Distantly, an out-of-place sound filtered into his awareness and dragged him out of splendor. Brows furrowed, he lifted his head, listening.
Three heavy thumps came from her front door. He arched an eyebrow. “Expecting someone?”
“Oh, shit! Clinton.”
Before he could ask, she ducked under his arm and bolted for the front door. With a disparaging sigh, Brad forked his fingers through his hair. He didn’t know who this Clinton was, but right now, he could kill the man.
Moving to the top of the stairs, he watched as Cassie opened the door for a man in his late thirties, who stepped inside as if he frequented Cassie’s house. His warm hearty smile accompanied the affectionate embrace he gave her. As he pulled away, however, and his gaze skipped up the stairs to where Brad stood, that smile slipped. More than a little suspicion glinted in his expression.
Cassie beckoned to Brad. “Clinton, this is Brad Steele. He’s a…friend of mine.”
Friend—every guy in the world knew that was a line. And judging from the way the corners of this man’s mouth pulled against a smirk, he wasn’t a fool. The tangles in Cassie’s hair didn’t help, either. Add in her twisted tank top and the way the tie to her pajama pants now resided on her hip made friends look like a bald-faced lie. Let alone what one glimpse of his half untucked shirt and the way his cock strained against the fly of his jeans said.
Brad descended the stairs anyway.
The friendly, laughing grin that greeted him, along with the outstretched hand, caught him off-guard. He shook hands warily.
“Brad, meet Clinton, my former brother-in-law. He’s, ah, here to check my generator.”
Oh, fuck. He sincerely did not want to meet the brother of the ghost whose wife he’d presently just been mauling. Not in this lifetime, or the next.
Brad forced himself to smile. “Nice to meet you.”
“Pleasure’s mine.” He let go of Brad’s fingers and gestured at the stairs. “I’ll make it as quick as possible, kiddo. Sorry for the bad timing.” He grinned at Brad. “Someone’s gotta take care of her. Her job keeps her hopping, and sometimes she forgets the important things.”
“Ah…” Bright crimson colored Cassie’s face. “Okay.”
Surrounded by overwhelming awkwardness, Brad picked his jacket up off the back of the couch. “You know, I’m thinking that fireplace is awfully dark. You’ve got wood outside?”
Cassie’s blush deepened as she nodded. “On the east side.”
“East side. Right.” He opened the front door. “Back in a few.”
Chapter Twelve
Brad pulled the rest of his shirttail free, took a deep breath, and pushed the burn of unsatisfied arousal to the back of his mind. The cold winter air helped to cool his overheated skin, and he glanced up at the night sky, blinking as light snowflakes fell across his face. Man, even in New York, where he saw more than his fair share of snow, the flakes didn’t seem quite as big. Funny how mountains could play tricks on the mind.
Muttering, he struck off down the walk, across the wide expanse of her driveway, to the east side of her house, where stacked logs sat beneath an overhang that had obviously been designed for the purpose of sheltering wood. Iron racks were bolted into a concrete pad, long enough to hold an easy two cords. All but the closest end were packed full.
She wasn’t kidding when she said she didn’t use the fire much.
He bent to grab an armload. As his fingers grazed the rough bark, though, the side door opened. “Hey, man,” Clinton called.
Brad stiffened. He was too damned old to get a lecture from an overprotective family member who wanted to remind him he was rooting around someone else’s foundations. “Yeah?” he asked cautiously as he looked over his shoulder.
“You think I could get a hand here for a second? This hose is too stiff to make the bend and stay attached.”
“Uh…sure.” Brad backed away from the logs. Not what he’d expected. Not in the slightest.
Clinton’s grin was as warm and welcoming as it had been in the front foyer. “Sorry to interrupt and all. I’ll help you lug in logs here in a sec.”