Authors: Lissa Matthews
Tags: #General Fiction
Forever In Blue Jeans
Copyright 2012 by Lissa Matthews
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.
For Cecile and Diana, thank you for sticking through this with me and for being invaluable when it came to rants, coffee, and wine. For my readers, thank you to those who've waited so patiently for me to write and complete this next piece of the story. Buck and Decker are grateful to you as well because their friend deserved his own happily ever after. For my cover artist, Kendra. There are no words good enough to express my gratitude. For my editor, Jana. There are few I trust as much for honesty in the writing as you. For Brandy, thank you for helping me find my way back to the land of organization. For Melissa, Eliza, and Selena, thank you for your knowledge and willingness to share it.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Cort couldn't stop the word from repeating inside his head. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes again. He looked through the windshield, hoping the woman's face and hair and body were different than the face and hair and body of the one he'd first glimpsed when he pulled up in front of the large house. It wasn't. She wasn't. All of it was the same, every last inch of every last feature he could see. "Shit."
Did she recognize him? He hoped not. On the other hand, he hoped like hell she not only recognized him but remembered in great detail every moment from that one night, every moment up until the time she left while he was still blissfully, ignorantly snoring.
He made a big production in the cab of his truck and was pretty sure he looked like a raving lunatic tossing notepads and pieces of paper up, down, and across the seat, but he really didn't give a fuck. Especially not in front of her.
When he finally got out and proceeded to slam the door behind him to make a point, if only to himself, his boot slipped, and he nearly fell on his ass in the muddy red clay that was synonymous with the South. He gripped the door handle and held on for all he was worth, pulling himself up and locking his knees until he regained his balance.
"Careful there," she called from the porch. "The rain we had last night hasn't dried out yet, and that is some slick stuff you're stepping in."
Yeah, no shit.
Instead of actually saying those words, he simply slid her a look that, had she been closer, would have spoken for itself. Another deep breath. A clenching of his jaw until it hurt. An almost painful grip on the door handle.
Slowly, Cort put one foot in front of the other and walked away from his truck. He kicked off what mud he could when he got to the small gravel-lined walk that led to the steps. She was waiting at the top, looking for all the world like she hadn't a care and could wait all day. Too bad she hadn't waited for him to roll over and wake up all those years ago in that Savannah hotel room.
Sweat slid down the center of his back. If it hadn't been nine hundred degrees outside, he wouldn't have the humidity to blame it on, but it
nine hundred degrees with likely two hundred percent humidity, and he didn't have to come anywhere close to blaming it on the fact that her being his potential new employer
the best fuck of his life were the cause of his elevated internal thermometer.
He stopped on the next to last step, determined to look her in the eye. Not up at her, not down, but straight in the eye. They were going to be on equal ground here.
Was that a "Hello, nice to meet you" hello or a "Hello, I remember you" hello? "Hello, Maribelle."
She laughed, and the sound was both chalkboard with fingernails grating and the purest, most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. Well, save for the mewling kitten noises she'd made when she orgasmed or the sexy way his name sounded on her lips or...
"I don't go by that name. You can still call me Blue."
Okay, so she did remember. He hadn't been expecting that, but it was fine with him. No pretense between them. He hated mind games. He remembered her and she remembered him.
Didn't mean he couldn't be impartial, indifferent, and completely professional. "Very well, Blue.
Shall we get started?" He nodded toward the house.
"You in a hurry?"
"Have plans later." Not that it was any of her business that his plans consisted of drinking her out of his head.
Her smile never wavered. "Well, we don't want you to be late. Follow me."
Son of a bitch. Those were the exact words she'd said to him that night in the bar.
He hadn't been able to think straight then, and he sure as hell couldn't think straight now but follow her he did. Again.
It seemed he had a bad habit of repeating past mistakes. A habit he needed to correct in the very near future.
His wet dream was dressed in a pair of just above the knee cut-offs. They hugged her full hips and ass like a second skin. Her toes were painted a bright summer blue, like that of the sky above, and her feet were in a pair of sparkly flip-flops. She had on a lacey tank top looking thing that molded around her breasts--not too tight, not too loose--and he could just make out the outline of her bra.
Cort wiped a hand down his face.
Her long black curls were tamed in pigtails that he wanted to hold in his fists as he fucked her from behind. She could keep the glasses on too. She had eyes the color of watered-down Jack and coke and they were brilliant behind the black-rimmed rhinestone glasses that might have come from an antique shop or her grandmother's dresser. She had cream with a few drops of coffee skin, and he could make out a slight tan line around her ankles, one of which had a tattoo of a tree. He could just make out the ink of another tattoo on her back under the thin shirt she wore, though he couldn't tell what the design was.
