Falling for You: An Enemies to Lovers Romance Page 3

  “Wait. Carson—”

  When she comes around the corner, she nearly runs into me. Her breath rushes out. “Sorry,” she says.

  “I’m not.”

  She rolls her eyes, but I swear her cheeks flush. Damn, she’s cute when she’s flustered.

  “What?” I say. “You above a little healthy flirting?”

  “With you? Absolutely. I know your type.”

  “Is that so?”

  “You could charm the pants off a nun to get what you want.”

  I laugh out loud. “I don’t think nuns wear pants.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I don’t.”

  She lifts her hands. “Were you going to show me something?”

  I turn to the bathroom, though what I really want is for her to explain her comment. I have a type? What? Does she think I’m a player? Okay, yeah, I used to be. And yeah, I know the dimple is charming—or at least, I’ve heard that from women before. But that doesn’t mean I screw women over.

  No, that’s what my ex-girlfriend did, and I’m not about that.

  I open the shower door and turn the water on. The pipes moan and groan and it takes a few seconds but then the water runs clear and begins heating up.

  “They turned the water on,” she says, eyeing it dreamily.

  “I’ll even kill that spider for you before you get it.” I laugh when her hand grasps my arm. “Just kidding. No spider.”

  She smacks my shoulder. “Ass.”

  I laugh and head out of the bathroom. “Get your shower and then get your ass down here for part two.”

  “What’s part two?” she hollers after me.

  “Celebrating.”

  By the time she’s out, I’ve changed and washed my hands. I could use a shower myself, but I’ll grab one after we get back. I need a beer first, and I know Libby wants champagne. Today, we both got something we wanted and there’s no reason not to enjoy the night before we get to work tomorrow.

  I already have a plan on where to start. And if Libby can hold her own, I’ve got half a dozen jobs for her. And if not, I’ll send her out for supplies. Or a few pieces of furniture so we can live like halfway civilized people.

  I hear her footsteps on the stairs before I see her. But when she comes into view, I can’t look away. It’s a skirt this time, something that swishes above her knees and shows off her sexy legs. And hell, that shirt. Low-cut enough to make me uncomfortable below the belt, but modest enough I’m left to imagine a lot. Which manages to make me even hotter.

  I clear my throat and stop staring. “Let’s grab some better bandages while we’re out. For your leg.”

  “While we’re out?”

  I nod. “Let’s walk. I like to look at the houses as I go.”

  She smiles when we reach the door. “I like to do the same thing.”

  Damn. When she does that—just a simple smile—it reminds me of the better times with Denise. Or other girlfriends. The beginning. The good stuff when it’s not a relationship, it’s just the attraction. The thrill of learning about someone new. The moment-to-moment experience.

  I miss that. Already. Sad to say, Denise and I weren’t close there at the end. I figured we’d break up soon because she was getting distant. Little had I known it was because she was getting more than friendly with Kyle.

  “I need a beer,” I say, turning down the sidewalk.

  “Yeah? You regretting your decision already? Need to get drunk to forget about it?” she asks.

  “No regrets here. Just need to forget about other things.”

  “Or other people?”

  I glance over, then nod. “Yeah. Other people.”

  “Well, then, tell me about the houses while we walk.”

  So I do. I explain the historical features of a few houses, and some I think she’ll want to duplicate on her own. Then I tell her where I think we should start with her house so it’ll get done the quickest, and make living there easier on both of us.

  By the time I tick off a whole list of tweaks we can make to the kitchen, we’ve reached Main Street. My stomach grumbles.

  “They have this great sandwich place over here. We can get subs. And the liquor store is next door for our drinks. We can have them back at the house in forty-five minutes and start celebrating.”

  “Let’s make a half-hour,” she says with a grin. “I’ll get the drinks, you get the sandwiches.”

  We split on the sidewalk, but I don’t go inside. Not yet. Instead, I watch her walk to the liquor store, hips swaying, her hair moving in the breeze.

