Sweat Equity: Stewart Realty, #2

By Liz Crowe

He wants to put a ring on it forever…she's not sure she trusts him.

Sara discovers condoms packed in Jack's luggage for a real estate convention, which brings the wedding talk to a screeching halt. While part of her wants to believe that they're remnants from an earlier life, that she and the former playboy have taken the right next step in their relationship, another part of her can't–or won't–trust him.

Jack wants to prove himself trustworthy. But his own self-doubt gets in the way and before he knows it, they're back to square one and "taking a break." It doesn't help that Craig, a new, Sara-obsessed agent has joined their company, forcing him to up his game and prove that he's the man Sara needs.

Sara is caught between two men who've turned winning her into a contest at the same moment she's faced with a life-altering decision. So who will it be–the older, confident man she loves but can't trust, or the younger, earnest, man who wants to save her from herself?

Love triangles heat up and get real in this cliff-hanger book two of the Jack and Sara Trilogy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Liz Crowe
• Release date: May 5, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224619924

Book preview

Prologue

New Year’s Day

SARA SAT, BLANKET CLUTCHED to her breasts, her breathing heavy as sweat trickled down her neck. Shocked that the entire resort didn’t awake from her scream, she glanced over at the sleeping man next to her. She tried to let his presence soothe the way it normally did. He snored and rolled over onto his side, flinging an arm across her lap.

She took a deep breath and rubbed her eyes, but the woman from her dream would not fade. Her voice rattled around in Sara’s brain, annoying and ominous.

You can’t trust him, Sara. Believe me. He only gave you that ring because he couldn’t have you any other way. He’ll be up to his old tricks soon.

Dreams were supposed to fade once you woke, but this one had her in its clutches and would not let go. Especially the final image, the one seared right into her eyeballs somehow, stayed with her—the woman turning to a tall, dark-haired man and wrapping her lean body against his. Sara clenched her eyes shut.

She crawled out from under Jack’s arm and the tangle of sheets and sat on the edge of the bed, letting soft ocean air rustling through the sheer window coverings cool her overheated skin. 

The moonlight caught the diamond she wore, making her wince when it hit her square in the eye with its brilliance. Swallowing hard, she padded over to the enormous bathroom, shut the door, and slid to the floor, letting tears roll down her face. Evidence of the intense session they’d shared last night lay all around her: an empty bottle of expensive Champagne, a vibrator, a bottle of lubricant, a velvet blindfold and a matching set of soft handcuffs. She squirmed on the floor, sore in places she didn’t know she had. She brushed the tears away, berating herself.

Don’t be such a hypocrite. You love what he does for you and to you.

She did loved that he’d whisked her away on a surprise New Year’s Eve junket to this ultra-exclusive resort. But by the time he’d worked her into a frenzy on the private jet and they’d emerged in the paradise of seventy-degree weather, ocean breezes, and more of his direct attention to her needs, she gave into it, adoring every breathless minute.

Hey. A soft knock and the sound of his deep, morning gravelly voice startled her. What’s going on in there?

She stood, splashed water on her face, and opened the door, a smile fixed on her face. He frowned and pulled her into his arms, calming her. This new life, from the moment of the abrupt, public marriage proposal through the fall and semi-fraught holiday season as she tried to adjust to her new status as Jack Gordon’s fiancée, to now, was all so strange, erotic, and perfect—but for the damn dreams.

I have an idea, he said into her hair.

Huh, if it involves my ass again, we’d better wait twenty-four hours. She giggled at his groan. No lie. I may not sit for a week. Not that I’m complaining.

I am serious. He stepped back, took her face between his hands. His deep blue gaze did its usual song and dance on her nerves. Marry me.

I already said yes to that, remember? She flashed the giant ring on her finger. Under duress, I might add.

He smiled and ran a finger over her lips. No. I mean today. Here.

She frowned at him, her brain skipping ahead to what that meant. No big wedding. No parental or brotherly stress. Tying herself to this man, forever, without friends or family to witness. 

Tempting.

I can’t. She shrugged his hands off her and walked over to the window, pulling a soft robe around her body.

Why not? His hands on her shoulders encouraged her to lean back against him. Why go through the torture of planning an event that will be stressful as hell for everybody involved? Besides, I’m gonna be so busy with this new building thing, I won’t be much help. And I just think... He leaned down to brush a kiss against her cheek, making her shiver. I’m afraid we aren’t cut out for the whole big wedding thing. You know? Given our—and by that, I mean your—family’s displeasure with the whole concept?

