Roll the Dice

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

“I DON’T WANT any damn orange juice.” Bert Clydesdale pushed the glass away from him, almost causing it to tip over.

Jacqui took a deep breath to keep from snapping at her father and his belligerent attitude. “Well then, what do you want, Dad? You don’t want coffee or water or anything else I’ve laid in front of you.”

“I want to get out of this damn house, that’s what I want. I want to go wherever I want to go, whenever I want to go.”

Jacqui rolled her eyes. Sophia, their housekeeper, must have told him no at some point today and sent him into this recurring tizzy of his. Her father had never been one to depend on anyone, and here he was, trapped in a wheelchair, yearning for the freedom he enjoyed just a little over a year ago. She wished she could give it to him, too. While he survived his head-on collision with a drunk driver, Bert Clydesdale had been paralyzed from the waist down. Since Sophia already lived with the Karstons, Jacqui brought her father home to live with her once he was released from the hospital. It only made sense since Sophia would be the one to take care of him while Jacqui was at work. Bert was quite capable of doing a lot of things, but with the way her life went the past few years, Jacqui was not taking a chance on her father becoming one of those “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” victims. Besides, it was better than hiring someone she didn’t know or trust to tend to her father’s needs. Most of the time, he handled it well, but then there were days, such as today, when he couldn’t be pleased no matter what anyone did for him.

“I’ll tell you what,” she said. “Tomorrow, I’ll take some time off, and we’ll go down to the beach and watch the seagulls.”

“I don’t want to watch no damn birds. You go watch the birds. I want to get out and finish fixing my back porch. I need to get the railing around it repaired before someone falls and hurts themselves and sues me for money I don’t have.”

Jacqui moved the glass of orange juice back to the edge of the table within reach of her father. “I can have someone go over and fix it tomorrow. Besides, who’s going to get hurt when no one is there?”

“I don’t want anyone to go over and fix it! I want to fix it. I know what I want. Someone else will just screw it up.” His pale face grew red with his temper. “It’s my house. I’m the one who’s supposed to fix things.”

Jacqui brushed the gray bangs out of his hazel eyes as she took another deep breath. “Then you will. It just couldn’t be today. Sophia had things to do.”

“I have things to do as well, and I’m tired of not being able to do them because the warden’s too busy. I’m paralyzed, not dead. I’m also not some feeble old man, and it’s degrading for both of you to treat me that way.”

“I never said you were feeble. And Sophia is here to take care of you, but she also has other things to do. Be nice to her.”

Bert just rolled his eyes at her, something to which she was accustomed. Some days, she just couldn’t win with her father, and it wasn’t worth the effort to try. She was only trying to protect him, but he didn’t understand that. “Sophia said you didn’t eat much dinner. Are you hungry? Do you want me to fix you something?”

“Sophia is an i***t. She burns canned soup. And you don’t cook, so what are you going to fix me? A bowl of Fruit Loops? Bah!”

“Sophia is a great help, and you need to stop being mean to her. If she wasn’t here, I don’t know what we would do. Now, are you hungry?”

He didn’t look at his daughter, but instead stared at the television screen and the rerun of Matlock that droned away on the screen. “I’m sixty-two. I don’t need a damn babysitter. No. I’m not hungry. Will you stop trying to shove things down my throat? I’m not a child who needs to be told when to eat.”

Another deep breath. One. Two. Three. “Okay, Dad. I have some paperwork to finish before bed, so I’ll be in my office. Call out if you need anything.” She leaned over and kissed his forehead, feeling very much as if she kissed a pouty child.

He mumbled something back as he shifted in his chair as best as he could. She forced a smile as she left the room, trying to make sure his mood did not become hers.

The day had been long, and she was ready for it to end. Feeling the weight of it on her shoulders, she entered her kitchen and reached for a teacup and some Tension Tamer tea. There was a strong possibility it would put her to sleep before she finished looking over her files, but it was a chance she needed to take. She was too wound up to focus much anyway.

