It Started with a Crack by Piper James

Chapter Thirty

Noah

Music blared through my ear pods as I counted out my set, making sure to keep my breathing even. I’d been anxiously waiting for Dakota to get home, driving myself crazy with impatience, when I decided to pump a little iron to pass the time.

I curled my arms, lifting the dumbbells again and again as sweat poured down my back and chest. My muscles were burning, but it was a good burn. As an added bonus, I’d look all yoked when Dakota walked in. My lips turned up at the thought of her ogling my muscles.

“Oh, yeah,” I murmured, pumping my arms faster.

When I finished the set, I bent over to set the dumbbells down. Straightening, I lifted my arms and propped them on my head to open my airway and get more oxygen to my body.

As the song I was listening to hit its biggest crescendo, a palm touched my back. Smiling, I whirled around, pulled Dakota into my arms, and plastered my mouth to hers. And at the first touch of our lips, alarm bells went off in my head.

I jerked away violently, my eyes flying wide as a very blonde, very busty woman stared back at me with equally wide eyes.

“Holy shit. I’m so sorry,” I said quickly. “I thought you were someone else.”

“Obviously,” the woman said, her southern accent almost too thick to be believable. “I’m Chantelle Newsome from Newsome & Associates in Oakley. I’m here for a show…ing.”

That little pause between those last two syllables—combined with the way her gaze raked over my naked chest and gray sweatpants—was filled with suggestion. She pressed a fingertip to her lipstick-smeared lips and took a step toward me.

Before I could back away, her hand was on my chest. And when I tried to pull away from her touch, she ran her palm down my abs toward my crotch.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I growled, grabbing her wrist and holding it between us.

“Oh, come on, baby. You know you want me. Once I show the house and get the clients out of here, let’s have a little fun,” she purred, licking her lips before tugging the bottom one in between her teeth.

I released my grip on her and took a big step backward. “I don’t think this is very professional, Miss…”

“Please, call me Chantelle,” she said. “I have a feeling we’re going to become very, very close, Mr. Perry. During the sale of this place, I mean.”

I stared at her for a moment, waiting for the camera crews to rush in and tell me I was being pranked. Because there was no fucking way this was actually happening.

“Oh, sorry. Are you not ready for us?”

Chantelle and I spun around to see a couple standing in the open doorway. Chantelle was suddenly all business, ushering them inside and apologizing for my presence.

In my own fucking house.

I was suddenly livid. This whole situation was ludicrous, and I let my anger take over to push out the guilt. Because despite it being a huge mistake, I’d just kissed another woman in the home I shared with Dakota.

“Fuck,” I murmured before turning my hot gaze on my uninvited guests. “Get out.”

“Please, Mr. Perry. This will only take a few minutes,” Chantelle said, her sugary voice grating on my nerves.

“Get the fuck out, and don’t come back,” I shouted, knowing I sounded like a crazy person but giving zero fucks. “The ranch isn’t for sale.”

“Well, perhaps you should talk to your realtor about taking the listing down,” Chantelle said, sniffing as she led her clients outside. Tossing me a dirty look over her shoulder, she added, “And she should’ve told you we were coming. I called her earlier to let her know. Talk about unprofessional.”

As soon as they were gone, I lunged for my phone, which I’d left sitting face-down on the couch. Sure as shit, there was a text from Dakota and two missed calls. Pulling up the text thread I had going with her, I shot off a quick message.

Me: Sorry, I just got this. I was working out, and the realtor surprised me. Are you coming home? We need to talk.

I needed to tell her my plans to take the ranch off the market and get that damn key box off the door handle before Chantelle tried to come back and sexually harass me again.

“Fuck, I can’t believe I kissed her. I’m so fucking stupid,” I mumbled, heading for my bathroom.

I needed a shower, some toothpaste, and about three bottles of mouthwash.

One look in the mirror had me cringing. Bright pink lipstick was smeared across my mouth, and I quickly turned on the water, pumped some soap into my hand, and washed that shit off. Then I brushed my teeth. Twice.

By the time I stripped, showered, brushed my teeth again, and put on some fresh clothes, I felt a little more normal. Grabbing my phone from the counter, I checked the time. It was almost six, and Dakota still hadn’t texted me back.

I tried calling her, but the call went straight to voicemail.

“Huh, her phone must be dead,” I muttered, flipping off the light and heading back out into the living room to wait for her to get in touch.

But she never texted. She never called.

And worse than that, she never came home.