Page 39 of Tempt Her

Luke wavers, his eyes darting toward the foyer like he’s drawn upstairs to Stacey more than anyplace else.

“Don’t even fucking think about it.” Ford knows him too well.

Silently, the two of them stand off. And I’ve seen them share every emotion, so intense and so strong, my body responds to the memories of it. But my heart clenches in fear, never having seen them fight.

Over a woman.

“Do it, dude,” I ease my way into Luke’s mind. “Go out to the van, or we’re all busted. Especially her.”

Luke glances, reading my eyes and everything I’ve tried to teach him about rage and regrets. Sucking his teeth, he pushes past Ford, grabbing his box of supplies before practically slamming out of the house through the mudroom and into the garage.

“This is a fucking shitshow,” Ford seethes.

“Close up down here. I’m gonna go talk to her.”

“The fuck?” He aims at me now.

I grab the fan deck of paint samples from our other supply box while I tell him, “I’m not leaving her crying. She’s a client. And she’s a good woman. I got this.” I confront Ford. “And you know what I’ll do if you try to stop me.”

Walking through the foyer, I put a casual smile on my face. Giving the appearance that I’m looking around the house for her. Like I have a very pressing issue of paint choices to discuss.

Pausing at doors and knocking on her bedroom one, I don’t see a camera in here, but I’m sure there is.

The bathroom to their massive ensuite is open, but she’s not there. There’s only one other place, and when I push the door open, there she is—sitting on the closet floor with a blank look in her eyes. Like she’s a million miles away.

“Stacey?” I hold the paint samples for the performance but pray our words are private. “I’d ask if you’re okay, but that’s a dumbass question.”

She shakes her head, returning to reality. “No, it’s a sweet question, and thank you for asking it. But we both know the answer.”

I try to make her laugh. “Am I gonna get shot for being in your bedroom?”

Barely, she grins. “Technically, you’re in my closet. But yes, you could get shot.”

I shrug. “As long as it ain’t by you.” That sorta makes her smile. “He’s just worried for Luke. That’s why Ford’s being such a dick. He’s very protective over him. Believe it or not, he’s protecting you too.”

“He doesn’t know me.”

“No, not really.” I want to sit with her, to pull her into my arms until her tears stop, but I keep my safe distance. “But I kinda do.”

“Miss South Carolina, I know,” she mutters. “Bet I look like a real beauty queennow.”

Tears flush her cheeks. Mascara runs down her face. Misery is smeared across her eyes, and still, she’s beautiful.

“Before that,” I tell her, “we met in a laundry room. It was seven minutes of heaven. At least,”—my nervous hands fiddle with the paint fan—“for me, it was.”

It takes her a moment to let it sink in. “M.J.?” she asks. “That’syou?”

“Yeah. It’s been a rough fifteen years since. I don’t recognize myself either.”

“You’re evenhotter,” she blurts, finally smiling. “Sorry, but it’s true.”

“You’re the only girl who thought that back then.”

“That’s not true. Lots of girls thought you were hot. You were just shy, I always guessed.”

“No. I was just Brown, and you were White.” I cock a smile. “We still are.”

“Is that why you never talked to me afterward? The whole race thing?”

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