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  She blinked. “You can't fix it?”

  “Nope. Wood, I'm good with.” He couldn't help but shake his head at how that sounded. Aye, he was crude when invited to be, but this was ridiculous. “Also, don't turn your water back on until you get everything fixed. Otherwise you'll need a life jacket and probably new floors.”

  He forced his focus back to her ankle bracelet. A sparkly pink polish graced her toes. Was there any part of her that wasn't absolutely feminine? “Still might if the floor doesn't dry fast enough and the water seeps in.”

  “You knew enough to turn off my water.”

  Even his Uncle Douglass delegated plumbing. “And that's as far as I would trust me near pipes.”

  She laughed. He liked her laugh, but... Jiggle. Jiggle. He was legitimately getting dizzy.

  His neighbor said, “A rule of thumb I should follow too.”

  “Might be for the best,” he murmured, slowly losing the fight to not look.

  “Outside of plumbing, what could I hire you to do? I know my limitations and they end around hanging up a picture in the living room or putting a screw back into a door.”

  She stuffed her hands in her back pockets, drawing his attention up. Did. Not. Help.

  He sighed and relied on his bluntness. “Lass, your wet shirt is giving me a tit show.”

  She followed his line of sight and then closed her eyes, throwing an arm over her chest. A belated effort, but one he appreciated nonetheless. Sooner or later he would have passed out on the floor from the lack of blood in his brain.

  “Well, neighbor...um...” Slowly, she edged away from him to the door.

  “Marcus,” he offered, fighting the need to smile at her flustered reply.

  “Marcus, thank you. Uh...I'm just going to...” She ran once she cleared the doorway practically leaving dust in her wake.

  His mobile beeped. A text from Callan.

  It's not gas. He's smiling.

  Beneath the words a picture of his nephew filled the screen. It was gas, but the toothless grin showed off two deep dimples, making William's hazel eyes shine bright. His light brown skin was offset by dark curls. Marcus couldn't make out the exact shade but did it matter? The wee bairn was bonnie.

  Oh, God. He was an uncle. His brother, despite everything Callan had lived through, was happy. It would be sickening if Marcus wasn't happy for him too. Their da hadn't fucked all of them up. Marcus made sure of it and kept some of the uglier skeletons locked away. For Quinton and Callan, Tavin was a disappointment. Not the scum of the earth.

  Marcus pushed out a breath to let that go. He gave an absent reply then looked around the ugly, but feminine bathroom. It held a fruity scent, probably from soap. The towels covering the floor matched even though they were various shades. So domestic, normal, and exactly what his brothers must experience on a daily basis—women in their space, in their lives and hearts. Nothing he'd known since his adolescence. Nothing he craved for in a long while.

  His soft chuckle sounded bitter. This was everything he'd never have. He was too much like his father where it counted the most.

  Marcus rolled his shoulders and brushed the thoughts from his mind. He had a plan to get a better job, to climb the executive ladder just a little bit higher so that managing board members wouldn't hold the most sway. He should stick to what he was good at—ruthless scheming that couldn't fail. He wouldn't let it.

  Buying a home didn't mean he'd suddenly turned domestic enough to want a woman, a shared life. His schemes kept him warm enough. Great tits or not, his neighbor wasn't a part of the bigger picture in his life—no woman was even if they made him rock hard, and that was more than fine with him.

  2

  Six hours later, Ivy Stewart fully realized the implications of living in a house with a broken pipe and no water. Every time she went to wipe something down or wash her hands, she remembered the plumber she'd hunted down wouldn't be able to make it out until the next morning. Apparently she was the only one who considered no water an emergency.

  Giving up on trying to do anything productive at seven at night, she picked up her cellphone from the kitchen counter and went to her back porch. The scent of freshly cut grass greeted her. Even after the cut, the thick greenery covering every inch of the yard seemed unruly to her. There was just too much of it. Since she'd moved in, Ivy itched to plant flowers—do something to give the landscape a pop of color and texture. But she was a floral designer. Everything could use flowers for added texture.

