1
LENA
T he old Victorian doesn't look like much from the outside, but part of being a photographer is seeing the potential in the mundane.
My business has taken off, and it was high time for me to move out of my apartment. I found the old Victorian quickly enough, and it was perfect—bigger and better for where I could both live and build my studio. The neighborhood is quiet and a bit isolated, and that's how I like it. The fewer distractions I have, the better I can focus on my work.
And there's no shortage of things to photograph here. The house is old and quirky, filled with interesting nooks and crannies, but the best part is the attic, which has enormous windows that overlook the neighborhood below. Perfect for capturing photos of the sunset.
I've been unpacking all week, using the time alone to brainstorm how exactly I want my studio to look. It’s going to be more work than I expected, but luckily I know just the man to help.
Owen Mitchell. My brother Jake's best friend and the one man I've wanted to date since I was a teen.
Owen is a carpenter by trade, so this kind of project should be a piece of cake for him. He's also sweet, funny, and the most gorgeous man I've ever seen. At twenty-five, single life has treated me well, but moving into this huge home has made me think about how much nicer it would be if I had someone to share my success with.
And then, even if we didn't get into anything serious, a hot hookup or two would be the perfect way to christen the new house.
I make the call, and Owen answers on the second ring. His deep voice sends shivers down my spine.
"Hey, Owen," I say. "How are you?"
"Lena Carter, it’s been a minute. I can't complain," he replies. "What's going on? Haven't heard from you in a few months. Everything okay?"
"Yeah, I'm great! I actually have a proposition for you..."
He pauses. "What's that?"
"Well, as you know, I finally decided to move out of my apartment and buy a house."
"Ah, yeah. Your brother mentioned it in passing. Congrats."
"Thanks! And the best part is it's got a huge attic." I pause for dramatic effect. "Which would be the perfect spot for a photography studio..."
He chuckles, picking up on my train of thought.
"I'm sure you have lots of friends who can help you with that. Or maybe your brother? I’ve taught Jake a thing or two over the years.”
I huff out a sigh. "Are you kidding me? Jake would have the whole place falling apart in two seconds flat. No, Owen, I need someone who knows what they're doing."
"Flattery will get you everywhere," he teases. "So what's in it for me?"
"Well, how does a hefty paycheck sound? I'll pay you double your usual rate."
He whistles, clearly surprised. "You're doing that well for yourself?"
"Sure am."
I can almost hear Owen's smile over the phone. "All right. I'm in."
My stomach does a happy flip. This is really going to happen. Owen will work under me. And I don't mean that in a sexual way. Yet!
Okay, maybe a little in a sexual way. But also, I need his expertise. If anyone can turn this dusty, dilapidated attic into a functional studio space, it's him.
"When should I come by?" Owen asks.
"Uh..." I glance around at the piles of boxes lining the walls. "How about tomorrow morning? Say 9 AM?"
"I'll be there."
"Great! Thanks, Owen. I owe you one."
After we hang up, I flop back on my bed, sighing dreamily.
If I can convince Owen to take on the renovation project, I'll be able to turn this house into the perfect home...
And maybe, if I'm lucky, it'll bring me a little closer to having my dream man in my life, too.
* * *
Owen is ten minutes early.
I open the front door, and there he is, dressed in jeans and a plain white tee, his work boots covered in sawdust.
He looks good. Really good. He's about 6'3, with his dark hair cropped short and stubble on his face to match. Hazel-gray eyes and a body that shows how hard he works completes the package.
"Hey," he says.
"Hi." I give him a warm smile. "Come on in."
He steps inside, and I close the door behind him. My house is still a mess of half-unpacked boxes, but he doesn't seem to notice. His eyes are fixed on me, trailing down my body.
I'm wearing an old, faded T-shirt and leggings, so it's not like I've made too much effort to impress him. I want him to think this thing between us is happening organically, not something I’ve planned. Still, his gaze is intense—almost hungry—and I feel a blush creeping across my cheeks.
"It's good to see you," he says.
His voice is like melted caramel. Deep and rich and sweet. I want to bottle it up and pour it all over me.
"It's good to see you, too," I reply.
