Heartbreaker (Unbreakable #1)(9)

Not for you, D.

I blew out a quick breath. “Cade wanted me to bring the sound equipment for the party…”

“Yes!” She stood and pulled the mask from her head before tossing it onto the worktable. Her hair tumbled down around her shoulders.

Charcoal smudges marred her face, one dotting the tip of her nose, another streaking just below her cheekbone. A pink flush crept up her olive-colored skin from her collarbone to her cheeks. Under thick dark lashes, her eyes turned electric blue in a shaft of sunlight that angled down from a high window.

She blinked heavily, smile widening a fraction.

I blinked too. I tried to remember why I’d come, needed to think of something to say to fill the growing silence.

Instead, my gaze lowered. Used to seeing her in nightclub outfits, earlier a skirt, sometimes jeans and a sparkling top, the casual clothes were something new—better, in my opinion.

Beneath a tan leather welding apron with three pockets riveted into the bottom, she wore two tank tops; a purple one peeked from under a green one, the straps of both twisted chaotically together on one side. Black yoga pants hugged her hips.

Suddenly she moved—breaking my dumbfounded trance—and crossed to the table. She lifted her mug, then paused with it halfway to her mouth. “Want some coffee?”

“Nah, I’m good.” Was I? Something needed to jolt me out of my sudden Kiki-stupor. “On second thought, coffee would be great. Black.”

With a satisfied nod, she turned and went to a narrower table running along the wall, lifted a half-full pot from her coffeemaker, and poured steaming dark liquid into a red mug with white lettering. When she handed it to me, I read the saying aloud, “‘Eat, Drink, and Be Merry’?”

She gave a one-shoulder shrug while gulping from her mug. “If only life were so simple.” Her tone was laced with cynicism. Which surprised me.

Then I realized her place looked lived in. Like lived in. “So you work here?”

Her gaze darted to the clothes thrown over the couches.

Mine wandered to other signs that she spent a lot of time in her workspace: two small pizza boxes stacked on a plastic trash can in the far corner, those stacked envelopes on the table looking a lot like unopened mail—to her, with her same address on it.

She let out a low sigh as her shoulders slumped. “And live here.”

“Why the big production with the dolled-up house in front?” She’d lied to me. Or at least stretched the truth.

Slowly her shoulders shrugged up to her ears along with her eyebrows. The hint of a smile curved her lips. “I didn’t want you to judge me?”

“For where you live?” I shook my head. “My house is no palace.”

Her hands dropped to her hips and she leveled a piercing look at me. “I was after sex. This?” She gestured around us with a wide sweep of her outstretched arms. “Only provokes questions.”

“Like where you sleep?”

Her soft laugh broke the tension. “Yeah. Up there, by the way.” She pointed above our heads to a large room built into the rafters. In the center front wall of that room stretched two floor-to-ceiling glass windows. Soft light glowed on a finished ceiling beyond them.

“This place is cool. Why wouldn’t I like it? It’s like a giant man-cave.”

“For a girl.” Her tone was off, but I couldn’t place why. She seemed…nervous.

I glanced around at all the heavy tools and rust. “Not much girly in here.”

“True.” She unfastened and pulled off her welding apron, then dropped it over her stacks of mail. “Where’s your sound equipment?”

“Back of the truck.” I took a sip of coffee, then winced. For a girl who created awesome art, she made nasty coffee. I put the mug safely on the table.

“Want to fasten it together out there?” She gave a nod toward her front door.

“Would that work?”

“Might need to pull it down, but no sense in dragging it all the way in here. C’mon. Help me with the panels.”

She pulled a screwdriver off a workbench, tucked it into the back of her pants and grabbed her gloves. She put them on as she led me through her work area. We entered a back corner loaded with large stacked items. Industrial shelving units lined the walls and held open boxes of sorted smaller pieces.

“So whose house is up front?”

“Landlord’s.” She moved aside what appeared to be a metal coatrack in progress.

“And you have a key to his place?”

“Her place.” She nodded toward a stack of six metal sheets. “And yeah. She owns five parcels: three houses up front, two industrial properties behind. The prior owner collected and worked on motorcycles. She rented the warehouse and scrapyard parcels to me when she couldn’t sell them.”

“What’s that got to do with you having a key to her house?”

“I watch over it when she travels on business trips. She’s gone most of this month.”

“But…I’m seeing where you live now. How did you expect to give me the panels?”

She pegged me with an exasperated look. “We were supposed to have one night of wild sex. End of. But we didn’t. Then Kristen emailed me with the specs. On Sunday. Day after said wild sex was supposed to happen.”

Ah. Her attempt to set boundaries. Play. Work.