  And suddenly, it hits me that I might have made the biggest mistake I’ve made in a long time.

  Libby is hot. And I just agreed to work with her for the next five months. How the hell am I going to make it a week, let alone five months?

  Hard work. Focus.

  Or…I smile as she vanishes inside the store…

  I can just relax and let whatever happens happen.

  CHAPTER SIX

  LIBBY

  He’s hammering. The sun is barely up and he’s hammering. I’m normally an early riser, but one too many glasses of champagne usually changes my sleeping habits.

  I groan and roll to the side in my sleeping bag. I’ve managed to scoot a few feet to the left so I’m practically smashed against the wall. Yep. The first thing I’m doing when I have a free moment is buying a bed. I don’t care that I have to haul it in here and then back out later this year—I need a bed. I need to be able to sleep. Otherwise I’m not going to be any use to Carson.

  I pull on a pair of sweats and walk downstairs just as the hammering stops.

  He looks over from his spot by the window. “Hey.”

  “Hey. Early morning.”

  He grins and doesn’t look any worse for the wear even though I swear he drank more than me last night. “Figured I’d get an early start and I’d take care of your nemesis.” He points to the hole, which is now covered with another board. “That way there are no more accidents.”

  “That’s a good thing, I guess.” I yawn.

  He laughs. “It’s a good thing if you don’t want to break your neck. But a bad thing because we already know this floor has some problems. We’re going to have to put a new one in.”

  “More work, more money. Yay.”

  “Would coffee help?”

  I frown. “Yes. And that’s one thing I didn’t remember to bring. A coffee pot.”

  “No problem.” He walks over a folding chair and grabs a coffee cup I didn’t see before. “Here.”

  “You got me coffee?”

  He shrugs. “I figured I was going to wake you up with the hammering so I’d better have an apology ready.”

  I sip the coffee and sigh. “Good apology.”

  “You know how to handle a sledgehammer?” he asks after a few moments of silence. “I think you mentioned something about being able to take down walls.”

  I nod. “Yes. You’re going to let me help?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  I straighten my shoulders. He’s right. And besides, I’m the boss. So what I say goes, and if I want to help take down a wall, I get to. “Hell yeah, I can handle a sledgehammer.”

  He grins. “That’s what I thought.”

  And so it goes. I start with the wall and he makes sure our bathroom and the plumbing in the kitchen is functioning so we have the basics. We work on our own projects, but it’s nice to hear someone in another part of the house.

  My house. It feels good to know that Carson is as invested in this as I am.

  He might have fallen in love with this place before I ever knew about it.

  We spend the week doing our own projects, taking time here and there to place our orders for flooring and haul in new sheetrock and refine our plan for the kitchen. I felt like I had a good handle on what I wanted in there until Carson came along.

  He completely changed my entire plan, and it irritates me, but he’s right. His vision of the kitchen makes a
lot more sense than mine.

  It makes cabinets more accessible, and actually adds more counter space. And his idea for the countertops sounds a like it’ll appeal to a lot more buyers.

  Shit. He really knows his stuff.

  After seven days of this, I’m starting to think he’s the kind of guy I need on my team. And also, I need a team.

  I can’t do this all on my own.

  I’m starting to think a live-in handyman is the best thing in the world. Until I walk down to the kitchen on Sunday morning and there are dishes still on the counter. And a dirty skillet on the stove.

  Sure, the stove is so disgusting dousing it in a chemical bath probably wouldn’t help at all, but still. It’s the principle of the thing. I clean up my messes, so Carson should clean up his.

  I begin to clean up the dishes and then stop. No. No way. I’m not doing this. We’re both adults. I can tell him my issue and he’d better clean up his mess or he can’t live here.

  Trying not to stomp like a little kid, I walk up the stairs. When I hear him in his room, I walk around the corner and say, “Okay, time for some rules—”

  And then break off when I see him naked.

