ThisTimeNextDoor (19 page)

Without turning, she pushed the door open. “Come on, you haven’t seen the best part.”

He stomped his feet and followed. The house was modern, but warm, welcoming. Lots of wood trim, walls painted earthy colors, vaulted ceilings with stained glass skylights, a private deck with a panoramic view.

And furniture. Pillows, art on the walls, plants. Obviously, somebody already lived here.

“How long do you get to stay?” he asked.

“As long as I want.”

He blinked at her. “Shall I call the authorities, or is your sexual servitude voluntary?”

“Thanks, Mark. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all day.” She walked over to him, eyeing him suggestively.

He took a step back. “You were supposed to be offended. I just called you a prostitute.”

“More like a kept woman.”

He took another step back. “You’re welcome, then.”

Laughing, she put a hand on his arm and pulled him, reluctantly, deeper into the house. Its long, western-facing side was a wall of glass to drink in the view of the Golden Gate, San Francisco, Alcatraz on its rock in the middle of the bay, the soft golden hills of Marin.

Her warm, lush hip pressed up against his thigh. Although his body was responding cheerfully, he knew she was up to something he didn’t trust. Digging his heels into the wide, distressed plank floors, he wiggled out of her grip and scowled at her. “What are you doing?”

“Showing you the spa. And not just the tub. You’ve got to see it.”

“Why?”

Her smile fell slowly, some of the spark fading from her eyes. “It’s cool. Or, actually, hot.” She folded her arms over her chest. He would
not
look at the cleavage, he wouldn’t. “It’s a sauna.”

“Inside the house?”

“Right off the master bath.” A fragment of her smile returned. “Want to see it?”

“I believe you.” There was a sun porch off the hallway to their right, separate from the main living room, in a corner of the house that gave it two and a half walls of windows. Glossy-leaved tropical plants hung from the ceiling and a mature, ten-foot ficus arched out from the corner. He stepped inside, observing and thinking, the facts falling into place. “You water the plants,” he said.

“Among other things. There’s an aquarium.”

“When does the owner get back?”

“No owner. At least, not who lives here. They’re looking for a buyer. I keep the place looking nice while it’s on the market.”

“So you could be homeless again at any time?”

“I’d have at least a month warning if it goes into escrow. At least. And it’s been on the market for over a year, so what’s the chance of that?”

“Market’s picking up. You could—”

“So? It beats the Holiday Inn. In the meantime I’ll get to live here. Look at it. Isn’t it gorgeous?” Her gaze dropped down, raked over him, lower, back up. The interest in her eyes wasn’t as playful as before, and he felt his temperature rise.

He’d been thinking about her for weeks. Not Blair—her. The feel of her, the smell of her, the sound of her voice. The taste of her in his mouth. His legendary productivity as a computer genius had taken a hit as he spent half of every hour imaging what almost had happened in the kitchen that day.

But even if he’d been thinking about her, why should he believe it was mutual? John, selfish prick though he was, also happened to be rich, tall, and good-looking, and she’d obviously still had a thing for him.

Mark was just the hired help, convenient for some ego stroking. Not the kind of stroking he had in mind.
 

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you see John when you went to the house?”

Her lips flattened. She nodded, looked away.

“Let’s get your stuff,” he said, and went out to the car. He lifted a backpack on his shoulder, hefted up a suitcase, and strode inside with them as she was walking out.

She glanced at him but said nothing.
 

He dropped the backpack in the hall, carrying the suitcase towards the master bedroom, but she strode past, pulled open a hall closet. “Just put that here for now.”

“Why not the bedroom?”

“I’ll probably end up sleeping on the sofa.”

He snorted.

“Hey, it’s my choice. The pillows need to be arranged just so every day in case there’s a showing scheduled and, well, the master bedroom has a
lot
of pillows.”

He peeked inside and choked. Red and gold squares and rectangles were arranged against the king-sized headboard in a mountain range of puffed satin, velvet, and tassels; big ones at the bottom, small ones on top. A cream blanket was folded across the foot of the bed, on top of that a silver tray with a teapot, cup, saucer, and vase with a single white rose.

“Holy shit,” he said.