  Ivy plopped onto the steps, still frowning at her yard. The night was too quiet; the constant threat of loneliness breathed an ice cold breath down the back of her neck so she punched two on her speed dial.

  Her stepsister Adeline answered on the fifth ring. “What is it now?” Her sister's husky voice held a bored tone.

  “Hey!” she said, offended by the greeting. And maybe because it was an accurate assumption. She had called to bitch and moan.

  Her sister laughed. “I'm just saying. You've called me for a month, sometimes twice a day to bitch about that house. Sell it. Or move into an upscale studio and pay people to keep it up. Do something other than banging your head against those old ass walls.”

  So maybe she complained about the house a lot, but Ivy's grandparents had bequeathed it to her. Five years since they had both passed and still a twinge started up in her heart at the memory of them doting on her. “The tenants—”

  “Left it a mess.”

  “I can't—”

  “Sell it because you keep promises past their expiration date.”

  “Low blow.” Quickly she added to avoid a thorny conversation about all her life choices, “I'm calling to vent. You can zone me out and just say Hmm-hmm in the right places, but my day was shit.”

  Adeline sighed, a defeated sound that let Ivy know she would have support, begrudgingly. “Fine. What happened today?”

  “So the pipe in my bathroom burst and flooded the room.”

  The gasp was real and not faked. Ivy smirked because see her day had been shit.

  “What?” her sister asked.

  “Yeah,” she said, knowing her sister had heard her right, and that Ivy had Addy's full attention. “So it's starting to look like the Nile in my bathroom. I'm trying to stem the flow and it's not working. I'm knee-deep in water and then I remembered my neighbor was outside working.”

  “The Ginger? Or the Creeper?”

  Calling him The Ginger didn't quite cut it now that she'd experienced him up close. His voice rumbled deep in his throat. His Scottish accent made every word he spoke sound rough and raw. After the initial frantic flutter in her chest had died out, there he stood in her bathroom, his brows slashed down into a frown as he looked at her, eating up the small space with the scent of sun and freshly cut wood—a purely masculine scent that twisted her gut. And standing in her bathroom, his ginger locks had seemed so dark. So did his blue eyes.

  Shit, just the memory of his stare made her stomach flip. His white shirt and denims held dirt stains, but they appeared artificial. A make-up artist or a high-profile photographer had placed them there so he could look like a rugged, sexy handyman.

  The longer he ate up all the air in the room, the more he didn't seem to belong in the small space, and not because of the ugly-ass orange paint her last tenants had splattered over the walls. His rough edges only made him seem—she didn't know the word to use. She only knew standing in his same space had been an overwhelming experience. She'd said things to him, sure of it, but she couldn't remember most of the words.

  Ivy worried her lip over all of that, because he'd played the part of the white knight, coming to her rescue. That didn't seem like the real him either, and that didn't make sense. They'd talked for maybe five minutes. What could she possibly know about the man?

  Shaking her head, she answered her sister's question. “I'm talking about the Ginger. His name is Marcus.”

  “You shared names?” Her sister sounded scandalized. “What else happened?�
�

  “No, he told me his after he pointed out all the water that had sprayed from the busted pipe turned me into a college co-ed. You know the kind: drunk half the time, always entering wet T-shirt contests.”

  Adeline barked out a laugh. “No!”

  “Yup.” She laughed and lay back on the wooden porch steps. “I didn't expect any company for the day so I went braless.”

  “No.”

  “Yes!” Ivy shook her head. “He could probably count nipple wrinkles. I can laugh about it now, but at the time I just ran to my room to change out of my clothes. By the time I was done, he was gone. Not even outside.” She paused, scrubbed a hand over her tired eyes. “So that makes it worse.”

  The line was quiet for a second. “Why?” Her sister dragged out the question.