No, we’ll be fine. I’ll plan. You nod your head at the appropriate moments. I don’t need you to do much more than that, other than show up at the right hour in the right suit.

He snorted and flopped down in a large leather chair. Yeah, that and write checks.

She rolled her eyes. I told you my dad would pay...

We discussed this already. He shook his head, then smiled up at her. See? Look at us, fighting over the damn thing already. C’mere, you sexy beast, he yanked her down onto his lap, covered her protests with his lips, while he pulled the robe off her shoulders.

Jack, she whispered, threading her hands in his thick hair, letting him guide her away from a potential conflict. You may be right, but I can’t do that to my mom. She wants me to have this moment, the walk-down-the-aisle moment, and I think I do, too, okay?

Baby, I want whatever you want, as long as it makes you happy. She pushed his face up off its current mission toward her breasts, forcing him to look at her.

Do you mean that?

He sighed, and wrapped his arms tight around her, holding her so close she heard his beating heart. I do. There. See? I even have the right words to say when the time comes.

But... She rose from his lap, unwilling to let this go yet. I’m still worried. I mean, you sprung this on me and I need to know.

He stood in front of her and took both her hands. You can trust me. I promise, even if you’re denying me the simple joy of a quickie wedding in paradise. His grin was contagious. She shoved the misgivings that cropped up and haunted her for hours every time she had that same dream into a small corner of her mind and wrapped her arms around his neck, sucked in a deep breath of his now familiar scent, and kissed him.

He gripped her ass, pulled her legs up around his body, and dove in without preamble, as he dropped her onto the bed. She gasped. Wait! No condom. He sighed and eased in further, silencing her with his lips. Oh well, it wasn’t a dangerous week, and damn, did it feel good. She cried out his name over and over, logic lost once in the swirl of physical satisfaction that only Jack could provide.

Chapter One

Four Months Later

JACK WOKE AND SAT UP, then immediately regretted it. The hangover lying in wait pounced hard, landing somewhere between his eyes before spreading down into his gut. Groaning, he rolled over and found himself on the floor, trying not to puke all over his expensive Turkish rug. He sat back against the couch and attempted to get his bearings. 

When the room cooperated by holding still, he ran a shaking hand over his eyes and stood. Leaving explanations for why in the hell he woke up on the couch, still half-dressed in pants and an unbuttoned blue shirt, for a time when he gave a shit, he stumbled into the kitchen. The sun streaming through the large window smacked him upside the head, bringing fresh life to the agony.

Fuck. After consuming about a gallon of water, he leaned against the cold granite counter top. No, seriously. Fuck. 

He yanked his phone out of his pocket and squinted at the missed calls from an hour before. It was Saturday, but he didn’t have any serious work to do until four. A few fumbling minutes later, the comforting sounds and aroma of a coffee-fix floated around him. He looked up when the shower noises from the master bathroom stopped.

Oh hell.

It came rushing back in bursts of idiocy and epic drunkenness. He’d been tired, and didn’t want to go out after a week of unbelievable frustration at City Hall. They’d both been irritable but had subjected themselves to a pre-arranged dinner party. 

Once home from that particular corner of hell, Sara started in on the wedding plans again, and he’d lost it. He stared at his blood-red eyes in the downstairs bathroom mirror. In the way of most disagreements fueled by stress and alcohol, he barely remembered how it started. But he remembered how it ended. 

Oh boy, did he. 

The fact that he’d been a colossal prick, he recalled with crystal clarity. But he also had an inkling that his lovely bride-to-be didn’t put her best argumentative foot forward, either.

Damn that last glass of wine.

Maybe he wasn’t cut out for this total commitment thing. He’d started zoning out every time she brought up any detail of the classy event she wanted to pull off in about six months. Classy seemed to translate into horrifically expensive if his Wedding Decoder Ring worked correctly.

Between them, they could easily afford all the white lily-strewn tables at the country club and top-of-the-line videographer. But last night she’d informed Jack that her father, the estimable Doctor Matthew Clay Thornton, wanted to pay for his only daughter’s nuptial ceremony. And that he was flying in from Florida with Sara’s mother and wanted to take them to dinner to discuss the matter.

After the week he’d spent in the city planning offices trying to convince a bunch of pinheaded politicians that the massive renovation of a long-abandoned office building on a busy downtown corner would be good for their city, he didn’t have a single ounce of patience left. Those assholes hemmed and hawed him into twenty grand more in architect’s fees. Yet, he still didn’t have approval. Plus—bonus—he’d agreed to walk down the aisle a mere week after the scheduled building opening and gala party he wanted to throw. An opening that now looked jeopardized if not decimated by short-sighted bureaucrats.

