No Flowers Required Read online

  “The water smells?” He was smiling at her, obviously amused by her high jump when her cat slunk past her ankles.

  “Yes. Like chlorine. Can’t you still smell it in here?”

  He leaned closer and drew in a slow breath, his nostrils flaring. “Nope. All I smell are flowers. Lavender, I think. Is that your shampoo?”

  “It’s a freesia blend, with a hint of lavender. Not shampoo. It’s a body cream.” For inexplicable reasons, her voice dipped embarrassingly on cream, and she cleared her throat.

  “It’s nice.” He touched her skirt, so lightly she barely registered the gesture. “Flowers suit you. You’re delicate.”

  She scoffed. “Delicate? Me? I drink Coors and watch football. I run my own business and I’ve even been known to dance on tables when properly motivated.”

  “And that means you’re not delicate?”

  “Delicate women need someone to take care of them.” She thought of her spider episode. Sure, it would’ve been nice to have a guy around to get rid of the thing, but she could do it herself. Though she hadn’t. Yet. “I don’t.”

  He jutted his chin toward her sink. “So you could fix that, if you chose.”

  “Sure.” She propped her hands on her hips as he moved slightly closer. “I can do anything I put my mind to.”

  “Really.” More of the distance between them disappeared. Did he realize he was about to stomp on her boots? And her toes? But she had ten of them, so surely she could spare a few.

  His eyes were blue, she noted a little dizzily. This close, they were the shade of the center of an anemone. The color fanned out from his pupils and got lighter at the edges, though that visual effect might’ve been a result of the fumes. They were probably also to blame for her sudden urge to plant her hands on his broad chest and haul him in for a kiss.

  Alexa grimaced at her train of thoughts. Clearly she was now suffering from stress-based arousal transference.

  A well-known sexual phenomenon, she was sure.

  “I like a woman who doesn’t stand around and demand immediate service.”

  She didn’t reply at first, because she kind of had. But this wasn’t her area of expertise, and she’d had a rough day, the cherry on top of a rough year. When it came to flowers, she had it all under control. Except lately, though she had a plan to handle that.

  Plans helped make negotiating life easier. Even her currently nonexistent sex life could benefit.

  “There’s nothing wrong with having high expectations,” she said, firming her voice against its insistent wobble. That wobble hadn’t been there before the last few months, and she hated it. “Just look around this place. The rates were decent and I own Divine Flowers, so I figured the building would be okay. And it’s not. There are bugs in the closet and the AC’s crappy and—”

  He glanced past her. “I like your beaded curtain.”

  She frowned. “It’s tacky as hell, but I didn’t have anything better to hang up.”

  “The bed’s more important than the wall hangings anyway, don’t you think?”

  He wasn’t looking at her, just studying the apartment. As if he were considering her space and what could be done with it. “I have an air mattress,” she said in a low voice, wondering if somehow he’d missed that aspect of her accommodations.

  “Is it comfortable?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Because I could probably come up with something better—”

  Finally, a segue from her pity party for two into a possible sex fiesta. She wet her lips. “Are you offering me yours?”

  A smile curved his insolent mouth. Clearly the question didn’t shock him. Maybe strange women propositioned him daily. A man who came with such sturdy tools couldn’t be that easy to find. She should know. “Would you accept if I did?”

  Would she? It was one thing to consider doing something crazy. Something else to go for it.

  “The air mattress is okay,” she muttered. So close and yet so far. Wuss. “Not that it matters. This is just temporary. Barely a pit stop.”

  “Oh yeah? On your way to bigger and better places?”

  Though it took effort, she held his gaze as she gave him a firm nod. She’d probably just imagined that quiver in her chin. He certainly couldn’t have seen it.

  “You know, I think we might just get along, Alexa Conroy.” She had only a moment to panic at his knowledge of her full name—first which apartment was hers, now her name, what was next?—before he flashed a dazzling grin that bumped up his looks from intriguing to holy hell, Batman, too bad these panties aren’t flame-retardant.

