The Architect (Nashville Neighborhood Book 3) by Nikki Sloane (freda ebook reader .txt) 📕

The policy was bullshit. Half the houses in our subdivision had soft up-lighting and had been that way for years. She wanted everyone to redo their exterior lights to—according to the letter—prevent light trespassing into the sky and causing pollution.

“This is all Judy,” I said. “The rest of the board is terrified of her. They let her do whatever she wants, including harass Dr. Lowe.”

Clay looked confused. “Who?”

“Dr. Lowe? His house is a few streets over, and he unfortunately lives next door to Judy Maligner. She’s pissed he’s dating my friend Cassidy, so she fucking weaponized the HOA against him.” I glared at the letter. “I guarantee he’s got landscape lighting that points up. Everyone else that does in this subdivision, like you and my parents, are collateral damage.”

He digested the info. “Why’s she pissed he’s dating your friend?”

“She says it’s inappropriate because Cassidy’s a lot younger than he is. But I really think it’s because she wanted Dr. Lowe for herself.” I picked the phone up and stared at him, not wanting to think about stupid Judy for another second. “How’s it going at work? You think you’ll be home soon?”

He put a hand on the back of his neck and leaned against the headboard of his hotel bed. It was an hour later for him in Florida, and he was wearing a simple white t-shirt, so I got a view of his toned bicep. He seemed unaware of how good he looked or the effect he had on me.

“Maybe another week. It was my department’s fuck up, and the hospital system won’t put up with a delay over something like this.”

Another week wasn’t the end of the world, I told myself. I could sulk later after we’d hung up. “What are you going to do about your lights?”

He let go of the back of his neck and lifted the hand like he had no idea. “I’ll deal with it when I get back, I guess.”

The idea quickly took shape in my mind, and I slathered on my best salesman smile. “Okay. I have a proposition for you.”

My smile had been too thick because he looked wary. “Yeah?”

“I’m already handling this for my parents. If you want, I could have the company that’s rewiring my parents’ house come quote your yard too.”

“I feel like there’s a catch coming.”

I laughed lightly. “All you have to do is tell me something about yourself. Something I don’t already know.”

He wasn’t amused. “Like what?”

“I don’t know.” But I did know. My tone was innocuous and casual. “You could tell me how you got into the lifestyle.”

Rather than look nervous or displeased, he relaxed, and his expression was . . . strange. Almost smug, like I’d aimed way too low. He shifted on his bed, getting more comfortable. “Porn.”

“Um, what?” Was he saying he did porn?

Like he could hear my thoughts, Clay shook his head. “A few years ago, I was watching a video that had this spanking horse in it. The whole time I’m looking at the video, instead of watching the performers, I’m staring at the piece and thinking, ‘I could build that better.’ So, I did some research and,” he lifted a shoulder, “some testing of my design.”

A wide grin spread across my lips. “You got hot for furniture while watching porn?”

“Yeah.” His unexpected laugh was warm. “After I built that first one and sold it, the client wanted another piece, plus they told some of their play partners about me, and I developed a reputation for my work. There’s not a big market for BDSM furniture, but the stuff I build is high quality, and it’s important to me that it doesn’t just look good—it meets every one of the clients’ needs too.”

“Form and function,” I said.

“Yes, exactly.” Somehow, with five hundred miles between us, the air around us thickened. Smoke filled his voice. “It didn’t take me long to realize I enjoyed the research. I liked watching people play together at Eros, and it took even less time to figure out how much I liked testing my pieces out with a submissive.”

His words were a puff of air sweeping across the embers inside me, rekindling the fire that had been dormant the last week. “I’d be happy to help you with that.”

“Thanks. I . . .” He frowned and glanced away. “I haven’t done that in a long time.”

“How come?”

His gaze snapped back to mine and sharpened, maybe evaluating whether to go any farther with this conversation. I pleaded with him with my eyes. Didn’t he know the fastest way to build trust was to share with each other?

He took a deep breath. “Things didn’t end well with my last partner.”

All the desire in me was shelved, and a heavy feeling sank in my stomach. I was sure the answer was no, but I asked it anyway. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, not really.” Clay couldn’t have sounded more honest if he’d tried. He fidgeted, suddenly uncomfortable, and the words spilled from him. “She wanted more. Needed things I couldn’t give her.” I’d never seen him truly look sad until this moment, and it was heartbreaking. “I was upfront from the very beginning,” he said, “but she thought she could change my mind. I cared for her a lot, but I wasn’t going to fall in love, and when that didn’t happen, she kind of lost it.”

Ice crept down over my body, freezing me in place. “What happened?”

“I told her it was over, but she refused to accept it.” His expression was grave. “She wouldn’t respect my boundaries, so last year I sold my place and moved to the other side of the city where it’s pretty unlikely she’s going to find me.”

“Holy shit,” I breathed.

He didn’t just like his privacy—he needed it.

“Believe me when I tell you, when you showed up naked in my study,” he admitted, “it nearly killed me. It’d been more than a year since I’d wanted to play with