Off Limits

chapter 7



Nix



It's Friday and Emily is due to arrive anytime now. I feel jittery and on edge. When I first came up with the hair-brained idea of having her work her debt off to me, I seriously miscalculated my ability to be in her presence.

As someone who constantly avoids interaction and conversation, it was just plain awkward having her in my workspace. Even on Monday, when I spent most of the time welding in a separate room, I could still feel her presence. Just knowing she was sitting out there...in a white “barely there” top and jean shorts so tiny that they should be made illegal. She had her hair up in a ponytail, exposing a delicate neck.

I wanted to bite it. Then lick it to make it better. Then suck on it...hard...just so she'd know how hungry I was.

When she came back on Wednesday, it was no better. I didn't have any welding work to do, so I was in the main shop area while she sat at the desk, doing whatever it was she was doing with my paperwork. After only about thirty minutes, I couldn't stand the tension I was feeling and left. I went ahead and got some work done on my house, expending my frustrated energy by finishing the rest of the plywood base flooring upstairs.

I came back to the shop several hours later and Emily had left, leaving a note on the desk that she was just about finished with everything I had given her so far.

I know what I should do. I should just tell her not to come back and pay me the money when she can. I can wait for her to inherit her trust fund or whatever that pot of money is that she said she would be getting. I'm sure she's good for it and frankly, I don't need the money right now.

And the main reason I should tell her not to come back is because she is making me feel damn uncomfortable in my own space. My haven.

When she's here, I can't help but look at her every minute or so, just to see if the expression on her face has changed, or if her hair has shifted. When her subtle jasmine perfume touches my nose, I think about her lying naked in a bed of flowers. This shit is driving me f*cking crazy and it's got no place in my life. It's not who I am.

So the fact that she's almost done with all of the work I had for her and I really don't have anything else, I should be happy our association is almost over.

I hear the tires of Emily's car crunching the gravel in my driveway. My heart rate immediately accelerates and I kick the edge of my workbench in anger. I stand, staring at the door, with my fists clenched.

When she walks in, it's like a punch to my gut. I don't know how it's possible, but she becomes more beautiful...more intriguing...more dangerous, every time I see her. I am out of control and I f*cking hate this feeling.

"Why do you look so angry, Nix? I haven't even said anything to you yet."

Angry? No. Frustrated. Yes.

I try to relax my face but I don't think it's working. "I'm not angry. Just got a lot on my mind."

Emily gives me a sage look. "Want to talk about it?"

"No," I answer quickly.

Is it my imagination or does she look disappointed?

Whatever.

I don't talk to people, much less beautiful girls who are way out of my league anyway. She's a trust fund baby. She probably has a trust fund boyfriend all lined up for her.

"So, what do you want me to do today? It only took me two days to organize your desk."

Here's my chance to end it. "Actually, I don't have anything more for you to do."

"There has to be something I can do to work my debt off. Want me to help work on your house. I'm sure I could learn to swing a hammer."

"Look, Emily. I think it's best we just part ways. I know you're good for the money. You can pay me whenever you can. No rush."

She stares at me and doesn't say anything. My heart rate isn't easing, and I feel like I've made a very bad decision just now. But I have no clue why. I feel completely out of sorts around her and I just want peace in my life.

"So, what's that?" she asks.

Emily is pointing to the new laptop that's sitting on my desk. It's still in the box. I bought it yesterday, when I was having a moment of weakness and trying to come up with more work for Emily to do. So she would have to stick around.

"It's a laptop."

"Yes, I can see that, Sherlock. What do you have it for?"

I shrug my shoulders. I certainly can't say, "I bought it so I could create work for you, so you would keep coming here and I could be in your amazing presence, and I could figure out what all these weird feelings are".

Instead, I opt for ambiguity. "I figured I should put a computer out here to keep all of my bookwork and supply orders organized better that way. My PC is at Linc’s condo and I really need something here in the shop."

I don't offer anything more, because at this point I'm torn between making her leave and seeing if she'll stay.

"Well, if you're as good at doing computer work as you were at paper work...you're going to positively suck, Nix."

I don't say anything. I just watch her, holding my breath to see what she'll do. I've given her the out. Take it, Emily.

"So," she drawls. "Why don't you let me set it up and I'll play secretary for you. I'll get all of your stuff organized on the computer."

Play secretary for me?

Holy f*ck! Images of her playing secretary for me are completely X-rated at this point and they involve her wearing a short business skirt while she goes down on me behind my desk.

I'm a goner. "Sure. If you want. But I'm completely fine with you just paying me the money later. You don't have to complete this deal we made."

Emily gives me a sweet smile. "No, I'd rather do this. I've always had that trust fund at my disposal. I sort of like the idea of having to work for something."

I groan inside. She couldn't have said anything worse to me. I felt like I would lose interest in her if I kept reminding myself she is a spoiled, rich, brat. Instead, here she is wanting to put a work ethic into play and now I find myself respecting her.

That's just f*ckin' great.

