Neighborly Complications (Stories of Serendipity #1) (12 page)

A slow grin warmed her to her toes. “So, you didn’t come over today to ask me to ask you out again?”

“Well, yes…”

He scratched his chin with a long rough finger, affecting deep thought. “And why did you do that, again?”

“I-I was trying to decide what these feelings were.” She wasn’t sure she liked where this was going.

“And have you?” His gaze on her sharpened.

She might as well be honest. “I feel lust for sure.” She regretted the words as soon as she saw his pupils dilate, as his eyes darkened with ill-concealed desire. She hurriedly continued on in an effort to quench whatever illicit thoughts he was thinking as his eyes roamed her face. “But there’s more to it. I just wanted to make sure that everything wasn’t just an attempt at being neighborly.”

His mouth opened. “Neighborly?”

She nodded, mortified at the words that had spilled out of her mouth. What the hell did she mean by that?

“So you thought I was being neighborly when I pulled you out of that old well?”

“Well, yeah. I did.”

He nodded. “Fair enough. Did you think I was being neighborly when I heard you scream inside your house, and ran to see what was wrong?”

She laughed in spite of herself. “Well, at the time, if you recall, I thought you were the one trying to scare me. So no I didn’t think you were being neighborly. I thought you were a stalker.”

“What about the peep-show?” His voice had gotten husky and reminded her again of bourbon — deep and warm. “Was that just being
neighborly
?”

Claire felt herself blush again and cursed her fair complexion for it. “I don’t know why I did that.”

His voice dropped again, and he leaned closer his breath tickling her ear. “Was I being neighborly at the bar? When we kissed in my kitchen?”

Claire felt her body flush, and her voice came out sounding strangled. “I don’t know what that was.”

“How about the first time we met? When you sucked on my…”

The tenacious hold she had on her emotional stability was slipping. “Please! I don’t know what comes over me when I’m around you. Yes, I’m attracted to you. I would think that much is obvious, but I am not sold on pursuing a relationship with you. You’re too…” She lost the words that she was looking for when she looked at him. His eyes were penetrating, so intense. Jesus, his eyes were like Rolo candies. “Too…”

“Too what, Claire?” His voice was still just as soft as butter.

“Too intense.” She said in a whisper, her voice suddenly lost to her.

He leaned back. “Ah.” As if that explained everything.

“What?” She asked.

“You can’t handle the chemistry.” He said simply.

“What chemistry?”

“The reason you do the things you do, when you are around me, is because we have chemistry. An extremely strong sexual attraction.” He lingered on the word sexual, drawing it out longer than it needed to be. “I’ve felt it too.”

Claire was speechless. He hadn’t touched her the whole time they’d been sitting here, but for some reason, she felt little tingles and shivers running all over her body. She couldn’t tell if it was from his proximity, his voice, the way he looked, or what. But she felt it.

“I’ve never done any of this stuff with men.” She sat up and looked him squarely in the eyes. “I usually get to know men first. I don’t just jump into bed with them.” She looked down at her lap, knowing she was lying. That’s exactly what she did, and why nothing ever worked. “I’m not really comfortable with you. And what we’ve…” She waved her hands around, flustered. “Done together.”

“Because I’m too intense?”

“No. Because you’re too arrogant. You’ve assumed something about me since the day we met, and I’m not that kind of girl.”

“I know you’re not. That’s part of the draw. And I haven’t assumed anything.”

“Yes, you have. The way you were just sitting by your window that night, watching for me to come out of the shower. You were assuming something there. And the way you touched me at the bar. And the way you kiss me, assuming I’ll respond.”

He sighed. “You’re right. I was assuming you forgot about the curtains. I was tired of avoiding the view; I regret the night at the bar. I gave you the wrong impression about me that night. I don’t usually do things like that, and I’m sorry. But as much as I regret it, I would do it again.” His eyes scoured her body.

“Why would you do it again if you regret it?”

He didn’t say anything for a long time, and she watched him as his gaze travelled from her face down to her toes, blazing a trail of heat the entire way. “Because the feel of you climaxing around my fingers and the sound of your stifled moans is a memory I will take to my grave.”