  When he knelt to open his toolbox, she smothered a sigh. What hands he had on him.

  God, she was losing it. Now hands were turning her on. If the sex bus didn’t make a stop in her valley soon, she might just lower her standards to the level of a whiskey fix. As in, she wouldn’t remember the guy once the whiskey wore off. Not that she’d ever done that, but first time for everything.

  As if he could hear her thoughts, his smile grew. “Now, about that leak of yours…”

  Unless Dillon was mistaken, the princess wanted more worked on than her pipes.

  He still hadn’t quite figured out why she was there. Why would someone wearing designer clothes and with a bunch of pricey furniture rent a rundown studio apartment? Apparently she planned to slum it while she drew her haughtiness around her like a cloak full of holes.

  No wonder she seemed so tense.

  Hell, if she was stressed now, wait until she found out the guy she’d been flirting with not only wasn’t the plumber, but actually owned this building and several other income properties in downtown Haven.

  More accurately, his parents owned them, but that was virtually the same thing since he and his brother, Cory, were already in the process of taking over more of their family’s holdings while their parents prepared for early retirement. Those holdings included the aforementioned income properties and the chain of Value Hardware stores throughout Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and Ohio his parents had grown from two stores to ten.

  Not that Dillon wanted to take over anything. Not that he held one whit of interest in being some corporate whiz kid. That was his brother’s excuse for megalomania. Cory’s latest project to take over the world included a lifestyle magazine that would supposedly solidify Value Hardware’s position in the home beautification business. The guy probably wouldn’t stop until the letters VH were embroidered on every luxe bamboo doormat across America.

  He took a perverse pleasure in offering his seeming compliance with most of his older brother’s plans, and then twisting them from the inside out. That included making whatever upgrades were needed to their rental properties—and not just the bare minimums either. The tenants would appreciate the new floors and improved air-conditioning, even if Cory suggested cutting corners. He had a role in the family, in the business, and he didn’t shirk his duty. Or skimp on putting his wallet where his mouth was.

  “Is it fixed yet?” Alexa demanded, leaning forward so that her mile-long dark hair spilled over her shoulders. She’d taken it down a little while ago, and he’d caught himself fantasizing about dragging his fingers through the tumbled brown strands more than once. Preferably while sampling her pouty raspberry lips.

  “Not yet. I’ll let you know.”

  Her indignant huff of breath made him grin. She’d asked several times already. He should find her annoying. That he didn’t probably said something detrimental about his character. But along with the cute nose wrinkle she got, she had sad eyes. There was more to Alexa Conroy than what was on the surface, and already he wanted to peel back the layers.

  “Are you in a hurry or something?” he asked, drawing his attention from her to the sink.

  “I just don’t like leaving my store in other people’s care for too long.”

  “Because you don’t trust them?”

  “No, because it’s my responsibility, not theirs.” When he stole another glimpse of her, her expression had turned determined
. She might’ve been willing to flirt before, but now that he hadn’t managed to work miracles in minutes, she was all business.

  Except for those lingering looks she occasionally coasted down his body…

  Maybe that was why he was enjoying playing the part Alexa had so neatly slotted him into. Something about being in her bathroom, fixing stuff while she watched, felt right. It was also the most enjoyment he’d had in too long to remember.

  Dillon James, notorious ladies’ man, would have no trouble charming her into bed, and he probably wouldn’t have a whole lot of remorse, either. But that wasn’t who he was in Alexa’s eyes. Which was exactly the problem—she didn’t know the score.

  He’d just fix her sink and get gone, no matter what naughty messages her now-bare, lilac-tipped toes wiggled his way as she bounced one long shapely leg over the other from her perch on the toilet. A thin chain encircled her narrow ankle, dangling charms. Purple, of course. That was her signature color. Just as that aromatic lotion she’d talked about was apparently her signature scent.

  And holy shit, was it hot.

