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“Besides a ton of rework and not enough time to do it?” He looks around the ceiling. “They don’t build them like they used to. This place has strong bones, so we’re going to expand on them. We can keep the building’s face, with some significant embellishments and tie-ins for the overall design. The interior will be gutted. A lot of it’s been patched and modified over the years. There’s nothing worth saving.”
His words sink in. “But you’re going to save the building.” We won. Sort of?
He watches me closely. “Some of it. Probably not enough to satisfy Shirley.”
Right. Shirley. “What about the height variance?”
“Still there, and still needs approval, so if you can put in a good word with her, I would appreciate it.”
“She’s not going to care about this. It’s the condos on Main Street she takes issue with. Plus, she thinks everything you say is bullshit. Lip service that’ll never pan out.”
“Yeah, it’s all bullshit.” He holds out his arms, as if the answer is within these old stone walls. “Glad to see you still don’t trust me.”
“You didn’t start off on the right foot.”
He nods slowly. “Actually, I think I did. It was the next foot that did me in.”
I laugh. “Stepped right into a manhole.”
“Stepped in something.” He chuckles, and it’s such an easy laugh. But it dies quickly, his attention lingering on my face as if trying to read me.
Is he wondering what I am—how much of this thing between us is an act?
Have I been completely wrong about Garrett all this time?
“So, we’re keeping this for our speakeasy, right?” I hover my hands over the table. “How do we preserve this until the place opens?”
He shakes his head but grins. “Sometimes I can’t tell when you’re joking.”
“Oh! I have the perfect name!” I pause for effect. “Stavro Bros.”
As if in answer, the light bulb above the table flickers.
I freeze, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. “Did you see that?”
“I did, but—”
It flickers again.
I dive into Garrett’s side just as a small pop sounds, the filament inside burning out.
I sink with relief, still clinging to him.
“I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts.”
“I do when they talk to me.”
Roping an arm over my shoulders, he pulls me around to face him, our chests against each other. “And what did they say?”
“They like the name, but my choice of business partners is questionable …” My words drift as his hand slides around my nape, tipping my head back to meet his warm brown eyes.
“What am I going to do about you, Justine?”
“Is that a rhetorical question?”
His gaze traces my lips. “I did miss you.”
My breath hitches at the frank admission. “Not enough to come back.” I hear the vulnerability laced in with the challenge.
“I knew I wouldn’t get any work done if you were nearby, distracting me.” His thumb caresses behind my ear.
I sink into him as I revel in his touch. “Sorry to interrupt your busy baby-developer life.”
“Why? I’m not sorry.” With a hard swallow, he leans down to brush his soft lips against mine.
I can’t help the sigh that escapes as I slip my tongue past his parted lips, the tip of it teasing his. The last time we kissed like this, it was pitch-black and he tasted like bourbon. Now, I devour the spearmint taste of his mouth while admiring his face so close to mine. My fingers grasp at his biceps, drift over his collarbones, tease his warm skin.
With a groan, he guides my head to another angle, granting us both better access that we seize with abandon, our tongues taking turns plunging and exploring, coaxing each other further with each pass. My body sinks into his, delighting in the hard press of his erection against my stomach. I’ve thought about that delightful feature of his often over the weeks—how good it would feel thrusting in and out of me.
I rope my arms around his body to pull him in tighter. As much as I want into his pants, I’m enjoying his mouth too much.
“Damn, how tall are you?” he whispers.
“I’m a giant.” I stretch on my tiptoes to help erase some of the glaring height difference. I was in five-inch heels when we were caught in the linen closet. His neck must be hurting.
Releasing my nape, he seizes my waist and hoists me up until our faces are aligned. “Better?”
“Not quite.” I wrap my arms around his shoulders and my legs around his hips.
His hands come around to span across my ass without shame, supporting my weight with little effort.
I flex my thighs around him as I grind against his groin. “There. That’s perfect.”
“Fuck,” he hisses.
“That’s the plan.” Our mouths descend into a flurry of hasty tangled kisses, our breathing ragged, our teeth catching against each other. If we weren’t in this dirty murder basement, I’d be tugging at his clothes, but it’s not ideal, so we make up for it with an aggressive assault on each other’s mouths, and neither of us seems to want to yield.
