Page 9 of Living Hell

THREE

Iona

“YOUR HOUSE?” HIS STRIKINGblue eyes went wide. “This is my house. I bought it yesterday. Signed the papers and everything. It’s move-in day.”

Something was wrong. Babette never made mistakes, especially on a business transaction as expensive as a house. I blew out a frustrated breath and eyed Tyler. He’d filled out; he was no longer that lanky kid that I remember. He was thicker now, but in a good way . . . a real good way.

What was I doing? Eyeing up my old flame while I stood in nothing but a towel. I cleared my throat, and he got the message.

“How about I let you get dressed, and then we can discuss what’s happening in the living room.”

I nodded and watched his ass as he shut the door. He had a great bubble butt. The kind that a horny woman, such as myself, wouldn’t mind sinking her teeth into.

But now wasn’t the time to consider ending my dry spell with hot man-ass.

Stepping to the mirror, I took in my appearance. I saw the same girl staring back at me when I last stood in this bathroom eleven years ago. Different, strange, with chaos surrounding her and only hope to keep her going.

There was a reason I never came back here, and that reason stood in the living room.

I tried to consider how he believed he lived in this house. Did the previous owner rent it to Tyler and not tell him he was selling it?

That must have been the reason. Poor Tyler. He may be the jerk who ghosted me after I gave him my virginity, but that was no reason to kick him out onto the streets.

Okay, maybe I was a little happy to be kicking him out.

Grabbing the clothes, I had piled loosely on the counter, I threw on my red T-shirt and jeans. When I came out, Tyler wasn’t in the living room. I could only hope he had left. Maybe he was far too ashamed in how he treated me in the past to stick around.

Good. Hopefully, I’d never hear that deep, rumbling voice again.

“Iona! I’m in the kitchen.” His voice floated in from behind me.

Damn.

“I thought you wanted to sit in the living room?” I called before I strolled into the recently renovated kitchen. It was cute and drastically different from when I left it over a decade ago—the new white marble counters offset the sleek gray cabinets.

Tyler was across the room by an open drawer. He held up some papers and gazed at me as if the papers held magic.

Moving with intent, he stepped forward and something about the situation sent a shiver down my spine.

I noticed the citrus and spice scent before he came to a stop a few inches from me. For a moment, I stared at his chest remembering how I used to smile every time I made lemonade with thoughts of him.

I didn’t drink the stuff anymore.

“What’s this?” I plucked the papers from his hand, refusing to let one man’s choice of cologne ruin my day.

“The deed to the house. The papers I signed. Yesterday. This is my home.”

There was a notary mark and everything appeared legal. I stared at the address on the front page. It was this house. This was his house.

Well, shit.

“You bought this house? Tyler, your dream . . .” As if by muscle memory, I wrapped my arms around his torso. He was soft where it was needed, hard where it counted, and my nipples perked up because of it all.

His arms hesitantly slid around me and for that moment, we were young again. All the loss and heartache faded so we could enjoy his wish coming true.

He cleared his throat, and everything disappeared with that noise. His arms, his warmth, the moment.

“You remembered.” His voice hoarse.

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