a lunch. It's in the fridge."

Jacob got up and retrieved it, pulling out a brown paper bag. He pawed through the contents, pulling out a package of vegetables. "Where's the dip?"

"Isn't it included in the package?"

"Nope."

"Oh." Declan looked helpless for a moment. "Sorry."

"Aww, man." Jacob dragged out the last word in disgust. "I don't want it."

Declan fought the urge to roll his eyes at the dramatics, reminding himself that today would be hard on his little brother. "Here, grab a zip lock baggie. Okay, open it." He pulled out a container of ranch salad dressing from the kitchen door and squeezed a healthy dollop right into the bag. "There. Dip."

Jacob squished the liquid around, looking at it as if it were a gift from Neighbor Lady's dog rather than an edible condiment. "That is so fucking gross."

"Hey! Watch your mouth."

"Like you do." He rolled his eyes. “Your double standards blow.”

"Mom would've washed your mouth out with soap if she heard you. And I didn't talk like that until I was out of the house and in college. Even then, Mom would smack the hell out of me if I did it when I was home. You were always following me around repeating everything I said."

Jacob chose not to answer, but he crossed his arms over his chest, slammed the bag of ranch into the trash can, and gave his brother a hard look. "Are you ready to go or not?"

Declan grabbed his travel mug and slung his laptop bag over his shoulder. Arguing with his brother right now would be a losing battle, and he was not ready to start a war on Jake’s first day of school. “Got your stuff? Your backpack? And all that stuff we bought the other day? Good."

*

V
iolet watched as her last period freshman class began to file out into the hallway. She’d been teaching high school for five years—since right after her twenty-fourth birthday—and some things never changed. Her students might decide that it was cool one year to have baggy pants and tight, squeeze-me-until-I-suffocate skinny jeans the next year, but they could never get out of class fast enough when the last bell rang.