Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

"You there?" Zane asked through the sound system of the Escalade.

"Yep. Just pulled up."

"She there?"

The "she" being Aria Taylor. The latest social media personality to hit it big. After watching hours of her videos I understood why. Not only was the woman gorgeous in overalls, hair pulled into a ponytail hanging out the back of a baseball cap, face free of makeup, making swinging a hammer or using a drill look damn sexy, but she ratcheted up the sex appeal by knowing how to use the hammer she was swinging, the drill she was whirling, and whichever type of saw she was using in her videos. Hell, the fact she knew the difference between a coping saw and miter saw was enough for her male followers to get a hard-on. That coupled with her sweet, sexy, girl-next-door pretty, it didn't take a marketing expert to understand why she'd gained the popularity she had.

But she was a fuckuva lot prettier in person carrying a bag of trash to the garbage bins at the side of her house.

"Yep."

"Call me after you talk to her."

"Copy."

I disconnected the call and watched Aria toss the bag into the can and make her way back into the garage for no other reason than I liked the way she moved. It didn't hurt her ass looked phenomenal in a pair of supremely faded pair of Levi's. The fact those jeans were faded due to use and not trendy fashion was dead-ass cool.

Unfortunately, I wasn't there to stare at the woman's ass.

Her neighborhood was nice, as it would be, situated near the water just over the Bay Bridge on the north side of Route 50. Closer to the water—either side of the peninsula the Chesapeake or the Chester River, middle income would turn to upper. Waterfront would turn to wealthy. Her house was the nicest on her block. Not surprising with her occupation. What was surprising however, was she'd done all the work herself, only calling in day laborers when the job required more. It was impressive and not because she was a woman. The closer I got to her front door the more the craftsmanship became evident, her impressive skill level becoming clearer. The woman knew what she was doing.

I was admiring the shiplap planking of her wraparound porch when the door suddenly opened. Startled brown eyes locked on me from behind the storm door. And when I say locked, what I really meant was they held me hostage.

Until the fear registered.

"I'm Smith Everette from?—"

"Right." She cut me off and opened the flimsy glass door. "I wasn't expecting you for another five minutes. I was going out to get my mail. Come in."

"I can wait."

"No. Please come in, and thank you for making the trek all the way over here. I know bridge traffic is a pain in the ass. I would've come to you but I need to leave in an hour to go up to Philly and I couldn't take the day off of work."

She paused, shook her head, and started again. "Not that I think my time is more valuable than yours. It's just that I can't break these plans. Rehearsal, then dinner with the bridal party, wedding is the next day, and Sunday's a whole farewell brunch thing. I would've come to you on Monday but my dad's a little… a lot protective and wouldn't stop nagging until I called Zane. Then he called Zane and made this huge deal out of the situation and here we are, you wasting your day sitting in construction traffic?—"

"Aria?"

"Yeah?"

"Making sure you're safe isn't a waste of anyone's day. Especially not mine."

Her grin was lopsided when her lips bowed up.

Totally fucking cute.

"Great. You're one of those overprotective types, aren't you?"

I wasn't—not usually.

But standing in Aria's living room with her in those faded jeans, warm brown eyes, sun-kissed brownish blonde hair, lopsided grin, teasing me after her explanation about why I was in her living room, meant I turned into one.

"Yep."

She rolled her eyes to her kickass vaulted wood ceiling that was done in a badass herringbone pattern. Then rolled them back, her grin turned into a smile and she swept her hand in the direction of the back of her house.

"Well, in that case, let's go sit in the kitchen where I can offer you some coffee, or a beer, or water since I deduced from that I won't be able to convince you that Captain Taylor is seriously overreacting."

Captain Lucas Taylor was her father, a friend of Zane's from the Navy who had called in a favor. The remark could've been interpreted as snarky or bitchy but the way her expression turned soft and the way her eyes danced when she mentioned her father, made the comment teasing.

"You've assumed correctly," I told her.

Her glossy lips pinched but one side remained hitched up.

I followed her into the kitchen and looked around.

"Did you do all this, too?"

She didn't break stride when she said, "Yeah. The kitchen was outdated. But the cabinets were custom made, even if the made part of that was in the seventies. So all they needed was sanding, stain, and some distressing so the door fronts that were beat-up wouldn't stick out. The countertops were a bust but those are easy enough to replace and nowhere near the cost of replacing cabinets. The appliances were so old they'd come back into style if I'd been going for vintage. But I wanted sleek and modern so they had to go."

Whatever look she was going for, it was shit hot.

Dark-stained cabinets with a black glaze that highlighted the distressing she'd done. The granite was black with crazy cool gold veining. Gold cabinet handles and drawer pulls tied everything together.

