Entangled (Evolve Series Novella 2.5) (2 page)

Chapter 2

~Dane~

O
bstinate, stubborn woman—good thing I’ve
figured out the one language she’ll
always
listen to: Dane Dick. She
speaks it fluently, actually, and I have great success with what I call Triple
D, aka Dane Dick Diversion.  I only call it that in my own head, of course; if
she heard the title, she’d rip off the weapon of coercion and choke me with it.
Who would have thought she had a side to her that could only be drawn out by
me? She’s a lil’ freak when she wants to be, and the first time I let go,
showing her the innermost Dane, the one that likes to control…the lustful
sparkle in her eye and coy twitch to her lip told me it was okay to be me, that
she liked it. Score 1 for Dane.

So occasionally I use Triple D for my own purposes.
Sue me. I don’t think Laney
really
minds, anyway. And now, with her sated
and purring beside me, we can discuss her awful decorating ideas. And if she
continues to argue, well, I’m more than happy to distract her again.

Inside Laney is the tight, warm haven where I’d
spend every waking minute if I could. It’s only then that she completely lets
go, trusting me to take her away from everything else; the place she goes when
I’m buried in her is made of total contentment, somewhere she’s safe, cared
for, loved, and she has no other worries in the world.

The minute I slip from her, though, my challenging
little hellcat is back with a vengeance, testing me…her mind, mouth and spirit
reminding me why I am so in love with her.

But softball yellow walls? Not happening.

She’s still lying on her back, eyes closed and
small smile on her lips when I stroll back in from cleaning up.

“Why you smiling, gorgeous?”

“I’m happy,” she answers, not opening her eyes or
making any attempt to move.

“Then I did my job.” I lower myself and crawl over
her, burying my face in the sweetness of her neck. She smells of me, of
us
—the
best scent in the world—Dane on Laney. “I love you, Disney,” I whisper in her
ear.

I tell her as often as I can without feeling like a
sap. Hell, I’d tattoo it across my forehead if she asked me to. She needs to
know that even though one look at her turns me into an animal and I’d like to
fuck her paralyzed, she means everything to me on every other level as well. If
I could never make love to her again, I’d still want all that makes Laney, “Laney”
to fill my days.

“I love you too,” her brown eyes now open and look
adoringly into mine, her mouth turning up in a smirk, “and I’m still painting
the room like I want.”

Infuriating woman. I wasn’t kidding before, sometimes
I really think she tries my patience on purpose because she’s actually as
insatiable as I am.

“If you want more of this,” I bite her chin and
roll my hardening dick against her, “all you have to do is ask. You don’t have
to ugly up the place.”

“Get off me you, you—ugh!” She slaps my chest and
bucks her hips wildly, trying to toss me off her. All it does is excite me
more. “I’ll paint this whole damn place chartreuse if I want!”

Oh, she’s getting mad now, cheeks bright pink and
fire in her eyes, which are narrowed to slits and zoned in on me.
A-fucking-dorable.

“You think so, huh? Care to make a friendly little
wager?”

I’m not sure why I even ask. Laney couldn’t turn
down a bet if her life depended on it. I can’t wait until her 21
^st
birthday—we are most definitely spending it in Vegas.

“Absolutely!” She purses her lip and waits in
challenge. “Name it!”

Honestly, I’ve been waiting for the ideal time for
the chance to give her something I’d gotten for her weeks ago. Her betting
addiction is playing right into my hands. “How about we both design one bedroom
and let the Crew judge.  Winner takes all?”

“I refuse to negotiate with you sitting on me!” She
squirms underneath me, trying to escape. “Dismount, you beast!”

I throw my head back in hearty laughter, she cracks
me up, but I do move off her as soon as I’m gathered.

“Sheesh,” she sits up, frazzled, straightening her
hair and clothes, “you’re such a brute!” She shoots me a playful glare.

“Now that you’re off me,” I tease with a straight
face, “let’s talk terms. We’ll each take a room, same budget, same amount of
time. The Crew votes when we’re finished. Sound good?”

“No help though,” she points at me and wags her
finger, “you can’t hire people to come in and do it for you. We have to do all
the work ourselves.”

“Deal.” I offer her my hand to shake on it.

“Not so fast! What do we win?”

“What do you want?” I counter, waggling my eyebrows
at her.

