Breaking the Rules

Excerpt from: Breaking the Rules

“What do you think you’re doing?” A strong hand gripped Margo’s shoulder.

Margo was in no mood for harassment. After three hours trudging the aisles of World Foods looking for items to satisfy Wives-R-Us’ pickiest client, she was pricklier than a porcupine, and some stranger was about to fall victim to her quills.

She was only shielding her eyes from the sun, studying the shade of blue paint going on her house. An innocent pursuit. So she took her time giving the painter a nod of approval, hoping to annoy the man behind her. “It’s fine,” she said.

“It isn’t fine. You can’t use that colour.”

His voice was deep and sexy and the scent of Polo, her favourite male cologne, wrapped itself around her. But Margo didn’t like bossy men and didn’t enjoy being told what to do.

Shaking loose from his grip, she whirled on him. “What do you think you’re doing, manhandling me? And who do you think you are, telling me what I can and can’t do?”

He took a step back and held up a hand as if to ward her off. “I’m Britain Hunter and I live in the corner house over there.”

He pointed to the other side of the street but she couldn’t tear her eyes off him. Britain was tall, dark and drop-dead handsome, and if that was cliché, it was true but an understatement. Gazing into hot, whiskey brown eyes set in a chiselled face, she struggled to maintain her composure. If ever a guy had bedroom eyes, this one did. Picturing him straddling her, his face close, his breath hot on her face, his lips parted… Her pulse raced and the heat built in her loins. This man was her neighbour, yet she’d never seen him before, and now she longed to see every inch of him.

Turning away at last, she took a glance and saw a house identical to hers. Even the colour would be the same when hers was finished. Britain was much more pleasant to look at. His full lips appeared totally kissable and the slight stubble of beard that shadowed his face invited her touch. Wishing she could caress his cheek and run her fingers down over his chin to his neck where a tiny patch of chest hair peeked over the top of his shirt, Margo felt herself grow moist.

“That colour is no longer available.” He stood with his feet wide apart, arms folded.

It was a shame he was so disagreeable. His firm tone and stance reminded her of a school principal who’d given her detention for spraying her hair purple. She folded her arms. “There was plenty left at the paint store and if it’s all gone now, that’s not my problem. I bought what I need and it’s going on my house now.”

“Don’t you see…?” He pointed at his house again.

“Of course I do.” Margo shrugged. “If you don’t want them the same colour, why not paint yours a different one? I’ve already bought the paint and I love that shade.”

“Be reasonable.” He sighed heavily. “The house where I live is completely painted. My grandparents had two coats put on when the renovation began. Yours is barely started and you can return the unopened cans for a refund.”

Did he live with his grandparents or had they formerly resided there? He’d have a hard time bringing dates home with them in the house. With his looks he’d have no trouble attracting women. She was drawn to him like a bee to honey and she’d like a taste of what he had to offer. Maybe he rented from them and lived there alone. Odd she hadn’t noticed him around.

He stepped close and, towering over her, kept his arms folded. If he was trying to intimidate her it wasn’t working, but his male presence at close proximity did make her hot. Beads of perspiration popped out on her upper lip and rivulets ran down over her tingling nipples. If his sexual parts measured up to the rest of what she saw… Damn, she had to stop this line of thinking before she jumped the guy.

“You do know the homeowners in Wainwright Place are attempting to restore this neighbourhood and these houses to their original beauty, don’t you?”

“I’m not an idiot. Of course I know it. Would you like to see the floors I’ve refinished? Or all my cancelled checks for repairs and restoration?”

“I’m sorry, Mrs.—?”

“I’m not ‘Mrs.’ Anyone. It’s Ms. and I’m Margo Allen.”

“Ms…” he began but she eyed him sharply. “Geez. What do you want me to say? Margo?”

“Why not? As neighbours arguing, I think a first name basis is acceptable.”

“This isn’t really an argument. It’s an informative discussion.”

“Ha!”

