Sarasota Sin (6 page)

“If this is about the women,” he explained, purposefully brushing his thigh against hers again, “sure, they’re the main reason clubs ask us back, giving no consideration to our collective talent. We draw crowds, and crowds make money - Economics 101. But Payton, you have to realize that if I were seeing someone exclusively, you for example, I would be faithful. In turn, I would expect fidelity.”

“It’s nothing personal, Noah,” she whispered, shoving the toolbox out of her way, “and I don’t want to continue this conversation.”

“Well, too bad. I have you alone for once, and we are continuing this conversation.” His body rigid, his tone sharpened to razor blades. “I’m nothing like your father was, and I can’t eradicate his sins any more than I can eradicate my mother’s lack of human decency and overall moral aptitude.”

A cold shiver went down her, at the reminder of her father’s demons, and she didn’t like them dancing inside her head. Yet at times, Noah was no different from her father or his mother. “No, you can’t eradicate anyone’s sins, nor should you try. But unlike you, right or wrong, I handle my issues less tangibly.” Not said openly: No matter what he claimed, Noah fucked faceless, nameless women often, never sticking with one longer than it took to throw his clothes back on after the deed was done. During those raw carnal moments, his motives weren’t operated purely by lust. But what drove him? She hadn’t a clue, and quite frankly, she didn’t want to dip a toe in those churning waters to find her answer. Some men were better left alone.

“My past molded me into the man I am, even so I suffer no delusions,” he answered too softly, his body bristling. “Do you?”

Every damn day she did, but that was her problem, not his. “I never judge you or others, just making an observation of our clear differences. You have to know that, in ways, I’m in awe of you. I hide behind the emotional garbage in which I’m forever entangled; you scrape it from the bottom of your boot and walk away.”

A few seconds ticked by, and then another purposeful swipe against her breast. “I don’t walk away as easily as you think.”

Maybe not, but two emotional disasters shouldn’t find common ground beneath the sheets, not when she would inevitably fall in love him. Then lose his friendship when he moved on to another. As inexperienced as she was, Payton was nobody’s fool. It would take only the slightest push before her heart would cling to Noah, fervently beating only for his touch and therefore dooming her to an eternity of pain.

This was not going to happen.

Switching her approach, she decided to joke around with him to ease her tension and his. “You’re too old for me.”

“You’re twenty-one,” he grunted, muscles and tendons in his forearms straining while working the tool back and forth. “I’ll be twenty-three next week, which not only means that you’re not to old, but that I have stamina. By the way, that was the lamest excuse yet. Either you’re exhausted or I’m getting to you. I’m pretending it’s the latter.”

She bit her tongue, shifting her eyes away from his long fingers. Friends or not, Noah was a temptation she fought often. With a healthy tan, muscular swimmer’s body, streaky blonde hair, and endless blue eyes, he looked like the epitome of a west coast surfer - all relaxed and ready for the next wave that decided to come along.

Grudgingly offering up some honesty, she countered, “I really enjoy your shows, listening to you sing, but after seeing those women screaming after you and what they easily hand out with no strings attached, I would be offering up my heart for total devastation.” There was only so many times a twenty-two year old man could say no to the pussy buffet. And if that man were wired the same as Noah, a monogamous relationship wouldn't deter him.

“Pay, listen.”

“No,” she argued bluntly, “you and I are just friends.”

Stopping his efforts, Noah took a deep breath and clearly resisted the urge to punch his fist through the cabinet. “God, this is frustrating, for so many reasons.” He turned his head, studying her, half his exquisite face glowing under the battery-operated work light. “Look at me, Pay.”

“I am.”

“Are you really?” he challenged, settling the wrench in the toolbox and then cupping the side of her face. “Will you ever see me as more than a crooning player using my band as a front to screw groupies?”

This had gone too far, their discussion dangling over the fires of a full-blown argument. “Noah, this isn’t a discussion we should have while under a crisis.”

“When are we not in a crisis here?” His hand left her face, finding her shoulder and squeezing warmly. “If I stop the groupies from following me to gigs, I’ve lost a chunk my fan base. This means a chunk of money, as well.” Two of his long fingers grazed the swell of her breast, her nipple pebbling an aching response. “Don’t penalize me for my life’s calling, because I love making music.” Moving his face impossibly closer, he brought his lips to her cheek, his breath rushing in and out. “Find your courage. Trust me not to touch the women.” His tongue flickered out, tasting her. “I want to touch you and you alone.”

