Chapter 2

STANDING ON THE SIDEWALK , a suitcase in one hand and balancing a cardboard box in the other, Piper gazed up at the wrought iron gate that led to the courtyard of her new Spanish-style, two-story condo. She had to resist the urge to pinch herself. Not so long ago, her life had been a nightmare. Now, with the sun shining warm against her back, seagulls squawking as they soared toward the nearby shore, only two blocks away, and the salty scent of the ocean permeating the air, it had turned into a dream. Piper had never imagined living in California, let alone in a Santa Monica condo only a short walk to the beach, was possible for a small-town Midwestern girl like her.

The condo was a sublet from a friend of her aunt Eileen, who was looking for a reliable tenant while she worked abroad for two years. The friend had given her a great deal on the rent, or she wouldn’t have been able to afford it.

Who was she kidding? As an out-of-work actress trying to jump-start her backup career as a mortgage notary, it wasn’t in her budget, but it was an offer too good to pass up.

After breaking up with Matt a month ago, she worried a cardboard box under a bridge was in her future. It was the sole reason she’d put off ending things with him as long as she did. He was a slob, treated her like she should be grateful he’d looked her way, and he and his friends, who hung out at his apartment all the freakin’ time, were unbelievably obnoxious. Worst of all, Matt operated under the assumption she was there to cook, clean, and otherwise serve him.

“We need another round of beers, Piper!” he would bellow at the top of his lungs while gaming or watching TV with his buddies. Once she brought them, smiling but seriously unhappy about it, he’d make other demands. “Babe. Me and the guys want a snack.” And, inevitably, in the middle of their cursing, belching, ball-scratching fest, he’d holler, “Hey, Pipe. We need you to make a beer run.”

The shortening of her name had always infuriated her. How much effort did it take to tack on a R at the end? Sheesh!

She wanted to give him a piece of her mind then and there. But, her mother and grandmother had instilled in her since childhood that it was rude to air your dirty laundry in front of company. Even slobs the caliber of their host. Instead, she’d plastered on a smile and done as he asked.

Afterward, she tried to talk to him about it more than once, but he’d smugly reminded her he was paying the bills and putting a roof over her head. “If you don’t like it,” he’d added, “There’s the door.”

What an asshole!

Assuming she wouldn’t take him up on his offer, he was stunned when she packed her stuff and walked out. Losing his chef, housekeeper, and laundress in one fell swoop penetrated apparently, but she ignored his pleas for her to stay.

“Don’t go, babe. You know you love me,” he’d said, flashing the smile that had first attracted her. It no longer worked its magic.

Matt tried apologizing, something he never did. “I’m sorry, Pipe. Give me another chance.”

Except his attempts not to be a horse’s ass were too little, much too late.

In truth, she never loved him. He was tall, dark, handsome, and seemed like a nice guy—proof she was a terrible judge of character—but he mainly was what he proclaimed to be, a roof over her head.

Piper had little faith in karma, fate, and omens. Her father had always taught her that hard work was the key to success. However, in this case, she was convinced Matt’s negative energy had rubbed off on her. Before it became permanent, ending it was the right thing to do.

With nowhere to go except back home to Iowa as a complete failure, she ended up at a long-stay hotel, which put a dent in her meager savings. But the options she could afford, not including the box under the bridge, were in sketchy parts of town. LA was a huge place with a lot of sketchy.

About that same time, things took a turn for the better. Out of the two dozen escrow companies she had sent resumes to, one took a chance on her. Although digital closings were popular, many buyers preferred paper where they could go over the copious and complicated stack of documents and ask questions. After completing her first successful in-person closing, where she diligently guided the buyers through the process, ensuring every line had a signature, initials, or date, all boxes were checked, and every I was dotted and T was crossed, they began assigning her more work.

There was more good news on the horizon. Her agent secured an audition for a six-episode TV series scheduled for the following week. It included two commercials and one nonspeaking role, all at scale. She wasn’t overly optimistic, but things were finally looking up. She had money coming in, and she got to walk on the sandy beach beside the Pacific Ocean every day, rain or shine.

