Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Dara
I take a step back.
It’s a purely instinctual move to put some distance between me and the man who is clearly unhappy.
Embarrassment adds to the fire in my oxygen-deprived cheeks as his gaze finds mine.
His eyes are a slideshow. Each frame offers another piece as the last few seconds connect to the one before it, snapping into place. My chest rises and falls with uncertainty, and humiliation, as I watch him determine—incorrectly—that Cleo is my dog.
“I’ve never seen an animal resemble their human quite like this,” he mutters before glancing down at Cleo and grimacing.
His statement lights a fire inside me that dissolves my embarrassment.
My jaw falls open. “Excuse me?”
“You both have quite enthusiastic greetings.” He holds Cleo out to me. “Do you mind taking her? Or him? Or … whatever.”
I make absolutely no effort to take the dog.
“Yes, I mind. I don’t want to get all muddy,” I say.
He blinks.
“She’s not mine,” I say. “I don’t even like that dog.”
“I assure you that you like her more than I do.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I’d bet not. I wouldn’t even mind if you just tuck her under your arm and take her home with you.”
He sighs as Cleo squirms in his hands.
“If this isn’t your dog,” he says, lifting a brow, “then why were you chasing her through the park?”
Bastard.
“Why are you even here?” I ask, turning the tables back on him. “Aren’t you so busy? Shouldn’t you be in the office handling projects?”
He wasn’t expecting this question. Hell, I wasn’t expecting it either, but I’m not mad that I followed up with it. His response to my challenge licks the flame starting to burn in my stomach.
Wade’s eyes run up and down my body. A trail of heat is left in its wake, and I’m suddenly reminded of my floppy boob.
My cheeks heat again. “Just … just a second.” I turn and make a point of looking for Rusti.
But while I’m facing the other way, I situate myself back into my bra as discreetly as I can—which isn’t very discreet.
Once I’m as put together as I’m going to be, I turn to face him again.
“Cleo’s mom should be coming. I thought I saw her over there. ”
He smirks. I try not to die. Cleo squirms until she’s against his chest and licking his face again.
The dog’s actions give me a second to really take Wade in today. A white T-shirt hugs his lean, solid body. His shoulders look strong but not stupid. He might be able to pick me up and throw me over his shoulder, but he’s definitely not picking up the back of a car.
Black athletic pants are tight enough to showcase his thighs, and running shoes are in stark contrast to his dress shoes from yesterday but are wholly acceptable. A black Atlanta Falcons hat completes the casual Wade look.
And I’m a fan. I’m a big fan.
“She likes you,” I say as he pulls Cleo away from his face.
“She doesn’t know me.”
“Obviously.”
He tries not to smile. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
I try not to smile either. “That means that women always like men until they get to know them.”
“Are we stereotyping this afternoon?”
“I like to think of it as speaking from experience. Besides,” I say, reaching for Cleo. “You’re the one who implied that she wouldn’t like you if she knew you.”
He’s not thrilled by my point. I, on the other hand, am.
I smile as I take Cleo from him. “Thank you for catching her.”
“She didn’t leave me much choice.” He watches me set her on the ground with a bit less disdain than before. “She just leaped toward me like a little flying …” He stops as if he’s just aware of the smile kissing his lips. “Anyway, I caught her.”
He clears his throat and wipes any hint of amusement off his face.
“You like her,” I tease him. “Look at that. You smiled.”
“I did not.”
I hum. “I think you did.”
Wade rolls his eyes and redirects his attention to his shirt. He runs a hand over the streaks of mud left by Rusti’s errant pet. Through the gesture, I’m able to see the lines of his abs.
I gulp.
“I got an email from your grandfather last night,” he says as he looks up at me. “He seems to be under the impression that we’re working together.”
My stomach flip-flops. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to him yet.”
“And if you had, what would you have said?”
That he has really good taste.
I search Wade’s eyes to get a hint of what he’s thinking. He definitely has thoughts swimming around those deep jade orbs. It’s too bad he’s locked them away and made them impossible to read.
He waits patiently for my answer as though he’s prepared to stand in the middle of the park all day until I respond.
“I would’ve told him we decided we aren’t a good fit,” I say, even though that’s not necessarily the case.
And it’s not necessarily true.
He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the bench behind him. With his legs stretched out in front of him, his body looks long and hard … and irresistible. I’m not sure which Wade is more delicious—suit-and-tie Wade or relaxed-in-sweats Wade.
Apparently, Cleo agrees and starts trying to climb him.
“Get down,” I say, tugging her leash. She whines, and I really can’t blame her.
“So we’re not a good fit,” he says, repeating what I just said. His lips press together. “Is that what you’ve decided?”
