Series: Shifter Ops Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
He straightens and takes a step towards me. The sunlight arching over his shoulder sets his toned body glowing. It’s a sight to make a Vogue photographer swoon.
Stop perving on your baby brother-in-law! I’m losing my grip on my anger.
The light gilds his long lashes and brings out the gold in his eyes. “I told you this morning. You need me, Julia.”
Ugh. I need him like I need a bullet in the head. Okay, maybe a slight exaggeration, but his cockiness is staggering. As if I should be happy he just suddenly decided to grace us with his presence and help with a few handyman tasks? I don’t think so.
“No, I don’t.” I fold my arms over my chest, trying to stay resistant to the Channing charm. And his eight pack. It’s hard when the golden hairs on his chest glow in the sunset. When I’m literally having a Magic Mike moment with him on my front porch.
“I don’t,” I insist again, but I sound like I’m convincing myself. “I told you to leave.”
“I did leave. And then I came back.”
“I meant for you to leave permanently.” I’ve taken a few steps forward, and Channing and I are inches apart. The heat from his body vibrates between us. He smells like the outdoors, fresh and wild. A bead of sweat rolls down the center of his chest, following the groove and contours of his muscles. And I’m pissed that I notice.
“Not going to happen, Jewels.”
The old nickname sparks a sense of longing–for the past. When I had Geoffrey. When Channing was the loveable, wild young man living with us. He used to purposely spell Jules like a Jewel to be cute.
But the longing morphs into something different. Not for the past—for something else. Like I want Channing to fill the void Geoffrey left. But that’s wrong. Besides, Channing can’t be relied upon.
“I don’t need you,” I assert, even though it’s a lie. “We don’t need you.”
Channing leans back and takes me in, all five feet, one inch of irritation. “You’re lying.” He taps his nose. “I can smell it. You’ve needed me for a long time.”
“Maybe a decade ago. But certainly not now.” I’m not going to back down. Lawyers never back down.
“Then and now.” He sounds contrite. “I have a lot to make up for.” He backs away, going back to the door and packing away his tools.
“You can’t… you don’t… there’s no making up anything. I told you to get out. This is my home.”
“And Geo’s. You gonna ask him?”
“He wants nothing to do with you, either.”
“He doesn’t know me. And he needs me right now.”
“And who’s fault is that?”
“Mine. It’s mine, Julia. It’s all my fault. And I’m sorry.”
His apology leaves me breathless. Channing never apologized for the dumb things he did. Maybe he has grown up a bit.
“You can’t just show up and say you’re going to make it right.”
“I know. I’m going to prove myself to you. You say you don’t need me, but you do need a handyman.”
I fold my arms over my chest. “I have a handyman.”
“Then what’s with the shingles?” He backs out of the house and down the steps to squint at the roof. I should shut the door in his face and lock it, but that would hardly stop Channing. He’s been picking locks since he was a teen.
So I follow him outside to look up at the roof, which I hadn’t even realized needed help.
“You have a few more years before you have to replace this,” he says. “But not if you don’t get the shingles replaced. There might already be water damage.”
Ah. Well, that explained it.
I grit my teeth. “I called a roofer a couple years ago. He did two days of work that I paid him for and never showed up again.”
Channing’s eyes flash. “What’s his name?”
“Why?”
He folds his arms over his chest, making his biceps bulge even bigger. I try not to stare at them. God, they’re big. “Gonna have a chat with him.”
“It doesn’t matter. I can get a new roofer. It’s on the to-do list.”
“What else is on the to-do list?”
“None of your business.”
“Wrong. It is my business. I’m making it mine.”
“I’m going to get to it,” I insist. I hate that I feel the need to explain myself to him, but I do. “Hiring people takes time. And money.”
“What happened to the money I sent you?”
“The envelopes of cash? I use it for groceries, restaurants, things like that.”
“That’s it? Julia, it’s hundreds of thousands of dollars…”
“I know,” I snap. “And I didn’t know how it was obtained or whether it was legal. I don’t know how to spend it. I can’t walk into a bank and say, “Here’s a sack full of cash, please pay off my mortgage.”
“Why not?”
“Because it isn’t done!” I throw up my hands. “Normal people don’t carry around sacks full of unmarked bills. l’d look like I run a cartel.”