"Okay," I say. "I bought some software you can install for the bookkeeping. And I actually need you to inventory my supplies and my stock."

"Sure, no problem. Want to show me where all of that is, then I can get out of your hair?"

I don't think this girl is going to get out of my hair...or my mind. But it's a nice sentiment.

"This way," I say as I head towards the welding room. We walk through it to the door at the back of the workspace. It leads outside and she follows me. Her phone starts ringing and I watch as she pulls it out of her pocket. She looks at the caller and mutters a curse under her breath. Then she pushes a button to disconnect the ring.

I take her to a shed that sits behind the workshop.

"This is where I keep my completed pieces."

"Pieces?" she asks.

I merely open the door, reaching in to flip the light switch and motion her to walk in before me. The room is softly illuminated, showing off all of my metal art.

It's true I build five or so motorcycles a year, but the rest of my time is creating art from metal. Many of my pieces are huge. I've crafted chandeliers, wall fountains, even custom stair railing. Some are small. Wind chimes, garden pieces, small bronze animals and the like. Unless it's a commissioned piece, I create whatever strikes my fancy.

I watch as Emily walks among my stock, running her fingers lightly over a few of them. She stops at one of my favorite sculptures.

It's an outdoor water fountain that stands about six feet tall. It's made of copper and consists of several metal calla lilies, all at varying heights. When it's turned on, water falls from the top most flower, which is gently arced to the side, streaming into the next awaiting flower. The water goes from flower to flower, until it falls into the copper basin. A stockbroker with a house in the Hamptons commissioned me to make it for him and it would net me several thousand dollars after I deducted the materials. It would be stunning after several months weathering the outdoor elements, when the patina would overtake the copper and color it delicate shades of blue and green.

"Nix," she says softly. "I had no idea you did this."

Her words are reverent, and they make me feel awkward and proud at the same time. She looks at me, and there is something in her eyes that causes my heart to skip a beat.

But then the moment is broken when her phone rings again. She looks at it and anger flashes across her face. She taps the screen and puts the phone to her ear.

"I told you to stop calling me and I mean it," she snarls. "No more."

Then she hangs up and stuffs her phone into her back pocket.

She looks at me and my eyebrows raise.

"Sorry," she says guiltily.

"Stalker issues?" I ask.

"How did you know?"

"You mentioned something about it the day you hit me."

She looks perplexed. "I did?"

I nod at her, surprised with myself that I even remembered her telling me that. It didn't seem like an important piece of information to me at that time. Most of my interactions with Emily revolve around me wanting more conversation and then less conversation. I'm in the less right now.

"I'm sorry. It's nothing. In fact..." she pulls her phone out of her pocket and shuts it completely off. "...I should have done that before I even came to work. It won't happen again."

She looks tired, angry and actually a bit scared, all at once, and for the first time I can ever remember in my entire life, I want to take a woman in my arms to just comfort her.

And as I realize that this is something I want to do, I'm immediately doused in frigid mortification as if someone poured a bucket of cold water on me. I do not have time for, nor do I want to have to care for anyone. I care for me and me alone.

I turn my back on her and walk toward the door. "Well, get busy. Inventorying this will take you a few days to get through."

***

I'm sitting in my ratty recliner, enjoying a beer. I deserve it. Not only did I manage to banish Emily from my mind for the last three hours, but I completed a wall sculpture of the Marine Corps Globe & Anchor. Linc asked for it for his condo. He actually tried to commission me to do it but I told him I'd beat his ass if he pushed it. We finally agreed he'd pay for the materials and I would do the piece because, well, he's my brother.

"I'm finished."

I jump at those words, as I had actually forgotten Emily was even here. I like it that way but now she's back in the forefront of my mind. And how can she not be...standing there looking like sex and candy all wrapped into one amazing concoction.

But I'm not in the mood to engage in conversation so I simply say, "Okay. I'll see you on Monday then."

But she's not listening to me. She's walking up to my workbench to look at the Globe & Anchor. She runs her hands lightly across the finish. I've peppered the bronze piece with tiny ball peen dings that dimple the entire surface. I tried to imagine if someone like Lyla had walked in here and touched my art. I know without a doubt I would have yelled at her to keep her hands off. But the way Emily is stroking the cool metal has me mesmerized.

"This is beautiful. Did you make this for someone who is in the Marine Corps?"

I'm taken aback for a minute. How does little Miss Rich Girl know about the Marine Corps' insignia?

"I made it for my brother."

"Lincoln was in the Marine Corps?" She sounds confused, as she should be.

"No, I was."

She turns quickly and looks at me with awe. "Really? When?"

"I went in when I was eighteen. Got out two years ago at twenty-four."

I watch as she leans back against the workbench and crosses her arms. They lay right below her breasts, which plump up nicely and strain against her blouse. All sorts of lewd thoughts run through my head and I have to keep telling myself to knock it off. Nothing of that nature is going to happen between us.

Besides...Emily is a nice girl and I don’t do nice girls.