She rolls her eyes at my suggestiveness and
twiddles her fingers in contemplation. “Hmmm… Hmmm…” She’s really straining,
trying to come up with a doozy. “You have to take me on a date that costs $50
or less.”  She grins.  “Something sincere that comes from
your heart
,
not your money.”

“I can do that.” I close in on her now, wrapping my
arms around her waist. “And if I win, you have to accept what’s in the envelope
I give you.”

“Huh?” She peers up at me sweetly.

“If I win, I’m going to hand you an envelope. You
have to promise to accept whatever’s in it.”

“It. Can’t. Be. Money.” She pokes my chest with
each word.

“Okay.” I kiss her nose.

“Or the deed to anything.”

“Okay.” I chuckle and kiss her chin.

“Or the key to a car.”

“Would you stop?” I squeeze her tighter, smothering
her whole face in kisses now. “It’s nothing like that. I get it, no money, just
me.”

“Okay then.” She burrows deeper against me,
pacified and snuggly. “It’s on.”

Chapter 3

~Laney~

“
U
m, excuse me, can I help you?” I ask the
very sweaty, very in need of a belt man currently behind my duplex, flashing
his ass crack like a pole dancer.

“Hi there, you must be Laney.” He sticks his cigar
butt in his mouth and offers out his hand. “I’m Hank Procter from Hank’s Handyman.”

I hesitantly shake his hand and smile slowly. “How
do you know my name and what are you doing here?”

“Dane hired me. I’m here to build your deck.”

Of course he did.

“A deck? Do you have some plans for me to look at,
maybe a business card?” I have no idea if you draw up plans for a deck, but it
felt right asking. If someone’s building anything on my precious little
bungalow, I want to know
ahead
of time, approve it, and give my
thoughts! I’m not trying to be a brat or ungrateful, but this is my first
“place” and I’m super excited. I want to help make the big decisions, like I’m
really a part of it and it’s really mine. Is that so much to ask?

“Of course.” He smiles warily, perhaps reading the
aggravation on my face. “Let me just run to the van and get the drawing and a
card for you. Be right back,” he says as he hurries around the corner.

Great, I scared Hank.

I whip out my cell phone, pushing the buttons with
much more force than necessary. My foot taps as it rings, my annoyance growing
with each second I’m not afforded the opportunity to unload.

“Baby,” he answers, voice warm.

“Don’t you ‘baby’ me, Michael Dane Kendrick.” If he
could see me, he’d know my foot is still tapping incessantly and the hand not
holding the phone is propped angrily on my hip. “Would you like to tell me
about your friend Hank and why he’s in
my
backyard?”

Is that laughter I hear on the other end of this
phone?  It has to be a bad connection—he wouldn’t dare! What am I thinking? Of
course he’d dare. Well, enough is enough, I want some say!

“Are you laughing at me?” I growl.

“Why yes, yes I am.”

“Ughhhhh!” I yell, not moving the phone away from
my mouth, sorta hoping I pierced his eardrum. “Dane, why didn’t you tell me? We
could have designed the deck together.”

“Laney, there’s no height to work with, and limited
yard space, so it’s not a real intricate deck to
design
. It’s not a big
deal, babe, just somewhere to sit.”

I’m sure he has a point, and I should be grateful,
and I can still plan stuff like the plants, the chairs, candles, maybe string
some lights. But while it’s “just a deck” this time, what will it be next time?
Too bad he’s not here right now. I have a secret tactic that, according to my
stats, has a 99.4% success rate. I call it Pussy Persuasion, but never out
loud. Plans this surefire and brilliant must be kept on the DL, and while it
sounds funny in my head, it’s kinda crass out loud. Anyway, seeing as how he’s
not
here, I should probably just give in and quit fighting him in the interest
of saving my energy for battles I might actually win.

I sigh into  the phone, exasperated. “Fine, thank
you for the deck.”

“For you,” his gritty voice replies.

Just like that, in those two words he uses to tell
me what takes others sonnets to convey, I’m reminded that he
does
do it
for me—from a good place, the place within him that loves me, wants to make me
happy, yearns to take care of me and make my life easier, happier and completely
tangled up in him.
See?
It takes me all that to analyze what he
eloquently summarizes with “for you.”

Anger dissipated, I try a different approach, one
that can be accomplished over the phone—the sweet and vulnerable girl voice.
“Can you just try to understand that I’m really excited to have my own place
for the first time, and I want to be involved in things? I love the idea of a
deck, but I kinda feel left out. Okay, babe?”

