One Hot December. Tiffany ReiszЧитать онлайн книгу.
He furrowed his brow. “You want to know my mother’s name?”
“Yes, I want to know your mother’s name. Why wouldn’t I?”
He swallowed a sudden lump of sorrow. He didn’t even remember his mother. Why would he be sad thirty-five years after she was gone?
Ian raised his hand and touched one of the iron leaves on the fireplace grate. “Riva,” he said. “But when she went away to college, she went by Ivy. Dad said it was her teenage rebellion, changing her name. And marrying him.”
“Rebellious teenager. I think I like your mom,” she said.
He felt Flash’s eyes boring into him, searching his face, studying him. What was she seeing?
“I can fix this,” she said. “We can fix it. It’ll be a lot of work, but we can fix it.”
“The fireplace screen?”
“Yeah, the fireplace screen. What did you think I was talking about?”
“Nothing,” he said. “I can pay you.”
She stood up and looked down at him.
“I don’t need your money,” she said. “I’m not fixing this for you. I’m fixing it because it’s beautiful and beautiful craftsmanship like this deserves being preserved by someone who knows what she’s doing.”
“Sorry,” he said, standing up. “I wasn’t trying to insult you. You said it was a big job. I don’t want to take advantage of our...”
“What?”
“Friendship?”
“We aren’t friends.”
“Then what are we?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “But not friends.”
She rubbed an iron vein on one of the iron stems of the ivy. A piece of rust flaked off on her finger and she shook her head at it like it had broken her heart.
“If we’re not friends, then I should pay you,” he said. “I’m not the sort of man who uses people. I’d have to fork over a thousand dollars to a pro to get this removed, cleaned, sanded, repaired and reinstalled. Either we’re friends and you’re helping me out of friendship, or you’re a professional welder who is doing this as a job. So you either let me pay you to do the work or you admit we’re friends.”
“You can pay me,” she said.
“Fine.” It was anything but fine. He didn’t mind paying her. But he wanted her to admit they were friends or something other than just employer-employee. She’d quit her job today and here she was again, working for him.
“In sex,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” She wiped her hands on her pants. “You can pay me for the work in sex.”
Ian blinked.
“You’re not kidding.”
“Why would I kid about that? You and I have already slept together. You know what I’m into. You’re into it, too. And you’re good at it, very good. It’s not easy finding someone good in bed. That’s valuable to me. I have money. I don’t have someone to have good sex with. It’s the barter system and don’t pretend you don’t want to. You could have asked Crawford to do this work for you. I’m not the only welder you know. I’m just the only welder you’re attracted to.”
“It’s more than attraction,” he said.
“What is it, then?”
“I don’t know. But it’s more.”
“Whatever,” she said with a shrug. “You decide.”
“You are bizarre,” he said.
“You’re the one who started this so who’s more bizarre—the girl with the blowtorch or the guy who wants to fuck the girl with the blowtorch?”
“The girl with the blowtorch. I’m going to go with that answer.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right about that.”
“You don’t even like me,” he said, rubbing his temples in the hopes of keeping his brain from imploding. “You have made it abundantly clear you don’t like me.”
“I don’t have to like someone to have good sex with them. I just have to respect them. You’re a good boss, you run the company well, you treat your employees well and you don’t take shortcuts with your work. That’s attractive to me. I don’t want to hold hands with you and go walking in a winter wonderland, but I’ll spread for you if you’re man enough to take me up on the offer. Because we both know you want to do it, and the only thing stopping you is fear.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Yes, you are. You and I had an amazing night together and you dumped me because you were afraid of getting in trouble with dear old Senator Daddy.”
“That’s not why I dumped you.”
“Then why?”
“Does it matter?” he asked.
“No skin off my rosy nose. So what’ll it be? I can do this work in a day or two. Two days’ work for two nights? What do you say?”
Ian wasn’t prepared to answer that question because he hadn’t been prepared to be asked that question. He’d been propositioned by a lot of women in his thirty-six years. Never once in those years had a woman attempted to barter welding services for sexual services. Was he flattered? A little. Was he insulted? Yeah. Kind of. A lot.
“No,” he said. “That’s what I say. No.”
“Can I ask why you’re saying no?”
“You can,” he said.
She stared at him. He waited. She wasn’t the only one who could play mind games.
“Why are you saying no?” she asked, her mouth a tight line of either tension or disappointment.
“I told you, I don’t like using people. I don’t like being used, either. I’m not going barter my body just so you can get off without getting attached. Thanks but no thanks. I’d rather sleep alone.”
“Okay,” she said. “That’s fair.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket and typed something. His own phone vibrated in his back pocket a second later.
“What did you send me?”
“The phone number of a guy named Daniel Tang. He’s a metalsmith in Portland. He does killer work, and if you’re willing to pay him to come out here, he will if you tell him my name.” She zipped up her coat and glanced over her shoulder at the sky darkening through the picture window. “I better go. It’s getting late.”
She headed back toward the garage without another word.
Ian rubbed his temples again. This woman blew his mind on a daily basis. And she was leaving. Right now. He heard her in the living room picking up her gear from off the floor and heard her footsteps on the hardwood and heard the garage door opening. She was leaving and he was letting her go. He’d thought of her every single day and every single night for months. She intimidated him, she confused him, she intrigued him like no one else he’d ever met.
And he was letting her go.
No, he wasn’t.
He ran through the house and made it to the door just in time to see her back out of his garage. She had her arm over the seat and was looking back as she turned around in his driveway. He waited and she looked his way one last time. He waved his arm to flag her down, to stop her, to slow her down, maybe. She gave him a little salute in return, and then drove out of his life.
She