Page 8 of Just This Once (Stone Family #2)

Dante

I pull up to The Nest Bed & Breakfast in one of the company’s trucks, polishing off the last of my protein bar and the coffee my mother had poured into a travel mug for me this morning.

While I don’t enjoy living back in my childhood home again, there are some perks.

Like my mom cooking all my meals and writing little notes in my lunch box like she used to do when I was a kid.

As I step out of the truck, the crisp October air bites at my skin, and I grab my zip-up from the passenger side, coasting my gaze around the area.

It’s a picturesque plot of land with pumpkins and hay bales dotting the property.

Too bad all the construction vehicles will block the views soon enough.

As a project manager for Moretti Construction, I oversee renovations and new builds from start to finish.

It’s demanding but rewarding work, and I take pride in delivering quality jobs on time and on budget.

I might not be the numbers guy or the one signing contracts, but I know my shit when it comes to managing construction sites.

My crews respect me, and I treat them right in return.

Moretti Construction is a family business, but it’s the men and women I work with on a daily basis whom I consider the real heart of the company.

Heading up the stone walkway to The Nest, I take in the charming exterior of the stately Victorian mansion turned B&B, painted a soft yellow with white trim that could use a bit of a touch-up.

Despite the age, it’s warm and welcoming, with a wide wraparound porch that spans the front, complete with antique rocking chairs and potted mums along the railing.

I climb the few steps up to the door, my work boots heavy on the weathered wood, and I make a note that if we’re redoing the paint, we might as well refinish the porch as well.

Iron sconces flank the forest-green front door with an old-fashioned handle that needs to be pushed down to open.

Inside, I note the small artificial tree with Halloween decorations all over it.

Little Jack Skellington and glitter bat ornaments.

I’m impressed by how the cozy antique feel of the exterior has been brought to life inside as well.

The foyer has original hardwood floors and a worn rug runner leading down the center hallway.

Framed black-and-white photos of what I assume to be West Chester from the late 1800s line the walls.

A slender table sits against the wall, displaying brochures and flyers for upcoming local events.

To my right is a sitting room furnished with floral couches and chairs, their faded fabric adding to the vintage vibe. In front of me is the staircase that I assume leads to the guest rooms upstairs. It’s nice but old, and I can see why the owners wanted to update it.

After finishing my quick assessment, I turn to the dining room, where two men and a woman stand, her back to me.

“Hey, I’m looking for a…” I double-check my clipboard with my brother’s notes on it. “Miss Stone. I’m Dante Moretti, the contractor for the reno job.”

When the woman spins around, I’m momentarily stunned .

No way.

It can’t be her.

But those chocolate eyes and lips open in surprise, similar to the shape they made when she orgasmed, and leave no doubt it’s her.

Taryn .

She seems as shocked as me, frozen in place. The gray-haired bearded guy next to her elbows her forward.

“Yeah, you’ve found her,” he says wryly.

Taryn moves toward me as if in a trance, muttering a quiet greeting. I stick my hand out for an awkward handshake, unable to look away from her face. From her mouth and that single freckle by her left eye, to the wrinkle between her brows as she strains to put the puzzle pieces together.

After all her bullshit about me not being able to see her again, my guardian angel went and set her down right in my path. Amen and hallelujah!

She reaches for my hand but ends up knocking over the little cardboard coffee cup in her hand, spilling it on the floor. She mutters a curse, and I spring into action, using the bandanna I’d tucked in my back pocket to mop it up.

“I got it. I got it,” I assure her, nudging her away from the puddle. She drags a hand over her face, looking utterly bewildered. As do the two men with her.

I try to ignore the mix of curiosity and jealousy that pinches my side like a cramp after a long run. Because, who are they? Why are they here? And why is she okay with them touching her? Like the one on the left does, shouldering her as if they’re old buddies.

Fuck buddies?

After I have it cleaned up, I stand, flicking my gaze between the two men. Neither seems inclined to introduce himself to me, so I don’t either. Instead, I focus on the woman I haven’t been able to stop thinking about for the last forty-eight hours.

And do you know how uncomfortable it is to be a thirty-year-old man living at home and yanking it in his childhood bedroom while imagining the taste of the sweetest pussy he’s ever had as his mother sings along to Billy Joel downstairs?

Pretty goddamn uncomfortable.

But here she is in front of me, exhaling audibly, gaping up at me with wide eyes.

One of the men clears his throat, and in the thick silence, that jolts her into action. She nods at my soaking bandanna. “Uh, thanks.”

“Yeah. No problem. I’m gonna toss this back in my truck,” I say, tipping my head toward the door. “And then you wanna walk me around the property? I have the list, but I’d like to make sure we’re on the same page.”

She nods, her voice uneven and unlike herself. “Mm-hmm. Yep. Sure.”

I only hope it bodes well for me that she’s off-center. Won’t take more than a slight push to have my face between her legs again.

With a burst of hope and appreciation swimming through my veins, I jog outside, throwing my wet bandanna and my zip-up into the truck. I know she liked my muscles on Friday. Might as well remind her of them.

Gotta use what the good Lord gave me to convince that goddess to take advantage once again.

By the time I make my way back inside, the two men are gone, and Taryn appears to be more in control of herself, her shoulders back, chin up, pursed lips, and hard stare in place.

There she is.

My duchess.

I grin .

She arches her brow in return.

As if she doesn’t know that turns me on.

“You’re looking good,” I say, to which she merely shakes her head. “Taryn Stone, huh?”

“Come on. I’ll show you around, Dante Moretti of Moretti Construction.”

“Who were those two guys?” I ask before I can think better of it.