“I hear you, baby. I didn’t even think of it like
that. We’ll discuss things from now on, promise,” he says sincerely, not at all
trying to simply pacify me.

“Thank you. Now, I bought some paint for the room
I’m doing. Do I have time to get started on that or do we have plans?” I ask,
my tone warmer.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to hire—”

“We have to do it ourselves, remember? That was
part of the bet,” I interrupt him. “I mean, if you want to send someone in to
paint your room, be my guest. Just let me know when our date is,” I tease him.

“No, no, I remember now. I’ll paint mine, you go
ahead and start painting yours. Go wild, baby, I have several conference calls
and a late meeting. I’ll call or text you an ETA when I have an idea when I’ll
be done.”

“Okay, I’ll talk to you then. Love you.”

“I love you, Laney Jo,” he answers, somewhat solemnly,
“but I’m still winning the bet.”

“Puhleeese.” I giggle before hanging up.

D
espite jamming to “Stereo Hearts” by GCH
while I paint like the natural Picasso that I am, I hear my phone ding and jump
off my stepstool, wiping my sweaty brow, to check it.

Bennett: Where r u?

Laney: At the duplex painting. U?

Bennett: Lol, next door. That must be your music,
thought it was guy out back. Almost done?

Laney: I could be. Y r we still texting? Walk over
here.

I chuckle to myself, setting down my phone and
walking over to turn off the music.

“Yoo hoo!” she calls out.

“Hey, girl, back here!”

“Heyyyy,” she lets out a long whistle, “looking
good in here. I love the purple!” She claps her hands and bounces in place.
“Isn’t it fun, fixing up your own personal dollhouse?”

“Yeah.” I laugh, pulling in her in for a quick hug.
She’s like walking sunshine, you just can’t help but wanna hug her. “But it’s
not purple,” I waggle my finger at her, wanting to clear up this terrible
misconception, “it’s called Champagne Elegance and it’s a
silkier
version of -lilac.” I perfectly mimic the way-too-excited-to-sell-paint-for-a-living
saleswoman who basically chastised me where I stood for using “ugly, mundane
words” like purple, yellow and—gasp—red.

“Don’t tell Dane you got a sneak peek.  You’re one
of the judges and shouldn’t know which room I did, okay?
You were never here
.”
I use my best mobster voice, brushing my knuckles under my chin like a boss. “And
not to sway your vote, but the fridge came today and there’s a bottle of wine
in it that I’d love to share with you, Votie Voterson.”

“Yay! Tate’s working and our furniture,” she looks
pointedly around at my barren space, “is already in. Let’s do girls’ night at
my place! Can we?” Her face is hopeful. “I miss my Laney time.” She pooches out
her bottom lip and gives me irresistible puppy dog eyes.

“I can hang ‘til Dane’s done at work. Can I shower
there?”

“Of course you can.” She wrinkles her nose and lets
her eyes drift in the area of my pits. “Please do.” She giggles. “I’ll grab the
wine, just head over when you’ve wrapped up here.”

I nod, heading to the sink to rinse my
paintbrushes. As I watch the swirls of muted purple spin around and disappear
down the drain, I lift my chin and smile. This bet with Dane is gonna be like
taking candy from a baby. He’s been too busy to even start on his room, and
I’ve been working like a dog, almost done with the second coat of paint in
mine. The curtains are on the rod and new switch plates and outlet covers have
been purchased, both ready to go up as soon as the paint’s dry. I’d decided
against the softball theme and am going with a tranquil space, different hues
of light purples, sage greens and lots of candles. It’s gonna be great!

Finished up with the rinsing, I do a quick
walk-through, flipping off the lights and locking the door behind me. I turn to
walk the whole ten steps to Bennett’s, letting out a screamed “Oh!” as I catch
myself with one hand on the bricks, looking down to see what I’ve tripped over.
Looking right back up at me is one very miserable, very pregnant dog. Bassett hound?
Beagle? I don’t know, but she’s definitely in no mood to move, belly dragging
the ground.

“Are you lost, sweetie?” I bend down, gently
petting her head. “Huh? You have a collar, somebody must be missing you.”

“Charlie!” The yell is followed by a sharp whistle.
“Charlie, come ‘ere, girl!” rings through the evening air.

Charlie? This dog is most definitely female.