Lust flowed through his veins and he swallowed hard to stem the tide. He wished he could say it was just because he needed to get laid, but that would be a damn lie. He needed to get laid, oh yeah, but not just anyone would do. He'd been on that wagon for the last five years. No, he wanted this one, this woman who haunted him. He wanted to know if she was still as tight and unbelievably wet as she'd been all those years ago.
Her body had filled out a bit more than he remembered. She'd been lush before; she was just downright decadent now. She had the most spectacular curves. Most men might say she was plump. Hell, once up on a time he'd have said the same thing, but not now. Nope. Right now, he'd say she was just about...perfect. Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Her voice dripped over him like honey, surrounding him thicker than the humidity in the air.
His dick was harder than a fucking pole, and he wanted so badly to taste her lips. Both sets. He wanted to drink her in, then chase it with a perfect mint julep with her still spread out before him and breathing heavy.
And he needed to goddamn stop thinking like a lovesick bastard. That man was long gone.
He turned to her with what he hoped was a blank expression. "Yes?"
"Are you all right? You seem flushed, and you're sweating."
"It's...warm." There was no way he was going to utter the word "hot" anywhere around her.
"Then come inside. You'll be surprised how nice it is even without air conditioning."
She turned and walked through the already open, double front doors and down the long hall from the foyer. She was right. It was rather cool with the doors and floor-to-ceiling windows open and, the large oscillating fans pointed in strategic directions allowing cross currents to swirl around them.
That was outside his body, though. Inside, his body was still a raging inferno that had nothing to do with it being late spring in Georgia. Nope, it had everything to do with the woman who stood next to him with her hand on his arm and concern in her eyes.
"I...I'm fine." He moved his arms slightly out from under her touch. "Just not used to the weather down here much anymore. Long sleeve work shirts don't seem to be what I need to wear from now on."
"Likely not." She smiled up at him as though they both believed him. Damn. "Most men don't wear shirts around here at all when they're working. I suspect you'll join in that trend soon enough."
Was she flirting with him? He hoped to hell she wasn't. He didn't need her coming on to him. He just needed her to take about a hundred steps back and roll around in a pile of dirt.
Maybe if she messed herself up a little, dirtied her face and body, she wouldn't seem so tempting.
No, that wouldn't work either. She needed to simply vanish into thin air. "I usually keep my clothes on in public."
She looked him up and down, shaking her head, finally dropping her arm back down to her side. "A shame." She turned and moved toward the back of the house. "There's a breaker box in the butler's pantry, but I don't know if it'll do you any good to look at it."
It would, and it wouldn't. He wasn't really going to know much of anything until he got into the walls and was able to check the actual wiring itself. And if he could just keep his mind on work and not her...
His gaze strayed to her ass in those shorts. The thoughts he was having were sinful. Just outright sinful and should send him to Hell straight away. Not for the first time since arriving at her place, he wondered about the pictures Decker had told him about last night. He tried to not think about them, but he couldn't help it. He wanted to know what she looked like naked now, especially since she'd gained a few more curves. He also wanted to know when she'd posed for pictures. Was it before or after they met? Was it porn or art? Was it her job? They'd never discussed work that night five years ago. When she'd looked at him at the bar and smiled, he couldn't have cared less about what she might do for work. He--
He needed to get his mind back on the job at hand.
One foot in front of the other,
man. Remember? We had this talk. She's nothing special. You're a grown-up. You can do this.
He walked behind her, but in all honesty, he wasn't sure he could do the job unless he got to do the boss too. He wanted her more than he wanted any other woman in recent memory, and that had disaster written all over it.
Blue with her sweet, Southern voice and her mass of raven curls and her curves... Dear God, her curves.
Oh yeah, he was gonna cum, over and over and over.
He turned the corner and found her standing in the middle of a room that was nearly the size of the bedroom he was staying in at Decker's.
It wasn't like any pantry he'd ever been in, even down in Savannah. It was fuckin' huge.
He joined her and turned in a circle, trying to take it all in as she talked. "All the china on the long wall belonged to my ancestors." She gestured behind them, and he looked over his shoulder. "My grandparents were the last people to actually live in the house before my aunt opened it to the public. It's rare to find entire sets. And as you can see, we don't store food in here. There's a food pantry on the other end of the kitchen. The crystal in here is original as well."