  “Oh, no—no. I’m sorry. Shit.” I slap my hand over my eyes and then dash back around the corner. “Oh my God.”

  “Hey, Libby.”

  I swear there’s amusement in his voice. But I’m too embarrassed to respond to it. Damn, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen a man naked. Especially a man as hot as Carson. But this isn’t good. We’re roommates. My throat dries. But his abs. And his—OMG. I’ve never seen one that big. Or that thick.

  My cheeks are flaming, but there’s throbbing between my legs.

  “Don’t be embarrassed,” Carson says.

  “Are you dressed?”

  “I was just getting in the shower.”

  “Put a towel on or something.”

  “But—”

  “Now!”

  He chuckles, and I hear something ruffling. Then he says, “Okay. I’m decent.”

  But when I uncover my eyes, he’s far from decent. Just one small towel around his trim waist, giving me a great view of his abs, his rock-hard chest, and the trail of light hair that dips into his towel and makes me hot all over again.

  “You can’t walk around naked,” I say.

  “Why not?”

  “Because we both live here.”

  He grins. “You could walk around naked, too, then we’ll be even. On the same page.”

  Even the idea of his eyes on my naked body makes me burn even hotter. “No. We’re roommates. No, I’m your boss.”

  “I’m happy to let you boss me around without your clothes on.”

  Kinky. And hell no.

  “Listen, if we can’t compromise, we can’t live together.”

  He lifts his eyebrows. “Is that so?”

  “That’s so. We have to have rules to make this fair—and professional—for both of us.”

  “I get the fair part. But professional? After you get in your PJs at night, it’s kind of hard to be professional.”

  Okay, he did have a point there. Walking around in my slippers and him in his boxers did make the professional part harder.

  “Fine. But we still need to have some basic rules.”

  He props his hands on his hips. It takes everything I have not to let my eyes drop lower than his face. “Like what?”

  “Like no walking around naked.”

  “Even if you beg?”

  I smirk. “I won’t. And clean up your own dishes. I’m not your maid.”

  “You are killing me here, Libby. It’s like you’re taking every hot fantasy I have of you and telling me no.”

  Shit. He has hot fantasies about me? No. Too bad. We work together. And he’s exactly like my brother, so no way.

  “I’m sorry about your hot fantasies, but rules are rules.”

  He sighs. “You’re no fun.”

  “I’m your boss. I shouldn’t be fun.”

  “I wish you’d let loose once in a while,” he says. “I think you’d like it.”

  “Uh huh.” I turn away from the door.

  “Any other rules?”

  “I’ll make a list!” I holler back to him before I walk down the stairs.

  Within seconds, I hear the water running. He’s in the shower. What does it mean that I want to go join him? Then Carson wouldn’t complain about me not being fun.

  “Ugh!” This is terrible.

  Carson is so wrong for me on so many levels. And who cares? It’s not like he wants me like that anyway. He just wants a quick romp in the sheets. The proverbial sheets because my bed doesn’t get here for another few days.

  I have to admit, he’s wearing me down. Just once I wish I could be that carefree person who could let go of work after a hard day and just have fun.

  But that’s kind of hard when it feels like I’m trying to prove myself every second of every day.

  I’m making my list. No ifs, ands, or buts.

  First, though…

  I walk to the only other usable bathroom and flush the toilet with a smirk. When I hear Carson’s shout from the shower, I say, “Yes!” under my breath and go to find a pen and some paper.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CARSON

  It’s hotter than balls in here. Actually, it’s hotter than balls everywhere.

  I’m this close to finishing the duct work. Which means we can get the HVAC unit in, and the new furnace, and then bliss: air conditioning.

  But in the meantime, I’ve got heat—in more ways than one—and no way of getting away from it.

  Libby is out at the store buying sheets for her new bed. I don’t blame her. A bed sounds halfway decent right now. But it’s probably cooler where I sleep on the floor. At least for now.