The condo itself was more than she ever dreamed of. It was a two-story townhouse with three bedrooms, two baths, a small balcony in the back and out front, a breezy courtyard with high walls for privacy, benches for relaxing, and lots of greenery, including several potted palms. She had to share it with three other condos, but as a lifelong extrovert, she looked forward to meeting and becoming friends with her neighbors. The gated security, off-road parking, and other amenities like a pool, walking path, and tennis courts—not that she played—were a pleasant surprise, and, with tons of extra space, she didn’t have to pay to store any of her stuff.

One downside was the HOA fees she had to deal with, plus all the stairs—six to the entrance, four more to her front door, and a full flight to her second-floor bedroom. Hauling in groceries wouldn’t be fun, and neither was moving in. For the millionth time, she questioned her sanity for taking on the move by herself. She’d already made ten trips with at least twenty remaining, and her arms and legs felt like jelly.

“Well,” she said, forcing her foot onto step number one of six leading up to the courtyard gate. “This stuff ain’t gonna move itself.”

Mentally, she counted each tread, her thighs and biceps burning by step four.

“You can do it,” she said, cheering herself on with no one else to do it.

Just as she reached the top, a corner of the cardboard box caught on the railing. It pitched sideways, and several things spilled out.

“Oh fiddlesticks,” she muttered, juggling the suitcase and the unstable box as the image of herself and her belongings tumbling down the stairs crossed her mind.

“Let me help with that,” a deep, rumbly voice said from behind her. At the same time, a pair of tanned hands appeared out of nowhere and took the box from her.

She turned, bashing her suitcase on the next concrete step and almost dropping it, and he took that from her, too.

“Arriving in the nick of time, you must be an angel...” she said, beaming with gratitude, but her words trailed off as she came face-to-face with an insanely attractive man.

He had a neatly trimmed full beard, contrasting with his smooth-shaven head, and she had a sudden urge to run her hands over both to feel the difference. He wasn’t conventionally handsome but had a rugged appeal, with broad shoulders and bulging muscles under his snug black tee. And he was taller than most, the same height as her, even though she stood a step above him. His captivating blue-gray eyes were a striking contrast to his sun-bronzed complexion.

“Thank you,” she managed to say when she unstuck her tongue from the roof of her mouth.

“You’re trying to carry too much,” he remarked critically.

“You’re right, but there are so many boxes and bags. I was trying to save a few trips.”

Piper bent to collect the dropped items, including a few with pink lace. As she straightened, her face flushed, partly from bending and partly from embarrassment, she discreetly concealed them behind her back.

“You don’t have anyone helping?” he asked, surprised and clearly disapproving.

“Well...no... Since the condo came furnished, and I didn’t have any of my own, I thought I’d do it myself and spare the expense.” She offered her hand. “I’m Piper Emory, by the way. Moving into 112.”

She suddenly felt foolish when he didn’t take it, only lowered his eyes to her extended hand. Then it dawned on her. How could he shake when his arms were full of her stuff? She glanced down too and, to her horror, saw the pink lace bra she was holding. Her face burned like fire.

“I’m Tristan from next door,” was his terse, mostly-grunted introduction, either not noticing her skimpy, intimate garment or not caring.

“Nice to meet you, neighbor,” she said brightly.

He returned her gaze but not her smile. Then, without saying more, he passed by her. As his long legs effortlessly carried him up the remaining steps and across the courtyard to her door, she admired the view from behind, especially the way his jeans clung to his ass and muscular thighs. Piper snapped out of her daze when he disappeared inside her condo.

Hurrying after him, she skidded to a halt when he reemerged a moment later and descended the steps, making his way to 113, the condo directly across from her. He pounded on the door with his fist. Then, he strode to 111 and did the same.

“New neighbor. She’s got a shit-ton of boxes,” he called over his shoulder, already on his way to the front gate when two men and a woman emerged.

“On it, Tris,” one man said as both fell in line behind him.

“Let me get my shoes on,” the woman, a pretty, very curvy redhead, called, smiling and waving at Piper.

What would have taken her all morning to do alone, the three men did in under twenty minutes, hauling in all her bags, boxes, suitcases, and hangers heavy with clothes. Tristan, who’d taken charge of this impromptu mission, assigned Josie to help her unpack.

“This is the last,” he announced as he entered her front door with at least a dozen hangers over his arm and an empty cat taxi.

“You have a kitty?” Josie asked excitedly.

“Yeah. Jaxx, my sweet boy. He’s in my bedroom so he doesn’t run off while the door is propped open.”

