Page 12 of When We Were More (Aron Falls #1)

T illie

Henry doesn’t seem to hear me approach, so I stand quietly in the doorway, watching him focus on the tile backsplash that we liked. I liked. I’m the homeowner; it doesn’t matter what he likes. I don’t care what he thinks of it. One hundred percent don’t care.

Yet, I could stand here, unnoticed, and watch him do this for hours.

The way his hands hold the tool as he works, the intense focus on his face, and the near-perfect precision of his work.

Unfortunately, my body betrays me when a sneeze escapes.

Henry is in the middle of putting a piece of tile in place, and he doesn’t stop until he finishes with that piece.

Then he sets his tool down and turns to look at me.

“Hello, Matilda.” He leans back against the kitchen island that the guys put in a few days ago. I absolutely love it.

He looks relaxed, casual, yet insanely attractive.

There’s no question that I’m physically attracted to him.

But physical is all I have to offer anybody.

It’s all I would want. Hell, I didn’t even know I might want that until recently, until this annoying sex-on-a-stick man started coming to my house all the time.

“Hi.”

We’ve spoken very little over the last week, mostly because I’ve made a point to avoid him.

I was hurt by his comment implying someone like Jake wouldn’t go out with someone like me, but I need to let it go.

Today I’m back to working from home, so I’m popping in and checking on the progress.

It’s easy, convenient. That’s the only reason I’m in here. Sure, it is.

“Did you need something or…”

Suddenly self-conscious, I walk over to the tile he’s been working on and stand back, looking at it.

“I like the colors and the way the tiles line up with the bricks. I wanted to come and see the progress. That’s all.”

He’s moved over, so he’s standing next to me now, and I can smell his soap or his cologne. Whatever it is, he smells clean, fresh. It’s a manly scent, and it makes me want to nuzzle myself into his neck and inhale. But I would look like a psycho if I did that, so I’m not going to.

We’re both staring at the tile now, and I’m not sure how to break the tension. Then it comes to me.

“Are you sure you have the angle of that cut correct?” When I peek over at him, he’s moved closer to the tile and is inspecting it.

“What angle? I have no doubt that I have every angle absolutely perfect.”

“Oh, I don’t know, that one up there on the top right. It looks a hair off to me. I’m a math person, and this is basic geometry. I notice stuff like this.”

He turns around and pins me in place with his eyes. I don’t know what to make of the storm I see there, but it excites me.

“Well, I’m a master carpenter and trim expert, who cuts angles for a living, and I’m certain that angle is right.”

My smirk’s getting more difficult to hide, and the corners of my lips fight to turn up into a smile.

I see on his face the moment he realizes I’m screwing with him.

He takes a few steps closer to me, not so close that I can give him shit about it, but close enough that it feels more intimate than it should.

“Are you messing with me?” His voice is sultry, smooth like velvet.

“Possibly…” I’m not sure what is happening here—there’s a thick tension in the air. But it’s not bad. It’s… enticing.

Now I’m the one leaning up against the island, and he takes a step nearer again. He puts his hands on the island, caging me in. This is definitely closer than I would stand next to a stranger.

My insides shake, not with fear, but with energy. I hope to God that this light sweater gives me adequate coverage because my nipples tighten. Jesus, maybe I should go out with Jake to scratch this itch because it’s making me crazy.

But it’s not Jake I’m attracted to, unfortunately.

“What if I was?” I have to peer up to see his eyes because, even though I’m tall for a woman, his height must be well over six feet.

The way he’s looking at me, I’m sure I’m going to melt into a puddle on the floor. I wonder if he looks like that when he’s—nope, not going there.

His hands slide inward on the island top, until they’re barely touching me.

This all, the way he’s standing around me, the way he smells, hell even the way he’s dressed in his well-worn work clothes—it’s getting my hormones all up in arms. With the heated look he’s giving me, and if this goes any further, I’m a goner. I’ll have no resistance left.

“If you were, I would ask if you’re sure you wanna play games.” His voice is rough, and he holds my gaze through every word. “But I’ll play with you if you want, tiger, and it’s okay if you scratch.”

Oh. My. God. I’m sure I’ve soaked my panties through at this point. We stare at each other, both of us breathing heavily, which surprises me because he’s made it clear he isn’t interested in me. Except at this moment, it positively seems like he is.

“Why are you doing this?” My voice is raspy, the words catching as they leave my mouth.

“Doing what?” One of his hands moves to my side, and he lightly grips my flesh with his fingers while his thumb strokes me achingly slowly.

“You know what. You don’t even find me attractive.”

His hand freezes, and his body tenses.

“What are you talking about, Matilda? I find you so attractive, it fucking drives me crazy.”

“Don’t lie to me, Henry.”

He steps back, and I immediately miss his touch.

“That’s twice you’ve accused me of lying. Care to tell me why the hell you believe you know what I think about you better than I do?”

Now I’m irritated. I’m not stupid.

“Sure, Henry. I’ll tell you. How about the disgust on your face the day I wore two different-colored shoes, and you watched me waddle down the stairs? You were clearly judging me.”

“The fuck I was, woman! I was watching you, yes, but it was because your fucking body drives me wild. I was gawking at you, not judging you. And you don’t waddle. Don’t say that shit about yourself.”

“Oh really, then why the comments about Jake not wanting to date someone like me?”

“I never said that.”

“You did, ‘he’s twenty-five, Tillie,’” I mimic his voice. “As if he’s too young and too attractive to be interested in me.” Heat spreads across my cheeks and I’m sure they’re red.

“You’re putting words in my mouth. I simply meant, why would you be interested in a twenty-five-year-old? What does a kid that age have to offer you ? Jesus, someone sure must’ve done a number on you for you to be this cynical.”

He hit the wrong button. Like the nuclear war starting button. I push him away, and because he’s not expecting it, his body moves far enough away that I can slip past him.

“Go to hell, Henry.” I storm off, upset, and grab my keys, bag, and wallet from the front foyer.

I’m in the car and pulling out when I see him come around the back of my house.

In my rearview mirror, I see him grab his hair with both hands and kick at the ground.

None of that matters, though. I keep going.

I drive for a mile or two until I’m sure he’s not following me, then I pull off to the side of the road. That’s when the tears fall. Fast and heavy. Tears of frustration, hurt, and embarrassment long held under the surface.

I want to be mad at Henry for his words. But what I’m really upset about is how accurate they were.