For a moment, all she could do was absorb the sensation of him. She wanted his tongue in her mouth, his hands dipping inside her bra and pulling her nipples until they stood proudly for his tongue and teeth. Not for the first time, she wondered how she would feel with all his weight pressed against her needy core, his hips grinding and rolling between her thighs similar to the way he danced onstage. Then her thoughts drifted, replacing one face for another. There was someone she wanted beyond Noah Wyatt. Someone who made Noah look like a halo-wearing, wing-flapping choirboy. But where she considered Noah off limits, Dylan Easton would be a head-trip through an erotic underworld, one that should never be considered much less taken by someone such as her.

When Noah’s mouth advanced dangerously closer to hers, she forced her mind back to the work at hand. “Time’s wasting and these bolts aren’t budging.” Gently, she pushed at his chest. “Right now, we have to figure out option B.” Ignoring the deep, sensual clenching she felt all the way to her toes, she drew in a steadying breath and scooted from beneath the kitchen cabinet.

“Fine.” He followed her out, uncurling his long body from the tight confines before stretching. When a sliver of stomach showed between the bottom of his shirt and his board shorts, she faced the wall and dialed maintenance. “Hey, Bill,” she greeted. “It’s me. No, don’t hang up!” Bill was nothing short of temperamental, felt unappreciated unless everyone lavished him with praise and baked goods. “I know you’re unappreciated by everyone except me. In my eyes, you’re a,” she stalled out, turning around and waving a helpless hand at Noah.

“Well, why do you want my opinion?” Noah snapped. “I’m just a typical horny guy. Remember? One who doesn’t know one woman from another? Is out for one thing, whenever and wherever I can get it.” He shrugged with forced casualness and grabbed a hammer to remove rusty carpet tacks from the concrete. “Promise him a blow job,” he hissed. “What man wouldn’t work for that?”

Payton scowled right before she brightened “That’s it!”

Noah nearly dropped his hammer. “Don’t make me kill him.”

“Bill,” she implored into her phone, wagging her finger at Noah. “I need you to bring a small blow torch to apartment B, please.” She watched Noah position himself on all fours, yanking at the wooden strip attached to the corner. Such a tight ass was a sight to behold. “Do you think you can do it afterwards, then?” Suddenly, Noah glanced back with smug satisfaction, catching where her eyes were fixed. Instant heat flared across her cheeks, when Payton looked away. “Listen, we have our second inspection in six days. Six. Days. Repairs are your job.” She stomped her foot and thickly green water spattered her shins. “Hello?” Looking down, she sighed at the mess running down her legs. These particular bacteria didn’t look like the beneficial kind. “Bill?”

Noah stood. “You can’t blame Bill. He’s the only one left in our so-called maintenance department. Everyone else ran when we lost street accessibility, and now he’s losing faith.”

Sliding her phone in her pocket, she grumbled, “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“It’s only a matter of hours before our benefactors and artists get wind of the Eastons claiming our easement and parking. How can we run the art gallery downstairs without a freaking parking lot? And we’ve already rented out half of the apartments, though our new tenants don’t yet realize they have nowhere to park.”

“Again, tell me something I don’t know. But I’m not giving up,” she professed urgently, stretching her arms wide. “This is my dream.”

He curled his finger under her chin, lifting her face towards his. “This place is part of my dream, too, but it’s becoming a nightmare.”

She took a calming breath, going deep, cleansing her mind…and gagged. “What is that smell?”


“Both of us.” Noah sniffed his shoulder, and then the top of her head. “There’s a leak you didn’t spot.” He gestured towards the open cabinet beneath the kitchen sink. “We soaked up something interesting there.”

“If my hair turns purple again…” she groaned, pulling the end of her auburn ponytail to her nose, sniffing, and nearly puked. She needed a bagel or something dry to settle her hangover-stomach and a long soak in the tub

“Jump in the shower,” Noah suggested, checking his phone messages.

