Built for Love

  Contents

  Summary

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Also by Ella Goode

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  Abel Underwood has built his construction fortune off of gut instinct. He knows a good piece of property when he sees it and he doesn’t hesitate to pursue a project once he has it in his sights which is precisely why he doesn’t hesitate when he spots Pepper Paddison on the sidewalk of a run down apartment complex near Bell Heights. He knows she’s the one and he’s going to acquire her through fair means or foul.

  1

  Abel

  “I think we should walk on this deal,” I tell my partner Beck as I climb out of my pickup. “The neighborhood is kind of shitty, and I don’t see it being gentrified anytime soon, at least not before Bell Heights. There’s an eight-unit complex over there that we could reno and lease for at least three fifty a square foot.”

  “If that’s what you want to do, I’m okay with it. I trust your instincts.”

  “I’m waffling,” I admit, “It’s not a terrible property but we’d have to do business with Chad Walker. If we get in bed with him, we’ll not just get up with fleas, but a whole colony of parasites.” I slam the door shut and stride up the cracked concrete walkway. Walker hasn’t done one lick of work on this property since he bought it a year ago. The fact that he put it back on the market so soon after the purchase and for not much of an increase means that there are real, expensive problems he doesn’t want to take care of.

  “Like I said, I trust your judgment. I write the checks in this relationship while you do all the grunt work.”

  Beck does a helluva lot of work besides scrawling his name across a piece of paper, such as evaluating comparative properties, analyzing market trends, and estimating costs. It’s a good partnership. We bought our first property just out of high school from the insurance proceeds Beck got after his car was wrecked. He put up the funds and I did the labor. Beck would’ve helped out with the work, but the same accident that destroyed his car mangled his right knee. He’s got more hardware in his leg than the local utility store—not that you would know if you saw him, but I know it bothers him.

  “This grunt thinks that—“ A figure passes in front of me, dragging a suitcase in one hand and carrying a laundry basket in the other. The basket is about to tip its contents out. I lurch forward and grab it before it tumbles to the ground. “Maybe you should make more than one trip...”

  My words die on my tongue as I look into the face of the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen in my entire life. I swear I hear angels singing in the background as I inventory her features. Her jet black hair is chin length and cut so razor-sharp it might draw blood. Her eyes are big and round, and she has the cutest fucking nose. Her full lips are pursed into an angry scowl.

  “What are you doing?” she says, jerking the basket out of my hands.

  “Baby, you look like your hands are full. I was just helping.” I grin.

  “First of all, I’m not your baby.” She scowls. It only makes her look sexier. If I was a dog, my tongue would be out. “Second, I have everything under control.” She hefts the laundry basket higher up her curvy hip where my hand should be resting.

  Some may take this rejection to heart. Not me. This woman is beautiful and I need to know her name, her vitals, and everything else—immediately.

  “Where’s your man? You shouldn’t have to be carrying stuff by yourself.” It’s not like I particularly care if she has a man, but I want to know what kind of mess I’ll need to clean up. I mean...I have a backhoe and access to a lot of dump sites.

  “I don’t need a man. I can do this myself.” She starts walking toward the front door, but when she moves, the basket slips. I catch it before it falls,

  Inside is a bunch of freshly folded laundry like socks, tiny pieces of underwear, some T-shirts and pants, and a couple of rolled towels. She must live here. “What unit are you in?”

  “I’m not telling you that,” she snaps.

  “Good. You should never tell random strangers your apartment number, but I’m not a random stranger.” I’m going to be your new man, I think, but maybe it’s too early to declare this given that she’s frowning and all. “But since I’m carrying your laundry—“ I break off. Didn’t the prospectus say that there was a laundry unit in the basement? Was she just moving in? That might explain why she’s toting her clothes around outside.

  “Are you a new resident?”

  She tips her head back and sighs. “Not that it’s any of your information, but since you aren’t going to give me my clothes back until I tell you something, no, I’m not a new resident. I had to take my stuff to the laundromat because the basement units are broken. Our slumlord doesn’t take care of anything around here.” She holds out her arm. “Now give me my clothes back like you promised.”

  Slumlord. Broken laundry in the basement. Nah. My woman cannot live in a place like this. I’m definitely not returning her basket until a full reno is done. It’s not safe for my girl. “I think not.”

  “What? You can’t make that call.” She tugs on the basket, but I don’t let go. Her frown grows deeper. “If you don’t give me my clothes back, I’m calling the police.”

  “We both know this place ain’t safe.” I back away. “Let’s get into my truck and I’ll take you to someplace nice.”

  She holds up her hand. “You know what? Keep it. I’m good.” And then she turns on her heel and sprints inside like I’m some serial killer she thinks is about to kidnap her and make her into a skin suit.

