Goldie Locks: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance Page 2

  Made an offer to the owner/landlady years ago for her crumbling art deco apartments.

  Not for the building, but for the downtown plot of land. A cool million. A pretty generous price, all things considered.

  “It’s a little thin, isn’t it?” I remember her asking as she held up the check, examining it by the light.

  “Excuse me?” I asked, astonished she wasn’t impressed by the amount on offer. More than enough for her to live comfortably for the rest of her days.

  “I mean, it’s a little thin. Even if you rolled it up,” she went on.

  “I don’t follow,” I confessed.

  “A little thin to go fuck yourself with!” she yelled and slammed the door in my face after tearing the check up into confetti.

  Same building alright. And not looking any more stable or more valuable since I made that offer years ago.

  The owner’s probably long gone by now, but I wonder how much she’d take for it today if I made the same offer.

  Times change, people change. Or do they?

  It’s not a bad smell once I step inside, just old. Like a museum or ancient library.

  The creaking boards under my weight and the ancient smell of the place take me back to that day, to what feels like the exact moment that old woman really stuck it to me.

  I can’t help but smile again.

  Reminding myself why I’m here, I hustle up the stairs to the second floor, half expecting to see cops or the fire department prying the front door open.

  Maybe hoping more than expecting.

  But there’s no one. Just an empty hallway, making me double-check the address in my dad’s message before I sense someone behind me.

  But it’s not so much who is behind me, rather what.

  Turning to see her for the first time, and I instantly develop the gift of future sight.

  I can see it all so clearly in a split second.

  Me and her. Together.

  Pretty sure I flunked chemistry in grade school too, but it doesn’t matter. Everything they were trying to teach me was wrong.

  I understand chemistry perfectly now. I’m witnessing its magic right here in someone’s apartment block hallway.

  My god but she’s perfect.

  I know without even asking this isn’t the Phoebe Gold I’ve been sent to help.

  It can’t be.

  Her long, flowing locks of golden hair, crystal clear blue eyes, and curvaceous body all belong to someone too beautiful. Too stunningly perfect to exist, let alone live in a building like this.

  There’s no way this angel on earth has had a child either. And if she has-

  I feel my heartache suddenly, realizing what’s most likely the truth.

  She’s here with her boyfriend, probably husband. Looking to buy an investment property, or maybe they simply got lost.

  The sight of her in this place just doesn’t fit. A girl like this all on her own. It doesn’t make sense either. She could have any guy she wanted. I mean, look at her for Christ’s sake.

  Then again, neither do her gray sweats and white T-shirt fit that picture either.

  No bra either.

  Jesus.

  Before I can even form a thought, before I can string two words together, I’m feeling something I haven’t felt for a very long time.

  A low sound comes from somewhere deep inside me, and I feel my dick start to thicken in my pants as I feel my lip curl into a smile.

  A welcoming look that fast turns into both our eyes locked.

  Something like a magnet pulling us closer together as we both take steps towards each other without saying a single word.

  I forget why I’m really here, forget all about Phoebe what’s her name and her stupid locks.

  I think even the old man might forgive me if he could see what I’m seeing now. If he could know exactly how I’m feeling.

  This is a chance meeting, and no matter what else happens I can’t let this beauty out of my sight, not even for a second.

  I tell myself I can deal with her boyfriend slash husband later.

  Toying with the slash part of that idea before I become aware that she’s actually saying something.

  She’s speaking to me.

  Her eyes have narrowed, and her arms have covered her chest.

  “Ummm… Who are you and what the heck are you doing outside my door?” she asks icily, her tone full of accusation.

  Crashing back to earth, I realize the moment of chemistry has passed, at least for now.

  This must be Phoebe Gold. This is her apartment.

  My god, her baby!

  “You’ve got a baby inside?” I ask her quickly, not wanting to waste another moment with my own selfish feelings.

  I can come back to those later.

  We both can, hopefully.

  “I’m sorry,” I stammer. “I had no idea it was you, I’m Maxwell. Max. Max Bear. I’m the locksmith,” I finally manage to tell her.

  Her whole demeanor shifts and she relaxes in an instant.

  Those smooth arms move from her chest with one hand resting on her hip.

  Those childbearing, those hold me while you fill me until I scream your name hips.

  “You’re the locksmith?” she asks, her own mouth turning into a coy smile as she scans my body, pausing with a slightly open mouth when she passes over my bulging crotch-ache of a tent pole as it springs to life.

  Almost at the same time, I ask her a similar question, “And you’re Phoebe Gold?”

  We both silently nod in agreement.

  “But, your baby?” I remind us both, feeling hurt she could have ever been touched by another.

  Her puzzled look turns to mild amusement once she sees the effect she’s having on me. Like she knows something I don’t.

  “She’s probably sleeping,” she assures me casually, nowhere near as panicked as I imagined a mom would be, locked out from her own baby like this.

  “I’ll be inside you in a jiffy,” I hear myself proclaim loudly.

  “I mean… I’ll get you inside,” I stammer, fishing in my pockets to try and find the bunch of master keys but only feeling my rock hard dick where keys should be.

