3
LENA
W ell, I got what I wanted, and it all blew up in my face.
Hooking up with Owen was mind-bogglingly good, and even if he hadn't meant something to me already, I'd still probably be obsessed. But caring about Owen and now knowing how good of a lay he is has ruined me, and he's all I can think about.
Except for the ugly fact that he basically rejected me as soon as we both came. I should've known better. He said as much earlier that the flirting had been harmless, but I thought it was obvious there was something between us.
I've tried to convince myself over the last week that Owen's rejection doesn't hurt, and that I don't regret my impulsive behavior in the attic. That I don't think about him every minute of the day, wondering what would have happened if I hadn't said anything and let the moment pass.
But I do.
It's hard to stay focused on getting the studio ready, though at least it's a distraction from the gaping hole in my heart. It doesn't help that Owen shows up to work, but he barely speaks to me, treating me more like a client than an old friend. He definitely doesn't speak to me like someone who fucked me right there on the attic floor just last week.
It takes a few days, but eventually, I'm done wallowing in my self-despair, and I jump right back into getting under Owen's skin. He doesn't want me? Fine. But I'm going to make it hell on earth to resist me.
I wear shorter shorts, tighter tops, and lower-cut bras that peek through my shirts. I bend over as often as possible, showing off my ass and legs. I touch him whenever I can, brushing my fingers along his arm or hand when we're talking, even when it's not necessary. I know I'm driving him crazy, and I get a twisted sort of satisfaction out of it.
"What's your problem?" he asks one day, snapping at me after I've dropped my third power drill of the day. "You've never been this clumsy before."
I shrug. "Maybe I'm just distracted by how good you look with all your manly tools."
He huffs his eyes but doesn't take the bait. "Just be more careful, okay? I don't have time to waste fixing your mistakes."
His words are harsh, but he has a point. We're behind on the project because of my silly crush, and I need to get over it. "Fine. Sorry. I'll try to focus."
He grunts in response and gets back to work.
The rest of the afternoon is spent in relative silence, except for the occasional request for a tool or piece of equipment. Owen is focused on his work, and I do my best to keep my thoughts—and hands—to myself. But as the sun starts to set and we get ready to call it a day, something shifts between us. The tension from before is still there, but it feels different now, charged with something else. I might be mistaken, but I think he's getting to the end of his rope. The thought makes me grin.
As we pack up our tools, he catches my eye. "What?"
"Nothing," I say innocently. "I'm just looking forward to finishing the floor tomorrow."
His eyes narrow. "I bet you are."
I give him my best sultry smile. "What can I say? I like watching you work."
He lets out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his hair. "You're killing me, Lena."
I take a step closer, unable to resist teasing him further. "You've been so distant lately, it's hard to believe we ever hooked up at all."
He shakes his head. "That's what I've been trying to tell you. It was a mistake. I never should have?—"
I cut him off, pressing my lips to his. He freezes in place before groaning and cupping my face in his big, rough hands, kissing me back. It's even better than I remember. He tastes like mint and smells like sawdust and his warm, amber cologne.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing heavily. Owen rests his forehead against mine, his eyes closed. "We shouldn't be doing this, Lena."
"Why not?" I ask softly. "We're both adults. We both want this."
He sighs, opening his eyes and gazing into mine. "It's complicated. I don?—"
I press my finger against his lips. "Shh. Can we just put a pin in it tonight? I'm not going to be able to take it if you reject me, and I think we both need some time to think it over."
He nods, letting out a sigh of relief. "Okay. Yeah, that sounds good."
I smile up at him. "Good." I stand on my tiptoes and give him a quick kiss on the lips before stepping away. "I'll see you tomorrow, Owen."
"Yeah," he says softly, watching me head for the door. "See you tomorrow."
I give him a little wave and then slip out of the attic. My heart pounds in my chest, and I feel almost dizzy with excitement. I'm not sure what tomorrow will bring, but I know one thing for sure—I'm not giving up on Owen Mitchell without a fight.
* * *
I leave Owen to pack up his tools while I go downstairs, desperate for a drink after that little confrontation. It didn't go as well as I'd have liked, but at least it's clear he still wants me, and he's willing to think this thing between us over.
I've just opened the fridge when there's a knock at the door, and with Owen occupying every one of my thoughts, I don't even take the time to check who it is before opening the door.
Which quickly proves to have been a mistake.
"Oh, hey," I say, trying to mask my surprise. "What are you doing here?"
"I live down the road, remember?" Mr. Grayson replies, and I instantly regret opening the door without checking. He looks as creepy as before, with his graying hair and watery blue eyes that seem to pierce right through me.
"Right." I force a smile. "Well, I'm actually in the middle of something, so?—"
He cuts me off before I can shut the door in his face. "I just wanted to come by and see how you're settling in. You know, in case you need anything."
"I appreciate the offer," I say, trying to keep my tone polite but firm. "But I think I've got it handled."
He doesn't look convinced. "You sure? Because I don't mind lending a hand. I know these old houses can be a bit tricky to navigate."
I nod, growing increasingly impatient. "Yes, I'm sure. Now, if you'll excuse me..."
Mr. Grayson hesitates for a moment, then steps back, holding up his hands in surrender. "Okay. Sorry for bothering you."
I close the door without another word, locking it behind him. I wait until I hear him walk away before letting out a sigh of relief. It's bad enough that Owen's resisting my attempts at seduction; I don't need some weird guy getting in my face.
"Who the hell was that?" Owen asks from behind me, startling me so much I nearly jump out of my skin.
"Jesus Christ," I gasp, pressing a hand against my chest. "You scared the shit out of me."
He frowns, stepping closer. "Sorry. I thought you heard me come downstairs." His eyes narrow. "Are you okay? What did he want?"
I shake my head, trying to shrug it off. "Nothing, really. He said he just wanted to welcome me to the neighborhood."
Owen raises an eyebrow. "Right. And you locked the door because?"
I look away, avoiding his gaze. I know he won't let this go until he gets a straight answer, but I don't want to admit how much Mr. Grayson creeps me out. "Because I wanted some privacy, okay?"
Owen sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Lena, something is off about that guy. You need to be careful."
"I'm a grown woman, Owen. I can take care of myself."
He shakes his head. "I'm serious. If anything happened to you..." His voice trails off, and he looks away, not finishing the sentence.
I feel a twinge in my heart, touched by his concern. But I also can't help but tease him a little bit. "So what would you do? Come rescue me like some kind of knight in shining armor?"
Owen looks back at me, his expression serious. "If I had to."
I step closer to him, my heart fluttering in my chest. "And then what? Take me back to your castle and claim your reward?"
His lips twitch, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Maybe. If you're lucky."
I pause, studying his face, suddenly feeling like we're not talking about the same thing anymore. I'm positive he's going to kiss me, but after a long moment of looking into my eyes, Owen presses his lips chastely to my forehead and steps back to grab his tool bag. "I'm taking off for the night," he explains, "but I'll be back in the morning. Just do me a favor and make sure all of the doors and windows are locked, okay?"
I nod, trying to hide my disappointment. "Yeah. Sure."
He nods, squeezing my shoulder before he heads for the door, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I walk out onto the porch to watch him go, but as the truck disappears around the corner, I have the strangest sensation that someone is watching me. Crossing my arms over my chest, I look over and see a figure standing on the porch of the blue house three doors down.
It's Mr. Grayson … who just saw Owen leave, dammit. With a shiver running down my spine, I step back into the house and lock the door behind me. Wishing desperately that my sexy carpenter was still here, I check every door and window, making sure they're safely latched and locked.
I think Owen is right. There's something seriously off about that guy.