  Frowning, I stand there with her basket and my phone in my hand. My phone. Shit. I forgot I had Beck on the line.

  “Dude, you still there?”

  “Yup.”

  “So about this building, I think I’m buying it.”

  “You told me that it would bring the black plague on our company if you did business with Walker.”

  “I may have been exaggerating.”

  “How pretty is she?” He must’ve heard us talking.

  “She’s not for you,” I snap.

  “Oh, that pretty. I can’t wait to see her.” He laughs.

  I narrow my eyes. “You might be my best friend of ten years, but that can be rectified.”

  Beck howls harder. “If I didn’t think you would beat my ass in, I’d come over right now to check her out, but I can wait until you bring her to the office.”

  “That would be never.” I hang up and head inside after my girl. She’s foolish if she thinks I’m walking away now.

  2

  Pepper

  What the hell was that about? Who takes someone’s clothes? I push my key into my lock, wondering if I should go back and demand them. My cutest pair of underwear were in the laundry basket that jerk hijacked from me.

  I jiggle the key in the lock, having to play with it for it to work. That’s what happens when you can only afford a certain amount of rent; everything is broken in some way or another. It finally clicks over after a bit of a struggle.

  I push the door open, quickly dropping what I have in my hands right inside the entryway. I know I need to turn right back around and go back out there to face the jerk who stole my panties. He wasn’t exactly a jerk, but he did steal my basket. He may be handsome, but that’s beside the point. He’s s
till a thief.

  “Why are the cute ones always crazy?” I mumble to myself.

  “Talking about me?” I scream, whirling around to see the man from outside standing in my doorway, my basket in his hand.

  “No,” I lie. “Talking about the man at the laundromat.” His perfect jawline ticks. Everything about him is perfect. From his short brown hair that is just enough to run your fingers through to the long lashes on his green eyes that most girls would kill for.

  The only thing out of place is the small bump in his nose. I bet that someone broke it at some point. Gah. Even with that slight imperfection he looks hot. It only adds to his rough appeal. Judging from his massive size and build, whoever punched him in the nose, if that’s what happened, regretted it.

  He looks down at the lock, pulling my keys out. “You almost left your keys in the door.” He steps inside, letting the door fall closed behind him.

  “I was about to grab them.” I throw my hands up in annoyance. I had forgotten them. It wasn’t the first time. “Hmm.” He drops my laundry basket down next to the rest of my stuff before he starts making himself at home, looking around my place.

  “You brought me my basket. You can leave now.” I point toward the door. He puts his hands inside his pockets, looking over the board that I constructed for class a few months ago. I got an A, so I know the designs are good, but I still feel subconscious about my work. I shouldn’t even care what he thinks because he’s trespassing.

  “You do these?” he asks, looking back at me.

  “No, I stole them.” I roll my eyes, but it only makes him smirk at me. He turns back to look at them.

  “You’re a designer?” I'm not sure why I’m still answering his questions, but there is something about him that has me telling him things I shouldn’t be telling a stranger.

  “I’m trying.” I take a step closer to him. I should be screaming at him to get out. I don’t know this man, and we’re alone in my apartment. If I scream there is a chance no one will hear me.

  “They're really good. Have you done any office designs before?” He turns back to me.

  “No, I’ve only done mockups for homes.” I wet my lips. Does he really like them or is he trying to get in my pants?

  “Who do you work for?”

  “Stone Hut.” His brows furrow together.

  “The shitty pizza place?

  “I make pizza for them and sometimes I deliver.” If I’m lucky. You make way better money doing delivery. Being on a strict budget, I need all the help I can get in the finance department.

  “You go on deliveries by yourself?” His face grows more serious again.

  “Weren’t you just leaving?” I motion toward the door again. He ignores it and starts looking around my small apartment.

  “You did this too.” He runs his hands along a table I found a few weeks ago on the sidewalk. I brought it home and showed it some love. I nod. “And the rest of this place.” I try not to fidget.

  “I gave it a little love. What I can, at least.” This place is a shithole like he called it before. But it’s cheap and I knew I could try and touch my place up some. It wasn't anything great, but I did what I could without spending too much money. I don't want to waste money on a place that isn't really mine, but I do have to live here, so a few small things felt fine to do. Not a total waste.

  “We’re redoing this place. You’re not going to be able to stay here.”

  “Chad didn't do anything. Is that even legal? You can’t just kick us out.”

  “We’ll put you up somewhere until it is complete.”

  “Then the rent will go up to a crazy amount and I won’t be able to live here,” I mumble. Great. I walk over to my little loveseat, dropping down onto it.

  “No one said the rent would go up.” He ventures over into my kitchen, where he starts inspecting everything.

  “Are you the handyman or something?” Maybe that’s why he felt like he could let himself in. Also why he offered to take me somewhere new. Did I miss a letter about the upcoming construction?

