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Or it could be the way he crosses his arms across his chest and widens his feet until they’re shoulder width apart. He’s just so…present in the doorway. It’s seriously fucking with my head.
Which is the only excuse I can cobble together for why I haven’t said a damn word yet.
Super professional, Journey. Good job.
The henley and the flannel the man is wearing are pushed up to his elbows to expose black and gray tattoos all over his arms. They’re hot as hell. And he doesn’t just have tattoos on his arms. I see some peeking out of the collar of his shirt. Then there are the ones on his head and with the sides of his hair shaved, they’re put on perfect display.
“Are you going to just stand there or are you going to tell me why you’re on my porch?” His voice is gruff, and it rubs against me like he’s trying to take my sharp edges and make sea glass.
His stance is aloof, but there’s a heat in his dark eyes as he looks me over. Parts of my body which have been dormant for a long time—like more than eight years—have surged back to life with the way he’s looking at me.
“I, uh,” I close my eyes and shake my head, trying to get myself under control, “I’m sorry. That was incredibly rude of me.” I stick my hand out into the space between us in the attempt to salvage this meeting. “I’m Journey. You contacted me via email about cleaning services for your house.”
“You’re going to clean my house?” There’s an edge of incredulousness in his voice, “You? Really?”
I narrow my eyes and my hands are on my hips before I even realize what I’m doing. I might not have stood up for myself eight years ago, at the height of people giving me a hard time, but I’m not the same scared teenager I was back then. I’ve leaned into my sass.
And, yes, part of it is because I want to teach Shiloh to be someone who stands her ground against the people who will try and tear her down in this life.
“Yes, me,” I give him a healthy dose of attitude. “I run Clean Journey. I do all the cleanings myself which is why I don’t take on new clients often.”
His eyes move down my body again and I almost wish I had put on something nicer than the leggings, old shirt, and coat I have on. Not like there would be a point when I’m working. I get dirty and I’m not looking to date my clients. I’m a fucking professional.
“We covered all of this in our emails when you initially reached out. You got lucky that I had a recent opening,” I remind him.
He nods absently as he scratches his beard. It looks fuzzy and soft. I kind of want to know what it would feel like between my thighs.
Which is not something I’ve ever wondered about before.
I’m not sure if I should be relieved or a little pissed when he steps back into the house and ushers me in with a wave of his hand. This wasn’t really an interview. I could fill this cleaning slot since I’ve had a few other people reach out after he did. He just happened to reach me at the right time.
“I do need someone to regularly come in and clean.” He rubs the back of his neck, looking almost sheepish which is out of place on a guy like him. “I’m not a slob or anything. I like to keep things clean and orderly, but having someone do a deeper clean would be helpful. I also go out of town sometimes and hate it when I come home and haven’t been able to keep up with things.”
I nod, trying to put my annoyance aside. “I can understand that. We have already discussed rates and the level of service you’d like. I can have you on my books. When you know you’ll be going out of town, I’ll just need a key. I will not use it for anything other than cleaning your home, which you’re paying me for, Tanner.”
His eyes widen slightly, and he lets out a small growl of annoyance which seems to be directed at himself more than me. “Shit,” he mutters and shakes his head. “I’m sorry. That was really fucking rude of me.” He offers his hand to me this time and as much as I want to rebuff it like he did to me, the desire to touch him overrides the impulse. What the hell is going on with me? “I’m Tanner. Most people call me Peacemaker.”
I arch an eyebrow because it’s an odd nickname. “Peacemaker?”
He nods toward the leather vest hanging on a hook near the front door. “I’m a member of the Christmas Falls MC. Peacemaker is my road name.”
You can’t live in town and not hear about the motorcycle club. I’ve kept my distance because bad boys on bikes should not be my thing with an eight-year-old daughter at home. With Tanner standing in front of me, I can’t help but wonder if that was the right decision.
“It’s nice to officially meet you.” I offer him a small smile and glance at my watch. “I have time to do a pass through today, like we discussed. You can show me anything you do not want me to touch and give me a basic tour. That way the next time you’re scheduled I’ll be able to dive right in and do a deeper clean.”
“I get it,” he grunts the words, but the more time I spend around him, the less sure I become that he’s gruff because he has an attitude problem.
I’ve been around men who don’t have a nice bone in their body and hate all people. Tanner, or Peacemaker, doesn’t give me that vibe. It’s more like he’s not sure what to do with me.
The thought shouldn’t make me feel like I’m lit up like a marquee in Times Square at all.
But it totally does.
“Okay,” he nods decisively when I glance at my watch again without thinking about it, “I don’t want to waste your time. Let’s get the tour started.”
I trail after him while not checking out his ass in his jeans or the way they mold to his tree trunk thighs. Nope, not even a little.
Everything in his house is manly, but it doesn’t scream bachelor pad the way I would expect it to. He shows me where everything is and tells me he is particular to a certain green cleaning brand and assures me that he’ll stock it for me.