We stand there, staring at each other for a moment before I realize I'm being rude.
"Right! Uh... come on up to the attic. It's this way."
I lead him upstairs, and we walk into the attic. The room is enormous, with exposed beams and huge windows that let in an abundance of natural light. It's beautiful.
He steps forward, taking it all in. "Wow, this is amazing. You could easily set up your studio here."
"That's the plan," I say with a grin.
He moves around the room, inspecting the walls and ceiling, checking the structural integrity. I watch him from a distance, admiring the way his shirt stretches over his broad shoulders and his jeans hug his muscular thighs. He's gorgeous, but he also looks so at home here, like he belongs in a space like this.
After a moment, he turns back to me.
"I think I can make it work," he says, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "It'll take some time, and you'll probably need to replace some of the insulation..."
As he continues his assessment, I let my mind wander. What would it be like to have him work on me? To feel those strong, calloused hands against my skin? To hear his voice whispering in my ear?
My cheeks flush with heat. This is exactly why I've always had such a crush on him. He's gorgeous and sweet and funny, but he's also a damn good worker. I bet he'd be even better in the bedroom...
Owen snaps me out of my fantasy by clapping his hands together.
"All right," he says. "I'm going to head home and get started on some blueprints."
Oh. I wasn't aware this would be over so quickly, and I'm not ready for it to end. I've got to think on my feet. Thankfully, I have a wellspring of information about Owen after growing up with him, which makes him particularly vulnerable to my genius manipulations.
Or, to put it more simply, Owen Mitchell would go to the ends of the earth for food.
"Why don't you stay for lunch? I was about to order pizza." He turns, and I can see his interest is piqued, but I have to take it one step further if I want to hook him. No national chains are going to do it, but maybe a legendary local spot will. "Giordanos?"
"They still deliver all the way out here?"
Bingo.
"Yep, and I'm starving," I say, stretching my arms over my head to show off some skin."I bet you are, too, after working hard all morning."
His eyes follow my movement, lingering on the sliver of stomach my shirt exposes. But he shakes his head as if to clear it. "Yeah, that sounds good. I'll just go downstairs and start sketching some plans while we wait."
"Great!" I give him an extra bright smile before turning away. "I'll let you know when it arrives."
Downstairs, I call in the order, then slip off my shoes and pad barefoot over to where Owen sits at the kitchen island, drawing with pencil on a sketchpad. He looks up at me.
"Do you have any paper towels? I think I tracked sawdust on your floor."
"Oh, no worries. It's just gonna get dirty again anyway. No point in wasting a perfectly good paper towel on it."
He laughs. "If you say so. But if you change your mind, I can help."
I shake my head, my eyes sparkling. "I won't."
I go to the fridge and pour two glasses of lemonade, then slide one across the island. Owen takes a long sip before continuing his work. There's something about watching him draw, seeing how his mind works, that turns me on even more. He's focused and precise, putting all his attention into every little detail. It's sexy as hell.
We sit in companionable silence for a few minutes until the doorbell rings. I go to answer it and, a moment later, return with a large pizza, setting it down on the island.
"Don’t burn yourself. I can feel the heat through the box," I warn.
Owen gives me a crooked grin. "I like it hot."
I can feel my cheeks heating up at his double entendre. He must notice because he chuckles and goes back to sketching. I open the box and pull out a slice of pepperoni, biting into it. The rich, savory flavor explodes in my mouth, and I can't help but moan softly. Owen glances up at me again.
"This pizza is so good," I say, scrambling to explain myself. "I'm starving.”
He looks … intrigued. "Me too."
I finish eating my slice and take another long sip of lemonade. Across the island, Owen stretches his arms over his head, flexing his muscles. I watch, transfixed, as the tendons in his forearms and biceps stand out. He's so gorgeous, it's almost unfair.
"Tell me about your decision to buy this place. I always imagined you somewhere brand new and spotless."
I chuckle. "Well, I wanted to live outside the city. I like the quiet." I pause, thinking. "But more than that, I've always wanted to restore something." I look around at the house. "It's full of potential. All this beautiful woodwork, the ornate details. It's like a blank canvas."