  “Nope, I’m buying the place.”

  “Buying or bought?”

  He comes back into the kitchen. “You really can’t stay here. There is mold under the kitchen sink.”

  “Really?” I get up to go look. I don’t remember seeing any mold there. His arm snags me around the waist, stopping me.

  “Don’t go near it. You don’t want to breathe it in.” I stare up into his handsome green eyes. His hand on my waist flexes, reminding me that he’s touching me. A heat swirls through my body, making me jump back. He sucks in a deep breath and I wonder if he felt it too.

  “When will they be giving us all places to stay? I can stay until then. Can’t I just scrape it off like they do in TV shows or something?”

  “We’ll get you set up tonight. Why don’t you go pack?”

  “I don’t even know your name. This is crazy. I should call Chad.” Even as I say those words, I want to gag. Chad is a creep. He’s hit on me numerous times.

  “Name’s Abel, beautiful. What’s yours?”

  “Pepper,” I say, ignoring the flutter in my stomach at him calling me beautiful.

  “Go pack,” he presses again. Not thinking I have much of a choice, I go pack, hoping my new landlord isn't as creepy as my last.

  3

  Abel

  She doesn’t trust me and I can’t blame her. As a single woman, she’s probably learned all men are sharks or worse. I don’t mind her being wary of the male species. Hell, she can keep her guard up around them at all times—except for me. For me, her guard should be on the floor along with her clothes.

  But I’m realistic. I know that’s not happening within the next thirty minutes. After that, though, who knows? Fortune favors the bold.

  “You need some help?” I holler through the closed bedroom door. I can’t hear any activity because the walls in here are solid even if the place is more run-down than a country rest stop. The bones of this old building are good. It has a solid brick exterior, thick and straight walls, and high ceilings. Renovated properly, we could sell this for a good amount of money. I was being stubborn not wanting to do business with Walker.

  “If you’re bored, feel free to move on,” she yells back.

  “Not in this lifetime,” I respond.

  The door flies open and a skeptical Pepper appears with her laundry basket propped against her waist. She has emptied it of her clothes and put a bunch of knickknacks in there like books, candles, and a couple of pillows.

  “I’m ready,” she tells me.

  “That’s all you’re taking?” I look around her frame and see the bedroom mostly intact. She’s barely packed enough for a sleepover, let alone to move out. Did she mishear me? “You left most of your stuff here,” I point out.

  “That’s right, because I live here and since I don’t even know if I want to stay at the place you’re putting all the tenants while this building is being renovated, I’m not about to go through the hassle of boxing everything up more than once. This is all I need for a few days.”

  “It’s going to take more than a few days to renovate this place.” The plaster on the ceiling is cracked and peeling and who knows what kind of disasters are waiting inside the walls? Besides, since Pepper will be moving in with me, I foresee this being the longest renovation I’ve ever done. It might take months instead of weeks or however long until she is convinced that she needs to be in my bed on a permanent basis.

  “What all are you planning to do?” she asks. Her tone is suspicious, as if she can read through my façade of helpful handyman to the predator underneath—the one that wants to strip her bare and fuck her raw on that soft mattress right over her shoulder. I wonder what position she likes the best. Then I frown. She should not have any favorite position yet because that would mean another man has touched her. I guess that’s why I’m good with a backhoe. I’ll find him, kill him, and then bury him with my heavy construction equipment.

&
nbsp; “If it’s some big secret, don’t tell me,” she says, pushing by me. I grab the laundry basket from her hands and follow her out.

  “It’s not. In fact, you can help me if you’d like.”

  She stops at the door. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you’re a designer, so why not help me out?” I warm to this idea. Beck might not like it, as he has a thing for Marist, the on-staff designer for our company, but I don’t see any problem with having two people working for us. Beck’s been wanting to expand the scope of our projects, and if I can rope Pepper into helping me, then Marist can be freed up to do the corporate building that Beck wants. In corporate Beck-speak, I think we’d call that a win-win proposition. I grin widely at my genius. “What do you say? I’ll knock your rent down.”

  “By how much?” She’s interested. My smile grows wider. I’d say free, seeing as she won’t be having any rent at all since she’ll be living with me from now on, but I throw out a number that seems reasonable.

  “Ten percent.”

  She wrinkles her nose.

  “In addition to your cut from all the trade goods we purchase through you,” I hastily add. Beck’s not going to like this, but then he moved our headquarters to a new building last year when Marist mentioned she was tired of the commute. And when she struggled carting goods around in her Mini Cooper, he bought her a Mercedes G wagon. Technically the company owns the sports utility vehicle, but only Marist drives it. Then there was the corporate retreat to the Bahamas after Marist saw a flyer about it at the coffee shop. One building is nothing.

  “What’s the catch?” Pepper asks.