The daddy’s coming to dinner and bringing his checkbook bomb Sara dropped in his lap exploded, leaving him furious and unable to watch his stupid mouth.

Ah, hell. He pushed himself away from the sink, the need to hurl the three bottles of red wine and two ill-considered bourbons from last night out of his system. 

He’d said some colossally stupid things. While he’d avoided the wedding talk like a trooper, saying stupid shit like, Just tell me when and where and I’ll be there in the dark suit, he understood that wouldn’t cut it much longer. He’d sprung the proposal on her. It had been, no, it was, what he wanted: Sara, in his life, forever and ever.

If only she’d agreed to marry him at the resort, these arguments would be a nonissue. They could be here, at home, married, and moving on with their lives together. They’d had such a great time with some of the kink he’d once been into while they were there. Eloping would have kept all this stress out. He realized it was tough for her, ceding control to him on any level, and he admired her for it. But he sensed things slipping, and that pissed him off in ways he couldn’t express. 

Jack squinted at himself once more. Lines from lying pressed against the couch arm all night marred his face. Rough stubble covered his jaw. His hair stood up on one side. He ran a hand over his lips and squared his shoulders. Apologies for bullshit behavior ought to come easy. He’d been wrong, and he knew it. Still, something kept him downstairs, unable to form the right words. He made his way back to the kitchen, poured some coffee into a heavy stoneware mug, and sighed.

SARA TOWELED OFF, HER mind focusing on the long list of houses she had to show a new client in a couple of hours, her heart still clenched in anger. She’d passed out, alone, in Jack’s enormous bed the night before after the sort-of argument that she only half remembered thanks to the booze and stress of the previous day.

The sunlight caught the diamond on her left hand, throwing prisms of light around the bathroom. She’d never put much stock in jewelry, or flowers, or any of the usual shit women seemed to get off on. So when Jack Gordon, the man she’d been literally fucking around with for months, hit her with a surprise marriage proposal in front of their entire real estate company last fall, she’d been shocked. She stared at the four-carat rock on her finger. It was a work of art déco beauty. The best that money could buy.

Typical Jack.

Jack’s handsome face, firm body, snapping blue eyes, incredible sales skills—and masterful talent with his lips, hands, tongue—everything about him had compelled her for months. It drove her, making her work harder, turning into a newer, better version of herself. But every day brought more doubt about her decision to marry him. 

She wrapped her body in the large white towel and brushed her teeth, listening for sounds of life downstairs. As she wiped the glass shower door, she admitted to herself that he’d even made her more organized, tidier. Something about him pushed her to be better. But the last few weeks he’d been so prickly, antsy, quick-tempered. She knew the building renovation stress was most of it, and her need for him to approve and help her pay for a crap load of wedding details wasn’t helping. 

They’d said some nasty things to each other last night. She shuddered, remembering calling him no better than a man-shaped dildo at one point. She’d accused him of everything short of the Kennedy assassination and climate change. But damn it, he’d spent the evening sulky and uncommunicative with their friends, leaving her holding up their end of conversation all night so she’d exploded when they got home. He’d met her halfway, no doubt about it. And what made her think telling him that her father was coming to town and wanted to pay for part of the wedding was a good idea in the middle of all of that?

He’d made it clear all the wedding crap was hers to manage. That between them, they would pay for whatever she wanted. But when it came time to do so, he’d balked, questioning everything she’d arranged, demanding estimates from florists, photographers, bakeries making her second guess herself. The doubt about her ability to plan a simple wedding had leached over into anxiety about the whole situation. She sighed, listening again for noise from downstairs.

When her mother called last week and informed her they wanted to spend the weekend in Ann Arbor so her father could give her money, she’d been relieved. No more answering to Jack. Something in her knew that wasn’t right. They were supposed to be husband and wife and learning to communicate about shit like this.

Sara took another sip from her water bottle, wincing at the queasiness in her gut. The whole wedding thing seemed to get more impossible every day. She’d gotten deep into the downtown renovation with him and spent many late nights poring over drawings, contemplating the possibilities of retail versus residential versus rentals. She understood how important and time consuming it was. The date they’d set, November eighth, was only a week after Jack’s new downtown renovation opened. Maybe they should reschedule it. Maybe she should’ve married him at that damn resort.

Maybe her brother was right. Blake had given a whole new meaning to the word vitriol, as it related to her fiance. Claimed Jack would be nothing but a serial cheater, couldn’t resist women, and would never settle for just one. 

After she and Jack had