Tristan set the carrier down next to the couch and laid the clothes over its back. Then, with a scowl on his handsome face, he turned to her. “You’re in my parking spot. Yours is two down to the left. If someone takes yours, don’t take someone else’s. Use a guest space across the street, like I had to do.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know...” But she was talking to his back, and he was gone before she could finish her sentence.

Piper looked at Josie and repeated, “I didn’t know.”

She waved it off. “It’s a common mistake.”

“But he seemed ticked off. I don’t want to start on the wrong foot.” She glanced back to the empty doorway. “He mentioned he lives next door.”

Josie nodded, gesturing with her thumb to the adjoining wall behind her. “Tristan is in 110.”

“Great,” she drawled. “It was kind of him to help me, but is he always such a grump?”

“Pretty much,” she said with a sympathetic smile. “He was extra grouchy today, but under that sandpaper exterior is a decent guy.”

“Hm, a tepid review at best.” When Josie’s auburn brows rose in question, she explained. “I’m an actress. Well. A wannabe one, at least. My world revolves around critiques and reviews.”

“Mine too. I run my own business, and a one-star review on Yelp can kill it.”

“What kind of business?” Piper asked as she peeled the tape off the next box to be unpacked.

“I make leather goods and sell them online.”

“Cool.” Piper peered into the box at a jumble of kitchen utensils and supplies then kept up her side of the conversation as she hefted it to take it into the next room. “You mean like handbags and belts?”

“Sometimes, but mostly dresses, skirts, vests, and fetish wear.”

Piper couldn’t believe what she’d just heard and tripped over her feet, barely hanging on to the box as she caught herself. “Oh. That’s...um...interesting.”

Josie laughed. “Yeah, that’s the reaction I usually get when I tack on that last part.”

“How does one get into that line of work? Are you...into that?” As soon as she asked, she realized how intrusive her question was. She would have covered her face and suddenly burning cheeks if her hands weren’t full. “I’m sorry. That’s personal.”

“No worries. I’m an open book,” she said, carrying the hangers Tristan had dropped off, jackets and coats Piper probably wouldn’t ever need in LA, to the front closet. “I’m not in the lifestyle, but I have friends who are. They complained about how hard it was to find quality fetwear, especially in leather. One brought me a design that was surprisingly easy to make. When everyone at her club saw it, they asked for my business card. Now, those specialty items are the most lucrative part of my line.”

“Josie.” One of the guys who helped her move, older, closing in on forty by her guess, and very good-looking, stood in the doorway. “Don’t you have a booth to set up?”

“Oh shoot!” She pulled out her phone and glanced at the screen. “Time got away from me. Be there in two secs, Hunter.”

“I’ll be in the car,” he said, his brown eyes laser-focused on Piper. “Hi, neighbor. We didn’t have time for an introduction.”

“Hunter Ainsley meet Piper Emory,” Josie supplied.

He moved in uninvited. “That’s a lovely name for a lovely woman. Has anyone told you you’ve got a face for modeling? Your bone structure is exquisite.”

Flattered but also taken aback by his directness, she blinked, unsure how to respond without coming across as conceited because she had heard it before. Thus, in part, why she moved to LA to make it big in the industry.

“Hunter is the king of bad pickup lines,” Josie teased him, which earned her an offended look. “He’s also a director, always on the lookout for the newest shining star.”

Piper paid the first part of what she said no mind, too interested in the last part. “Well, here’s a coincidence. I’m an actress looking to become one.”

“Really?” Hunter smiled at her, appearing intrigued.

Once again, Josie stepped in, shooing him toward the door before he could say more. “The car, remember? You can impress her with your directorial resume later.”

“Right...” he drawled, giving Piper an outrageous wink before he disappeared.

Tall and lean, with a thick mane of auburn hair, his cleanly shaved jaw enhanced his patrician features. Unlike Tristan, he wasn’t what she’d call rugged, but she found him equally attractive and not at all grumpy. “My, my,” Piper exclaimed, fanning her face with her hand. “The scenery around here is breathtaking. Please tell me that wasn’t your husband.”

Josie burst into laughter. “Heavens no. Hunter is family. I’m staying with him for a few weeks while my place is renovated.” She looked around at the piles of stuff. “I hate to leave you with all this, but I’ve gotta go.”

“Of course. Thanks for all you did.”