“Ted just called and quit without notice.” Libby walked in with her tablet in hand. “He was furious when he couldn’t get his one-ton loaded with pavers within fifty feet of the premises.” She stopped when she reached Payton and Noah, inhaled, and then stepped back several feet. “I asked him to use a wheelbarrow and bridge the distance, and he didn’t find my suggestion appropriate.”

Payton met Noah’s eyes, fighting not to roll hers. A quarter of the facility was held together with aluminum foil, pipe cleaners, and wishful thinking. Presently, garden pavers were on the back burner. “Since were using pavers instead of concrete, I don’t think the patio will need to be finished in order to pass inspection, so let’s move on to rougher waters.”

“In a bit, I have an offsite meeting at the city manager’s office.” Libby glanced at her watch and then her phone buzzed. “Hello.” She looked at Payton. “Oh, she’s right here. I’ll send her down.”

“Tell me the electrician is here.” She nearly jumped up and down. Good news was rare.

“Yes. His name is Paul Johnson and you have him on loan from the Sarasota Historical Fund for three days. I stress only three days.  Then he’s back on their current project. Concentrate on necessary areas, not this.” She gestured around the apartment.

“No problem.” Payton borrowed Noah’s earlier words. “I’ll take whatever I can get.” Wiping her hands on a rag, she handed Noah the toolbox. “Is he in the main gallery?”

“No, he’s waiting by the children’s outdoor exhibit, or should I say where the outdoor exhibit should be.”

“Later, Noah.”

“Good luck, Pay,” he said, grabbing a paint can and heading toward the smallest bedroom off the great room. Libby answered another phone call while Payton pulled her long ponytail through the back of her cap and adjusted the brim against the Florida sun. She strode across the South walkway, doing a mental rundown on everything she needed accomplished with an electrician on loan for only three freaking days, when she stumbled, nearly falling flat on her face. She righted herself and froze, her eyes landing on the half wall that divided the children’s outdoor exhibit from the walkway. A mural of a Blue Whale leaping from an angry ocean was recently painted. The artwork would have cost thousands. An impossibility considering the facility’s budget, but Payton had narrowed down the cost to one hundred twenty dollars and fifty-two cents, all going to paint supplies, since she had begged the local art schools’ graduating students to leave their mark on the facility free of charge. She took furious steps and traced her fingers across the mouth of the whale with a snort of exasperation, her eyes following the freshly added cartoon bubble filled with the words, ‘Feed me more Twinkies’.

A shadow fell over her, tall, blocking most of the sun. Then a clean smell followed, freshly showered man and nothing more. He propped a black, silk-clad shoulder against the wall, leaning casually. “Disgruntled employees,” a richly articulate voice asked, deep and sultry, “or bored and misguided teens?”

“Neither, I think someone up there is simply trying to torment me.” Payton knew what she would find when she turned her head. No one had that kind of a voice without a face to match. She stepped back, not meeting his eyes, and focused on his throat. His olive complexion was smooth, apart from some odd scaring, the column of his throat long. Above, she found a powerful jaw, his chin marked with the slightest cleft. What a shame he hadn’t shaved, because his black shadow of stubble was entirely…unprofessional. Damn and double damn. “You must be Paul. I’m Payton, director of…I guess about everything around here this week.” She reached out her hand. “Thanks for coming on such short notice.” Lifting her eyes higher, she found his straight nose centered between high cheekbones, the sun casting shadowed relief in the hollows of his cheeks. Still, she avoided his eyes. “I realize the historical fund is allowing us three days, but I’m grateful for every hour and I won’t waste your time.”

“Grateful,” he repeated, clasping her hand.

She inhaled slowly, watching the muscles of his forearm work as he gently pumped her hand once. Payton wasn’t the least bit petite, but his hand easily swallowed hers, his skin warm and smooth over hard strength. “Libby wanted you to start at our smaller, adjacent building.” She gestured behind her, still not meeting his eyes, and adjusted the brim of her hat. “The pottery loft is set there, and also a small gallery.” Walking forward, she looked both ways before she crossed the small intersection. “It is kind of a pain, but some of the firehouse’s property was donated much later and this street is a necessary roadway the city refuses to close.”


“Hmmm, and what exactly is this park?” he asked, gesturing towards the future playground for the children’s exhibit. He was right next to her, matching her pace, his long legs encased in dark pants, his thighs straining the fabric.