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I hold onto the banister and descend alone, taking careful steps, fearing I’ll trip in front of the hottest man I’ve ever met and self-conscious that he’s staring at my ass.
CHAPTERFIVE
Igrind my teeth and brazenly stare at the gentle sway of Wren’s hips and the supple curves of her round ass. It’s unprofessional and disrespectful, but I can’t look away. I threatened the guys with swift retribution if I caught them doing exactly what I’m doing now, and I’m not even trying to hide it.
“You should take a picture. It’ll last longer.” Hank sneaks up on me, his eyes fixed on Wren. She hops off the last step and feasts us with a soft bounce of those mouthwatering globes. I’m so lost in admiration I nearly fall forward.
Hank wipes his hands with a rag and murmurs under his breath, “She’s a pretty little thing. Too bad she wants to do our job for us.”
I follow the trajectory of his gaze and groan with displeasure. I’d rip his eyes out of their sockets if I could do it without making a scene. “Wren’s only trying to be helpful. Don’t worry about her getting in the way. I’ll deal with her,” I mutter, trying to sound unbiased.
Hank isn’t wrong. Her interference makes it difficult to work, and I pride myself on the speed of our service. I can't get things going if my every decision is questioned or I'm worried about the client's safety.
It would be nearly impossible to tolerate her micromanaging if she didn’t have me wrapped around her finger.
He chuckles and pats me on the back. “I’m sure you’d love todeal with her, but Wren York is way out of your league. It doesn’t matter how much money you’ve got in the bank. Her people stick with their own.”
His words piss me off. Not because it’s a shitty thing to say, but deep down, I know it’s the truth. I may own a successful small business with a couple of million in the bank and a house in Brooklyn, but I’ll always be a working-class guy. Wren might be as sweet as peaches, and she could be interested in a roll in the hay with a man from the wrong side of the tracks, but she wouldn’t bring me home to meet her parents. That could cause a huge scandal, and I hate drama.
While I ponder the unthinkable, fantasizing about a situation that will never be, Chuck announces they’re ready to take the bureau to the truck. I need to get my head out of my ass and return from the land of make-believe. There’s work to do, and as the boss, I must ensure we keep to the schedule.
“I’ll clear the way and wait for you at the truck.” I rush downstairs and shove a stopper under the front door. Unable to resist, I turn my head and glimpse Wren standing by the window, staring at the street. The sun shimmering against her pale face illuminates her youthful skin, unblemished by age or stress. She’s young and has probably never worked a day in her life. Her soft blue eyes shift to mine, and for a moment, I see something resembling desire. I bite back a groan and fly through the door, descending the stoop two steps at a time.
When I reach the truck, I unlatch the roll-up door and lean to one side, hoping to see her tiny figure staring back through the window. Our eyes meet for no more than a moment before she skitters away in a flustered mess. I puff out a laugh, smiling from ear to ear, and return to my work. Perhaps I'm delusional, but this is the first time since I left the military that any woman has turned my head, and I'm tempted to explore it further.
“Coming through!” Chuck and Hank announce their presence as they carry the bureau down the concrete stoop. I climb onto the bed of the truck and grab the top end, carefully sliding it on and then moving it toward the back. It’s as heavy as it looks, but everyone on the team knows the proper way to lift heavy objects without hurting their back. We learned the hard way early on. Once it’s secure, I jump off the bed and return indoors.
Wren is waiting by the door. “That looked heavy. Are you okay?” She wrings her hands and holds them against her chest, drawing my attention to the swell of her breasts. I feel like a cad, stripping her bare with my active imagination, but that doesn’t make me turn away.
“I’m good,” I croon, trying to stifle the enthusiasm bubbling in my chest.
Wren sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, which is suddenly shimmering as if she’s just applied a coat of gloss. I flatter myself believing it’s meant for me, but maybe it is.
Wren steps out of the way and allows me to pass by her. The scent of her perfume floats past my face and brings a flicker of longing to my heavy soul. She stares innocently, utterly unaware of the storm brewing in my battle-worn heart, and whispers, “I think I’ll head to the second location. Are you sure you know where it is?”
I nod slowly, drowning in the soft blue irises pulling me in. “I sure do—89th Street, right? We’ll see you there in approximately forty minutes.”
Her soft expression tenses with worry. She shakes her head and extends her arm to a nearby table to grab her list. “I thought we could head to my storage unit before going to the new house since you have two trucks, and we’re not taking much from here.”
I discreetly clench my fist, breathing deeply to diffuse the grumble that instinctively appears. As much as I appreciate her organizational skills, I don’t enjoy being micromanaged. I know how to do my job. I would never entertain her intrusion if she wasn’t the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
“Normally, you’d be correct, but your grandfather paid us extra to ensure special care was given. It’s best to drop these items off first. We’re close enough to your new place to make quick work of it, and traveling to Chelsea with this fragile cargo will only increase the probability of something getting nicked or scraped.”
Her eyes widen, and she bobs her head. “You’re right. I didn’t think of that.” She steps back and then scatters into the living room when she spots Hank and Fred charging down the stairs with her mattress.
“Coming through!” Fred declares as they zip by me and head toward the truck.
Wren watches from the window, scrutinizing their work with a narrowed gaze. Is that what she was doing to me? What the hell am I doing? Am I seriously projecting my feelings onto her?
After they clear the way, I rush upstairs to help Chuck with the obscenely heavy, solid mahogany Louis XVI style headboard. As much as I want to stand around and stare at Wren, I have work to do, and lugging that monstrosity is not a one-man job.
While I attach the straps and shrug them over my shoulders, my mind wanders once again to the girl downstairs. My heart races, imagining walking away at the end of the day. We’ll continue our lives and probably never cross paths again. She’ll marry some dandy with a small dick and a giant trust fund. He’ll keep her in the lap of luxury but won’t know the first thing about making her cream and scream in the throes of wanton, unbridled ecstasy. How could he when that sweet pussy was meant for me?
“Damn it, Ford. Where the hell is your mind? Move it.” Hank’s exasperated voice makes me snap my head and fumble out of a lusty daze.
Jesus Christ, I’m losing it.
CHAPTERSIX