I rounded the bank of cabinets that delineated the kitchen from an eating area with a four-top table dominating the space and stood opposite her

"It's badass, Aria. You did a great job."

She stopped looking at her cabinets and tipped her eyes to look at me from under her lashes.

"Thanks."

That was shy and cute.

And fuck me, I felt that straight in my dick. The only reason I shoved the feeling aside was the same reason I was ignoring how good her ass looked in those jeans, and her smile, and her pretty eyes and gorgeous face.

Her father was a close personal friend of my boss.

The shy slid away, flirtatiousness sparked in her eyes, and I knew she was going to say something smartass that was going to make it harder to ignore how much I totally dug this chick.

I'd been in her presence all of three minutes.

Fuck me.

Time to get to work.

"When did you get the first letter?"

Aria's gaze went to the countertop and she mumbled, "Straight to it." Her eyes lifted, her lips twitched, and unfortunately she continued, "No lube, no foreplay, just stuck it right in. I didn't take you as that kind of man."

Any second now she was going to see what kind of man I was.

"Aria, Aria, Aria," I teasingly chanted. "Never had an occasion where I needed the assistance of lube. My apologies."

Her smile turned playful when she asked, "And the foreplay?"

"The reason I've never needed the assistance of lube."

One of Aria's perfectly arched brows lifted.

"So you say."

It was a damn good thing the wide expanse of the granite counter separated us—double duty—hiding how much my cock was enjoying her banter while providing necessary distance between her sweet body and my attraction.

"I'd be happy to show you but your father and my boss are friends. Not sure that's a good idea."

"Haven't heard that excuse since before I left Japan."

"Japan?"

"Last duty station I lived with my dad."

I could imagine young, beautiful Aria being untouchable on a Navy base. Her father being an officer would mean other officers and enlisted men and women would tell their sons not to go there with her.

"Right. Ready to tell me about the letters or are we gonna continue to tempt fate with this back and forth?"

The woman looked like she was having an internal debate and when her face split with a heart-stopping smile and I knew I was fucked, mainly because I wanted to fuck her. And her smiling at me like she was fully on board to test the limits of my control wasn't helping.

"Fate?" she retorted.

"Straight up?"

Perfectly kissable lips twitched.

"Hit me with it," Aria invited.

"Any other circumstance I'd show you exactly what kind of man I am."

She leaned a hip against the counter while shamelessly taking me in. Something that was not helping my erection or my resolve.

"And what kind of man are you, Smith?"

"That kind who knows foreplay starts here." I tapped my temple.

The kind that could have you moaning my name in two-point-zero seconds without touching you.

"So, what you're saying is you're the golden unicorn who all women fantasize about. The one who understands you have to fuck a woman's mind before you fuck her body."

Jesus Christ she was killing me.

"We should really get back to the letters."

"We should," she agreed.

I waited for her to continue until it was obvious she was calling me out.

"Are we gonna stand here and play chicken all day or are you going to tell me about the letters? It's not me who's got someplace I gotta be."

She startled at my reminder and pushed away from the counter.

"Shit. I forgot."

"Forgot you need to leave for Philly or forgot when you received the first letter."

"Philly." She waved her hand in front of her. "Like I said, my dad's making a big deal out of nothing. I don't even think the letters are for me."

If I had a daughter who was receiving threatening letters in the mail and I was stationed in Guam, I'd make a big deal out of it, too.

"May I see the letters?"

"Yeah, let me get them." She made it as far as the wide opening to the kitchen before she glanced back over her shoulder. "Help yourself to something to drink."

My gaze dropped to her ass and up close I saw just how threadbare her jeans were. There was a horizonal tear slightly under the left pocket, just enough to tease skin. As soon as she disappeared out of sight I took another look around her refinished cabinets and willed my cock to behave. As soon as she brought me the letters it was time for me to leave—preferably without a hard-on.

That hope was realized when Aria walked back into her kitchen with a stack of envelopes. Not just a few like I'd thought—a fucking three-inch stack.

"How long have you been getting those?"

"The first one came a month after I bought the house."

"Which house?"

Aria set the stack in front of me, shuffled to the side just far enough away to hit the end of the row of cabinets and lean against them. Belatedly the smell of sawdust and…

"Have you been stripping wallpaper?"

It was comical the way her eyes widened, more so when she crossed her arms over her chest and tucked her hands under her biceps.

"Sorry."

"Not sure why you're saying sorry, and I hate to break it to you, but it's not your hands."

