Читать книгу Winning Her Forever - Harmony Evans - Страница 11

Chapter 1

Sonya headed toward the classroom listed on her registration form. The hall was quiet and empty, too quiet, in fact, and she wondered if she was in the right building. Her nerves crackled in anticipation of the evening ahead.

It felt surreal, and a little scary, to be back on a college campus, but it was just one of the many steps she’d taken to create a new life for herself.

When she reached the room, she tried the door, but it was locked. There was no sign posted on the glass, and no one inside. She leaned against the wall and dug out her phone, hoping for a last-minute email informing her that the room had been changed. While she was navigating to the application, the device shut off.

She recalled reading in her information packet that any class changes would be posted in the registrar’s office. She dropped her phone back into her canvas tote bag, dug around and groaned. In addition to forgetting to charge her phone, she had left the hard copy of the campus map at home.

Back outside, Sonya zipped up her lime-green rain jacket, ducked under her umbrella and glanced around. The Bay Point Community College campus was larger than she’d expected, and was bustling with students going to and from evening classes. There was a coffee shop near the parking lot. Maybe one of the baristas could give her directions to the registrar’s office.

She hurried toward it, weaving around puddles and dodging other students. By the time she arrived, the rain was slanting sideways. Afraid of getting her newly permed hair wet, she opened the door and stepped over the threshold into the coffee shop.

“Dumb thing,” she muttered as she struggled to retract her large pink-and-brown-polka-dotted umbrella.

“Hey, watch out!”

A man’s voice, bass-low and heavy with concern, washed over her.

She shook her head to reorient herself, pressed the button a few times, and after a long agonizing moment, the umbrella finally closed.

As she lowered it, her breath caught in her throat at the gorgeous man that stood in front of her, revealed like a game-show grand prize. His grim expression and now-empty paper cup in his hand led her to believe that all was not right in his world.

Her eyes widened at the large stain snow-flaking across the middle of his light blue T-shirt, no doubt caused by her.

“I’m sorry. My umbrella jammed. Are you hurt?”

The man furrowed his brow. “I’m fine.”

But she barely heard his words. Her thoughts were consumed with the desire to allow her fingers the freedom to graze the fabric plastered to his flat abdomen.

As a former ballet dancer, she had a deep appreciation for the beauty and majesty of the human body, especially the male form. And this particular man was ripe for tactile exploration. Faded dark blue jeans, paint-spattered construction boots and rampant tattoos over dark honey arms were all reasons for an extended pause.

He is hot, hot, hot.

He waved a hand in front of her face. “Are you okay?”

She jerked her chin up and her cheeks bloomed with heat at the amusement in his eyes. “Y-yes. I was just worried that you got burned.”

“No. Lucky for me, it was just very cold iced coffee.”

As she exhaled in relief, he smiled, displaying perfect white teeth.

“Lucky for you, I like surprises.”

Before she could think of a response, he pointed down at the floor between them. “Watch out.”

With her eyes still on his, she stepped back from the spreading liquid, and bumped into a pregnant woman trying to exit.

Sonya apologized and stepped closer to the man so the woman could pass. She was so embarrassed she almost joined the cluster of ice cubes melting on the floor.

“Do you come with a warning?”

“No. Do you?” she challenged.

He raised a brow, but it was hard to tell if he was irked or intrigued.

“Yeah, it’s called never argue with a pretty lady.”

Her mouth dropped open and another buzz of unexpected heat rose in her cheeks. The grin on his face seemed sincere, and that was the problem.

She didn’t feel pretty at that moment, just cold and lost, and she had no time for flirtation.

He seemed not to notice her response, and instead directed her with his hand, around the puddle and deeper into the store.

He touched her elbow. “Let’s move out of everyone’s way, shall we?”

Even through her rain jacket, a shock wave of pleasure went zinging through her veins like a ball in a pinball machine. Though she’d never seen this man before, his gentle guidance felt protective. But just as quickly, he released her. She watched as he slid a navy blue backpack off his shoulders and set it down on the counter. His large hands looked as if they could level three men with one punch, or caress her body with ease.

The loss of his brief touch left her feeling unsettled. He pulled out the chair next to his, and the sound of metal scraping against the tile floor brought her out of her daze.

