The Replacement (8 page)

“Natalie,” I raise my hand to stop her, “you’re not going to quit asking me until I do this, right?”

Her cheeks puff up with a breath of air she’s holding, and her eyes are bursting with excitement. She looks like a 5-year-old who’s about to be served a banana split, with extra whip cream and cherries. She remains silent, nodding enthusiastically.

“Fine,” I say. The decision comes out so simply, the ease of it surprises me. “What time do you want us to meet you?” Never mind the fact that there is no “us.” I’m sure I can cart someone along. Maybe Brad. We haven’t hooked up in a while and I know he’s down for it anytime.

“How about 8 p.m.? We can grab a bite and just mosey around. Sound good?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Yay!” She squeals and leaps forward, wrapping me in a quick hug. My body stiffens. “Let’s meet out front of Stella’s. We can just walk from there.”

“Okay,” I say, relaxing the second she releases me. “See you tomorrow night.”

“Yes! I can’t wait! And I can’t wait to meet this guy of yours. You’ve been so tight-lipped about him.” She turns for her car and gives her shoulders a shimmy, again, like we’re best friends sharing some super-scandalous secret. There is nothing super about our conversation, but my secrets are quite scandalous.

I give her a phony smile and wave, making a dash for my car. I have a date to wrangle up. Shouldn’t be hard, but I know one thing: Christian and Tim are definitely off the menu.

***

I’m awakened the next morning by a knock on the door. I fumble my way out of bed and scamper to turn up the heat in the hallway, shivering from the temperature drop. November in this part of the world is mostly cold and wet, the kind of dampened cold that cuts straight to the bone.

I yawn and stretch as I hobble over to answer the door. Ryder, the maintenance guy, stands there, looking a little pale. His rich, mocha eyes are wide, and he swallows hard, looking all sorts of uncomfortable. “Hey,” I greet him, my voice groggy with sleep. “Come on in.”

“Would you rather me…uh, you want me to come back later?” He shifts and runs a hand through his disheveled hair, his jaw muscles flexing. If I’m not mistaken, he’s grinding his teeth.

“No, why?”

“Well, you know…” He casually waves at me, his eyes dropping down my body, then off to the right, like he’s searching for an exit.

I shiver again and cross my arms over my chest, glancing down to find whatever’s making him so uneasy. I’m wearing nothing but a sheer white tank top and lace panties. Well, that could be the cause for his frazzled state.

I laugh and let my arms flop to my sides, gesturing to my near nakedness. “Sorry. I should put something on. Come on in.” I turn and let him follow my lead, feeling his eyes on me. I reach for the terrycloth bathrobe hanging over the back of one of the dining room chairs.

“Call me crazy,” he says as he closes the door behind him, averting his gaze until I have the bathrobe secured tightly around my waist, “but most people in November wear things like thermals and long johns. You know, warm clothes.” He laughs good naturedly and two incredibly adorable dimples form on his cheeks. Damn. How did I miss those before? They make his smile all the more charming, and I find myself staring for a moment, wishing I hadn’t seen the blasted things.

“Ha-ha,” I say mockingly, rolling my eyes.

“So, how’s the disposal been working?” He walks to the kitchen and begins sizing up the sink, moving dishes around to get a peek down the drain.

“It’s been good— no other problems.” I walk over to the kitchen and hoist myself up onto the counter to watch him work. He’d discovered that a peach pit was jammed in the flywheel the other day. It was an easy fix for him to remove the pit and get the blades moving again. I’m happy to see him stop by to double check and make sure it’s working properly. The old maintenance guy never followed up like this. Sometimes he didn’t show up at all when I needed him. Guess that explains why he’s the old maintenance guy.

“Glad to hear it.” He runs the disposal, then switches it off when he’s satisfied. “Anything else you need help with while I’m here? I won’t be back around for a few weeks, unless you need something else.” He leans a hand on the counter as he turns to face me, propping his other hand low on his waist. My gaze floats down to his arms, and curiosity gets the best of me. I have to ask.

