Page 4 of The Blackmail of Denise Randall

“Ha. What are you doing out here?” He speaks with such familiarity to me that I immediately stop moving and allow him to slide me down to where my feet touch the concrete, and my body is touching his. Once my feet are back on the balcony, I spin around. It’s dark, but the moon and streetlamps provide enough light that I can see the shit-eating grin of Keaton Sloan. My chest rises and falls as I stare into his brown eyes, the lights reflecting off the honey color. My stomach dips as my heart rate accelerates.

Keaton Sloan. I’ve had a crush on him since he danced with me four years ago at the New Year’s party at the country club. What’s he doing out here? He’s definitely filled out since then. He was already fit as an athlete, but now he’s a man. He’s shirtless, revealing a defined chest and wearing low hanging jeans.

“Well, well. Denise Randall.” I snap my eyes up to his. The tightening of his hands on my bare skin has me pushing away from him and pulling down my dress. I might not be able to see him that well, but I can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks. “I didn’t expect to see you here. And I sure didn’t expect to see your pink silk panties.”

“I didn’t expect to see anyone here.” I raise my arched brow at him and cross my arms.

I follow his line of sight to my drinks and then he says, “It’s not smart to drink alone. Especially on top of a construction site.”

“What are you doing up here alone?”

“I’m helping build this house. Trent got me a job with Randall Construction.”

“That doesn’t explain why you’re out here after hours.”

He slides past me and takes two bottles from my six pack. “Workin’ late.”

“Where’s the rest of the crew?”

He opens the bottles, then he steps into my space and hands one to me. “Looks like you’re my crew tonight.” His bottle clinks against mine, and he turns the bottle up to take a drink. Half of his body is in the shadows. My breathing picks up as I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, and a drop of sweat slides down his neck to his collarbone. “Not bad.” He examines my body the same way I’m examining his.

“The drink…or me?” I want to let him know I caught him eyeing me. His mischievous smile is the only answer he gives me.I’m suddenly a little thirsty myself. I wrap my full lips around the cold glass of the bottle and slowly take a sip, keeping my eyes on Keaton.

His jaw ticks and I can’t read the expression on his face. He suddenly seems tense. He jerks his head and avoids looking at me. Keaton walks over to the other side of the door and slides down to sit on the concrete slab with his legs stretched out and his boots almost to the edge of the balcony.

My eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness to make out the shadow of him as I bring my bottle to my lips. The sweetness mixed with the slight burn of alcohol does nothing to calm my nerves. He never did answer my question as to what he’s doing out here, in only low hanging jeans and work boots. At least now he’s in the dark and I don’t have to look at his stupid, sculpted chest.

“Are you going to just stand there? Sit down. You’re making me nervous.”

“I’m making you nervous?” I smirk.

“Well, yeah. You fall off and I’ll get the blame. I need this job too much. Not so sure Richard Randall would keep me on if I was the only one around when his princess took a tumble.”

“I’m not going to fall.” I sound like a child. Something inside of me is wanting to defy him for no reason other than I can. He thinks I’m some silly girl that’s going to make one wrong step and—whoa—I stumble over a tool that had gotten left out. Praying Keaton didn’t catch me lose my balance for a split second, I look over to meet his eyes. He obviously did see as he is already halfway up and reaching toward me.

“Could you just sit down? Please.”

With a huff, I ease down. The concrete is still hot, since the sun hadn’t set that long ago, and I wish I’d thought to bring a blanket for cushion. I hear a chuckle and look over at Keaton in the darkness.

“What’s wrong, princess? Your seating situation lacking?”

“It’s not exactly comfortable.”

“Come over here. I have some cushion.” When I don’t move, he says again, “Come on.” I can’t make out much where he’s sitting, so I grab my bottle and the rest of my six pack and take small, slow steps. “Careful,” he warns.

I stay close to the house and ease over to his side. He takes the drinks, and I hear the glass clink against the concrete. My feet don’t touch any cushion, so it must be on the other side of him. I lift my leg and ask, “Do I need to—”

My words get caught in my throat as his big hands wrap around my waist and pull me down on to his lap. I feel the heat from his breath against my lips. His body is hot and solid, like the concrete, but so much more inviting.

“Keaton?” I whisper.

“Is this more comfortable?”

My body is zinging and I refuse to be turned into a panting mess. So I do what I do best, I lie. “Honestly? Not really.”

“Am I not up to your standards?”

He must think of me like everyone else does—a snob, a spoiled rich princess. I won’t take the bait and turn this into me defending myself. But I will bite.

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