“You don’t want to be informed, you want to argue, but I’m a peace-loving guy.” He must have heard her say ‘ha’ under her breath again because he smiled. He was even more devastating wearing a grin. “Do you try to make something out of nothing every time?”

She assumed what she hoped was an innocent expression and he shrugged.

“Okay, Margo, if you’ll call me Brit. Britain was my mother’s maiden name and I wish I’d had an older brother so he’d have gotten stuck with it. Even a sister. But no such luck.

“Margo, if you don’t mind me asking, did you read your covenant?”

His smile was boyish and appealing but she was smart enough to know he was trying to soften her up. “Covenant, shovenant. I’m not a churchgoer. And I am not familiar with covenants that have to do with painting your house the same shade as your neighbour’s.”

Britain chuckled but she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of asking what was so funny. He was tanned so he must spend a lot of time outdoors, and she wondered if he made it a habit to police the neighbourhood for errant homeowners. With longish brown hair and thick eyelashes, he was sexy as hell. Too bad he was set on aggravating her.

“The covenant I’m talking about is with WPHA. Wainwright Place Homeowners’ Association. Everyone who buys here has to sign an agreement to follow certain regulations.”

“I wouldn’t have signed anything so binding I couldn’t paint my own home the colour I want.” She tossed her head and the curls she’d been letting grow tickled her bare shoulders. She’d donned a yellow knit sundress after work at Wives-R-Us, making the most of the bright, hot days of late summer. Before long, autumn would cast its shadow over the Indianapolis suburbs.

Brit seemed to be taking advantage of the lingering warmth too. He wore khaki shorts that revealed strong leg muscles. His blue short-sleeve shirt pulled tight across his chest while displaying magnificent biceps, causing her to wonder what kind of work he did. Living in this neighbourhood he could be independently wealthy, but it would have to be old money. He was too young to have amassed his own fortune.

He had the nerve to laugh again. “You didn’t read it, did you? You signed the papers for a million dollar house without reading the fine print.” He threw up his hands and she seethed. “The architecture is basically identical in Wainwright Place, and using different colours gives them individuality, the covenant maintains. And I can’t argue. How about you?”

Hands on hips, she looked up and down the block and saw no two homes were painted the same shade. Even the gingerbread trim differed. She should have noticed. She decorated home interiors, for hell’s sake. Whether it was his looks and appeal…okay, sex appeal…or his manner, she kept flubbing up in front of him. She’d moved here for the house and no other reason. Most of the residents were senior citizens and had lived here a long time so they knew one another. Margo hadn’t socialised, but looking at Brit, realised she should have been more observant. The last thing she’d expected to find in Wainwright Place was a hot guy. Why had he moved here? Why am I so curious about this troublemaker?

Feeling the heat rise to her cheeks, she spoke quickly, hoping to end this embarrassing encounter. “Well, the powers-that-be should have given me a better colour. Look at this.” She slapped a hand against the exterior wall next to her front door. “Putrid tan. Puce, I think it’s called. Or maybe it’s puke. I didn’t choose it and I don’t like it.”

“Puce is dark red and this is yellow ochre.”

Damn, she’d done it again. Messed up in the vocabulary department. She wasn’t stupid, but she certainly was coming across that way. “It looks like baby poop. How the hell do you know so much about colours?”

“I’m in construction and that’s one of the things I had to learn. I don’t know what happened to painting houses white or colours with simple names but…” Brit shrugged. “There’s an approved list to choose from, one colour to a resident and Colony Blue is mine.”

He gave her what she supposed was meant to be a consoling smile, but she wasn’t consoled. What the hell colour was she supposed to use?

“If you want to learn more about the guidelines for owning here, there’s a WPHA meeting tomorrow night at six…” He broke off, chuckling. “In the aquamarine meeting house on Town Square.”

He walked off without a backward glance and she should know because she watched him all the way to his front door. Lean with broad shoulders and a narrow waist and hips, he was damned impressive. Margo’s heart fluttered, and wondering how he was in bed, she felt the heat build in her loins. ‘Aquamarine’. She smiled Brit’s stress of the fancy colour name proved he also had a sense of humour.