Page 25 of Pain in the Axe
Ah. She wanted to torture me? Two could play that game. I stroked my beard. “More than a stubbed toe…” I gave her a once-over, letting the confusing mix of lust, longing, and sadness wash over me. “But less than a gallstone.”
“Ugh. Gross,” she replied.
I shrugged. “You asked for specifics. And I’ll always give you what you want.”
She opened her mouth, clearly revving up to say something sassy, but snapped it shut again abruptly. Good. I wanted her speechless.
We stared at one another for a moment before I closed the distance between us.
She was too far away, and this day had stirred up so many feelings. Anger about my father and sadness at the loss of our land and company. And also hope for a different future.
But now, I was just thinking about Chloe and how long it had been since I’d touched her.
Tentatively, I reached out. “You’re still wearing your mother’s necklace,” I said, sliding my fingers along the chain around her neck until they reached the locket that lay heavily on her chest.
She closed her eyes as my fingers lingered for just a second. The feel of her smooth, warm skin made me desperate for more.
When she opened her eyes again, they were filled with heat. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and her pulse fluttered at the base of her throat. She was so tiny standing next to me, and I desperately wanted to sweep her into my arms.
Time and space stood still as I gazed down at her. The freckles, the long, long lashes, and the darkening brown eyes. My brain was screaming at me to kiss her, but I hesitated.
With a hand flat against my chest, she pushed me back. She pulled the scrunchie off her wrist and tied her hair back, putting more distance between us. “We’ve still got work to do,” she snapped, the haze of the moment officially gone. “I need you to review some documents.”
I let out the breath I’d been holding. We’d been so close. And we’d just barely avoided disaster. Or had we? Kissing my ex-wife was a terrible idea. One of the worst. So why did I want it so badly?
Without a word, I hung our helmets, turned off the lights, and pulled the door down on the storage bay. Then I made sure to set the digital lock. We’d had too many break-ins and thefts recently to take any chances.
“Don’t pout,” she said. “It’s only a few documents.” Her tone was all business, but her face was soft. She was feeling things too.
With a deep breath in and back out, I held out a hand, signaling for her to lead the way.
She turned and started up the hill toward the cars, giving me a very nice view of her plump ass in those shorts. Over her shoulder, she said, “The spreadsheets don’t do it for you?”
“Nah,” I chuckled. “You know I prefer redheads.”
Chapter 7
Chloe
“Are you sure? This seems insane.”
Celine shifted her weight from one foot to the other, rocking from side to side while Julian clung to her. Her sweet little guy was like a barnacle. Had been since birth. At four, he was almost too big to be carried, but it seemed like, more and more, he was in his mama’s arms. Wearing his favorite Spiderman pajamas, which were faded from repeated wear, he buried his head in her neck.
I admired my sister. She had a way of making every person she encountered feel special. Like now, she was giving me her full attention while comforting her son.
And she was beautiful. The kind of natural beauty that women longed for. Cute button nose, high cheekbones, and round blue eyes. She looked exactly like my mother, right down to the lone dimple on her left cheek. Where my hair was fiery red, hers was strawberry blond.
It suited our personalities. She was the sweet, easygoing sister.
I was the more severe version: pointed chin, arched brows, and dark eyes.
We’d taken totally different paths in our lives. I’d left for the West Coast, gone to school, and built a successful career out there.
She’d stayed close by and married less than a month after earning her teaching degree. Granted, Donny Whittier was no prize. Even today, when I’d asked where he was, she’d said he was “working.” Dubious. His family owned the only privately held lumber mill left in Maine. He’d been raised with a silver spoon shoved up his pompous ass. He was probably enjoying the lunch buffet at a strip club, not that I would ever say that. When it came to her shitty, neglectful husband, I’d learned to bite my tongue years ago. I’d let my inability to keep my mouth shut drive a wedge between us before, and I wasn’t going to risk it now.
Celine was the sweet, maternal, loving version of me. With clear skin, lots of friends, and the kind of effortless style that people devoted Instagram accounts to replicating.
I spent a lot of time and money trying to look half as good as she did by just rolling out of bed. But I’d long since buried any jealousy.
