“How long?” he murmurs, filling my universe with his scent, his masculine aura of dominance and confidence and sexuality and strength. “Couple weeks? Couple months?”
I laugh bitterly, an unattractive snort/raspberry combination. “Try over a year.”
“Jesus,” he mutters, wincing. “How are you even alive?”
“I wonder the same thing sometimes.”
“How long have you been divorced, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“A little over a month,” I tell him. “The proceedings took three months, and we’d been having death-knell marriage problems for…oh god, almost a year before that. At least a year. But the warning signs were there long before that, I just—” I stop. “You don’t want to hear about my shitty-ass marriage or my even shittier divorce.”
“No, not really,” he says, “but I am sorry you went through all that. You deserve better.”
“Oh? And how do you know that?”
“I can tell. I’m a good judge of people.”
“And what does your judgment of people tell you about me?”
He stares down at me for a long moment before answering. “That you’re an amazing woman who settled for an asshole who wasn’t worth even five minutes of your time.”
“You got at least half of that right,” I say. “Nicholas…was a mistake.”
He frowns at me. “You don’t think you’re amazing.”
“My house is falling apart and I can’t afford to fix what’s broken much less improve it, my car is a piece of shit with no A/C and no radio, and I haven’t so much as kissed a man in almost a year and a half.”
I laugh again, more bitterly than ever.
“So, no,” I say. “I don’t really feel all that amazing, most days.”
He closes in even further. “I can help with some of that.”
“You can?”
“You are…absolutely perfect in every conceivable way. The whole package that is you…you’re stunning.”
I swallow hard and blink harder. “Thank you, Jesse.”
He smiles at me. “I know hearing that from me once isn’t going to undo the months and years of shit your ex put on you, but it’s a start, right?”
I sniff. “Right.” I try a smile back at him, and it’s easier than I expected it to summon a genuine smile for Jesse. “Once from you actually does do a lot to erase all that. So, you know, don’t be shy with the flattery. In my case, it’ll probably get you pretty far.”
He laughs. “It’s not flattery, it’s truth.” He sidles closer, and his hips nudge mine and his chest brushes against the tips of my breasts. “I can turn this place into a beautiful, cozy, attractive home for you—we’ll just take it one step at a time. Like what I did in here today, which you haven’t even seen yet.”
“I’m basically broke, Jesse.”
He does the smirk again. “Yeah, but you just got a new job, didn’t you?”
“How’d you know?”
“Because Dr. Waverley called me to tell me thanks for sending you her way.”
“Yes, I did get a new job, and I’ll be making double what I was. So I owe you a big thanks, too.”
He smiles. “You’re welcome.” His smile widens, heats, turns mischievous, almost wicked. “There’s one other way I might be able to help you out.”
“With my underserved libido?” I breathe.
His laugh is an amused, aroused rumble. “That wasn’t what I was going to say, but yes, I’d love to help rectify your underserved libido.” He lifts his hands and cups my cheeks. “What I was going to say was that it’s a sin a perfect pair of lips like yours haven’t been kissed in so long, and I volunteer my services.”
“Oh…you mean…” I begin, my voice breathy.
“Meaning I’m going to kiss the hell out of you right now, unless you stop me.”
“I’m not stopping you,” I say, a little too quickly.
His laugh is knowing. His palms are warm and rough against my cheeks, and his thumbs scrape over my cheekbones, and I’m not breathing, and he’s everything in front of me, all around me, blocking me in with his big body. And then his lips brush mine, a slow, hesitant, questing touch—a warning. I barely have time to register this is happening—that he’s kissing me—and then the kiss is changing, and I’m struggling to keep up. His mouth firms against mine, and his tongue flicks against my lips—my mouth opens at that request, and then his lips are pliant and demanding and hungry and—
I’ve never been kissed like this. Not ever.
I can’t breathe, but I don’t need to. He’s all the oxygen I need. I’m dizzy, spinning. Leaning against him. My hands are flat on his chest, and now my fingers claw into his pecs, and I’m lifting up on my toes going for more, tasting his tongue and twining mine with his and exploring his mouth and hungering for him.
My thighs clench and my core heats, weeps. God I need this. I need him. I need more.
Holy shit.
He’s still kissing me, like he can’t get enough, like he’s carried away by this as much as I am. Oh god, I can feel the weight of more towering behind this kiss, laced through it. There’s so much more than just this kiss and I want it all, but right now, this kiss is all I can handle.
All too soon he’s pulling away, and he’s breathing hard.
“Oh god,” I whimper. “Why’d you stop?”
“Because I want to show you what Franco and I did in here today.” He backs away, raking a hand through his unruly hair. “And because if I didn’t stop, I wouldn’t be able to stop at all.”
“Would that be such a bad thing?”
“If we go there together, Imogen, it won’t be quick or sudden or unexpected, and it won’t be up against your front door.” His eyes burn, bright hot intense brown. “If we go there together, Imogen, it’ll be goddamned magical. It’ll be something you’ll never forget as long as you fucking live.”
I close my eyes and breathe carefully. “Show me what you did, Jesse,” I say, after I’ve opened my eyes and can function something close to normal.