  Not that it made one whit of difference. Despite her flashing blue eyes, stubborn backbone, and occasionally snide remarks, he wasn’t about to blur the lines. He knew she owned the store on the first floor—and he may or may not have spent time accidentally painting windowsills in her apartment while she’d been hanging a potted arrangement from the light post in front of the building—but she had to be struggling financially if she’d moved in to the Rison.

  He wasn’t going to take advantage of her situation. Only a real creep would use her bad day as an opportunity to get laid.

  Or a guy who hasn’t had sex in months.

  “Are you a licensed plumber?”

  “Are you a licensed florist?” He didn’t look her way, mainly because he didn’t need the distraction. Or the encouragement to do really bad things he shouldn’t be considering.

  “Your evasiveness isn’t calming my concerns.”

  “Neither is yours. What if I need flowers? How can I be sure you know your stuff?”

  “Take a look at my shop,” she snapped.

  He grinned and reached for another wrench. “Take a look at my tools.” When she gusted out a sigh, he relented. “Yes, I’ve taken classes. I have the appropriate certifications for all the work I do on this building. I also have good references.”

  But she wouldn’t be getting them from him, unless she intended to meet his parents for reasons that extended beyond skilled plumbing work. And that wouldn’t be happening.

  Mercifully she stayed quiet for several minutes. When she wasn’t talking, he didn’t have to block out the way his mind wanted to superimpose her husky voice saying inappropriate things, preferably while they were naked. “Almost done?”

  “Not yet,” he said cheerfully, wiping his grimy hands on the rag he’d unearthed from his tool kit.

  “Do you take this long with everything or just when you’re playing with pipes?”

  Oh yeah, he couldn’t resist that one.

  He leaned out from under the sink and cocked his head, letting his gaze roam her face as if he had all the time in the world to learn her with his eyes. “I take as much time as a project needs.” He let his voice drop. “Patience pays off in ways you probably can’t imagine.”

  As he’d hoped, her lips parted. “Sometimes fast is good enough,” she said, her chest rising and falling with her breaths. Her nipples tightened, just enough to poke through her top.

  Just enough to make him harder than the wrench he gripped in his fist.

  “Depends what we’re talking about. I like to make sure I do a thorough job.” He lowered his gaze to her chest for barely an instant. “Though I can’t deny some are worthy of repeats.” At her hiss of breath, he flashed her a grin. “Ah well. Back to work.”

  “Jerk,” she mumbled.

  Her declaration garnered her a raised brow. “Problem?”

  “No.” She shook her head so vehemently his grin grew. “None at all.”

  Ah, he’d flustered her. Somehow he didn’t think that happened often. What would she do if he amped their play up a notch? “You’ve given me an idea. Since you’re so competent, I bet you could help me with this next part.”

  “Me?” She straightened and the lust drained from her eyes. “Of course I could. What do you need?”

  He pointed to the tool kit. “Grab that wrench there.” When she didn’t move, he smiled and pointed to the right tool. He fully expected her to roll her eyes, but she looked interested. Fascinated even.

  Damn, her quick brain turned him on almost as much as her ankle bracelet. Maybe more.

  “What do I do with it?”

  “First I need to take off the knob on the faucet.” He removed it and set it aside, then wrapped the rag around the spout. “C’mere.”

  She put up her hair in a quick knot, then stood next to him, her head bent, mouth pursed. “Now what?”

  “We’re going to remove this valve, so that I can see if the washer’s in good shape.”

  Barely blinking, she nodded. “Okay.”

  “You can breathe. There are no lives at stake here, Alexa, I promise.”

  She jerked her chin at him. “Just do your thing, wise guy.”

  “Nope, you’re doing it.” With his free hand, he motioned to the wrench she’d picked up and grasped like a weapon. “I’m holding the spout steady, so you unscrew the washer. Okay?”

  She leaned in and did as he asked, hesitantly turning it clockwise. A curl fell in her eyes and she blew it away, her focus so intent she didn’t realize at first she was making the washer tighter, not looser.

