Resisting Roots (Lotus House Book 1) Page 14

  Trent held the spatula against the counter with one hand and lifted up his coffee with the other. Just standing there, looking casual in my home, making us breakfast, he’d never looked sexier. I definitely needed to tread lightly or my heart wouldn’t survive.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  I shook my head. “No, I’m not. I work hard, and I don’t need to ruin it with useless calories. Pancakes are nothing but carbs loaded with sugar the second you add syrup. I have to limit those things in my diet or I’ll blow up like one of those Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade balloons.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You’ll work it off later.”

  I set a hand to my hip. “I’m not teaching yoga later.”

  He turned down the burner, six perfectly shaped disks cooking on low, and stalked over to me. “I’ve got a different way to burn off calories.”

  His voice was low, the timbre speaking to the inner sex vixen hiding within me. The one that had come out only twice before, when Trent and I messed around in the studio.

  “Is that right?” Before he could answer, I added, “Well, I think you’re wrong.” I played along, feeling every bit the sex kitten. He did that. Brought out a side to me I’d buried. The sexy side. The one that wanted to wrap my legs around his waist and ride him until kingdom come.

  Again, he lifted my chin and rubbed his lips along mine as he spoke. Not kissing, just speaking against them. Rivers of excitement shot through me. I wanted him. So bad, the ache was beginning to hurt.

  “Babe, I’m going to show you all the ways being wrong can be so right.”

  Right before Trent’s lips were about to take our little chat to a more productive place, Rowan’s voice broke through our lust bubble. “Trent, your pancakes are burning!”

  Trent spun around. “Fuck!” he snapped as he flipped them over. Sure enough, each disk had a shiny black burned-out bottom.

  “It’s okay. We can scrape it off,” I said.

  He made a disgusted growl with his mouth. Without speaking, he put his foot to the garbage can, lifted the lid, and slid all six into the trash. To me, it was like throwing money in the garbage.

  “Babe, you’re not eating burned pancakes. When you taste my famous cakes, you’re going to have them done to perfection.”

  I frowned. “But it’s a waste of food.”

  Trent shook his head. “No. I’ll get more mix. Relax.”

  Relax? I fumbled with my robe string. Let it go this once, Vivvie. He doesn’t know that the mix cost ten dollars a bag, and that’s only if you get it at Costco all the way across town. He’d get more mix. I rolled my eyes. Yeah, right. Like a famous baseball player was going to make a point to get my little family more pancake mix because he’d wasted some of it.

  Trent worked fast, pouring the rest of the batter onto the griddle. He had enough for six more. I pleaded with him to only give me two. Finally, I won and we sat in the two breakfast nook chairs. The kids had already finished and left the kitchen.

  The pancakes were probably the best I’d ever eaten. He added something to the batter that I couldn’t put my finger on. “Special ingredient?”

  He grinned. “You taste the difference, yeah?”

  I nodded. “What is it?”

  “Secret. Ma taught it to me. I’ll never tell. Family tradition.”

  Shoveling in another large bite, I moaned around the fluffy cake and syrupy goodness.

  “You like?” he asked, pushing my hair behind my ear in a really sweet gesture. A touch I could so easily get used to.

  “So good. You’ll have to come over every Saturday morning and make us your famous pancakes,” I joked.

  He set his fork down, put his elbow on the counter, and planted his chin in the palm of his hand. Then he looked at me. Not just checked me out. No, he stared into my eyes as if he were seeing straight through to my soul. I licked my lips, and his nostrils flared. He bit his own plump lower lip and rubbed his chin, continuing to stare, unsettling me with the intensity of his gaze.

  “I just may do that, Genevieve.” His words were firm and honest.

  Wow. Now that, I hadn’t expected. In those six words, he’d insinuated that this was more than just a fling, a casual hookup. I finished chewing, set down my fork, and grabbed his hands. They were warm, and the second our palms touched, our hand chakras activated. I sensed our energy spinning in opposite directions, as though magnetized by one another.

  “Don’t say things that you don’t mean.” I blinked, looking down at our clasped hands.