“No problem,” she said on her way to the door. “I’m manning my booth at a street fair this weekend, but I’ll check back on Monday and see how I can help. I moved from New York this time last year and know firsthand that moving is a bitch.” With a wave, she rushed out.

HE DIDN’T STORM INSIDE , but he may as well have the way the door slammed with a bang. It was unintentional, but the long, narrow courtyard acted like a breezeway, and the wind whipped it shut if he wasn’t careful. And Tristan wasn’t careful. His mind was too focused on the blonde moving in next door.

No surprise, he’d been rude to her. Having just come off a mission with Rossi, he hadn’t slept for thirty-two hours, only to come home to find someone parked in his spot. And to make matters worse, he had to trek through the scorching parking lot in ninety-plus degree heat. He was ready to chew the owner a new asshole.

Discovering it was his new neighbor, a gorgeous woman with plump, cotton-candy pink lips, a dimple in one cheek when she smiled, and a round ass atop long shapely legs, fueled his fury more. She was just his type, except for one glaring flaw: She was too damn sweet. The swishing of her ponytail as she walked, her gushing apologies, the flash of that infuriating dimple when she beamed up at him, her cutesy yellow car, and, most notably, her feeble curse word—who the fuck said “fiddlesticks” in this century?—were all dead giveaways.

Being around her for barely a half hour, he could tell Piper Emory was sunshine and rainbows. In contrast, he was a perpetually cloudy day, with an ever-present threat of thunderstorms, considering the foul mood he’d been in lately. Another thing he was—hard as fuck after seeing her in those ass-hugging shorts as she struggled to haul her crap up the stairs, bent at the waist to get something out of a box, and climbing the stepladder in the kitchen to put something away on the top shelf. His cock didn’t seem to care they were as different as daylight and darkness, but his brain shouted back off .

As tempting as it was, Tristan didn’t do sweet. And he didn’t do long-term, which sweet usually demanded. During his fourteen-year tenure with the Army, twelve of that in the special forces, deployed to the Middle East more often than not, he’d seen too much messed-up shit to do sweet. The war, pain, and loss, not to mention the havoc wreaked on the innocents who were too often impacted, hardened him.

Collateral damage, SOCOM called it.

“I call it bullshit,” he declared to his four walls.

That “damage” was somebody’s parent, sibling, or child. More times than he wanted to think about, it was a teammate and friend that had to be medevacked out. Once, it was him. At least he made it out alive. Not everyone did. Maybe if he had done things differently...

He shook his head to break free of the memories taking hold and the regrets. Survivor’s guilt, they called it. The military seemed to have a name or acronym for all the bad shit that went down.

With a grunt of disgust, he threw more than tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter. They skidded along the surface and dropped somewhere out of sight. He didn’t care where at the moment. He had enough energy to shower and collapse into bed—nothing more.

Five minutes later, as long as a shower took since he’d given up on his inherited receding hairline and started shaving his head years ago, he collapsed into bed. With a sigh heavy from fatigue, Tristan closed his eyes.

Instead of sleep, images of a swaying ponytail above the sweetest ass he’d ever seen filled his head. She was tall, around 5’9”. The top of her head reached his chin, which he liked. There were benefits to a petite woman, but reaching her lips or hearing what she said on the noisy main floor of the club without getting a crick in his neck was more appealing. At 6’4”, he was tired of twisting himself into knots to look a woman in the eye.

He wouldn’t have to do any of that with Piper.

In a burst of energy, he rolled onto his side and punched his pillow. “Her name is Piper. Hell. Can you get any sweeter than that?”

He refused to dim her sunshine with his storm clouds. She’d run screaming for safety if he even hinted at the dark and twisted ideas his brain could conjure. One lewd thought led to another, of Piper naked and bound in his ropes. In a side suspension with her legs spread and a wand buzzing away at her clit while he sank into the sweetness of her mouth. Or, in a cocoon tie, knees to chest, wrists crossed behind her back, in a cozy little ball dangling at waist height with that glorious ass exposed for him to squeeze and hang onto as he fucked her.

With a frustrated growl, he flopped onto his back and stared at the ceiling. He would keep his distance. Living side by side with an adjacent upper balcony and a shared courtyard, it would be hard to avoid her entirely. He’d continue as he started—rude and antisocial. They were both better off with her thinking him a dick.