Owen nods, looking around the room thoughtfully. "You have a real eye for it. This place is amazing."
"Thanks," I say, giving him a warm smile.
He turns back to me, his expression growing serious. "So why'd you call me? You know Jake would have jumped at the chance to help you with this."
"Because Jake is..." I search for the right word. "Inexperienced. And clumsy. And I wanted it done right." I look at him meaningfully. "You're the best."
Owen's face flushes, and I can't help but grin. It's adorable.
"Well, I appreciate the vote of confidence. But let's see if we can get the room cleared out before we make any grandiose plans for renovations," he replies.
"Fair enough. Can I get you a slice?"
Owen nods, and I pull out another piece, sliding the box over to him.
"How are you holding up?" he asks, taking a bite of the pizza. "Settling in, okay?"
I shrug. "As well as can be expected. I'm slowly getting everything off the moving truck and inside the house. It'd be a lot easier if I had a big, strong man around all the time to help me."
Owen coughs, briefly choking on the lemonade he's taking before laughing. "Guess you're going to need to call your brother, like it or not."
Is this guy really not picking up on a single hint I'm putting down? Or is he being purposefully obtuse? I know there's a chance that Owen simply isn't into me, but I would have sworn I caught him looking at me here and there over the years. He's always been sweet and polite, but sweet and polite isn't what I'm looking for from him now.
"Maybe," I hedge, disappointed that my flirtatiousness isn't getting me anywhere.
After lunch, Owen goes upstairs one more time to make a list of what he thinks he'll need and snap a few pictures, but before I can come up with a reason to get him to hang around, he heads out to his work truck and leaves. As I watch it disappear down the road, I'm struck by a wave of annoyance. What did I do wrong? Is he really that concerned about pissing off my brother that he won't make a move even when I'm being pretty damn clear about what I want?
Or, maybe Owen is simply a man, and the signals I'm putting out just aren't clear enough. Tomorrow, I'll have to kick it into high gear. That thought makes me feel a little better. It gives me a plan and hope for tomorrow.
With a little more pep in my step, I decide to unload a few more boxes from the moving truck. I've been taking my time unpacking before moving more inside so I don't get too frazzled. I borrowed the truck from a friend of a friend in exchange for a photoshoot so I'm not in any rush, and it's been a great deal for me so far.
As I go to the back of the truck, my eyes catch on something. A man is walking across the street towards my house. His shoulders are hunched, and his head is down. I can't make out his face, but I don't recognize him as any of the few neighbors I've met so far.
"Hello?" I call.
The man stops and looks up. When he sees me, a huge smile splits his face. "Good afternoon!"
I watch as he jogs across the street and stops at my gate. He's middle-aged, with salt-and-pepper hair and a round belly. His cheeks are pink and ruddy, like he's been outside too long in the summer sun.
I open the gate and step through. "Hi. Can I help you with something?"
"Actually, I was wondering if I could help you," the man says. "I saw you were moving in, and I thought you might need some assistance."
Hm. I could use the help, but as a sensible woman, I know better than to accept help from male strangers, especially when we'd be all alone in my house."Oh, uh. Thank you, but I'm okay for now."
He doesn't move. "Are you sure? Because I have some free time. I could lend a hand or a tool." His grin widens.
Okay, now this guy is starting to creep me out. I glance down the street, praying to see Owen's truck, but it's nowhere in sight.
"I think I'm okay." I close the gate. "But maybe next time, Mr...?"
"Grayson. But you can call me Thomas." He steps closer, and I take an instinctive step back. "If you ever need anything at all, you let me know. I'm just at the blue house three doors down. I'd be happy to help."
"Will do," I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
As I turn and walk toward the front porch, my skin crawls from Thomas' intense gaze. It's like he can see right through me. I can feel his eyes on me even after I'm inside, and I shiver involuntarily.
That was weird. And a little unsettling. But I'm sure he meant well. After all, I'm new here. Maybe he was just trying to be friendly.
I shake off the encounter and get back to unpacking. I need to cultivate the perfect plan to seduce Owen tomorrow, and no creepy neighbor is going to distract me from that.