  Trent lowered his head and gripped my hands tighter. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  “But you have to other women.” I glanced to the right. If I wanted to know what this was, I needed to be honest with him and myself. “I’m told you’re a player.”

  He nodded and inhaled deeply. “Yeah, I’d say that sums up my experience with women pretty accurately.”

  I tried to pull my hands back, but he held them tight.

  “Trent…” My voice shook. This was uncharted territory for me. My only other serious romance ended in a big, fat fail. Starting up something with a known ladies’ man, investing my heart, knowing the result, was a bad idea. Not just bad. A colossal mistake.

  “Genevieve, I’m not sure what this is between us. I’ve never felt anything like it before. But I promise I’m not playing you. It feels like all the rules have changed when it comes to you. Women have always used me, and in turn, I’ve used them. It was mutual. I’m not using you, and I know you’re not using me. So can we just see where this goes? Take it one day at a time?”

  One day at a time.

  Pinching my lips together, I thought about it. He waited patiently, not pushing or egging me on, just sitting quietly and holding my hands. “That sounds reasonable,” I said.

  A beatific smile spread across his lips. “One day at a time. Starting with today. What are your plans?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Your chakras are the energetic centers of your spiritual self. Each chakra controls different areas of your life. When you can balance your chakras, you begin to find balance and peace within your own life.

  * * *

  TRENT

  After breakfast, we divided and conquered. Genevieve did whatever it was she did with the children on a Saturday morning, and after several calls, I found a guy who would come out to the house right away. I met him at the curb, showed him the broken door, and explained what I wanted to replace it with. Not only did I want a door, I also wanted a steel security screen door. Then when Genevieve was messing around in the garden or hanging out back, she could have the door open and let the breeze in. Of course, I didn’t consult Genevieve on this. I knew she’d rack up the dollar signs and not approve it even if it did better her environment. If I left it up to her, she’d fill the broken pane with a board and be done with it. No harm, no foul. To me, it was a huge security risk, and I wasn’t going to have the woman I was dating or the kids she took care of living in an unsafe home.

  No way. No how.

  The repairman and I picked out something more solid, as well as an artistic-looking metal screen security door with an additional deadbolt lock and handle lock. Even if a perpetrator got through the screen door by some act of God or a serious crowbar and psychotic inhuman strength, he’d then have to get through the solid wooden door that had another two locks.

  The guy promised he’d be back the next day with the new doors for installation. That meant I was staying another day and needed to go home and pick up some clothes. Genevieve said she had a client she was meeting in the garage and would be busy for at least two hours. I took that time to hit up my place, pick up a couple days’ worth of clothes, some workout gear, and some beat-up sneakers. The backyard looked like it had gone to hell in a handbasket and needed a man’s touch.

  When I got back to the house, Rowan was sitting on the couch playing video games. Mary was on the floor, kicking her legs back and forth and coloring in a book that had fairies and myst
ical shit in it. I glanced at the page she colored. The girl was good. Not only did she stay in the lines, she used the crayons in unique and different ways, coloring patterns into the fairy wings that weren’t there, outlining different sections much darker, filling them in lighter. I didn’t know much about kids or their abilities, but she seemed to be quite the little artist.

  “Mary, that’s some mighty fine art there. I like how you add the bit of extra to the wings.”

  Her little head came up, blond hair falling around all sides of her face, and she beamed up at me. “Thanks, Trent. I love coloring.”

  “She’s really good at it too,” Rowan added. “Mary is a whiz at art and dance type stuff.”

  “You’re a dancer?” I wanted to know more about the little girl. I’d never taken even a moment of time in my past to engage a child in this manner.

  Mary sat up on her ankles in that way only kids could do without breaking a bone. “Uh-huh. I have a recital in three weeks. In November, so it’s right before Christmas break. We’re doing the Silly Nutcracker. So it’s not the regular one with ballerinas and stuffy ballet moves, it’s like hip-hop and contemporary. Would you come?” She clasped her hands together in front of her. “Please, please, please…”

  I chuckled and patted her on the head. “I’ll check my schedule, little one, and we’ll see. If I’m in town or my agent hasn’t booked me for some type of ad or photo shoot, you can count on it. Fair enough?”