  Jesus, what this girl’s doing to me already.

  I have to have her.

  There, I said it. When all this is over, I’ll do whatever it takes to spend some time to get to know her better.

  But only so I can bury this effect she’s having on me deep inside her.

  Return the favor.

  She makes her own little sound and I notice her eyes fixed on my groin until I finally fish out a thick bunch of keys, turning to face the door quickly as I start to work through them all.

  Most locksmiths have master keys for almost every type of key and lock.

  Maybe I’ve been out of the game too long, or maybe I just can’t think straight.

  Maybe both, but try as I might I can’t find anything to fit these locks of hers. It’s a solid door on an inch thick steel frame locked in three places.

  As strong as I am, I know trying to kick it down won’t work. It would only make me look foolish if I even tried.

  There’s suddenly a noise from the other side of the door, like raspy, shallow breathing. Then a scratching sound.

  “My God, it sounds like your baby,” I gasp, asking if the building has a fire escape.

  If I can’t open the door and kicking it down won’t work, I can always try a window. Break that if I have to.

  “Uh… there is one, round back,” she stammers, growing instantly serious as I rush past her, already halfway to the stairs, telling her to stay put.

  My legs are burning by the time I reach the decaying iron stairway behind the building, pulling down on a ladder and getting a face full of rust for my troubles.

  Second floor, the third set of windows along.

  Surprised the fire escape holds my own weight, I try the kitchen window, which slides up easily.

  Squeezing through I make my way straight to
the front door, preparing myself for the worst.

  For a second I think I’m in the wrong apartment. I scan every corner of the tiny place, even check the bathroom.

  Then I hear it. That same, snuffled breathing, followed by a few scratches on the door from this side.

  Her baby.

  The four legged kind, with fur and a wet nose.

  I’ve never been so relieved in my life. Not just because there’s no real baby trapped inside.

  For a second I actually thought someone else had gotten to Phoebe before me. If she had a child, that would prove I’m too late to claim her in that way, as my own.

  I hope to god I’m wrong about her having a boyfriend or husband too because I want what’s mine and Max Bear doesn’t like sharing.

  I scoop up the pooch, who seems glad to see me and I notice the yellow envelope it’s been sitting on,

  Probably her mail, which I pick up and pocket before opening the door’s many locks to let Phoebe back into her apartment.

  She flushes with what could be embarrassment when I open the door, but she needn’t worry.

  It’s my own mistake for assuming her ‘baby’ was the conventional, furless, and two legged kind.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Phoebe

  I have a million questions. A few I managed to ask the older man over the phone, like ‘Three Bears Locksmiths?’, what kind of a name is that.

  But seeing his son, the younger ‘Bear’ from the trio his dad mentioned, I only have one real question once he tells me who he really is.

  Is that what I think it is in your pants?

  At first, I think he might be whoever’s stalking me. Maybe come back with another message or worse. That’s just how paranoid I’m getting lately.

  I’m instantly at odds with that idea. No man this ruggedly handsome, this smartly dressed and smelling so good could stalk anyone without them knowing.

  If a scent like his lingered in my hallway, I’d be the one doing the stalking.

  No. He’s here for something else and thank the lord that something is me.

  He introduces himself as the locksmith, tells me he’s come to help.

  For the first time in a long time, I feel small next to someone too.

  Max Bear fills the hallway almost as well as he fills his dark-colored suit.

  It’s a snug fit on his six foot six frame, but the obviously custom tailored suit shows his chiseled body underneath while keeping a definite crisp and professional look.

  One glance and I can tell he’d own any room he walked into. His dark, piercing eyes shift from brooding to playful to something else in an instant.

  That same instant I feel something inside me shaking loose. Like he’s just reached inside me with his eyes and flicked a magic switch that lights up the whole world now that I know he’s in it.

  But I can’t just go to jelly like this, not falling for the whole ‘at first sight’ thing.

  As if an older, stunningly handsome guy like this would go for a short, thickly curved girl like me anyway.

  He’s perfect. Too perfect.

  I mean, there’s literally not one thing I could fault.

  Watching his chiseled jaw flex as he scans my curves, I feel self-conscious enough to cover my chest, only because I feel my nipples ready to explode through the thin fabric.

  Of all the times to be caught outside without a bra on.

  It’s so damned hot in here all of a sudden, but I’m actually shivering.

  Casually brushing a huge hand through his thick dark hair, I catch a flash of gold on his wrist.

  Real gold.

  His lips slowly curl with satisfaction as he makes a deep, low sound.

  It’s a wild, primal sound but it definitely serves a purpose.

  A sound that I feel travels through the air, under the floorboards, and deep inside me.

  It’s the sound of a man who knows what he wants, but more importantly. A man who also knows just how to get it.

  Which brings me back to that question, the doubt that’s plagued me my whole adult life: Could a man actually like what he sees when he looks at me?

  Any man, let alone this man. The most perfect man alive as far as I can tell.

  There’s little time to consider it all though, as soon as he hears Trixie on the other side of the door, he’s racing to the rescue.