“What do your tattoos mean?”

His brows lift for second at the change of subject and he follows my gaze, holding out his arms to take a look. “Hard to explain, really. They’re kind of personal.” He points to the expressive sleeve on his right forearm. It’s full of swirling, black Old English text that I can’t make out, and an arrangement of leaves and branches. A tree, I think. There are words carved into the wood of the trunk, but I can’t make those out, either. “This one is kind of my version of the tree of life. The text is just a combination of things that mean something to me. Song lyrics, quotes, old proverbs…mostly stuff about nature.”

“Oh, yeah?” I hop down from the counter and move closer to him to get a better look. As I lean in, I get a whiff of him. Pine and cinnamon. Like rich tree bark and the topping on a pumpkin spice latte. It brings all of my senses to life. “What does that part say?” I touch a line of text wrapping around the tree, tracing the words. I hear him swallow and feel the muscles in his arm flex.

“It’s, ah, it’s a part of this poem. By Lord Byron. ‘Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage.’” I don’t wait for him to read it to me. I can see it clearly now. The line mentions loving nature more, but not loving man any less.

“That’s beautiful,” I say, lifting my head when I feel his eyes on me. “I only have one tattoo.”

“Oh, really? Where is it?”

“Nowhere you can see.” I smile unabashedly and hold his gaze, liking the way he turns a little crimson when I indulge him with an eyebrow wiggle.

He laughs and shakes his head, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Like I said, ink is very personal.”

“I’d agree with that. I love yours. Who did your work?”

“This chick Tracy, over on Bainbridge Island. She owns this little shop downtown. She’s pretty rad. I won’t let anyone else color me up.”

“I’ll have to pay her a visit next time I want to get some work done.”

“You should. I’d be happy to hook you up.”

“Cool, thanks.”

He nods and hesitates for a second, settling on the decision to grab his tool box. “Well, looks like you’re all taken care of here. Guess I better be on my way.”

I watch him as he starts to make his way through the living room, allowing my eyes to travel the length of him as soon as his back is to me. The man has an ass to die for, narrow hips, and broad shoulders. The kind of shoulders girls like to hold on to. He can’t be much older than me, and he’s got no ring on his left finger. Not that that’s ever stopped me before.

I chew on my lip and follow him to the door to walk him out, stopping him when he goes to reach for the door knob. “Hey, Ryder, what are you up to tonight? Anything?” My plan to call Brad this morning to ask if he’d come with me to the festival tonight just got tossed out the window.

“Tonight?” he stills, brushing his palm over his cheek. My eyes hone in on the light shadow there. He’s handsome in a rugged way, like the tree on his arm. A clean shave would probably look unnatural on him. “I’m free, actually. Why, you have plans to get some more ink?” His crooked grin appears, coaxing those dimples out from wherever they’ve been hiding. I’m happy to have them back.

“No, but I do have plans to eat a ton of cotton candy and as many funnel cakes as possible.”

His smile brightens, bringing light to his whole face. “You’re going to the holiday festival, I take it.”

“Busted.”

“What time?”

“Around 8 tonight. I’m meeting up with someone from work. You wanna join?” As I watch a glimmer of interest appear in his eyes, I can’t help but wonder if he knows me. If he’s a local, there’s a good chance he does. Most of the women know me. The men know they know, and it hasn’t stopped them from trying their luck at least once.

Suddenly, I feel like playing coy, although I get the faint impression that he sees straight through my act. “I mean, unless you have a girlfriend or something…” I can’t stop the mischievous smile that springs up on my lips. Why would I want to? It’s too much fun.

“Ha,” he huffs, his lashes lowering as he looks down at his shoes, “you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Really? No girl at home?”

“Nah. She couldn’t deal with my gypsy ways and modest income. New York business men with cozy 401ks were more her style.”

“Sorry to hear.” No, I wasn’t.

“Don’t be,” he shrugs, moving to lean against the door frame. “You know what they say. When one door closes…”

I smile playfully.

