Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 101466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
I cleared my throat, and her head snapped up. She tried to grip the wall, but the old wallpaper made it slippery. For an instant, our eyes met—her blue gaze panicked and red, mine curious and amused.
“Help,” she croaked.
I cocked my head. “Help you break in to my house? That’s taking common courtesy a little far.”
“It’s my place!” she informed me.
I laughed. “Lady, you got the wrong house.” I crossed my arms. “Maybe I should call the cops to sort this out.”
She wiggled some more, frantic and angry.
“I’m supposed to live here!” she yelped, trying to keep her camisole down but failing as the silky material bunched under her breasts. She gasped. “Please, help me.”
I shook my head, exasperated and upset. I strode over, slipping my arm around her torso. “Stop struggling.”
“I’m getting dizzy.”
“Hardly a surprise.”
She went quiet, her body limp. Suddenly, I didn’t find this as amusing as I had a moment ago. I lifted one leg, bracing her body with my knee, keeping my arm around her. It took some effort, but I got the window open wide enough so she slipped downward. I held her weight gently, lowering her to the floor, then let go of the window.
I bent and lifted her, carrying her to the living room and sitting her on the old sofa. I took a moment to look at her. She was small, her hair long, and her skin creamy. Her camisole was pulled up again, and I saw the red mark across her torso, just above the denim waistband. Feeling badly, I pulled the material down, but not before noticing just how full and lush her breasts were in the lacy lingerie.
I shook my head.
I shouldn’t be noticing the underwear of home invaders. Or the assets they covered.
I tapped her cheek. “Hey. Wake up.”
Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked around, first confused, then panicked.
“Who the hell are you?” she snapped.
I crossed my arms and stood. “Since you’re in my house, I’ll ask the questions.”
She glared, struggling to get up.
Instinct took over, and I placed a hand on her shoulder. “Whoa. You passed out. No sudden movements.” I looked around. “You need water. Hold up.”
I hurried to the small bathroom off the kitchen, grateful for the stack of disposable cups. I filled one and went back to the living room. The woman was still sitting on the sofa, looking around as if transfixed. I handed her the cup. “Look at that—you can follow instructions.”
She glowered but took the cup, draining it. I was pleased to see the bright red fading from her cheeks and chest. Realizing I was, in fact, staring at that chest, I returned to the kitchen and grabbed her shirt off the floor. I handed it to her wordlessly.
A different color flooded her face as she took it and pulled it over her head. “I was really hot.”
“Again, hardly a surprise. Breaking and entering is a lot of work.”
“I was not breaking and entering.”
“This is my house.”
“But I’m going to live here.”
“No, you’re not,” I snapped, exasperated. “I already have an unwanted tenant coming, and he isn’t arriving for another two weeks. You have the wrong house.”
She blinked. “Wait, are you Thorne?”
“Jesse Thorne, yes. And you are?”
“Your new tenant.”
I shook my head. “KC Lawson isn’t set to arrive for another two weeks,” I stated again. “And you’re a woman. Not KC.”
She smirked at me. “Wow, you’re observant. I am a woman. But it’s Casey, not KC.” She then spelled it out. “And I’m not a man.”
“But—”
She shook her head. “I’m early, but I wrote and told you I would be.”
“I expected a man,” I insisted, as if by saying it often enough, it would be true.
She snorted. “Sorry to disappoint.”
I was so confused. “And I didn’t get a letter.”
“I emailed one.”
“I never got that either. But wait—the paperwork says you’re supposed to be a guy.”
She shrugged. “Not my problem. I’m your new tenant.” She glanced behind me. “What the hell happened to Aunt Lou’s kitchen?”
I ran a hand through my hair in frustration. I had left the very feminine and early Casey in Lou’s place and came over to mine. I dug out the paperwork, reading through my emails, and dammit, she was right.
In no document or email did it mention that she was a he. Lou had said what sounded like KC, and I assumed the wrong gender. Given the field they were in and how male-dominated it was, I had drawn the incorrect conclusion. And that had been further cemented in my thick skull by Sims, who simply referred to KC as…KC.
I remembered the day I’d met with him regarding the sale of the house. He had pointed out the stipulation, smiling. “It’s not legally binding. Simply a request. One that Lou insists you will honor.”
Lou Doyle had been my landlady for over five years. We had developed a relationship that went beyond tenant and owner. I found her funny and droll. She was old-fashioned and, at seventy-eight, refused to change her ways. Her white hair was always up in a bun, but once I had seen it down and it was well past her waist. Her dark-brown eyes were still discerning, and she didn’t suffer fools well. Although she lived alone, she cooked for herself daily. Baked for the local food bank that she volunteered at as well. Drove a cool old Mustang she repaired herself. She wore overalls and boots most of the time. A big hat. She loved to garden and putter in the yard. She could build an engine and often helped the neighbors if they required auto assistance. She had worked in a garage with her father for years and knew more about cars than I could ever hope to. She was a hero to the teenage boys she worked with at the local school, teaching them about engines and automobiles in her spare time. She was independent and strong. Intelligent. I liked her a lot. The past couple of years, her memory had started failing, but she still insisted on looking after herself. I kept an eye on her, as did her other friends. She was well loved.