“They gave me photographs to help me remember how to put everything back, but I decided I’d rather sleep on the couch than deal with that every morning.”

“It’s like a movie set.”

“Yeah.” She closed the door, them out in the hallway, as if sealing the fantasy boudoir off from contamination. “That’s why they call it staging.”

“Do people really fall for that stuff?”

She grinned. “Not yet. Let’s hope they don’t for at least another six months.”

He noticed then she had little silver broomsticks hanging from her ears. And a black cat with white feet dangling on a black ribbon around her throat. Very cute. He had an absurd love of Halloween and approved of her holiday spirit. Smiling into her eyes, he tried to remind himself she was using him but couldn’t remember why he minded.

Smile fading away, she turned. “Let’s get the rest and I can get you back home.”

“You make it sound like I’m out on parole,” he said, following after. “Didn’t you promise me lunch?”

“Yeah, sure. Absolutely. You’re… interested in lunch?”

“I could be persuaded.”

He saw her pause on the steps out to the driveway, continue without turning around. He took the opportunity to admire her ass. Nice as always. The metallic studs on the rear pockets were flashy and eye-catching, drawing him out to the car like a lure on a nylon fishing line.

If she was offering a nibble, how could he not bite?

Just as he was reaching forward to lift a box out of her arms, not sure how he would segue into said nibbling, the gates opened and a familiar emerald green Audi pulled into the driveway.

Sylly’s car.

What the hell is he doing here?

Chapter 13

ROSE DROPPED THE BOX INTO Mark’s arms and raised a hand, waving. “Hey, boss!”

She expected him.

Though Mark had been called a genius since he’d turned four, it took him a long, slow minute to figure out why Sylly was parking in Rose’s new driveway on a Saturday afternoon, far from the office.

The first realization was instinctive. Male. The way Sylly’s eyes raked over Rose from head to toe when he got out of the car made Mark’s hands curl into fists, his posture stiffen.

The other realization was rational, and therefore came last. “Why didn’t you mention this was Syl’s house?” he asked her.

“You were grumpy. I thought you might scold me.”

So this was the place Sylly had been renting out to WellyNelly employees for years. Finding housing was so hard in the Bay Area, offering a discounted house was a great incentive to relocating the most desirable people. Mark had no idea it was this nice, though. Or that Sylly had finally put it on the market.

Sylly joined them next to Rose’s car, his handsome face sporting one of his controlled, professional smiles that was meant to intimidate. “Surprised to see you here, Mark.”

He shoved the box at him. “She asked me to help her move,” he said. “I’m the neighbor, remember?”

“Not anymore.” Eyes lingering on Rose, Sylly shifted the box to one side, held out his free hand. “What else? Load me up.”

Oh, big strong guy, was he? Mark looked into the trunk.
Aha.
Keeping his face blank, he lifted the biggest dumbbell, an iron twenty-pounder, and held it out to him. “It’s pretty heavy. Maybe you’d like to make two trips.”

“I can handle it,” Sylly said, but his jaw was tight. Mark enjoyed watching him stagger into the house.

* * *

“I love having men around.” Rose picked up the sleeping bag and a black plastic bag filled with her pillows and followed Sylly through the front door.

She didn’t understand why Mark was so unpredictable, watching her like a starving man one minute and turning cold the next, but she had a great house to live in and two strong, hot guys doing her bidding.

John was wrong. She wasn’t angry. She could forgive him and Blair and herself, if not today, then soon. How could she not with that view to wake up to every morning? Money in the bank, a roof over her head, a Bay Area tech startup on her résumé.

Arguing with John had been a revelation. She felt light, free, happy. All these weeks, deep down, she’d been afraid he was right, that she was pining for him, that he’d damaged her. But having him throw it openly into her face was like an antidote.

He was wrong. She didn’t care about him at all. She should thank him for showing her that.

Biting back a smile, she eyed Mark.

Or thank somebody else.

“Love the earrings.” Sylly had put her things down in the hallway and was staring at her ears. “Awesome holiday, Halloween.”

She reached up to touch the dangling broomsticks. “I wonder if I’ll get any trick-or-treaters up here.”