He backs away a little further, staring at me hard. “Yeah.”
He turns away, but not before I see the bulge against his zipper is very large, and very prominent evidence that he’s as affected by the kiss as I am. Which doesn’t do much for my resolve. I tighten my jaw and clench my fists, making a concerted effort to not stare at his ass as he leads me out of the front hallway into the living room.
“Take a look,” he says, gesturing at the front window.
I stop in my tracks, halfway into the living room. “What? How? Why?”
There were a total of four windows in my living room, two facing the front, two facing the back. These four windows and the amount of natural light they let in were one of the selling points of this house for me. But those had been small, narrow and short, with thick glass panes and lots of heavy lead crosses. Even so, they’d let in a lot of light…they’d also let in a lot of drafts in the winter.
Jesse had replaced all four windows with ones to match the brand new window in the kitchen, so now my walls on both sides of the living room were entirely glass. The room felt like it had been expanded several dozen square feet, and with them cranked open like they were, there was a beautiful cross-breeze—enough wind to not just ruffle my hair a little, but to actually cool the room off considerably.
Tears sprang into my eyes unbidden. “Jesse, you—I—”
“Before you say a word, you’re not paying a cent for these windows.” He was behind me so I couldn’t see him, but I heard the grin and the pride in his voice. “Nobody else at the Waverley job wanted them, so I snagged all the windows.”
“All of them? How many were there?” I ask.
He didn’t answer right away, and I turned around to face him, and saw his grin spread. “Well…how many windows do you have in your house?”
I blinked. “Um. Four here, three in the kitchen, two in the master bedroom, and two in the spare bedroom.” I have to count. “Eleve
n?”
He grinned even wider. “There were a total of twelve windows.”
I was incredulous. “And she just ate the cost of them? That’s…”
He waves a hand with a snort. “Don’t even try to imagine how much. A fucking lot. When we explained how long the return and refund process would take and how long it would delay the project, she was just like, I’m not waiting, order the doors and be done. We’re already so far over budget it’s ridiculous, but I guess they don’t care. I don’t know. I don’t get rich people sometimes, man.”
“Yeah, me neither.” I frown at him. “But Jesse…you’re not saying you replaced all of my windows, are you?”
He nods solemnly. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. I replaced all of your windows…plus one.”
“What do you mean, plus one?” I asked, warily.
“You’ll see. For now, check out the kitchen.” I circle out of the hallway toward the kitchen, Jesse following behind me. “You ever think about taking those walls down? I checked it out, and the one wall is load bearing, but it’s not a huge space to cross, so you could pretty easily put a beam up across it. It’d feel like a whole different home.”
I stop in the hallway, trying to picture it. “All the walls? Like this whole floor would be open plan?”
He nods, grinning. “I can’t say it’d be a cheap project, but if I was gonna remodel this house, that’d be the first thing I’d do. The floors are in good shape, the kitchen is cute. You’ll need a new roof eventually, and central A/C, fresh paint all around…some new sinks and vanities and other details like that, but on the whole, this place isn’t actually that bad. New tile or marble in the kitchen, new countertops, that’s pretty big ticket stuff, obviously. But opening the floor plan would be first.”
“You’re talking thousands of dollars, though,” I point out. “I can’t even afford to fix the A/C on my damn car at the moment.”
“Couple grand sounds about right to knock down the walls and put load-bearing beams up.” He shrugs. “Just a thought.”
“It sounds lovely, Jesse,” I say, sighing. “I’d love to. And as soon as I have a few extra thousand dollars just sitting around, you’ll be the first person I call.”
“Just don’t wait until then to call me. There’s lots of little, relatively inexpensive stuff we can do that’ll improve things around here.” He pushes past me, grabs me by the hand, and pulls me into the kitchen. “We’ll talk about that later. For now, take a look.”
Once again, I’m left speechless. Two more new windows—facing the front yard and the backyard. Huge casement windows replace the old tiny ones, and the room feels enormous now, breathing and full of sunlight.
“My god, Jesse. It’s amazing.” I turn to face him. “I can’t—I just can’t.”
He grins. “You haven’t seen everything, yet,” he says, sounding excited. “Come on upstairs.”
I follow him up, failing to restrain my gaze from his taut, hard butt as it wiggles and shifts up the stairs.
How can he be so hot and so kind and generous? It should be impossible. I’d thought it was impossible.
I stop halfway up the stairs, ripping my gaze away from his delectable ass, realizing something is different on the stairs.
More light.
Breeze flowing upward, through the open front door.
I look upward. Jesse is leaning against the wall at the top of the stairs—next to him is another enormous casement window. The plus one. There was no window here, before, just blank wall.
“This was wasted space, before,” he says. “It was just begging for a window, so I obliged.” He glances at me, looking and sounding nervous. “I know I should have asked before adding a whole new window like this, but…it’s just—I knew without a doubt that it would improve the light up here and the airflow overall. So I trusted my gut and hoped you wouldn’t hate it.”
He just cut a hole in the side of my house—without asking or informing me first—and put a brand new window in.