Sonya let out a breath and joined him, but kept her messenger bag on.

Rain pelted the window in a torrential, thunderous downpour. The noise level in the shop elevated as people hurried inside to escape the weather.

“Looks like we’re stuck here together for a while.”

She worried her lip, knowing that further delays would not help the fact that she didn’t know the location of her class.

“Could my night get any worse?”

His laugh was deep and genuine. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard that comment from a woman.”

Sonya frowned at his audacious statement, which smacked of the type of egoism she’d grown up with in her own family and had eventually escaped.

She took a step closer to him, to the outer fringes of his personal space. His rough-and-ready aura felt familiar, almost cozy. Every fiber of her being wanted to step back again, but she held her ground.

“I’m sorry I made you spill your coffee, but I’ve had a really rough day, and I don’t need the sarcasm.”

She ignored his sardonic grin, dug into her messenger bag and dropped a crumpled five-dollar bill on the counter.

“I hope this covers your loss.”

He looked over at it, then back at her and his smile faded.

“Put your money away. I don’t need it.”

His sharp tone was like a switch, instantly flooding her face with embarrassment. She had the sense he was offended she’d even made the gesture, and now she wished she hadn’t.

She steadied her voice. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

She cupped her palm over the bill and stuffed it back into her bag.

His eyes, a deep chocolate-brown flecked with green, sought hers. Though he was a stranger, she couldn’t help but be drawn into the sphere of his intense gaze.

“I could wash your shirt for you,” she offered, only half kidding.

“Then I’d have to take it off,” he said grimly.

That’s the whole point, she thought.

Her lips began to tilt out a smile, but she forced them back into a straight line. He raised his brow, as if he’d read her mind, and a searing flame of attraction lit up her insides.

“Actually, I’m more worried about you. Are you sure you’re all right? You do look a little frazzled.”

She reached up and patted her shoulder-length curls. “You mean, frizzled, right?”

His laughter made her glow in all the places it shouldn’t. It felt honest and real and warm, not patronizing or unappreciative. She had a feeling that he was the kind of guy who wouldn’t care if she showed up at his door sans makeup or clothes.

“As a matter of fact, I’m lost,” she admitted.

“Oh? Are you a new student here?”

“Trying to be. I went to the assigned classroom on my registration form, but no one was there and no sign was posted. There has to be some mistake.”

“Maybe it was canceled?”

She frowned. “I hope not. Anyway, can you point me in the direction of the registrar’s office?”

The rain had slowed, so they ventured outside. He put his umbrella up and motioned her to join him.

He was broad-shouldered, and she barely fit under the umbrella as she sidled up next to him. He smelled faintly of sawdust and spice, making her think of crisp autumn leaves and a crackling, roaring fire. The barest hint of a dark shadow, apparent on his strong angled jaw, suited him.

He switched the handle of the umbrella to his other hand and pointed the way. His knuckles appeared slightly rough and her eyes traced the sinew of his muscled forearm up to where the fabric of his T-shirt stretched to accommodate his massive bicep. He emanated the kind of outward strength that a man couldn’t get from hours at the gym or behind a desk, but only from years of hard work.

As he gave her directions, his voice rumbled through her ears on a wave of authority and could probably make the most mundane topics sound exciting. If only she could listen to him, over and over again.

If only his arm was draped around her shoulders, tugging her closer and closer.

If only...

She sucked in a breath and woke up from her momentary daydream with a pleasurable tug in her loins and the knowledge that he was the cause.

“Thanks for the info.” She ducked out from under his umbrella and opened up her own. “I better get going, so I’m not late.”

His gaze lingered, agitating the butterflies already swirling in her stomach.

“See you again soon?”

Sonya shrugged, mumbled another thanks and left in a hurry, before she forgot the directions to the office.

See him again?

Not a chance.

She didn’t really have a type, but if she did, a T-shirt, tattoos and old work boots kind of guy wasn’t high on her list, even though he looked divine in all three. Yet a part of her longed to stay and sweep the edge of her knuckles gently against the planes of his bristled jaw, just to see if this rough-hewn man would shiver under her touch.

* * *

Why didn’t I get her name?