She turned away from him, unable to take feeling his gaze on her. “I’m sorry about all of this.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m afraid I’ve given you the wrong impression of me. I’m not like this. I’m not a…tease.”

“It’s the chemistry, the only thing left to do is to figure out what we’re going to do about it.”

Claire was exasperated. Couldn’t they just date like normal people? Was she even capable?

They watched the rest of the movie in silence, Claire intensely aware of his periodical glances turning to lingering stares. She ignored them, pointedly, pretending to be entranced in the movie that she had seen dozens of times, acutely conscious of his every move.

When the movie was over, they silently gathered everything together, Claire folding the quilt, before they made their way to the truck.

“I’ll take you home, but I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The promise in the statement wasn’t lost on her, and she tried to ignore it. She’d satisfied her desire to go on a date with Max. But she still wanted more, even though she knew there was so much history against them. There was something about him that called to her though. Something primal, a need she couldn’t name. But she wasn’t willing to go there just yet.

A
s soon as they pulled up in front of the house, Claire knew something was wrong. Her first clue was that all of the lights were on, and a sinking feeling settled in her stomach. Her second clue was the front door was wide open, and she started to panic. She opened the door to the truck and threw herself across the lawn.

“Wait, Claire!” She could hear Max’s words, but she was ignoring them. His boots pounded the ground behind her.

A sob ripped through her throat as she went inside the house to find destruction everywhere. Somebody had broken into her house and used a sledgehammer of sorts to pound giant holes in the sheet rock of the walls. They had used a crow bar to rip molding down from around the doors. They had yanked the pocket doors out of the walls. In short, they destroyed her house.

Claire stomped through her home, seeing evidence in each room of more and more destruction, Max at her heels.

“Claire, wait.” He grabbed her arm, but she shook him off. “Honey, look at me.”

She spun to face him. “What?”

“Let me make sure that no one’s still here before you go off half-cocked, okay?”

Claire was fighting back burning tears of rage, trembling uncontrollably. “Who would do this? Who would destroy my house like this? I don’t have anything.” She looked around at the mess around her. “And now, what little I do have is ruined.” Her voice had risen to a hysterical shriek.

Max pulled her into an embrace, stroking her back. “It’s okay. I’ll help you fix it, if you’ll let me.”

She couldn’t help herself. As much as she wanted to hate this man, this man who turned her insides to mush, who melted her resolutions into pools of desire, who scoffed in the face of her independence…she just couldn’t do it. Everything he had done, he’d done
for
her, to be nice to her. And now, he was holding her, making her feel safe, protecting her. She cried.

It wasn’t a dainty little weeping cry, either. Claire let loose loud wracking sobs, full of snot and drool, completely ruining the front of his shirt. But he didn’t seem to mind. He continued holding her, stroking her back, until eventually her sobs subsided, and she could breathe again.

“Can I look around the house? Just to make sure that whoever did this is gone? Please Claire?” She nodded her head, not ready for him to let go of her. “Do you want to come with me? Or do you want to stay here?”

“Come with you,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

“Okay. Come on, then.” He grasped her hand in his, and grabbing a piece of a two-by-four that had been wrenched from the wall, he led her from room to room, checking behind doors and in closets, until he was satisfied that they were alone. Back downstairs in the kitchen, he looked at her.

“I would like to stay here the night. In case they come back.”

“They’re not coming back, Max. Go home.”

“I won’t stay in your room with you. I’ll sleep down here somewhere, but I’m not leaving you in this house alone. Whoever came here tonight, knew you weren’t home. They could be watching the house, waiting for me to leave, for you to go to sleep.”

That declaration sent a chill up Claire’s spine.

“Okay. But you have to sleep on the floor. You’re not sleeping in my bed.” Suddenly, Claire was too depressed to care what he did. She went into the kitchen and grabbed her emergency bottle of brandy that she kept under the sink for…well, for emergencies.

He eyed the bottle, but didn’t say anything about it. “That’s fine with me.”

“I’m going to bed.” She turned to go up the stairs with her bottle.

“Now?”