Her eyes glowed with feminine mischief, catching me in a moment of surprise. Consequently I was unprepared for her comeback.

"If it's my clothes, I could take them off."

Once the shock of her offer wore off and the teasing in her tone registered, I couldn't hold back a bolt of laughter.

Aria Taylor was damn funny.

"I think I like you," I muttered

"Because I offered to take my clothes off?"

Not even close.

And now I had a bigger problem. I didn't want to fuck her. I wanted to get to know her. Then I wanted to fuck her.

To stop myself from saying something I'd regret I glanced down at the envelopes and noted the address.

"Grasonville?"

"The house I'm currently working on. I bought it five months ago. The first letter came about a month after I purchased the house. And as you can see they're not addressed to me."

They weren't addressed to anyone specifically.

"Has anything been sent here?"

"No. And before you ask, I'm not listed. I'm a single woman with an overprotective father who borderlines rabid when it comes to my safety. I know better than to have my information out there. I pay a service to make sure my phone and address aren't listed on any of the online services. My house isn't in my name. My business is buried two deep and I used one of those registered agents for both businesses."

"What about the mortgage?"

"This house is paid off. The mortgages on the flips are under an LLC with my father guaranteeing them. The PO box for the LLC is in Philly. My friend up there checks the box for me. Only close friends have my personal cell. I have a second phone for contractors and companies I work with. Again, that's under the LLC. I've done everything I can to keep my personal information, just that—personal." She paused to look at the letters. "Once you read them, you'll understand why I don't think they were meant for me. I just think with the post office, mail forwarding stops after a year. I bought the Grasonville house from a brother and sister. Their father was in a nursing home the final eight months of his life. The mail was forwarded to his son. After he passed it took them five months to sort the estate and clean out the house. That's when I bought it."

That might explain the letters but that wasn't what had prompted her father to call Zane.

"And the break-in?"

"You know," she started conversationally. "I love that my dad supports me and watches my YouTube channel but there are times I wish he didn't."

"Why's that?"

"Because that's how he found out someone broke in. I filmed the clean-up and ranted about assholes who have no respect for other people's property. My dad freaked out, called me, and I made the unfortunate mistake in my irritation to mention the letters."

I nabbed the first envelope and pulled out a single sheet of white paper. When I unfolded it there wasn't much to read. Thick, angry, haphazard writing.

I know.

Nothing else on the page.

Two words.

"Knows what?" I muttered.

"Got me," she returned. "That's all they say. Every two weeks, ‘I know'.

"Nothing to your PO box or to your registered agent?"

"Nope. Just these to the house and some dickwad who broke in."

"I take it the mess from the break-in has been cleaned up."

"Yep."

Fuck .

"When you get back from Philly I'd like to take a look at the house. Do you have cameras around the property?" If not, I'd install some.

"I do now."

"What are the names of the people you bought the house from?"

"George Calvin Jr. and Brittney Peterson. Brittney follows my YouTube channel and has commented on the renovation videos."

"George?"

"Not that I've seen. Though he could use a screenname."

I had all I needed to get started.

Now, while I had the chance to walk out of there without my cock stiff and protesting our exit, it was time to leave.

"I'll text you so you have my number. Let me know when you get back and have time to hit the Grasonville house."

"That's it?"

"For now. I'll start running the former owners, see what I can find on them."

"No personal bodyguard? Around-the-clock caretaker?"

So much for walking out of here without a hard-on .

"Is that what you want, Aria? Twenty-four-seven close cover?"

What the fuck was I doing?

Disengage .

"Well…it would probably make Captain Taylor feel better knowing I had protection. This could get dangerous. Having you close would give him peace of mind."

That spark was back in her eyes, triggering a hundred fantasies of how else I could get those brown eyes to catch fire.

"Trust me, beautiful, your father would lose his mind if he knew just how close I wanted to get to his daughter."

The corners of her mouth curved up and, fuck me, I wanted to taste her lips.

Abort. Mission .

"You got someplace to be," I rushed out. "Drive safe and eyes open to your surroundings. Call me if you need me."

With her smile firmly in place she drawled, "Aye-aye good sir."

Jesus God all that sass.

"Sir works just fine, sweetheart." I snagged the letters off the counter and brushed by her, giving myself the barest hint of touching her as I left the kitchen. "I'll see myself out."

When I was at the front door I heard her shout, "You'll need to earn that sir, Sailor."

"Bet that'd sound sweet coming from your lips. But I'd rather hear you moaning my name."

With that, me and my hard dick closed the door and hustled to the Escalade wondering how in the actual fuck I'd let the situation get so out of hand.

The question was rhetorical.

I knew exactly how and I knew why.