Page 9 of Steal My Heart
BRIAN SPENTthe rest of the evening with Gran, and the following day, as he prepped the house for painting, he managed to get a few minutes with Hilliard. Judging by the bags of trash he was hauling out to the new Mustang convertible that the transport company had delivered just the day before, and filling the back seat, Hilliard was still cleaning out the house.
“The weather is supposed to be good tomorrow, with minimal fog,” Brian said once he had the plastic up over the last window. He had been working to make sure he had the place ready for the next sunny day. With the town right on the coast, those could be scarce as hen’s teeth.
“Great. Are you going to need help? I’ve been tackling Aunt Grace’s project-slash-junk room, and….” He shook his head and set yet another bag of trash near his car.
“I think so. It’s a big job, but it should go fast with the sprayer and the fact that we’re not changing the color.” He climbed down off the ladder. “If you want, you can put those bags in the back of my truck, and I’ll take them to the dump when I’m done for the day.”
“Thank you,” Hilliard said, and Brian got a smile that set his heart beating a little faster. God, he was being so stupid. A simple smile and he was over the moon. Part of him felt like a swooning teenager, and he was way past that age. Heck, he didn’t even know if Hilliard might be interested, but judging by the way he seemed to lose his train of thought around Brian every now and then, it was a possibility. Not that Brian could act on anything between them. Still, Hilliard had an amazing smile, just quirked enough that Brian had to admit it made the man hot as all hell, especially today, in a T-shirt a size too small that hugged his lithe body like a second skin.
“Oh, Gran asked me to invite you to dinner. Apparently she is going to make her famous chicken.” God, he could have issued the invitation a hell of a lot more smoothly than that. “Believe me, it’s something else. She’s planning to make it tomorrow, so….” He shifted his weight nervously.
“That sounds wonderful,” Hilliard said. “I’d love to meet your grandmother.” They both stood still, like they each wanted to say something but neither of them dared to. Brian wished he had the guts to tell Hilliard that he liked him. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he reminded himself that getting involved personally with Hilliard was a bad idea, even as he felt an unstoppable pull toward the other man. Hilliard even leaned closer, his lips parted slightly, and Brian was so tempted to see what they tasted like.
“Morning,” someone called from the road as they walked their dog. Hilliard blinked before standing up straighter, while Brian adjusted the ladder for something to do, relieved that fate, and a small dog stopping to do its business, had taken the decision out of his hands.
Hilliard waved and knelt down, and the small poodle mix wagged her tail madly as she hurried over for pets. “How is Lucy this morning?” Hilliard asked as he petted the exuberant dog.
“Much better,” the man said. Hilliard stood, and the man nodded to Hilliard, and then both man and dog continued down the road. Clearly Hilliard might be new in town, but he was already making friends. That was good, because Brian was hoping that Hilliard would decide to stay, though nothing more had been said about his plans.
“Mr. Stevenson walks his dog every afternoon,” Hilliard explained. “Lucy was dragging a few days ago, but she seems better now.” He sighed. “Well, I had better get these bags loaded or else I’m never going to get this done.”
Brian turned away as a group of teenagers on bikes came down the street, pedaling to beat the band. As they passed Hilliard’s car, one of them reached out and grabbed one of the plastic bags. It ripped and he continued on, the black plastic flapping behind him, spilling the contents of the bag all over the inside of the car.
“Jackasses!” Brian called as Hilliard groaned.
“Who the hell was that?” Hilliard asked, hands on his hips as he surveyed the mess his car had become.
“The fucktard four,” Brian snapped. “Kendall and Kevin, Violet’s grandsons, and their partners in crime, Nathan West and Michael Rogers. You’d think they were still twelve.” He went inside and grabbed a fresh bag to help Hilliard clean up the mess. Then Brian set about transferring the rest of the black bags to the back of his truck, and he returned to the ladder tofinish his prep, glancing at Hilliard every few minutes because he just couldn’t help himself.
“DID YOUask him?” Gran said as soon as he walked in the house. Sometimes she was just too much.