Theoretically I should be pissed. I barely know the man. I have no contract with him, no references to previous work besides the window he did in my kitchen. But god, this window works wonders on the stairs and the landing area in general. I move the rest of the way up the stairs and stand at the window—I can see most of the neighborhood from here. The airflow brings the temperature down, lets in light…god, it’s amazing. I think I’ve used that word too many times already, but…
I shake my head. “Your gamble paid off, Jesse.” I smile at him. “I love it. Thank you.”
He jerks his head toward the master bedroom. “Check out your room.”
I enter my room, blinking at the staggering amount of light coming in. It feels like a whole new room.
More tears.
I can’t breathe, can’t speak. Who knew a person could get so emotional over some windows? But they just make me so happy.
“How—how did you and Franco get all this done in an afternoon?” I ask. “I mean, I know you probably work fast, but this seems like a lot even for the two of you.”
He just shrugs. “Eh…I called in some favors with the guys. And I actually got my start in construction installing windows back in high school, so it’s something I happen to be able to do pretty fast.”
“You called in favors? For…me?” My voice breaks.
He just smiles at me. “Sure did. But it’s how we work. It’s not a big deal.”
“It is to me, Jesse.” I look around at my room, and fight to get myself under control. “Good thing I didn’t have time to let my room get messy again, huh?”
Jesse laughs. “Yeah, no bras or panties left out this time…sadly.”
I chuckle. “It’s literally just underwear, Jesse. It doesn’t actually turn you on, does it? Seeing my bra or underwear?”
He shrugs. “The garment itself, no. The mental image of you in it? Yeah, it sure as hell does.”
“You’ve never seen me in my underwear.”
He is silent a moment, chewing on his lower lip. “Yeah, well, I have a really good imagination.” His gaze is rife with promise. “And a whole lot of hope.”
“Hope?”
“That I’ll get to see you in your underwear.”
“I am broke,” I whisper. “That could be your payment.”
“Don’t tempt me,” he growls.
“Too late?” I breathe. “Why shouldn’t I tempt you? What if I want to? What if I want—”
“Imogen,” he rumbles, interrupting me. “You want to start something with me, you won’t have to try very hard.”
I do want to start something with him.
Don’t I?
A worm of doubt wiggles through my skull, though. Do I want to start something with him? So soon after my divorce?
I push the thought away and gaze up at him. “What if I’m not really even trying, yet?”
“What if I’m not either?”
“You’re not?” I ask, my voice in a squeak. “You said you were hitting on me.”
“I am,” Jesse murmurs, not breaking our gazes. “But I’m not seducing you yet.”
“You won’t have to try very hard to do that.”
At that moment his phone blares, a deafening foghorn sound that makes me just about jump out of my skin.
“Sorry, that’s my ringer for James. He typically only calls me when it’s important or an emergency.” He answers the call. “What’s up, James?” He listens for a moment, responds with a growled, “Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute.” And then he hangs up without another word.
“Duty calls, huh?” I ask, more disappointed than I should be that he’s leaving.
“Yeah. Dr. Waverley and her husband—both of them—are at the project, and they have…concerns.”
“Oh dear.”
“Yeah. They weren’t happy about the flooded basement, understandably. So when we got it cleaned up and fixed, they decided to expand on their original plan, and because it was our guy that screwed up, we’re
basically eating the cost difference.”
“Sounds like this job is a pain in the butt,” I say.
He shrugs. “They all are in one way or another. Good thing about the Waverleys is that they agree on everything, so it’s not a fight for every little detail. Those jobs are the worst. We’ve seen custom builds like this wreck marriages.”
“I can imagine,” I say. “So, what do I owe you and Franco for all this?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “James will kill me and then fire me if I don’t charge you for my time at least.”
“I wouldn’t let you do all this for free, Jesse. Your time and skill are valuable.”
He grins. “I think so too, for the most part. But I like you a lot, and I don’t want you to think I’m saying or doing anything just for the money or the work.”
“I don’t think that.”
“Then you’re not suspicious enough,” he growls.
“Probably true,” I say, thinking about the way Nicholas played me for months.
He steps close to me. “Look, I gotta go. But I’ll drop by with an invoice once I figure out how little I can get away with charging you without pissing off my boss, best friend, and brother-in-law.” He grins. “The bastard is a stickler for little details like financial solvency and orderly accounting.”
I laugh. “Silly James, getting caught up in such petty minutiae.”
“I’ll see you later?” he says, making it a question.
“I hope so,” I say, as he waves and heads down the stairs. “Jesse?” I call after him, and he stops halfway down, glancing up at me. “Thank you. From the bottom of my heart…thank you.”
“It was my pleasure, Imogen,” he says, his voice warm and genuine and pleased.
I watch him take his tools over to the truck as I stand in my new bedroom window.
He tosses his tool belt on the passenger seat through the open window, sets his toolbox in the bed, and then bungee cords a tarp over the detritus in his truck bed. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he turns over the engine, which kicks to life with a throaty diesel rumble. I watch him plug his phone in, scroll a moment, and then the grinding, thrashing, churning sound of the heavy metal music he likes so much drifts up to me at the window, partially muffled but still loud.