“Not many, I don’t think,” Sylly said. His gaze drifted past her and sharpened. “What do you think, Mark? Will anyone come here looking for candy tonight?”

Rose looked between the two men, uneasy. She would’ve said Sylly went out of his way to make Mark happy, but at this moment he looked hostile.

“Not if she locks the door and turns off the lights,” Mark said, hands on his hips.

Were they fighting over her? But she’d never gotten any flirtatious vibe from Sylly, not once. It had to be something else.

“Come on, boys, more work to be done.” She escaped out to the car. The men followed, and five minutes later the three of them had piled up her things and were staring at the elaborate mountain of pillows in the master bedroom.

“How does it stay up?” Mark asked. “Are there wires under there? Scaffolding?”

“Annamarie is a sorceress,” Sylly said. “She’s the real estate agent’s favorite stager. This place looked nice before, but then she came through here with her truck and her crew and I thought twice about selling the place.”

“Why did you buy it?” Mark asked.

“Buy low, sell high. I had the credit, some cash, thought I could flip it. Then the market dipped again and, well, here I am.” Sylly shrugged, glancing between the two of them.

“She thinks she has to sleep on the couch,” Mark said.

Sylly’s frown was real. “No, don’t do that. There are five beds in this house.”

“She’s afraid of the pillows,” Mark added.

“I am not. I’m fine.”

“I’ll talk to Annamarie—” Sylly began.

“No! Mark, stay out of this. Where I sleep is my business.” She pushed them both out into the hallway and shut the door. “So, lunch. How about I take both of you out?”

Sylly gave Mark another stony look. “I’d hate to crash your date.”

All right, there was definitely something going on here. Had she been right earlier—Sylly wanted Mark? There was certainly something personal going on.

Whatever it was, it was a bad situation. Given Sylly was her boss and now her landlord, she couldn’t afford to get between them.
 

She smiled brightly, determined to lighten the mood. “No date. Just my way of paying the movers.”

“You can drop me off at my house on your way,” Mark said suddenly, turning away. “I promised my mother I’d finish decorating the house.”

“You’re going to do more?” she asked, trying not to look hurt.

“I’ll drive you, Mark,” Sylly said. Then to Rose, “Sorry I can’t make lunch, but thank you very much.” Somehow he managed to usher them all out to the car. “Doing the light show again this year? Always putting your best talents to use.”

“That’s me,” Mark said, opening the passenger door. “Mr. Talented.”

When the two men drove away, Rose had to remind herself several times that she’d always wanted to live alone. She was happy to have the place to herself.

Very, very happy.

Damn it.

* * *

“I still don’t understand why you can’t get a real telephone number,” Rose’s mother said that evening. “What if your phone is out of batteries and there’s an emergency? How will I be able to reach you? Or you the police? Cell phones are awful with 911. I saw a show on TV about it.”

Curled up on the couch admiring the view, Rose moved her phone to her other ear. The sun had finally set, but the sky was still streaked with pale silver. She wondered if kids in the Bay Area waited until it was dark to go out trick-or-treating, if they went out at all. Just in case, she’d bought two bags of candy at the store with the rest of her groceries.

“It’s not my house. I’m just staying here. In the unlikely event I forget to charge my phone, which you know I never do, then I’ll run next door and use the neighbor’s. Or drive to the hospital myself.”

“What? Why would you need to go to the hospital?”

“I don’t know. This is your nightmare. You tell me.”

“Fine. Just promise me to plug it in every night. Do you have plenty of bars?”

“They’re a bit of a drive, but it’s nice you’re thinking about my social life.”

“Oh, be serious. Your phone. You have plenty of coverage?”

“I’m fine, Mom.” Rose smiled and sipped her coffee, enjoying the return of her mother’s maternal instincts. “Did you get many trick-or-treaters tonight?”

“Fourteen. You know how it is in this neighborhood; too many old people.”

“Did you dress up?” Her mother’s Elvira costume was legendary.

A long pause. “No, not this year.”

“He didn’t like it, did he?”

“This has nothing to do with him. It—” The line fell silent.

“He couldn’t stand all the stodgy neighbors seeing you all hot and sexy, having some fun—”

“The dress didn’t fit, all right? Now drop it.”