“Yes, Max. It’s been a long day, and I’m very frustrated, and my house is destroyed, and this is how I deal with things. I get drunk and go to bed. You’ll be lucky if I get out of it tomorrow.” She trudged up the stairs to her room, clutching the brandy to her chest like a security blanket.

As she changed into pajamas, she could hear Max downstairs puttering around. It sounded like he was straightening up, but Claire didn’t care. She was drained.

Her house was destroyed, and she didn’t know what she was going to do about it. The beautiful molding around the ceilings, doors and windows was its best feature, and now all of it had been ripped down. And not ripped down well, at all. It had been torn apart, as if whoever did it was making sure that they weren’t hollow or something.

And the holes in the walls…Claire didn’t know how to fix that. Not that she knew how to fix the molding either.

Shit.

She chugged two swigs from the brandy bottle, almost choking on the harsh burn in her throat, but relishing the fire heating her belly. The third swig, she swished around her mouth a little before sending it to her stomach with the rest, willing her mind to sink into oblivion.

She was now worse off than she had been when she moved here. All of Uncle Eddie’s inheritance had gone into repairs on the house. And now all of her repairs had to be re-done, and then some. What little money she had left from Uncle Eddie’s estate was supposed to last her a few months, at least. Not fix up vandals’ destruction. Another sob escaped from her throat.

A quiet knock sounded on her door. Max’s voice followed, softly. “Claire? Are you alright?”

“Yes.”

He opened the door and stood in the doorway watching her.

She sighed. She just wanted to be left alone. “What do you want, Max?”

His eyes roamed her pajama-clad body lying in bed, landing on the bottle between her legs. “Um…I just wanted to make sure you were going to be okay up here.”

“I’m fine. I’m all tucked in, ready for bed. I’m just thinking, that’s all.” Trying not to think was more along her agenda, but it wasn’t working. Her thoughts had gone into overdrive, and she couldn’t stop them swirling around her brain like mad little bumper cars. She took another swig from her beloved bottle.

“What about?”

“Thoughts. Thoughts are things that hang out inside my head. If I wanted to tell you about them, I would say, ‘Hey Max! I just had a thought!’ But I didn’t, so if you don’t mind…” Reassured by the slight slurring she heard in her words, she took another swig from the bottle, willing him to go away, wondering why she was being such a bitch.

“Okay. Uh, do you have any extra blankets?”

She turned her head to look at him, still standing in her doorway. He was leaning against it tensely, arms crossed. His eyes held a look of concern for her, and he looked genuine. Suddenly she had a pang of guilt in her gut. Everything about him was so damned real. He didn’t put up facades for her to figure out. And what had she done? She had done nothing but send this man mixed signals. She had been bitching at him nonstop but throwing herself at him at the same time. A lesser man would have run screaming. She watched him over the top of the bottle as she took another drink.

But he was still here. And now her head felt really heavy. Thank god. Maybe now she could pass out into oblivion.

“I’m sorry, Max.”

Surprise lit his features. “For what?”

“For being such a bitch. You don’t deserve the way I’ve treated you these past couple of days. You’ve been nothing but nice to me, and I’ve just crabbed on you every chance I got.”

He straightened in the doorway and walked over to her, sitting on the side of her bed. She scooted over to make more room for his enormous frame.

His hand stroked her leg through the covers. “I kind of like you ‘crabbing on me.’”

“What on earth for?” The brandy was catching up. She almost couldn’t understand herself. Making a mental note not to say anything stupid, she made an effort to pay close attention to his words, but she kept zeroing in on his face. So pretty…

She repressed the urge to pet him.

A mischievous grin spread his face wide. “I like feisty women.” Sobering a little, he stroked her shoulder, softly. “What did he do to you, Claire?”

“What?”

“You act like you’re gun-shy about men. I know you probably think I’ll use you to get this house or the gold or whatever, and I just wonder who hurt you so bad that you’re willing to think the worst of me?”

She remembered that she was going to tell him all of this sometime tonight. She shifted in the bed to look at him. “You want the long version or the short one?” Suddenly, she felt chatty, and hoped he’d take the long version. She needed to rant, and he needed to know.