“Yes. I’m painting his place tomorrow, and he’s going to help me, so I figured the least I could do was offer him some dinner.” He was not going to tell Gran anything more than that. His growing wonder about his client was not something she needed to know. Besides, the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that he was just seeing things the way he wanted to as opposed to how they really were. After all, Hilliard was a successful, handsome man with everything going for him, and Brian was an ex-con trying to find a way to make a living. There were tons of people that Hilliard could choose over him.
“Is that the reason you told him or the excuse you’re telling yourself?” Sometimes Gran was too observant for her own good. “You can’t pull the wool over my eyes. And in case you’re wondering, you’re as good as anyone else. You didn’t do what you were accused of, so don’t let yourself act as if you aren’t.”
Sometimes she knew just what to say. “Thanks, Gran.”
“Now go on up and get cleaned up.” She flashed him a gentle smile. “And don’t forget to whistle or sing—whatever makes you happy.” She took his hand. “Remember that it doesn’t matter what anyone in this damned town says. You and I know the truth. You were with Gramps when that burglary took place. I know it, and so do you. So don’t you dare give anyone, including the big-mouth gossips, any mind at all.” He could always count on Gran to be in his corner no matter what.
Chapter 5
SOMEHOW HILLIARDended up covered in paint. It wasn’t as though Brian actually tried to spray him; Hilliard just seemed to be a magnet for every stray bit of the stuff. His old jeans and navy T-shirt were spattered with butter-colored splotches that resembled stars if he looked at them a little off-focus. His hair and skin were covered with flecks of the stuff too. “You even managed to get some on your nose,” Brian teased, because his own clothes and skin were nearly pristine. How in the laws of physics they managed that was beyond Hilliard’s understanding. Maybe Brian was coated in Teflon and the shit just bounced off of him and onto Hilliard.
Brian returned to the last section of house and applied an even layer of paint, the gun hissing and the compressor kicking in, covering up the ever-present roll of the ocean just below the cliffs at the edges of town.
“Is that it?” Hilliard asked as he stepped back from the ladder he’d been holding steady. Part of the yard was just uneven enough that he figured it was safer than letting Brian go up on his own. Besides, with Brian on the ladder and Hilliard holding it, he got to watch Brian, and that provided one hell of a view—even better than the rocks with waves crashing over them in the cove a few streets over. The man had an ass to die for, that was for sure, and the way he was standing only accentuated the way his back curved and then flowed into a perfect bubble butt.
“It looks like it,” Brian said, checking out his work before climbing down. “We just need it to dry. Thankfully the breeze is slight today and the sun warm enough that it shouldn’t take long.”
“That’s great.” Hilliard stepped back to take in the entire house and smiled. It did look good, and with some touch-ups on the trim once the main walls were dry, the old house would look like she should once again. Now all they needed to do was paint the fence, and then he could replace the roses that grew on the arbor over the front gate and the place would be just as he remembered from his visits years ago. He just had to figure out how he was going to tackle the inside, since his budget would only go so far. The money Alan wired him from the practice needed to stay in the bank. That was his capital—money he’d need to either buy into a new firm in Cleveland or start a practice in town. He still wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. “I really love how it looks.”
“Good. I want to wait an hour or so before taking down the plastic.” He started cleaning the paint sprayer using a bucket and the hose, letting the pieces soak as he closed up the ladder before loading it onto his truck rack.
While Brian packed up the rest of his equipment, Hilliard went inside, not daring to touch anything except the door to the old refrigerator until he got out of his clothes and into the shower. He grabbed a couple bottles of water and took one out to Brian, who had started removing the plastic from the side of the house he’d painted first.
“Thank you.” Brian twisted off the lid and drank half the bottle, with a small drip of water running down his chin that Hilliard wanted desperately to lick off that tempting sun-bronzed skin. “I needed that.” He licked his lips, and Hilliard nearly dropped his water bottle.
“No problem.” Hilliard stepped out of the way so Brian could finish his work. As much as he wanted to stay here and watch Brian, he went inside and right into the bathroom.