And for a moment, I assume she won’t answer, but she surprises me on multiple fronts by saying, “My brothers.”

I probably shouldn’t feel so relieved to know they’re related to her, but I’m hung up on this woman, and while I don’t mind some competition, I want her for myself.

“I had no idea who you were when we met,” I say and follow her through the arched doorway into the dining room, my eyes drawn to the sway of her hips.

She’s wearing these tight black pants that hug her curves just right and a silky blouse that drapes over her shoulders, revealing a hint of her collarbone.

I can’t help but imagine tracing my tongue along that delicate line, feeling her tremble beneath me.

She tosses me a skeptical look over her shoulder. “And if you did, would you have approached me?”

“I would have approached you the instant I met you, no matter if it was at a bar or a business meeting.”

She huffs. “That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen. This is the dining room. We serve breakfast here every morning, and sometimes we host small events, like bridal showers or baby showers.”

I nod, scanning the room and making mental notes of the changes we’ll need to make. “Got it. And what about the kitchen? We’ll need to bring that up to code if you want to expand your catering options. ”

Taryn leans back, clearly impressed. “You’ve done your homework.”

I shrug, trying to play it cool. “I’m not just a pretty face.”

We move on to the kitchen, and I’m immediately struck by how outdated everything is. The appliances are ancient, the countertops are chipped, and the floor tiles are cracked and stained. It’s a far cry from the sleek, modern kitchens we usually install.

“I’m assuming you spoke to my brother Johnny about quotes and time frames and then signed the contract with Robbie, but I can’t promise that will all remain the same. I didn’t realize you’d need…the works in here.”

Taryn sighs, running a hand through her hair. “I know. It’s been on my list for a while, but we just haven’t had the budget for it until recently.”

I glance up from where I jot down a few notes, catching the worried look in her eyes. “Hey, I’ve got you. I’ll make it work.”

“Dante, don’t?—”

“You ready to go upstairs?”

I can tell she wants to fight me, but I won’t have her working herself up over this job. I’m the one in charge, and I’ll see to it that she gets what she wants in a timely manner and for a price she can afford.

We continue the tour, moving upstairs to the guest rooms. Each one is unique, with its own color scheme and decor, but they all share the same outdated aesthetic.

Even so, I can see why people love staying here.

It’s like stepping back in time. If a bit on the kitschy side.

She wants to keep the feel while opening up the space as much as possible to live in this century.

“So, how long have you been working here?” I ask as we walk down the hall.

Taryn hesitates for a moment before answering. “About ten years. I started out as the assistant manager, but I’m the general manager now.”

“And you enjoy it?”

She nods, her eyes scanning the walls as if taking in every detail. “I do. It’s not just a job for me. It’s my home away from home. I want to make sure it’s the best it can be.”

I can see the pride in her eyes, the dedication in her voice. It’s sexy as hell, and I have a surge of desire. To find out what the pride on her tongue tastes like.

To make her feel proud of me.

After she comes on my mouth and dick eighteen times in a row.

We reach the end of the hall, and Taryn turns to face me, her expression serious. “Listen. I need to make something clear.”

At the sharp sting in her voice, I put my hands behind my back like a good little boy. “Okay?”

“What happened between us the other night… It can’t happen again. I mean it. We need to keep things strictly professional.”

I can’t help the grin, even as I nod in agreement. “Understood.”

She narrows her eyes at me, clearly not convinced. “I’m serious, Dante. No flirting, no innuendos, no…anything. We have to work together, and I can’t have any distractions.”

I hold up my hands in surrender. “Hey, I get it. You’re the boss. Whatever you say goes.”

She scrutinizes me for a moment, as if trying to gauge my sincerity. Then she nods, satisfied. “Good. Now, let’s get back to work.”

As we head downstairs, I bite back a smile. I know she thinks we have to pretend I didn’t fuck her good and raw, but she won’t be able to. I’ll make sure of it. So that when she does eventually give in, she’ll know I’m serious when I say I got her.

For now, though, I’ll play by her rules. I’ll be the perfect gentleman, the consummate professional. But that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the view or the occasional stolen glance.

Because even if she won’t admit it, I know she feels the same spark I do. And I’m not one to back down from a challenge.

As we reach the bottom of the stairs, Taryn’s back to business. “All right, so what’s the next step? What do you need from me?”

I flip through my notes, scanning the list of tasks ahead of us. “First things first, I’ll get a crew in here to start demo on the kitchen. That’s gonna be the biggest job, so we might as well tackle it head on. In the meantime, I’ll start sourcing materials and getting quotes from suppliers.”

Taryn nods, taking it all in. “Sounds good. And what about the guest rooms? When can we start on those?”

I shrug. “Depends on how quickly we can get the materials in. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure we have everything completed by your date. December third, right?”

She nods. “I want to do a relaunch for Christmas. I already have the rooms booked. I can’t mess this up.”

“I’ll get it done for you. Eight weeks,” I say, extending my hand.

“Eight weeks,” she reiterates, placing her palm against mine, her long fingers wrapping around my hand, shaking it. The boss.

Except she doesn’t release my hold immediately. In fact, she lets me tug her a few centimeters closer to me. “Happy to be working with you.”

“Mm-hmm. Yep.” She drops my hand and takes a big step back .

I don’t bother hiding my amusement at her babbling. “Mm-hmm. Yep.” Then I show myself out, stopping with the door open. “Guess those are your new famous last words.”

She rolls her eyes. “You are exasperating.”

“And I know you wouldn’t want it any other way.” I wink and pivot around to Taryn’s mumbled, “I hate you.”

Because I know she doesn’t hate me at all.

Not one bit.