With the tea in her hand, she entered her home office and sat behind the desk, leaning back in her chair and inhaling the sweet aroma of her tea. The heat brushed her face, the fragrance filling her nostrils, bringing a soothing calmness to her mind. She could use a hot tub right about now; the tension was so knotted in her shoulders and back. She couldn’t blame her father for being frustrated. He had been an active man all his life, barely sitting still for a 30-minute show. Since her mother passed away from breast cancer a few years ago, he threw himself into small projects, keeping himself busy and on the move. He had even been a handyman around The Karston Foundation, lending Karl a free hand whenever he could. Being stagnant in his wheelchair drained the life out of him more than the loss of her mother had. Jacqui needed to find something for him to do, but what?

Glancing at the stack of contracts on her desk, she sighed heavily, her mind shifting from her father to her lunch meeting earlier that day. She didn’t really want to go with Rutherford Construction, but she needed them. If they were only bringing one employee and hiring local people as well as purchasing local supplies, they weren’t the threat she took them for in the beginning. However, that one employee seemed to be trouble. Morgan Brewer was cocky, arrogant, flirtatious, and obviously a womanizer. She didn’t need distracted people on her project. The Maggie Karston Community Center needed to be his focus, and she doubted he could focus if a tight skirt walked by him. And the fact he seemed so damned cocksure of himself annoyed her even more. That son of a b***h played me. She knew it. There was no way Neal Rutherford intended to hire a green crew for his first foray into Mississippi. He would have brought a crew he trusted to do things his way and on time. It’s what she would have done. However, Morgan Brewer knew what was really at her heart and played on it the minute he discovered it. It was his selling point, and she bought it without thinking it all the way through. No wonder he’s so damn smug. He won. He probably always wins.

She shook her head as she set her cup on the desk and opened the file. She wouldn’t go back on her word now, but she would definitely watch Mr. Brewer for more of his games.

And she had no doubt there would be games. He was good looking with a firm body and twinkling eyes. She could tell that construction had done his biceps and chest good as well as his ass—not that she had checked it out. Much. It was in front of her as she left. She couldn’t miss looking at it. His hair, a shaggy light brown mop had enough waves to make the mess look sexy. Yet, if she was honest with herself, it had not been his looks that stood out. It was his confidence. He knew what he was capable of and didn’t waver in the slightest. He was his own man, it seemed, and not even sitting by his boss had slowed him down or reined him in. It would infuriate her if he worked for her, but since he didn’t—not yet, anyway—she would admit it was quite attractive.

But will that get in the way of him doing his job? She had no doubt it wouldn’t get in her way. This was business. Nothing but business.

She picked up her pen and began to sign the contracts, locking her into her commitment with Rutherford Construction—and Morgan Brewer.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Morgan picked up the tiny form of Stacey Rogers and pressed her back against the wall. Her legs wrapped around his waist as she snaked her arms around his neck, fingers sliding through his hair. Their lips meshed, and their tongues danced as they ground against each other, his hardness stroking her through their clothing, clothing they needed to shed. He slid his hand up her thighs and under her skirt, sliding the material up her legs so his hand could grab her bare ass. He loved thongs. Their lips parted, and Stacey’s head fell back against the wall as her breathing and moans filled the furnished apartment. He felt her hand start to pull at his pants, trying to free his manhood, tired of waiting. Allowing her feet to touch the floor, he gave her room to reach her target, a smirk on his face as he watched how fast she moved. He felt the button as it was freed and heard the zipper as she yanked his pants open.

Kissing her neck, he lifted her back into his arms and carried her over to the Formica counter, setting her down. It was the perfect height for what he intended to fix on it—another selling point for the place. He jerked his pants down to his ankles and felt her hands grabbing his shirt, yanking him back to her as soon as his pants were down. He ripped her thong down her legs and spread her thighs so he could slip between them. He wasted no time as he plunged his c**k deep inside of her sweet passage, her juices already a slippery path. She gasped in his ear as her fingers tightened in his hair. He felt her grind against him as he thrust deep inside of her, spearing her with his lust.