Trent gripped his umbrella and watched the beautiful woman hurry away. She seemed to glide along the slick wet pavement, lending a sense of elegance to her black old-school ankle-high sneakers.

Dark blue skinny jeans molded her slender hips and long legs. Her long neck reminded him of a swan, one of his favorite animals. When he was in college, he’d taken a zoology class and learned that swans mated for life. He had been fascinated with them ever since.

The green rain slicker zipped up high hid everything else, but he had a feeling he would like what was underneath, just as she seemed to like him.

His parents, whom he loved dearly, would soon celebrate their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Despite their insistence that he settle down, he wasn’t in a rush. Someday, he hoped to find a woman to love and protect for a lifetime. If the right woman stepped into his life, he wasn’t sure if he could make the leap from bachelor to husband. It was the permanence of marriage and the statistics of divorce that frightened him more than the fear of being alone for the rest of his life.

Like a cold engine, relationships were tricky to start, and even harder to keep going. Up until now, he hadn’t had the patience or the time.

But this woman, she was different.

The luminous glow of her caramel toned face would no doubt stay in his mind for a long time. The undercurrent of seriousness in her demeanor was equally attractive, although he had no idea the reason behind it.

The offer to launder his shirt had surprised and delighted him. This woman was a giver, not a taker. He could feel it.

The sense that he’d lost something he didn’t know he could have had grew stronger as she disappeared into the college’s nondescript administrative building.

He always made the first move, but this time he hadn’t. Big mistake.

He retracted his umbrella and looped his arms through the straps of his backpack. If he didn’t hurry, he’d be late, too. His heavy boots slapped against the cement as he walked toward Reed Hall, inhaling the rain-fresh air into his lungs.

He pinched the bottom of his T-shirt, wicking it away from his skin. He needed to change the thing before doing anything else.

When he got to the building, he ducked into a nearby men’s room and looked in the mirror. The shirt wasn’t the problem. He always kept an extra one or two in his backpack because getting dirty was just part of his job. He was a simple man, who liked to be prepared for anything.

When he got thirsty, he drank. On a hot day, he’d been known to unscrew the cover of his five-gallon water jug and pour the whole thing over his head. That was why he always carried two in his pickup truck.

When he got hungry, he ate. He eschewed all types of red meat, in favor of fish and vegetables.

And when he got lonely, his contact list was full of women to choose from. Sometimes, he’d scroll for one. Make a hit. Roll over and say goodbye.

Lately, he wanted more substance in his relationships. Not an immediate yes, and certainly not a please yes. He loved the thrill and the challenge of the chase, because it was something he could control and build upon.

Day by day, night by night, fight by fight.

That exquisite internal yearning. Not knowing if he was on a woman’s mind, even though she occupied his, or whether she truly wanted to be with him and him alone.

He glanced into the mirror, and could see the need and loneliness in his eyes. The wet shirt wasn’t the problem. The beautiful mystery lady was the real shock to his system, and he wanted more of her, and he had no idea how to find her. Maybe he should have been a detective rather than a builder.

Trent changed into a dry shirt and washed his hands, ignoring the sudden cramp in his stomach. Being nervous did not mesh with his normal levelheaded demeanor.

He liked to build things and tear them down. As part owner of Waterson Builders, one of the largest construction and real-estate companies in Bay Point, he got paid to do both. Working his craft was easy, but trying to teach it? He was still trying to figure out why he’d agreed to stimulate adult female minds with the basics of home repair.

His older brother, Steve, the other half of the family company, was originally scheduled to teach the class. Trent smirked in the mirror, recalling how Steve had called him last night and begged him to take his place. His brother might be a pain in the ass, but he was no fool. The only reason he had asked Trent to step in was because he knew that he would say yes.

He shook his head and though he was tired of bailing his brother out, family was numero uno. His parents had drilled that into his head ever since he was a kid.

Steve, who was quite selfish and preferred to be in the spotlight, hadn’t gotten the message. Unlike his brother, Trent would rather be in the bucket seat of a dozer.

He pushed his family issues to another corner of his mind and opened the door to the woodworking shop. The chatter in the room immediately stopped, and when he saw who was in the first row of worktables, so did his heart.