Rumor(23)

“Right here.” She came around the corner from the club’s main stage. She was the most stunning black woman Grace had ever met, with one of those killer, Amazonian bodies—tall, muscular, and built. She’d pulled her long black braids off her face and wore workout tights and a tank. “Rocco will be here in ten minutes to pick up the boys.”

“They’re never a problem. I’m worried about whatever’s going on back there, though. Please tell me it’s not something major like air-conditioning, heating, or plumbing.”

“Nothing broken back there, honey.” Dillon and Dalton’s mother came up beside Grace, and used one perfectly manicured dark hand to lift the aluminum. “What’d you bring us?”

“Lasagna.”

“Nice,” she sang out, then lowered her voice and turned away from her son. “But not near as nice as the eye candy in the back.” She hooked a thumb toward the storeroom, then shook out her hand like it was hot. “Whoo-wee. If I’d known that’s who we’d have hanging around here building the studio, I’d have traded days to work all week.”

Grace frowned. “Studio?” She glanced that direction again but only heard heavy footsteps and the movement of equipment. No voices. Her mind darted back to the large-bellied contractors who’d been chatting Dean up the night before. “Did Dean approve the bid?” She put a hand to her chest. “Be still my heart.”

Jasmine got a devious look in her eye and grinned. “I don’t think he’s using the same contractors, ’cause the dude back there ain’t forty, ain’t balding, and his belly has more ridges than a Trojan Ultra Ribbed. And if he’s here when the rest of the girls come in tonight, you’re gonna have a hard time getting anyone out on stage. You might even have a couple of cat fights over who gets to give him the VIP treatment as a bonus.” She put air quotes around the last word, then tapped Dillon’s shoulder and brought her voice up to a normal level. “Sweet pea, go get your brother. Daddy’s gonna be here in a few minutes to take you home.”

Dillon set the crayon down and slid off the chair.

“I’ll come with you, Dillon,” Grace said, patting his soft head of dark curls, still frowning at Jasmine. “I’d better check out this builder man.”

“I don’t advise stepping into that room without reflective glasses.” She put up her hands and raised her brows. “Just sayin’. Not my fault if your eyeballs fry.”

“Jaime, Kaitlin, and Hillary,” Grace called, following Dillon as the boy skipped across the dressing room and disappeared through the open double doors, “head out to the stage and start stretching. I’ll be right there.”

From this angle, Grace could only see one wall of the storeroom, its bare studs now covered with gypsum board. Trepidation crawled through her chest. She was going to be so pissed if Dean had gone for the cheapest labor he could find to—

“Whoa!” The familiar male voice carried from inside the large room, one that made Grace’s feet stop midstep. Made her heart flip and squeeze. “What’s this? There’s two of you?”

The twins giggled.

“Good Lord, what a handful,” Josh said. “Your poor mother. No, little dude, don’t touch that. Here, I’ll show you how this works.”

An electric buzz filled the air, followed by more giggles from the boys.

Grace didn’t know how to respond to his voice. She was first shocked, then angry, then confused, then angry again.

“I’m going to find a way to help—both you and Carolyn.”

Josh’s last words filled Grace’s head.

She pushed her feet forward and gripped the doorframe as she turned into the room, but the sight on the floor in front of her tangled her mind.

Josh knelt on the floor between the twins. He was shirtless, wearing only jeans, lightweight suede work boots, and a leather tool belt. And Grace instantly understood Jasmine’s Trojan Ultra Ribbed metaphor. This wasn’t the first time she’d seen his body. Over the years, she’d seen him in swim trunks dozens of times.

But…this was like seeing him again for the first time, all bronze and beefy, the thick muscles of his shoulders and biceps curved and cut. The scars on his right shoulder had healed well, but left thick, discolored welts on his skin. Somehow, it only made him more authentic, more masculine, more…delicious.

“Dillon, Dalton.” A strong male voice called from the back door. “Let’s go.”

The boys ignored their father, enamored with Josh’s drill.

“Sounds like Dad’s here.” Josh put the drill down.