And she’s smoking fucking hot.
My body reacts on instinct, because that thong she’s wearing isn’t more than a scrap of lace that I could rip off with my teeth, and that ass is something that I’ll see in my dreams.
“What the fuck?” she asks.
Scrambling to her feet, she slams the door on me, but it doesn’t close, catching on my foot. Thank god for steel-toed boots. But I can’t seem to get a hold of my thoughts. I saw the car that she drove up in and thought that someone was trying to move in, which seemed a little odd. The last thing I expected was this.
She appears in the crack of the door now that I’ve pulled my foot back. But she doesn’t open the door further. “I’m really sorry, Rey. I shouldn’t have slammed the door. I’m just…having an interesting morning.”
Now when she pulls open the door the skirt is back up around her waist, but that doesn’t make her any less beautiful. I like the undone, messy look that she has going on right now, even if it means that she’s had a frustrating morning.
Tendrils of dark hair are escaping her bun and drifting down her neck, dragging my eyes to her gorgeous collarbones and arms, and a hint of cleavage.
Wait a second…my brain catches up to my balls and I suddenly realize that she called me by name. She knows me? How does she know me?
I look harder at her, and suddenly I see it. Holy shit, it’s Klara Miller. I haven’t seen her in years. “Klutzy Klara?” I ask.
Based on what I just walked in on, the nickname still fits. But her cheeks go pink. “I haven’t been called that in years, and honestly, I never liked it.” She looks toward the stairs where she was just sprawled out. “No matter how accurate it might be.”
I laugh. “I’ll be honest, I didn’t recognize you. All grown up it seems.”
The pink in her cheeks grows darker.
This is definitely not the girl I remember. First, she’s a fucking woman now. The Klara Miller in my memory is a skinny girl who could never seem to get her feet under her. My little brother used to mess with her by picking up frogs from the creek and placing them in her hair and down the back of her shirt.
But now? She’s got curves for days. I just got an eyeful of them, and I’d like to get a handful next. I never really thought I’d want to carry Klara Miller off like a caveman, but that’s where I am. I’m still seeing that perfect ass in my mind’s eye and wondering where else I can make her blush that deep shade of pink.
Klara clears her throat. “What are you doing here?”
I laugh again. “Me? What are you doing here? I never left. I live here.”
Surprise crosses her face before she quickly shuts it down.
A meow sounds seconds before the cat launches itself down the stairs and toward the door. I catch it mid-flight, holding it to my chest before it can escape. “He’s fast.”
“You’re telling me.”
“What’s its name?”
Klara shrugs. “I have no idea. We just met.”
An awkward silence stretches between us, and finally she steps aside. “Do you want to come in?”
“Sure.”
I step inside while she shuts the door behind me, and I set the cat on the floor. It zooms away to one of probably many hiding spots.
The last time I was in this house was…a long fucking time ago. I’m looking around the entryway actively trying not to stare at Klara, but I’m not very successful because she’s so fucking gorgeous. I want to shove my hands into her hair until it comes undone, and then we’ll see what happens after that.
But as I’m looking around in my attempt to control myself, I see just how...disastrous this place is. I already knew from looking at the outside. This whole set of houses is awful. But inside is even worse. “This is a mess, isn’t it?”
Klara sighs. “Yeah. I’m kind of hoping that this is the worst one.”
“What do you mean?”
Leaning down, she rights the suitcase that the cat knocked over. “I agreed to come home and help my parents finish the renovations on the cul-de-sac. But I’ll be the first one to admit that I didn’t realize what bad shape the houses are all in.”
“Why would they ask you to do that?”
She blushes again, this time looking away. “My mom has been sick, and my dad fell. They can’t do it, and there’s only so much time. So, I agreed.”
“But why not call a contractor? The Klara I remember wasn’t interested in plumbing or carpentry. You’re going to fix all this?”
Her eyes darken, and she straightens. She’s a tall woman, but I still tower over her, and when she steps forward, she has to tilt her head back to meet my eyes. I won’t lie to myself about how much I like the sight of it.