“What’s wrong, Ford?” She wiggles her ass over my hardening cock. “Is there something distracting you?”
I close my eyes and suck in a breath as the warmth of her pussy seeps through her jeans and onto my cock.
“Nope.” I grit the words out and shift her so she’s sitting more on one thigh and less on my hard-on. It’s wishful thinking that it’ll help with the desire coursing through my body, but it’s worth a shot. “Not a thing.”
Ledger.
Callahan.
Ledger.
Callahan.
Thoughts of my brothers are a surefire way to give me a reverse boner.
“No kids or white picket fence?” I grit out as she puts her hand down to shift and accidentally grazes my denim-clad cock.
I hiss in a breath as her grin grows.
“White pickets need too much maintenance. Paint and the weather wear on them. Maybe a vinyl fence someday. Or wrought iron. It’s a little sturdier.”
I laugh. God, this woman. She’s something else.
“And kids—”
“You’re trying so hard to continue this conversation, aren’t you?” she murmurs as she traces the bulge in my pants with her fingernail. The sensations ricochet all the way down to my balls and lower abdomen as she leans in, her mouth inches from mine. “How about we stop talking, Sharpe, and you start putting that mouth of yours to much better use?”
“What did you have in mind?” My eyes flicker from her lips to her eyes and then to her tongue darting out to wet her lips.
Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ll like it.
She leans in and brushes her lips to mine. “Well, considering we’re equal partners—”
“Fifty-fifty,” I whisper against hers.
“I do believe you got your fifty this morning, and I’m still sitting here without mine.”
Fuck. Is she asking me to go down on her?
She doesn’t have to ask twice.
Conversation over.
Libido in overdrive.
“I can most definitely remedy that.”
“You can?”
Another kiss.
“What kind of partner would I be if I didn’t try to fulfill my responsibilities?”
A momentary slide of my hand between her thighs.
“A horrible one.”
A lick of her tongue over my bottom lip.
With my hands on her waist, I help push her to standing while I make quick work of the button and zipper on her jeans. “Then I’m going to need you to sit your ass on this desk right here for me to prove I’m worthy.”
Fifty-fifty never sounded so good.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Ellery
“I need you to pick up something for me.”
Isn’t that what Ford had asked of me? To run an errand and head to the next town over to help him out?
Can’t say that I minded. I’ve been in a funk the past few days since my mom’s birthday, so the chance to roll the car windows down and get some fresh air was just what I needed.
Each mile I put between me and the site allowed me to breathe a little more.
Chaos seemed to be the theme this week.
And I swear it’s because Ford jinxed us by saying everything had been running smoothly. This week alone, a pipe burst in the café area, an electrician fell off a ladder and needed medical attention, and we were denied a permit due to some minor technicalities with city ordinances.
Stress upon stress upon stress.
And all of that when we have an impending hard date for the furniture to start arriving.
If the rooms don’t get finished, then we have nowhere to put it.
Speaking of schedules, I need to get whatever this is I’m here to pick up and get back.
I glance at the address again on the text Ford sent me and then back to the building in front of me.
Yep. It’s the right place. Just not exactly where I’d expect to pick up something for a remodel.
The building is Cape Cod blue with white shutters and flower boxes on the sills. A few women mill about, passing back and forth in the windows. One has a glass of wine in her hand. Another has foils in her hair.
I reach up and touch the ends of my own hair. When is the last time I had it cut and blown out? I’ve been so involved in the inn, in my time with Ford, that it hasn’t even crossed my mind.
Maybe I’ll make an appointment while I’m here.
But what do a salon and a remodel have in common? Ford had to have transposed numbers or something on the address.
Me: You sure this is the right address?
Ford: Yes. Blue building. Pink flowers?
Me: Yes.
Ford: Millie has what you need.
I stare at my screen and give a shake of my head.
“Here goes nothing,” I mutter as I climb out of my car and up the steps. The inside is airy and sizeable. It smells of the jasmine climbing in the planters. There is the low hum of chatter and blow-dryers as I wait for someone to spot me at the front desk.
“May I help you?” a woman with curly brown hair and a kind smile asks.
“Yes, I’m looking for Millie. I’m here to pick something up for Fordham Sharpe.”
Her smile spreads to a million watts. “Isn’t that man the greatest? Brains and kindness and looks all rolled into one incredible package.”
“Um-yes. I guess,” I stutter, thrown off guard by her comments.
She waves a hand at me. “Honey, it’s more than okay to agree. There is no judgment here. You must be Ellery.”
“Yes. Millie?”
“Guilty as charged,” she says, her southern accent coming through a little stronger.
“I’ll just grab whatever it is he needs and get out of your way.” My smile is polite, but I’m not exactly thrilled with this woman fawning all over the man who currently occupies way too much of my time to be considered healthy.
Her laugh draws the attention of everyone around us. “Oh darling, you’re not grabbing anything you can take with you.”
“What do you mean?” I ask as she extends her hand with what looks like a card in it.
I eye her curiously as I open the envelope and pull the card out.
Elle-
You’ve been working nonstop. You deserve a break. A little relaxation. Millie has the works set up for you. A massage. A facial. A manicure and pedicure. Other things I don’t even know what they are.
And when you’re done for the day, there’s a nice waterfront condo with your name on it for the night. Food is ordered and will be waiting. Wine is chilling. I’ve been promised by the owner that some excellent romance novels have been left to aid in that relaxation. Enjoy the time away from the noise and the dust.
Someone once said this place can make you batty. It can. Take this time for yourself to unwind. I’ll see you tomorrow.
-Ford
I don’t know why tears spring to my eyes, but they do.
“He’s not too shabby, if I do say so myself,” Millie says softly.
“No. Not at all.” I blink away the tears and hate how one escapes down my cheek that I wipe away as soon as it falls.
“It takes a good man to recognize when his girlfriend needs a break from the day-to-day.”
“I’m not . . . we’re not—”
Her laugh cuts me off. “You can I’m not, we’re not all you want, but if a man takes time out of his day to make a woman happy who isn’t his momma, then I’m thinking you’re more than just a friend.”