Page 2 of Desiring My Brother's Best Friend

"Great! Thanks, Owen. I owe you one."

After we hang up, I flop back on my bed, sighing dreamily.

If I can convince Owen to take on the renovation project, I'll be able to turn this house into the perfect home...

And maybe, if I'm lucky, it'll bring me a little closer to having my dream man in my life, too.

* * *

Owen is ten minutes early.

I open the front door, and there he is, dressed in jeans and a plain white tee, his work boots covered in sawdust.

He looks good. Really good. He's about 6'3, with his dark hair cropped short and stubble on his face to match. Hazel-gray eyes and a body that shows how hard he works completes the package.

"Hey," he says.

"Hi." I give him a warm smile. "Come on in."

He steps inside, and I close the door behind him. My house is still a mess of half-unpacked boxes, but he doesn't seem to notice. His eyes are fixed on me, trailing down my body.

I'm wearing an old, faded T-shirt and leggings, so it's not like I've made too much effort to impress him. I want him to think this thing between us is happening organically, not something I’ve planned. Still, his gaze is intense—almost hungry—and I feel a blush creeping across my cheeks.

"It's good to see you," he says.

His voice is like melted caramel. Deep and rich and sweet. I want to bottle it up and pour it all over me.

"It's good to see you, too," I reply.

We stand there, staring at each other for a moment before I realize I'm being rude.

"Right! Uh... come on up to the attic. It's this way."

I lead him upstairs, and we walk into the attic. The room is enormous, with exposed beams and huge windows that let in an abundance of natural light. It's beautiful.

He steps forward, taking it all in. "Wow, this is amazing. You could easily set up your studio here."

"That's the plan," I say with a grin.

He moves around the room, inspecting the walls and ceiling, checking the structural integrity. I watch him from a distance, admiring the way his shirt stretches over his broad shoulders and his jeans hug his muscular thighs. He's gorgeous, but he also looks so at home here, like he belongs in a space like this.

After a moment, he turns back to me.

"I think I can make it work," he says, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "It'll take some time, and you'll probably need to replace some of the insulation..."

As he continues his assessment, I let my mind wander. What would it be like to have him work on me? To feel those strong, calloused hands against my skin? To hear his voice whispering in my ear?

My cheeks flush with heat. This is exactly why I've always had such a crush on him. He's gorgeous and sweet and funny, but he's also a damn good worker. I bet he'd be even better in the bedroom...

Owen snaps me out of my fantasy by clapping his hands together.

"All right," he says. "I'm going to head home and get started on some blueprints."

Oh. I wasn't aware this would be over so quickly, and I'm not ready for it to end. I've got to think on my feet. Thankfully, I have a wellspring of information about Owen after growing up with him, which makes him particularly vulnerable to my genius manipulations.

Or, to put it more simply, Owen Mitchell would go to the ends of the earth for food.

"Why don't you stay for lunch? I was about to order pizza." He turns, and I can see his interest is piqued, but I have to take it one step further if I want to hook him. No national chains are going to do it, but maybe a legendary local spot will. "Giordanos?"

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