  “I need to shower and my water is off. Driving to your house and back will take two hours. Who else can I ask? All of the old neighbors have moved out of the neighborhood and I've only talked to one. Today. In my bathroom.”

  Adeline started to laugh and then the laugh turned into a wheeze.

  “I know,” Ivy said. “This is why you need to move closer to me. Down the street would be preferable. I wouldn't find myself in these kinds of situations if you were here to talk some sense into me.”

  “I told you not to move into that house. I don't know how many times—no. Your grandparents left it to you.”

  She winced at the truth. “But you should have seen how the last tenants left the place. Doors were off the hinges, holes in the walls. If my grandparents were alive to see what they had worked so hard to keep torn up like that, it would have broken their hearts. I had to move in. I couldn't take the chance the next renters would be worse.”

  “I know.” From the somber tone, Ivy knew her sister understood completely.

  They had different fathers, almost a split upbringing, yet they'd clicked from day one. Okay, maybe day two. A quiet Saturday morning, almost two years since Ivy's parents had split, her mother and Adeline's father had sat them down and explained how love was unexpected, unpredictable, a lot of 'un' words that came down to her and Adeline would be step-sisters. Ivy would live with her dad on alternating holidays and summers. Adeline had gained a mother after years of being a half-orphan.

  They were teens at the time so their biggest worry was whether or not they'd have to share a room or get their own. They hadn't shared but over the years they had invaded each other's space, offered unwanted advice and opinions—they'd become sisters.

  But her father's parents' house only highlighted the fact they hadn't come from the same bloodline. She couldn't call the emotion tightening her throat guilt, but the pang, whatever its name, seemed to always be there between them.

  She looked out across the lawn to Marcus's house. The lights were on at his place. That left her with no excuse to go over there other than being a coward. “Any advice because there are not enough bottles of water for me to wash off in the sink?”

  “Marcus is single, right?”

  “As far as I can tell. He moved in alone and I haven't seen anyone but him coming in and out of his place.”

  “Take him food, but pack a bag with everything you'll need for a shower. While he's befuddled by a home cooked meal, shower and then get out. By the time you're done, he'll be full and not care.”

  She pursed her lips. It was a solid but simple plan. “I do have that leftover lasagna I made, and maybe a piece or two of garlic bread.”

  “It's almost like the universe knew that house was going to bite you in the ass again.”

  Ivy laughed. “I had two days with no mishaps. Subconsciously I was preparing for Armageddon.”

  Adeline snorted. “See. And think of it this way, he's already seen your nipples, so implying you'll be naked in his shower will get a surefire yes.”

  She could only shake her head at the ridiculousness. “Only me. I swear.”

  “You know...yeah, only you. You end up in these tense sexual situations. It's like...I don't even know.”

  Kismet was supposed to be the work of a greater power. The Ginger had become a regular part of their conversation for the past week. After moving in, he'd started some project that involved a lot of cutting, sanding and apparently shirtless, hot work. Her bathroom had the greatest vantage point into his yard. Kismet had nothing to do with the fact she had found plenty of things to do in her bathroom.

  Disabusing her sister of that notion was another thing though. “One of my middle names is Temperance.”

  “The fact you have more than one kind of dooms you.”

  That at least was completely true. “Exactly.” Despite everything she'd done this week in her bathroom, she did not plan to flood it or leave herself without a means to shower.

  She closed her eyes and groaned. “All right. I'm going to do it. I'm going to go over to my neighbor's house, one I just met and inadvertently flashed, and ask to use his shower.”

  “Could have been worse,” her sister muttered.

  “How?”

  “You could have been wearing just one long white shirt.”

  Considering that could have easily been just her luck, Ivy nodded. “You're right. I can do this.”

  “Just keep saying it.”

  She tried to swallow the laugh but it bubbled out anyway. “I can't stand you sometimes.”

  Ivy could practically see her sister's big ass grin. “I would feel bad...” Yup. A smile was in Adeline's voice. “...but I suspect your calls are going to get a lot more interesting. That house is out to get you and now you live next door to a handyman.”

