Page 5 of Spark of Attraction

“You’re not my client, Josh.”

He muttered something that sounded an awful lot like fuck you, then blew out a breath. “Okay, but don’t sugarcoat things for her. Be honest, even if it means telling her the brutal truth that the place is going to be a money pit.”

I stared down the main street toward the lake, picturing what I’d seen in that quick glimpse of Hauser House, making complex mental estimates. The multifaceted roof over multiple wings and bays, plus the extension, and a round tower with its steep pointed cupola would be any roofer’s dream for tripling the costs of a modern two-story house. Some boards on the verandah needed replacing, but the bones of the place felt solid.

“I’ll give her an estimate,” I said slowly, “and I can recommend some other reputable people who will do the same. But, J-man? What are you not telling me? Does Ellie not have enough money for pay for any repairs?”

There was another long pause. “Look, don’t tell this to your buddies when they’re doing their quotes, but between Hauser’s and his grandmother’s estates? Ellie’s set for life. She’d never have to work again if she invests it properly. Thing is, Mal? You know how she trusts people, always has.” His voice dropped into a growl. “I’m worried people will see her bank balance and think she’s fair game.”

Was he warning me off too? I wasn’t rich, far from it, but I made a comfortable living and wasn’t buried in debt like a few of my friends. In addition to owning a moderately successful business, I owned my own home that came complete with a double garage that served as my workshop. Okay, I and the bank owned my home, but I had less than ten years left on the mortgage. Though it wouldn’t compare with Hauser House for square footage, acreage, or its spectacular lake view, I didn’t need anything more.

“Ell needs an unbiased opinion about whether that old place is worth saving,” Josh continued. “Don’t let her get taken by some con man.” Someone said something in the background and he returned with a “Look, I gotta go. I’ve got another call coming in. Let me know how it goes.”

Damn it, it sounded like Josh still expected me to treat her like a surrogate sister. Which I didn’t want to do.

Down in the basement, the spark of attraction between us had lit the space between us. At least on my side. We were both unattached adults. But after my doomed relationship with Natalie, I’d learned that romantic sparks could either flare up into a bonfire or spark an ember that flickered briefly then died a slow, painful death.

I pocketed my phone and entered the diner. With a nod from Rachel, I sat at a booth in the corner. I’d worked here a busboy back in high school when Rachel started as a part-time waitress, before she’d bought out the owner to run the place herself.

“Coffee, hon?” Rachel asked, placing a white mug in front of me then filling it without waiting for an answer.

“I’m going to need another place setting too. Client’s going to be joining me.”

“Oh, yeah?” She rocked back on her heels and examined me as if I were a diamond ring in a store and she was appraising its value. She’d briefly been married to a jeweller and had had learned all about the 5Cs. Sounded like she’d found a way to apply her ex-husband’s evaluations of his clients to her diner customers. “Big job? Or pretty client?”

Both. Not that was I about to say that to Rach.

“Big job. Potentially.”

“Good for you.” She handed me a menu which was an oversized laminated sheet with the breakfast and lunch menu on one side, the dinner menu on the other. She placed another mug, turned over on its saucer, on the table across from me, and set a menu beside it. “No use filling it until your client arrives, otherwise it’ll get cold.”

Right. “Oh, and she likes cream. A lot of it, so can you make sure you bring a bunch of those little creamers for her?”

Her eyebrows lifted at my “she” but Rachel didn’t say anything before wandering away to refill the mugs of the other customers.

Rach had refilled my mug twice before Ellie slid into the booth across from me. She’d changed yet again. This time she wore tight dark-blue yoga pants with a light-blue strip down the side, with a light-pink sweater that dropped down over one shoulder, revealing a darker pink strap of a T or those lacy things women wore under their clothes. Her messy bun had been rewound so it was much more neat and professional looking, confined with a sparkly multi-coloured scrunchie. She’d added eye makeup and lipstick that had me locking my ass to the seat against the urge to lean across the table and kiss her. Again.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” With a brilliant smile, she greeted Rachel, who poured her a coffee and placed a bowl filled with creamers in the middle of the table with a wink in my direction.

Ellie poured a creamer into the coffee, then another and another. And another. Four, not eight like she’d used the last time I’d seen her. She picked up her mug, took a sip, closed her eyes and heaved an orgasmic sigh that had me wondering what sounds she’d make beneath me in bed, or on top of me, riding me.

Another sip. Another moan followed by a breathy, “I needed this.”

Afraid she’d catch me staring at her, I buried my face in the menu. I’d looked it over multiple times already and knew what I was going to order but I needed a cover. She’d been cute back at her house, but with the makeup, earrings and everything, she was bloody gorgeous. And those soft sounds she kept making with each sip had me wanting to drag her out of here and take her back to her place, and not to examine the wiring.

Rachel had returned and topped up Ellie’s coffee. “D’you know what you want, hon?”

I half-choked on my coffee at the answer I wanted to give. Ellie. In bed. My face buried between her thighs so I can make her moan like that again.

Ellie opened her mouth as if to speak, glanced at me from under her eyelashes, then caught her bottom lip between her teeth and surveyed the menu again. She closed up the menu and handed it to Rachel. “I’ll have the egg-white omelette and fruit, no toast, thanks.”

I couldn’t stop myself from frowning. “They’ve got the banana bread French toast. That used to be your favorite.”

She hesitated, shook her head. “Not today. Just the egg-white omelette and fruit, please.”

Frowning, I said, “I’m having the banana bread French toast. Bacon, brown bread, buttered.”

Rachel snorted. “That’s what you order every time so I already put up your order.” She took our menus and left us alone.

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