He screwed up. I bet he would be even twitchier if he knew the insight he just gave me without meaning to.
“It’s the conclusion I drew after our meeting,” I say, attempting to come across as nonplussed as possible.
“I see.”
I kneel in front of him and flick the mud off Cleo’s head. “I’ll have to get with my grandfather about it this weekend. I know he was looking forward to working with you.”
The energy between us roars as it tries to find an equilibrium. I don’t dare look at him for fear of tilting the balance of power his way.
My throat goes dry as I wait for him to reply. Cleo’s fur hides the subtle shake of my hand. It’s not a nervous vibration pulsing through my veins, but more of a vigorous surge of adrenaline. An anticipation. The response to a curious suspense.
Where is this going? What will he say? I have no idea, but I’m dying to find out.
“Granddad mentioned before that if things didn’t work out with you that he could just use Moss and Oak—his regular architects,” I say, looking up at him.
“Their business isn’t in home design. It’s in commercial construction.”
I stand and swear I see a wave of relief flash through his eyes.
“There’s a new guy, Johan I think it is, who focuses on homes,” I say. “Granddad said we’d work really well together.”
This is news to Wade. It’s also not what he wants to hear.
A dark shadow passes across his face as his arms drop to his sides. He shoves off the bench and stands tall as if he’s just now giving this conversation his undivided attention.
I lick my lips. “I’ve heard Johan has a lot of time to focus on my needs.”
“I bet he does.”
Wade’s voice is tense. His face, though, is passive for the most part. He stares at me like he’s trying to work something out, but I’m not sure if he’s annoyed by my declaration or if he’s bored with the conversation.
I tug on Cleo’s leash. “We should be going.”
“You do realize how personal it can be to design your home with someone, right?” he asks as I turn to go.
I smile before I face him again. Glancing over my shoulder, I lift a brow. “I figured.”
“Your architect needs to know how you’re going to use your space. What you value. The things in life you prioritize.” He stands slightly taller. “They need to know your dreams.”
This feels like a warning. It sounds like he’s projecting that Johan can’t do all of those things.
Is he implying that he can?
But as I stand in front of Wade and feel the weight of his gaze and consider being vulnerable with him—vulnerable enough to work together on this level—every cell in my body misfires.
It’s overwhelming. The mere idea makes me want to run and hide. But, at the same time, a strange sense of excitement, of possibility—of completing this process with Wade Mason—feels like the best solution.
“I guess Johan and I are going to become great friends then,” I say. I throw in a shrug that I hope looks apathetic because, under my clothes, I’m sweating. “Good talk. Thanks for the tips.”
“You are impossible.”
I smirk. “You are difficult.”
Cleo barks. We both ignore her. Instead, we eye one another as though we’re in a standoff in the Old West.
It’s Wade’s turn to lick his lips. “I can design a house a hundred times greater than anything Johan can even imagine.”
So Wade has a competitive streak? This should be fun.
“Can and will are two very different words, Mr. Mason.”
“They most definitely are.”
“You say you can. Johan says he will. I like do-ers.”
The corner of his mouth flicks toward the sky in something that resembles a mixture of a grin and a smirk. It makes my knees go weak, and I struggle to stay in control.
If I’m even in control. I’m not sure anymore.
“It’s a good thing I can do things then, isn’t it?” he asks.
“It would be if it mattered.” I smile. “At the moment, you’re just an architect who made a very weak first impression.”
His eyes narrow. “Stop lying.”
“Who? Me?”
“Yes, you.”
He takes a step toward me, effectively cutting the distance between us in half. The energy rippling off his body is enough to render me speechless.
My blood pours through my body, and waves of his cologne wash over my senses. I barely remember to hold tight to Cleo’s leash as I lose myself in the depth of his green eyes.
“You know I didn’t make a weak first impression,” he says, his voice low. “You know that if I told you that I could fit you on my schedule that you’d be there on time …. ready and willing.”
I lift my chin. “And you know that if I said that I would relinquish control … you’d be all over it.”
I actually don’t know if that’s true. What I do know is that I’m playing with fire.
He sucks in a deep breath, running his tongue around the inside of his cheek. I hold my breath and wait for him to volley something back.
Finally, he sighs.
“I have an opening Monday at four o’clock,” he says.
“Not in your office.”
“Where?”
I think quickly. “Hillary’s House. Google it.”
He pauses before extending his hand. I pause even longer before giving him mine.
The contact of our palms together sends a ripple of goose bumps across my flesh. It also sparks something in his eyes that makes them two shades darker.
“I’ll see you Monday,” he says, letting go of my hand.
“See you then.”
He walks away like nothing of importance just happened.
I watch him like it did.