“Over here!” I yell.

“Oh, hi,” says a man whose good looks even the
enclosing darkness can’t hide. “Charlie,” he too squats down closer to the
hound, “girl, how’d you get out? You can’t have those puppies on a stranger’s
porch.” He chuckles lightly, giving Charlie a scratch behind the ears, her tail
wagging slightly.

I giggle at the poor dog’s obvious discomfort at
something as simple as a flick of the tail and the man looks up at me.

“I’m sorry,” he shakes his head, embarrassed. “I’m
Tucker Lucas, I live next door there.” He points to the right with a shift of
his head and offers me his hand. “Did you just move in?”

“Yeah, well, almost,” I babble. “I mean yes, I’m
moving in, getting things ready. I’m Laney Walker.” I extend my hand to his. “Nice
to meet you.”

“You too.” He smiles, his white teeth glowing in
the dusk. “Sorry about Charlie here. She’s getting stir crazy waiting for the
puppies.”

“What kind of dog is she?”

“She’s a beagle. Although she’s not too miniature
right now,” he laughs.

“She’s precious, but miserable I’m sure.” I stand, glancing
around awkwardly and running my hands down my pant legs, out of things to say.

“Um, so very nice to meet you, Laney, and welcome
to the neighborhood. You’ll love it here, everyone’s real friendly. Come on,
Charlie,” he hoists the grunting dog into his arms, “say goodbye to Laney.”

“Bye, Charlie.” I grin at the sweet animal and rub
her head. “Night, Tucker.”

“Night, neighbor.”

I watch him walk away, smirking as he lugs the mama
across the lawn, then turn and head to Bennett’s door. “Knock knock!” I call
out as I open the door.

“Hey!” Bennett pops in front of me, her face
concerned. “What took you so long?”

“I met our neighbor. His pregnant dog wandered up
on my porch.”

“
His
?” She wiggles her eyebrows and grins.

“Yeah?” I give her a questioning look, not quite
catching what she’s throwing.

“Describe.” She rolls her fingertips together, a
curious smile twisting her mouth.

“I don’t know, short, bald, probably seventy,
seventy-five. Why?”

“Oh.” Her shoulders slump and she frowns.

Seriously? Has she seen her boyfriend lately? He’s
almost as hot as his little brother, thus the reason I could care less that our
neighbor is, in fact, very easy on the eyes. And when I say easy on the eyes, I
mean God was good to him, but he’s got nothing on the youngest Kendrick man.

“I’m kidding you, Ben. He’s cute, probably thirty,
blond hair. Seemed very nice.” I shrug, heading to the kitchen in search of the
wine I had planned. “Why do you care anyway? You and Tate okay?”

“Of course we are—perfect. I was just curious. I’d
simply rather have some eye candy in the hood than,” she contemplates, “well, than
not.”

“Slut,” I cough into my hand, trying not to laugh.

“Only a look slut, I never touch. I love my
Taterbear.”

“Taterbear?” I snort, slamming the fridge door shut
and bugging my eyes out at her. “I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.
How am I supposed to look at him now?”

“Oh, hush.” She pushes on my shoulder, her cheeks
now the color of her hair. “Don’t you and Dane have bedroom names?”

“Oh my God, Bennett! You call him that in the
bedroom?” I’m nearly shouting now, bent over with my hands on my knees, bracing
my body’s full-gut laughter. “Please stop talking, my ears are bleeding!”

“You’re so mean, Laney,” she whines, “I’m never telling
you anything ever again.”

“Thank God!” I wheeze out, still hee-hawing at her.

“Come on, bitch, grab your glass and I’ll give you
the grand tour.
If
you can compose yourself long enough,” she says
haughtily, and I think I hear a muttered “skank” as she leads us down the hall.

“So you just saw the kitchen, and this is the
hall,” she gestures with her hand, “and the spare bedroom.” She opens the door,
to a fully-furnished,
painted
, room.

“How the hell did you get everything painted so
fast?” I ask, it only now registering that her kitchen and hall have a fresh
shine as well.

“Tate hired painters.” She shrugs a shoulder,
looking at me like I’m crazy.

Maybe I am; her side is organized and beautiful,
while mine looks like the do-it-yourself project that it is.

“And this,” her smile grows wide and her eyes
twinkle, “is the master.” She opens the door with grandeur, stepping aside to
give me room to see.