  Doesn’t mean I don’t want to be in her bed, though.

  I get hard every time I see her in her pajamas at night, her hair down in a fluff around her shoulders, or when she’s swinging a hammer with a slight sheen of sweat on her temple. Damn. Sweat is sexy on her. Everything is sexy on her.

  So I can’t stop from imaging just how sexy she’d be in nothing at all.

  Despite the fans I’ve put up all over the house, it’s just not getting cooler. The clouds have come in and trapped the heat in the town like a greenhouse.

  By the time I’ve finished putting up the last piece of drywall for the soffit in the kitchen, I give up. I’ve put in a solid eleven hours already. I think I deserve a break.

  And a beer.

  I snag one from the mini fridge we put at the exit to the backyard, and then head outside. With the shade and the slight breeze, it’s cooler out here than it is inside.

  There are two lawn chairs just off the crumbling cement of the patio. I plop down, crack open my beer, and close my eyes. Sweat drips down my temple, but I don’t care. It’s actually cooling me off. And if I don’t move, not even an inch, I can almost forget that I’m completely overheated.

  Almost.

  My phone rings from inside my pocket.

  “Fuck,” I say quietly. Answering my phone means I have to move.

  But it could be important. Damn it.

  I reach into my pocket, pull out the phone, and then stare at the name on the screen. Kyle.

  Gritting my teeth, I decide to answer. “Hello.”

  “Hey, Carson.”

  “What do you want?”

  Kyle gives a strained laugh. “Come on, that’s no way to talk to your best friend.”

  “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that or that you’re not the biggest fucking moron in the whole world. What do you want?”

  “Okay, Carson. Damn. I didn’t mean to piss you off, okay? It’s…this thing with Denise…it’s complicated.”

  “Screwing her in my apartment doesn’t sound complicated.”

  “I didn’t mean that. Just that I know things have been off with you two for a while.”

  “Cheating will do th
at to a relationship.”

  “I know, man. I thought—I mean, she told me you two were breaking up.”

  I swig the rest of my beer and toss the can by my feet. “I don’t want to hear it.”

  I know it had been going on longer than that—I’d seen clues. But I don’t care now. Kyle is an ass and Denise deserves him. They’re perfect for each other.

  “I get it,” Kyle says. “And that’s not why I was calling anyway. I’ve got this property…”

  “The Devereaux place? The one we were supposed to start working on a couple weeks back?”

  “No—I mean, yeah, that place is still there. I’ll get to it eventually. Probably. But, no, this is a new one. Bigger project. More money. I could use the hands.”

  Little fucker. Libby was right—he totally bailed on her. Except he still thinks she’s waiting on him. He’s going to be surprised when he comes around and this place already looks amazing.

  But now he wants me to help him? What an ass.

  “You could use the hands,” I say calmly. Revenge is better than anger. Once he finds out this place isn’t his anymore, he’s going to go ballistic. Especially if he can’t get the other project done on time. He’s clearly in a bind.

  “Yes,” Kyle says. “They want the project done ASAP. And it’s a shitload of money, but…”

  “What?” I ask. “You can’t do it all on your own?”

  “Damn it, Carson. Is that what you want? An apology? Sorry. Okay? I fucked with our personal lives—”

  “And screwed me out of the Devereaux place.”

  “It’s not—I mean. I was going to call you.”

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  “Carson. We’re a good team. Let’s just get back on track with this.”

  I release a slow breath. Okay, yeah, the anger is still there. And damn it, so is the interest. Because I need the job, and the money would help a lot right now, too. I have Kyle right where I want him.

  He needs me. Which means I could get even more money.

  But is that what I really want? I don’t know if I’ll ever trust Kyle again. Besides, I have a project here, and I plan on seeing it through to the end.

  “Uh…” I glance to the house, thinking of grabbing another beer. Then I spot Libby struggling through the fence on the side of the house. “I’ll get back to you.”