She continued to pull at his hair as he drove into her, over and over, his hands squeezing her ass, pulling her back and forth on the countertop to meet his thrusts. Her moans echoed in his ears, his breathing loud between them. It wasn’t long before he felt her body tighten up with her orgasm and heard her cry out, shoving herself at him in the hopes of feeling him deeper. He dug his fingers into her ass as her legs tightened around his waist, holding him in place. He felt his own climax hit as his c**k twitched inside of her, filling her with his passion. They collapsed against each other, her head on his shoulder, their labored breaths causing their chests and shoulders to rise and fall. It had been quick. He liked quick.

When they pulled back, their breathing returned to some semblance of normal, she smiled at him. Sold. “I’ll take it,” he said. “Where do I sign?”

She laughed as he stepped back, reaching down for his pants as he did. As he slid his jeans back into place, she slid down off the counter, straightening her short dress in the process. “I have the paperwork right here,” she told him. “A three-month lease, right?”

“Saving me a trip to the office. I like this kind of service.” Three months was the duration Neal and he estimated he needed to get Rutherford’s newest office on solid ground before he could return home to Orlando. He hoped it would be sooner.

“I aim to please.” She gave him a wink to go along with her smile as she reached for her briefcase.

Neal couldn’t be upset. Stacey didn’t technically work for them. He glanced at her as she walked around the counter. Although, I do love the personal touch she gives to her clients.

The apartment had two bedrooms, a small kitchen with an even smaller dining area, and a living room. The plus was that it had a guest bathroom plus a master bathroom. Hopefully, Stacey wasn’t the last visitor he had.

“Here you go.” Stacey laid out the forms on the counter. Standard fair for a furnished apartment. You break it, you replace it. No smoking inside the place. Maintain the fire alarms. Don’t sell drugs out of the apartment. Morgan signed and initialed all the right places, and with a smile, Stacey handed him the keys. “I hope today was just the first of many good times for you here.”

“Me too,” he said with a slight chuckle as he walked her to the door. “And please, feel free to come back and check on me anytime.”

She placed her hand on his chest as she smiled up at him. “I just might do that, Mr. Brewer. Have a good day and welcome to Mississippi.”

He watched her ass sway as she departed, walking down the hall to the stairs that led from the second to the first floor. Now that’s a welcoming committee.

Once she turned the corner, he shut the door and stared at the place he just rented based on what was between his Realtor’s legs. It wasn’t a bad deal. The furniture was nice, a chocolate leather loveseat and sofa with a matching recliner, two end tables and a round coffee table. The dining area had a glass table that sat four, and the master bedroom was fully furnished with two dressers and a king-size bed. He would purchase his own sheets, of course. He was afraid of what had been laying on them. He glanced at the kitchen counter. I better give that a good scrubbing, as well. Not sure who all experienced her open house.

There was a balcony off the living room and master bedroom that overlooked a river. He would have to find out which one. There were even a couple of chairs and a hanging swing. It definitely had possibilities for romantic encounters. If Jacqui Karston allowed him the time for them, that is. He had a feeling Mrs. Karston was all work and no play. She seemed uptight and very rigid. She needs to be placed on a few countertops herself. He wasn’t sure what her story was yet, but he would get to it. Hopefully, she wouldn’t be one of those clients who had to have their hands in the entire process and was more a nuisance than a help. He wanted the blueprints and her checks. He did not want her assistance. He really hoped Neal picked the right project to cut his teeth on in Mississippi.

He opened the sliding glass doors leading to the balcony and stared out at the water. It was never the same, the river. It constantly changed with the currents that flowed through it, keeping it from growing stagnant. Morgan felt like his life was that river at the moment, and he was being carried along by the current. Where he would wind up, he had no idea, but for now—for the next three months, anyway—Biloxi was home.