  She nodded, spun around, and went back to her coloring.

  “Hey, Row-man, I’m going to work on the yard, get your plants in shape for the winter. You want to lend me a hand?”

  Rowan’s eyes got big, and he stood up, hit the off button on the Xbox, and set the controller on the table. “Let me run up and change, and I’ll be right there.”

  I smacked him on the back as he maneuvered around the couch. “Good man. See ya out back. You’re gonna get dirty, so wear something you don’t care about.”

  He did the chin lift and ran up the stairs three at a time. Good kid, but in need of a man to take him under his wing. He was eager to help the family. Even so, he didn’t seem sure what to do aside from mowing the lawn. I’d give him a solid lesson on how to take care of the yard, pull weeds, cut back the shrubs so they resembled something more aesthetically pleasing, and how to tend to the flowers and trees.

  Out back in the shed, I found the yard tools all tossed in one area. They should have been hanging up along the walls, easy to get to. I’d help him set that up tomorrow once we finished the bulk of the work.

  Taking the electric trimmer, I plugged it in and went gonzo on the overgrown bushes. Rowan had attempted to keep them under control, but he needed to do it more often and cut back a lot more.

  “So, Trent, what do you want me to do?” Rowan asked from behind me.

  I showed him what were weeds in the flower beds, around the trees, and how to use the weed killer on the cracks in the sidewalk. Then we worked together on shaping the bushes and cutting back branches off the trees that were too loaded and weighed down.

  Rowan was a fast learner just like I was when Ma taught me. Dad educated me on tools, how to fix a car, put shit together, handyman type stuff. My mother schooled me on the yard work and cooking. Dad never mowed a lawn a day in his life. Ma did it until I was old enough to push a mower. Then I did it. Even now, with Ma retired, I had a neighbor kid mowing the lawns for her. She tended to the trees, her veggies, herbs, flowers, and clipped her bushes daily. It was her gig, and her yard was the best I’d seen.

  After two hours, Rowan and I were hot as hell, and we’d made a solid dent in the work but were nowhere near done. I took off my T-shirt and rubbed the sweat off my face.

  “Guys!” Genevieve called from the back porch. “I’ve made some sandwiches and lemonade.”

  I grinned. My girl had made me a sandwich. Limping up the steps to the porch, I found two plates loaded to the gills with fat turkey and ham sandwiches on wheat, next to which sat fruit salad in cups and tall glasses of pink lemonade. Pink. The same color as her lips. Genevieve bustled around, setting napkins and silverware next to the plates.

  “Babe…” I hooked an arm around her waist, pulling her flat against my chest.

  She lifted her hands and pushed against my bare chest.

  “You’re sweaty.” She looked into my eyes, blinking sweetly.

  Christ, I could eat her up. “You’re beautiful,” I said before bringing her lips to mine. She tasted of the tart lemonade and her own unique flavor.

  For a moment, she squeaked and tried to pull away. Probably because of Rowan, but I wasn’t budging. These kids were going to get used to me being around and touching their sister, because I wasn’t able to keep my hands off her delectable body for more than a few minutes at a time. I slid my tongue against her lips. She sighed, opening up for me. A few quick licks into her mouth, and she melted against me as if nobody were around.

  “Get a room!” Rowan laughed.

  Genevieve pulled back and placed her hand over her lips. She was flushed and gorgeous. “Behave!” she scolded playfully, casting a few glances at her brother.

  Rowan didn’t seem bothered at all by the public displays of affection. He probably enjoyed razzing his sister, which I imagined brothers did all the time to their siblings. Of course, I wouldn’t know since I didn’t have any, but it made sense. I messed with Ma all the time.

  I sat down, picked up the refreshing drink, and slugged back half in one go. It hit the spot. “You make this from scratch, gumdrop?”

  She nodded, her cheeks pinking again. “You know, you really didn’t have to do yard work. I mean, if you have other stuff to do…” She twisted her fingers.