"Did you serve in Afghanistan?"

"Yes."

She waits for me to say more but she'll wait a long time. I don't talk about my time there...ever. And I can tell by the look on her face she knows not to push it.

"Well, thank you for serving our country. I wish I was brave enough to do something like that."

I'm floored again. She seems to always say something that enthralls me. She always says the opposite of what I think will come out of her completely kissable lips. And she doesn't do it in a calculated way to achieve a certain result. No, it comes out of her perfectly shaped mouth with natural sincerity.

I shrug my shoulders at her but secretly I'm pleased she appreciates the sacrifice it takes to serve. No one's opinion of my service, except for my father and brother, really mattered to me before.

Pointing at the piece I ask, "How did you know that was the Marine Corps Globe & Anchor?"

"Well, you're not the only former Marine I know. It just so happens I know a grumpy Marine veteran who was in the first Gulf War."

She has my interest piqued and for the first time, in a long time, I am actually having a real conversation with someone that interests me. It's a weird feeling but I press on.

"Oh yeah. Who is that?"

"His name is Sarge. He's like Danny's surrogate father. Danny is my sister-in-law. I assume you know my brother, Ryan?"

"Yeah, I know Ryan. I'll have to talk to her about this guy next time I see her."

"Sarge is a hoot. He actually walked Danny down the aisle when they got married. Sometimes Ryan flies him and Danny's friend, Paula down here to visit. You should make an effort to meet him next time he comes."

I smile at her. For f*ck’s sake. A genuine smile and it feels natural. What the hell is happening to me? "I'll do that. It will be nice to talk to another Marine. It's been awhile."

She cocks her head at me. "Don't you keep in touch with the friends who you served with?"

I nod. "Some of them. We're all kind of spread out and moving on with our lives."

"I bet you forged friendships there that will last a lifetime, huh?"

This question makes me stiffen. She is oh, so right about that. When you are in extreme situations, your bonds forge fast and stay strong. But there is a lot of pain and misery that goes along with it. I'm back on guard now and this conversation needs to wind down.

Now.

I stand up from my chair and start walking to the door. "Well, it's late. Go ahead and pack up and I'll see you on Monday."

Emily pushes away from the workbench with an easygoing smile on her face. "Sure thing, boss."

I watch as she pulls her phone out and turns it on, grabbing her purse while it boots up. She takes a quick glance at the screen and grimaces. I'm assuming there is something stalkerish glaring at her. But I'm not going to ask, even though I sort of want to.

She walks to the door and turns to me. "You got big plans this weekend?"

I needed that question. My priorities come back swiftly in line. My walls go up and slam tight into place. I hope she's not trying to ask me to do something with her. Because that would not be good...in any way.

I answer cautiously. "Not really. I'll probably just hang out at Linc's place."

"That's cool."

Well, damn. I expected her to say something more and that makes me curious now. "What about you?"

Her eyes light up. "Yeah, I'm excited. I'm going with my roommate, Fil, to this new nightclub."

"You live with a guy?" The thought of it raises my hackles a bit but I don't have time to ponder the why of it. It seems all I do lately is analyze every little word that comes out of my mouth around Emily.

She gives a laugh. It sounds like gentle, silver bells, which is a nice change. The laughter of other women always seemed to grate on my nerves.

"No. My roommate is a girl."

"Your roommate is a girl and her parents named her Phil?"

"No. Her parents named her Mignon."

"Wait? They named her after a steak?"

"Yup. Fil is short for Filet. It's this whole nickname thing." She's grinning and I can tell she is enjoying the hell out of this discussion.

I shake my head. This will go down as one of the weirdest conversations I've ever had, and trust me, I've had some weird ones in my head.

"Did she murder her parents for that?"

Emily now lets out a bark of a laugh. It's hoarse and sexy, and I would kill to hear that sound again. "No, although I'm sure she's considered it a time or two."

As her laughter dies down and slides from her eyes, her gaze at me is replaced with something else. Almost as if she's looking at me in awe and delight. It's like she is seeing something inside of me that even I don't understand.

It makes me uncomfortable and pissy.

"What?" I demand.

The joy on her face disappears completely and her eyes go dead.

Yup. I did that. My anger made it go away, just with a singular a*shole move on my part. Classic Nix Caldwell and I’m sort of relieved to know he’s not completely dead.

"Nothing," she says. "It's just...you have a wonderful smile. Well, you had a wonderful smile just a second ago. Too bad you don't keep it on your face very long."

I was smiling at her? I didn't even realize. Usually the unnatural feeling of a smile on my face is immediately and completely recognizable to me because it's not something I do often. And then I snapped at her because she dared look at me in a way that was...special. I'm such a shit and I'm sure she thinks I'm nuts. Maybe I am nuts. Maybe she is driving me nuttier.

I can't think of anything to say, so I just head toward the door. "Go ahead and lock up when you leave."

"See you," she says softly.

And damn it if I can't help myself when I say, "Be careful this weekend."