Page 4 of Breaking Free

There was more good news on the horizon. Her agent secured an audition for a six-episode TV series scheduled for the following week. It included two commercials and one nonspeaking role, all at scale. She wasn’t overly optimistic, but things were finally looking up. She had money coming in, and she got to walk on the sandy beach beside the Pacific Ocean every day, rain or shine.

The condo itself was more than she ever dreamed of. It was a two-story townhouse with three bedrooms, two baths, asmall balcony in the back and out front, a breezy courtyard with high walls for privacy, benches for relaxing, and lots of greenery, including several potted palms. She had to share it with three other condos, but as a lifelong extrovert, she looked forward to meeting and becoming friends with her neighbors. The gated security, off-road parking, and other amenities like a pool, walking path, and tennis courts—not that she played—were a pleasant surprise, and, with tons of extra space, she didn’t have to pay to store any of her stuff.

One downside was the HOA fees she had to deal with, plus all the stairs—six to the entrance, four more to her front door, and a full flight to her second-floor bedroom. Hauling in groceries wouldn’t be fun, and neither was moving in. For the millionth time, she questioned her sanity for taking on the move by herself. She’d already made ten trips with at least twenty remaining, and her arms and legs felt like jelly.

“Well,” she said, forcing her foot onto step number one of six leading up to the courtyard gate. “This stuff ain’t gonna move itself.”

Mentally, she counted each tread, her thighs and biceps burning by step four.

“You can do it,” she said, cheering herself on with no one else to do it.

Just as she reached the top, a corner of the cardboard box caught on the railing. It pitched sideways, and several things spilled out.

“Oh fiddlesticks,” she muttered, juggling the suitcase and the unstable box as the image of herself and her belongings tumbling down the stairs crossed her mind.

“Let me help with that,” a deep, rumbly voice said from behind her. At the same time, a pair of tanned hands appeared out of nowhere and took the box from her.

She turned, bashing her suitcase on the next concrete step and almost dropping it, and he took that from her, too.

“Arriving in the nick of time, you must be an angel...” she said, beaming with gratitude, but her words trailed off as she came face-to-face with an insanely attractive man.

He had a neatly trimmed full beard, contrasting with his smooth-shaven head, and she had a sudden urge to run her hands over both to feel the difference. He wasn’t conventionally handsome but had a rugged appeal, with broad shoulders and bulging muscles under his snug black tee. And he was taller than most, the same height as her, even though she stood a step above him. His captivating blue-gray eyes were a striking contrast to his sun-bronzed complexion.

“Thank you,” she managed to say when she unstuck her tongue from the roof of her mouth.

“You’re trying to carry too much,” he remarked critically.

“You’re right, but there are so many boxes and bags. I was trying to save a few trips.”

Piper bent to collect the dropped items, including a few with pink lace. As she straightened, her face flushed, partly from bending and partly from embarrassment, she discreetly concealed them behind her back.

“You don’t have anyone helping?” he asked, surprised and clearly disapproving.

“Well...no... Since the condo came furnished, and I didn’t have any of my own, I thought I’d do it myself and spare the expense.” She offered her hand. “I’m Piper Emory, by the way. Moving into 112.”

She suddenly felt foolish when he didn’t take it, only lowered his eyes to her extended hand. Then it dawned on her. How could he shake when his arms were full of her stuff? She glanced down too and, to her horror, saw the pink lace bra she was holding. Her face burned like fire.

“I’m Tristan from next door,” was his terse, mostly-grunted introduction, either not noticing her skimpy, intimate garment or not caring.

“Nice to meet you, neighbor,” she said brightly.

He returned her gaze but not her smile. Then, without saying more, he passed by her. As his long legs effortlessly carried him up the remaining steps and across the courtyard to her door, she admired the view from behind, especially the way his jeans clung to his ass and muscular thighs. Piper snapped out of her daze when he disappeared inside her condo.

Hurrying after him, she skidded to a halt when he reemerged a moment later and descended the steps, making his way to 113, the condo directly across from her. He pounded on the door with his fist. Then, he strode to 111 and did the same.

“New neighbor. She’s got a shit-ton of boxes,” he called over his shoulder, already on his way to the front gate when two men and a woman emerged.

“On it, Tris,” one man said as both fell in line behind him.

“Let me get my shoes on,” the woman, a pretty, very curvy redhead, called, smiling and waving at Piper.

What would have taken her all morning to do alone, the three men did in under twenty minutes, hauling in all her bags, boxes, suitcases, and hangers heavy with clothes. Tristan, who’d taken charge of this impromptu mission, assigned Josie to help her unpack.

“This is the last,” he announced as he entered her front door with at least a dozen hangers over his arm and an empty cat taxi.

“You have a kitty?” Josie asked excitedly.

“Yeah. Jaxx, my sweet boy. He’s in my bedroom so he doesn’t run off while the door is propped open.”

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