  I looked at Row, his demeanor nervous and uncertain. “Nah, nothing beats working in the sun with one of my bros. Eh, Row-man?”

  His lips curved into a huge smile as he took a gargantuan bite of his lunch. He spoke around a mouth full of food—total teen move. “We’re…doin’ man’s…work.” He swallowed. “Leave us be. We’ve got more to do.”

  Genevieve moved to pass us. I grabbed her around the waist and hauled her into my lap. Her ass made contact with my cock, and I adjusted my position and pressed it against her. I had a semi the second she’d exited the house in a pair of booty shorts and a simple tank. Her hair was up in a ponytail, and she wore silver flip-flops. Even her fingers and toes were cute, painted a bright red that I bet matched that red lipstick she rocked.

  “Thanks for the sandwich, gumdrop. Delicious. Almost as tasty as you.”

  Her cheeks pinked up. I loved that blush. So genuine and all mine.

  “Now, kiss me good-bye before you go about your business.”

  She looked over at Rowan. He waved a hand, gesturing that he didn’t care.

  “Don’t look at him, babe, look at me. Eyes on me.” I turned her head with thumb and forefinger. “Thank you.” I pecked her lips.

  At the simple touch, her body became heavier. Just when I thought she’d back off, she placed both hands on the side of my face and went in for a deep, wet kiss that made me see stars. She took control of my lips, sucked on my tongue, giving me everything she was worth. Eventually, she nipped on my top lip, my bottom lip, and then pulled away. I followed her head as she moved, wanting more of her sweet taste.

  I growled, stood her up, and whispered in her ear, “I will have you later. After that kiss, I can feel how much you need it too. No more waiting. Tonight’s it.”

  She smirked and cocked an eyebrow. “You’re on,” she whispered, pecked my lips once more, and bolted before I could grab onto her.

  “Damn woman.” I propped my hands on my hips and shook my head.

  “You are so into my sister. That’s gross, man.” Rowan shook his head, stood, and went back to the yard.

  I sat down and ate an awesome turkey sandwich. It rivaled the one at the Rainy Day Café, where I’d been eating regularly. They made a damn fine sandwich, but a woman cooking for a man was someth
ing special. I imagined she was adding her love and care into every condiment and layer, building a masterpiece. Fuck. I sounded mushy as hell. I needed to go chop up some bushes, put my man pants back on, pound on my chest a few times, and remind myself I wasn’t a pansy-assed, pussy-whipped male. Although if any pussy could do the whipping, all my money was on Genevieve. I couldn’t wait to get my mouth all over her body tonight. For that though, I’d have to set the stage.

  “So, Row-man, do you think you can hook up you and the little one spending the night at a friend’s house tonight?”

  Rowan stopped cutting the square shape into one of the overgrown shrubs and chuckled. “Yeah, man, I think I could work something out.”

  “Would be much obliged. I’ll make it worth your while.”

  His voice was low when he said, “Nah, it’s cool. You’ve already made it worth my while just by putting that smile on Vivvie’s face. I owe you one, man.”

  * * *

  GENEVIEVE

  I let out a relieved breath when I finished styling the last bit of hair on Mrs. Turner’s updo for her evening out with her husband.

  “It looks perfect, Genevieve, and right on time.” She looked down at her watch. “Time to meet the mister.” She smiled and laid two twenties on the edge of my workstation.

  “Mrs. Turner, it’s only twenty.”

  She smiled. “Honey, you don’t charge enough. I would have paid at least forty for a wash, style, and updo at a regular salon. Don’t sell yourself short.”

  I looked down at the concrete floor and shuffled my feet. “Thank you, Mrs. Turner.”

  “Have a good evening, Genevieve.” She gathered her coat and hustled to her car in the driveway.

  I waved as she backed out. Maybe Mrs. Turner was right and I wasn’t charging enough, but I couldn’t risk my clients going somewhere else. A lot of people in this area didn’t want to get their hair done at someone’s house. They wanted to go to a professional salon. And I still needed a semester of cosmetology school before I could practice in a salon.