  I kind of forget to mention that my ‘baby’ locked inside is a tiny dog, but hey. It’s a story that’s worked for me so far today, it’s brought me face to face with Max Bear.

  I don’t think I could ever look at another man again anyway, compared to him they’d all be useless. Redundant.

  Sorry guys.

  I feel like following him, needing to go after him really. It feels weird to have him there one minute and gone the next.

  A part of me needs to know that he’s even real, that this is actually happening.

  It isn’t long though, and I can hear him making relieved sounds from behind the door before he finally opens it, holding little Trixie in the crease of his elbow.

  I feel my heart melt seeing the two of them together. She looks so tiny with him, and she’s looking up at him with total adoration.

  Why wouldn’t she?

  He hands her to me, and I nuzzle my face into her fur but like myself, she’s more interested in the new man.

  The only man I’ve ever had in my apartment.

  “Fort Knox out the front, but your kitchen window was unlocked. Anyone could have climbed in,” Max says firmly, almost scolding me.

  He’s got a point though. I never even thought about the windows being a few stories up.

  “I only mean it’s like a welcome mat for a serious intruder,” he adds, softening his tone. “If you’re worried about security, best to cover every point of entry.”

  His eyes move up and down my body again, making me shiver and feel lightheaded all of a sudden.

  I could listen to him read the back of a cereal box all day, his voice so deep and rich. Commanding but soothing at the same time.

  I’m staring again but I can’t help it. I think it’s making him uneasy.

  “Can we start over?” he finally asks, smiling and holding out his hand.

  “I’m Maxwell Bear. But please, call me Max.”

  “Phoebe Gold,” I squeak, feeling a ripple of electricity from his huge warm hand as it closes over mine.

  “And this is…?” he asks, leaning down to get closer to Trixie as he shakes her tiny paw between his fingers. I feel my breath shudder from being so close to him.

  “Trixie.” I manage, feeling like I need to sit down before my legs give out from under me.

  “Pleased to meet you both,” he says with genuine interest. “And I’m assuming Trixie is the baby in question?” he asks, looking expectantly.

  I make a face, apologizing for the misunderstanding.

  “But you… You don’t have a baby?” he says again, more insistent.

  “No,” I assure him. “It’s just me and Trixie, no babies.”

  “And nobody else? Husband, boyfriend?”

  His look is so intense, if it was anyone else I’d be worried. A little frightened even.

  But his whole body relaxes once I spell it out for him, making me wonder what’s so great about me being all alone in this world.

  “There’s nobody.” I hear myself tell him, my voice cracking a little as I probably say it a little too loud and too fast.

  As if the whole building needs to know.

  He smiles again, sheepishly. “Sorry, Phoebe. I just wondered if there was someone else you might have wanted to call. To let them know what’s happened,” he says, excusing the overreach of his questioning.

  Hmm. Why would a man like this need to know if I was attached?

  Rather than feel weird about it, I challenge him with his own questions, asking if his wife or girlfriend needs to know where he is.

  Touché.

  He looks wounded though, and I worry I’ve said the
wrong thing.

  He looks down at his feet, shy all of a sudden and I wish I hadn’t said anything.

  “No. There’s no Mrs. Bear if that’s what you mean,” he says softly.

  There’s an awkward silence, which I nervously fill by asking him how much I owe him.

  Not that I have any money at the moment anyway.

  Idiot.

  Looking taken aback, he frowns. “I don’t think there’s any real charge,” he says. “But maybe I could take a look at that window of yours? It really should have a lock on it too,” he adds.

  I feel like one of us has some sense at least.

  The thought of him just leaving right now would probably kill me.

  I’d spend the rest of my days wondering, what if? And why did he have to go?

  “I’d like that,” I tell him honestly, and he moves aside so I can get past him before he follows me in, closing the door behind him.

  If he filled the hallway, Maxwell Bear is bursting out of my tiny apartment just by being in it.

  The man is huge but in the best possible way.

  A pure A-grade male specimen by the looks, and he makes me giggle as he tries to navigate the tiny room without knocking anything over.

  The kitchen is really the other half of the living room, which is also my bedroom. The other room is a bathroom and storage space, which sounds funny when I say that. It’s really just a corner.

  A wave of dread washes over me as I realize I’ve just let the most amazing man into my apartment, which is actually a broom closet that costs me eight hundred a month.

  Max politely ignores the state of the place and sets to work examining the kitchen window. I try to peer past him, pretending to supervise but really just wanting to be closer to him again when he turns suddenly.

  I take a sharp breath in, his forearm brushing right across my chest. My eyes widen as I look up at him, making an involuntary sound that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but pleasure.

  He doesn’t budge, and I feel myself leaning closer, letting my whole front touch his strong arm again.

  I daren’t break his gaze, but I need to know. My eyes dart down, just for a second.

  At least one of my questions is answered.

  That’s no crease or bunch of keys in the man’s pocket.

  That’s the legendary length and thickness of a mythical beast I’ve only heard of and dreamed about.