Making Him Sweat & Taking Him Down. Meg Maguire
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led her past a big combination kitchen and dining room that was begging for new appliances and a fresh coat of paint. Then Mercer’s back drew her eyes again, that interesting shifting of muscle behind taut cotton.
He pushed in the door to a modest bedroom, bare except for a bed frame and dresser. Its window opened onto a fire escape, facing an intersection and the garish sign for a Thai restaurant. An interesting view, but not one conducive to privacy or peace. She looked around, taking in the squares where posters or picture frames had preserved the slate-blue paint on three walls, brick comprising the final one.
She turned to Mercer. “Was this always his room, do you know?”
“I couldn’t tell you for sure, but the last few years, at least. Is that too weird?”
“I don’t know. He’s basically a stranger to me.” She’d expected to feel something stronger, standing inside these walls, but so far she felt only detached curiosity.
“Want to see the other room? In case it’s more to your taste?”
She nodded and followed him to the far side of the apartment. The second room was furnished, neat but small, with a similar street view. Next door was the bathroom, also tiny.
“Everything’s been retrofitted as residential, obviously,” Mercer said. “And before the condo boom, so kinda wonky and half-assed—like the gigantic living room and kitchen and the closet-sized everything else. It’s actually a toss-up which is bigger, my room or the pantry.”
She perked at the notion of having her own pantry. “I don’t mind. Makes it interesting. How’s the neighborhood?”
“Willing to admit you’re in Chinatown yet?”
She smirked. “Sure.”
He leaned against the bathroom doorframe. “It’s not perfect. But a thousand times nicer than when I was a kid.”
“For no rent, it doesn’t have to be Beacon Hill.”
“On the plus side, there’s not much worth burgling from a boxing gym. And security’s free between six a.m. and ten at night.”
She peeked inside the cabinet under the bathroom sink. “What do you mean?”
“There’s only about eight hours a day when there’s not at least one trained thug wandering around downstairs.”
“Oh, right.” She straightened to smile at him. “How very convenient.” For reasons not entirely clear to her, she found Mercer reassuring. Physically, maybe. She swallowed, her gaze dropping to his chest before she caught herself. Shutting the cabinet, she mustered the nerve to ask, “How would you feel if I moved in before you moved out?”
“And we’re roommates until I find my next place?”
She nodded.
“It’s your apartment.”
“Well, I’m asking how you’d feel about it.”
He shrugged. “I can put up with anybody for two weeks.”
She looked down to hide her grin, shaking her head. She could sense him smiling back, feel his nearness as tangibly as sunshine warming her skin. Dangerous.
“And hell.” Mercer leaned an arm along the doorframe and brought his face a little closer to hers, making something hot and unwelcome spike in Jenna’s pulse. He smirked. “Maybe us shacking up together is just the chance I need to grow on you—change your mind about ruining all our lives.”
Praying he couldn’t see how his nearness had flushed her cheeks, she stepped back and pretended to inspect the shower. “It’ll save me a chunk of change on a hotel. Just don’t be insulted if I run a background check on you.”
“Don’t be disappointed when you discover I’m not a felon. Let me know if you need help moving anything. I’ll mobilize the troops.” He nodded to the floor to mean the men laboring two stories below.
“I’ll get moved in this week, I imagine.”
“You’re the boss.”
The boss. An intriguing notion. Boss to a small, inherited army of brutes for now. To a well-groomed team of assistants in a couple months’ time, all things going as planned.
They wandered back to the living room and Jenna stared down at the busy street from the front windows. There was an Asian grocery store and produce stand across the way, flanked by a dry cleaners and nail salon. Not the most elegant neighbors on that side of the block. But she’d wow her clients with a stylish foyer refurb, maybe find some cool framed prints of Chinatown and play up the neighborhood’s colorful history.
She turned to find Mercer’s attention not on the view, but her face. In the sunlight his hazel eyes were the warm, brownish green of a ripe pear. His gaze was direct and unflickering, intense as a floodlight. It seemed as though he were reading her thoughts. For a long moment, they just stared at one another. Too long a moment.
She swallowed, gaze flitting from his bare arm to the shape of his chest, the stubble peppering his jaw, the curve of his lower lip. He mirrored the scrutiny, and in place of the casual calm he’d shown before, there was something else. Something…mischievous.
“I’ve got an extra set of keys down in the office, if you want them today.” His voice sounded so close, and so cool and assured when that stare was anything but.
She nodded, banishing the hyperawareness fogging her head. “That’d be good.”
“You okay staying in your dad’s old room?”
“Yeah. I’ll bring my suitcases over in the morning. If I can arrange to have a mattress delivered by tomorrow night, that is.”
“Works for me. Any furniture you need help with?”
She shook her head. “No, thank you. I’ll buy most of the stuff new.”
“Gotcha.”
She sighed, feeling too many things. Overwhelmed, elated, terrified. Attracted, most unnerving of all. “Thank you,” she said again. “I know it’s probably not easy being this courteous to me, considering my bias.”
“What choice have I got?”
“Because I’m your boss?”
“Nah. Because I loved your dad. And he loved you. So I have to at least pretend to respect your wishes, as much as they suck.”
She laughed. “Well, I guess that’ll have to do.”
* * *
JENNA CAME BACK late the next morning, unlocking the door to her new apartment with the keys Mercer had given her.
“Hello?” She waited for a reply, but none came. Good. That gave her plenty of time to wander around in peace, before the awkward dance of cohabitating with the enemy began.
Okay, fine. Enemy was too dramatic a word. Mercer was nice enough, and he was too young to have been complicit in the gym’s infamous criminal activities. It weighed on her, holding his fate in her hands. The uncertainty of the unmade decision loomed like a dark cloud. A big, dark, muscular, Mercer Rowley-shaped cloud.
She dragged her suitcases through the door, struck once again by the size of the living room. Big enough to add a wet bar or breakfast nook, a cozy little home office…. Too much to wrap her head around this soon, and besides, the franchise had to take precedence. All in good time. All in small, manageable steps.
Step one, she unpacked a bag of her favorite coffee and figured out how to work the machine on the counter. While it brewed, she wandered from room to room, making a list of stuff she’d need to buy. Big list. Moderate budget.
She’d lived on the cruise ship for ten months a year for the past six years, her room and board included. During the downtime between seasons she’d stayed rent-free with her mom and stepdad, so she’d