  He shifted behind her and placed his arm next hers to guide her hand in the opposite direction. His stomach tightened at the first contact of their skin. She smelled like summer—flowers, and sunshine, and yes, even chlorine—and he wanted to tilt his hips forward and bury his face in her hair. Not bound tightly as it was now, but loosened around her shoulders so he could use it for leverage when he—

  “Oops, sorry. I was doing it wrong. Like—” She glanced over her shoulder and broke off, her question ending in a hot exhale. Her eyes narrowed as he closed his fingers over hers on the wrench. “Like this?” she asked, her voice noticeably lower. Huskier.

  “Just like that. Slow and easy.” He leaned in to adjust her grip and she stiffened, her curvaceous body going rigid between him and the sink.

  That wasn’t all that was rigid right now. Not even close.

  “How long do I do this?” she asked breathlessly, arching just enough to bring her bottom hard against his erection.

  He barely muffled an oath and leaned in closer, just enough that she made a noise in her throat he almost thought he’d imagined. Then she did it again. A sigh. A gasp. Some mixture of the two. He shut his eyes and gritted out, “Until I say stop.”

  “But I think—” She broke off and shifted restlessly against him. Bringing them flush together and wiping away the last of his good intentions.

  When he flexed his hips, her hand spasmed and she whimpered as the loosened piece slipped off and fell into the bowl. He let go of the spout and stepped around her, thankfully breaking the contact of their bodies, then snatched up the part.

  Damn, that had been close. Too close.

  Not nearly close enough.

  He moved to her side, breathing hard. Trying to remember he had ethics, somewhere down deep beneath the need churning in his gut. He cast a sideways glance at her, and they tipped toward each other like bowling pins pulled by magnets. Her lips were so close, a breath away. If he leaned in, if he just could taste her once—

  At the last second, he jerked back. Christ. Her pupils were dilated, her lips parted. She’d been ready for that kiss. Hell, she’d wanted it too.

  In another second, he would’ve been in the middle of the best mistake of his life.

  “Now what?” she whispered.

  Dumbly, he glanced down at the part he held. What was its
purpose again? Sink. Water flowing. Release.

  Shit.

  “Washer looks good,” he said, as he rushed to put everything to rights before his shaking fingers gave him away. “Turns out I just need a part from the hardware store. Everything else is fine. I’d be happy to go get it and take care of this for you.”

  Operative word being “go.” He’d just come way too close to crossing the line. As much as he wanted to taste her, he couldn’t. Not until she knew he wasn’t just the plumber. Not when she’d knocked him so far off his game he couldn’t see straight and she didn’t even know his name.

  “The store?” she echoed, shutting her eyes as if she needed a moment. He understood the feeling. She took a deep breath then opened her eyes. Their sheer power nailed him square in the chest. “What store would you get the part from?”

  He fought to get his brain back in gear as he rubbed his scruffy chin. “Uh, Haven’s only hardware store. Val—”

  She set aside the wrench and crossed her arms over her chest, a move she repeated with alarming frequency. It was probably a minor miracle she didn’t have a sign across her cleavage declaring No Trespassing.

  Clearly, the moment they’d shared over the sink was already ancient history.

  “Don’t say it.” She dropped back down on the toilet, her shoulders slumping. “You are not to speak that name within these walls.”

  Now this was interesting. He cocked his head, waiting for her to explain herself. Had she gotten bad service at his parents’ store or something? Maybe gotten a batch of bad paint? Even so, why would that make her face redden and her eyes burn? “You going to elaborate?”

  “Nothing to say.” Her crossed arms came up again. Naturally. “I’m just not fond of that store. At all. In fact, I think it sucks mule testicles.”

  He coughed and thumped his fist on his chest to get the oxygen moving again. “Haven’t heard that expression before.”

  “It fits.” She frowned and fingered the short silver chain around her neck. A long, milky stone hung from the center, drawing his gaze where it had no business going. He swiftly aimed his focus back on her face and wished he hadn’t. Her direct eyes were even more dangerous than the rest of her. “I’d prefer you drive to Renault to get the part. I realize that would take longer.”