“What about you?” His eyes narrow and his brow creases as he smirks. “You’re not hiding a man in the oven or anything, are you?”

“I’m free as a bird,” I answer with no hesitation at all.

“That’s…interesting.”

I feel my shoulder muscles tighten. Maybe he knows exactly who I am. Elise Duchamp, the notorious, antisocial home wrecker. “Why do you say that?”

He focuses on the doorframe, picking at the beveled wood. “For one, you’re hard to miss, with that beautiful body and all. Most men try and lock that sort of package down pretty damn quick. But you know that already, don’t you?” His gaze lifts to mine again, rooting me to the carpet.

I expect my muscles to relax, but they don’t. They tighten further, and the next question I ask is crucial. I’m desperate to hear his response before I’ve even asked it. “And for two?”

“Well, for two, you’re good company.”

“Good company?” I blink, not sure what to make of that. What do I make of that?

“Yeah, good company. I like talking to you. You’re down-to-earth. Open. I like that.”

“You do?”

He lets out a laugh, and it’s husky and hearty. It’s a warmth-inducing, toe-curling sound. “Uh…yeah, yeah I do. But I bet you know that already, too.”

I race to cover up my genuine surprise, playing what I play best—the cool façade. “Maybe a little.” I grin up at him, subtly arching my back to draw his attention to my breasts.

He takes the bait.

Licking his lips, he breaks the stare from my cleavage and opens the front door. “And modest, too.” He locks eyes with me for another second, letting me know he’s on to my game. “Okay, so… 8 tonight?”

“Yup. We’re meeting in front of Stella’s. Do you know the place? The retro diner down on the waterfront?”

“Yeah, I know the place. Never eaten there before, but I see it when I drive down that way.”

“Cool. See you tonight.”

“Later.”

I close the door behind him and slump against it. Something strange unfurls in the pit of my stomach. Strange, but not unpleasant. I don’t linger at the door long. I have a lot to get done by tonight, and there’s one thing that absolutely has to happen before the festival, one thing that takes precedence over everything else. I need to see Christian Walker, and I need to see him right now.

CHAPTER 5

Christian’s sleek black Mercedes gleams in his driveway as I pull up next to it. My fingers have had a death grip on the steering wheel the whole ride here, and that buzzing in my stomach that sparked the second Ryder left my place is now churning with anxiety.

Oddly, this anxiety has nothing to do with the way things ended with me and Christian. Clearly, things never really ended if I’m showing up at his house like this. He didn’t hesitate for a second on the phone when I called him. He simply told me to come over right away, adding that he couldn’t wait to see me. Still, I can’t help but feel I’m crossing over to the dark side. Robbing a grave. Resurrecting something that has no business being resurrected.

A wry smile pulls at my lips as I shift to park. The dark side? I already made that jump long ago. This is child’s play. For once, though, I’m here not to screw Christian, but to talk to him. His reaction to that should be interesting, but I’m determined to do this. I’m not even sure I know what this is, but whatever it is, I know it needs to be done.

“Hey baby,” Christian greets me at the door, immediately pulling me to him. He doesn’t look around outside to see which neighbors might see us, doesn’t think twice about holding his intense gaze on me, just takes me into his arms and lets his hungry eyes drink me in. “I’ve been so worried. When you called, I didn’t know what to think.”

I open my mouth to speak, but I’m yanked into the house and shoved up against the wall before I can blink. Christian’s mouth buries into my neck and he knocks the door shut with his elbow, breathing hard against my throat as he fumbles with my blouse buttons.

“Wait,” I pant, already feeling his magic consume me. I haven’t forgotten how perfectly his hard, strong body melds to mine, how the sting of his teeth on my flesh instantly makes my clit throb. The man is an animal, and he touches me like I’m the last drop of water on Earth. But feeling it again reminds me how deprived I’ve been. When I’m with him, I’m a goddess and he’s my master, and that’s a hard habit to break. “Christian, that’s not why I’m here.”