  “I won't get into too much trouble. Summer is close. I can smell it in the flowers.”

  In the summer her schedule would be busy with weddings and graduations. The busiest time for a floral designer.

  Her sister said, “You're living next door to a hot guy, and you're talking about smelling summer in the flowers? I don’t understand you sometimes.”

  More than once Addy had accused her of living an apple pie perfect life, and some days Ivy agreed. She had a job she loved. Work friends she liked. Now that she had the—mostly—white picket fence, all she needed were the husband and kids. Her life was stable and...boring as hell, but Ivy wasn't the type to court trouble just to stave off the aching loneliness she sometimes felt late at night.

  “You don't have to understand me,” Ivy said. “You just have to love me.”

  “And now you're quoting our mother. I'm out. Call me though, after the shower. He might be an ax murderer. I have to get back to work, but I'll answer.”

  “This late?”

  “When I signed up to work for Bain Corp. I kind of expected this work schedule. It's actually been pretty easy to live with too little to no sleep or a social life for the last handful of years.”

  Her sister worked in a cutthroat business. The risks were high and according to Addy so were the rewards. Ivy didn't entirely understand it. She had a wonky schedule, and that always left her feeling wrung out for a few days afterward. Some weddings lasted until the early hours of dawn. If her assistant or cleanup crew couldn't stay, she helped. But at least where she worked wasn't a daily dog eat dog contest.

  She told her sister, “Your 'easy' would drive me insane, but I promise to text you after the shower.”

  Ivy ended the call after they said their goodbyes. The breeze shifted and made the loose boards creak. Moments like this the loneliness pressed in.

  She scoffed. “Perfect life, huh?”

  Her sister wasn't there to witness the imperfect moment. No one was. Eventually Ivy would finish fixing up her house. It still wouldn't be a home. So, no, her life wasn't perfect at all.

  3

  Marcus had finally relaxed on his leather couch when someone knocked on the door. It was pushing eight at night. His thighs ached and most likely in the morning everything would. There were reasons why he chose the corporate path despite knowing how to work with his hands.

  And that was why he gla
red at his door. Answering wasn't off the table, but the odds weren't in the person's favor. Another knock, a soft hesitant sound. He narrowed his eyes, knowing who it had to be. Just knew it.

  Rising from the chair, he answered the door without asking for a name. His pretty neighbor grinned at him. Anyone else would see the bright smile and fall for it.

  In the dim glow of his porch light her amber eyes gleamed. Her curls had dried and her hair seemed shorter, framing her face. She didn't look sweet but every inch of her was soft in the right places.

  She held up a large glass dish. “Remember me? Ivy, your neighbor.”

  “Aye,” he answered in a flat tone.

  She held the smile's bright wattage, not deterred by his lackluster greeting. “Well, Marcus, I just wanted to thank you for helping me earlier. I brought some lasagna.”

  He would have believed her heartfelt gesture if she didn't carry a bag that was probably half her weight. Leaning forward he glanced down into the open purse.

  Marcus grunted. “Do you make it a habit to bring towels and underwear when you thank someone?”

  She let out a soft exasperated sigh. “I was getting to that.”

  “Sorry for interrupting.” He crossed his arms and rested against his doorjamb. “Carry on.”

  Her smile went lopsided. “I promise I won't be any trouble. I just need to use your shower.”

  He scoffed. He'd met her less than twenty-four hours ago and twice she'd used those doe eyes of hers to get something out of him. “From the looks of you, I don't think that's a promise you can keep.”

  “Hey, I'm...” She tried for offended and gave up half-way. “Okay. Fine. But can I use your shower anyway? I brought my own soap and everything. Plus, I like to think I'm a pretty damn good cook.”

  Why was he letting her edge her way into his life even this much? Fuck if he knew, but she'd broken the monotony of his week—his day. He hadn't even thought about the table fiasco since helping her that afternoon. He had her tits to thank for that.