Chapter 7
My father remarried when my older half-brother, Jason, was twenty-one. A year later, I was born, then a year after that, Kevin was born. When Dad passed away, it would’ve seemed logical to split his construction company into threes, but Kevin was already in school to be a teacher, and he had no desire for the industry anyway. As such, Jason and I each received half of Dad’s company while Kevin got a smaller inheritance not connected to his company. Jason retired a few years back, giving me his shares, and with all of it, I’ve turned it into an even larger mega-construction company. Work has been good. Jobs have been steady with the ups and downs of the economy. I could retire from working with my hands and showing up with my crews every day, but I’m not ready to go sit behind a desk day in and day out. I’m not sure that lifestyle would ever be for me. I’d miss out on the glorious sunshine and beautiful outdoors.
And, per the last three days working on Dalton’s property, I would have missed out on one certain sexy girl from Paris who can’t keep her eyes off me.
It looks like she’s recovering well from her jetlag, because despite the distance between her up on that deck and me down here with my crew, I can see how fresh and rested she is. For such a fancy woman always dressing to the nines, even way out here in the wilds, she doesn’t wear much makeup. Perhaps I’ve been doing my fair share of checking her out, too, if I could notice how free of cosmetics her face is. I’d own up to it if anyone were to ask. My crew has been giving me shit for glancing at her as it is. More than once, Barry caught me peeking in Claire’s direction. Other than shrugging and smiling, I haven’t said much about it.
How could I not notice her? Her narrowed gaze on me felt like a hotter ray of heat than the sunshine blaring down. I don’t know if it’s just a case of sixth sense and knowing someone is watching me or what. I’ve dealt with that plenty. Working in the residential construction field, I’ve had to complete numerous jobs in homes or near them, where people can hawk over me and my crew. Out here, though, I figured it would be less visited.
And she’s not even supposed to be here. Since Dalton told me the little he had about his cousin who, was more like a baby sister, I’ve wondered what her story is. What could be so bad in her life that she would want to stay out here before this end of the property was truly ready for guests?
It’s not simply a sixth-sense feeling of being watched, though. It’s the way she’s looking at me that makes it hard to look away. In the few seconds when I meet her gaze, before I can smile knowingly and catch her red-handed for ogling me, she’ll stare with so much raw lust that I have to refrain from growling. Then, when she meets my gaze and realizes she’s caught again, she’ll scowl. That expression only eggs me on, so I’ve taken to upping the ante of this challenge. I don’t normally take my shirt off when I’m working a job. Yeah, it’s hot, but sometimes having at least one layer on helps for the sake of comfort and protection from the elements.
I should feel bad about teasing her, but I figure she’s able to go inside instead of hanging outside for a glimpse. That’s her own doing, and I can’t say I hate how she’s noticed me, not the rest of my crew. I relied on the manual labor of the job to keep me in shape, but hell, Tim over there is a meathead at the gym and busting his ass in the field. She has plenty of us to watch out here, but I can’t ignore how it’s only me who’s captured her eye.
When Friday rolls around, though, I’m glad to call it a week. As fun as it is to entice Claire to look at me, I’m beat. I stick around to help the guys wrap up the project for the day. Since I’m the one in charge, I take my time to ensure the job site is left to my expectations. The guys trail toward their trucks to leave, but I remain to check on just a few more things. Leaving a key in a piece of equipment is a mistake I’ll never repeat. A few years ago, a worker forgot a key for the tractor, and a teenager decided to have fun. No one is around out here, but still, I won’t take my chances and check that everything is locked up and disabled.
Satisfied that everything is secure, I go to my truck and open the door. An ice-cold beer is calling my name at home, and I can’t wait to shower. Before I can, though, strange footsteps sound behind me. I pause, one foot in the truck, and turn to see Claire. She’s wobbling through the gravel. That’s the cause for the scraping, unsteady pattern of noise. In heels again, she walks down toward me.
Dammit. She’s going to break her freaking neck walking around in those shoes. Doesn’t she have any common sense?
She lifts her face and makes eye contact. Another scowl, but not as severe. I’m the only one here, so she’s got to be coming for me.
I sigh and turn away from my truck, retreating to meet her before she really does lose her balance and scrape up that pretty skin. The denim cutoffs look cute, but they’re not worn in at all. And her blouse is so crisp and white it’s too, clinically clean to fit in with the scene.
“Looking for someone?” I ask, both in teasing and seriousness. We’re both aware of how she’s been making a habit of watching me work, but I have no clue why she’s seeking me out.
“You.”
I want to smile at how bold and honest she is.
“I’m…” She stops at the back of my truck, brushing off her arms as though daring the dust that might have landed there. “I’m…”
I lean against the truck bed. “I don’t have all day.”
She frowns. “I’m having trouble with some of the outlets in the cabin.” She crosses her arms and sighs after she gets those words out, clearly not happy about her situation.
I shrug. “So? Call Dalton.” That’s what he gets for letting her stay somewhere not renovated.
“I don’t want to bother him.”
I snort. “Well, damn. Should I feel honored that you have no qualms about bothering me?”
“You’re already here.” She tightens her arms and tips her chin up.
“So, I’m convenient.”
She narrows her eyes as she exhales through her nose.
Why is it so fun to rile her up? Is it because she doesn’t back down? I’ve never been shy about facing a challenge.
“Are you just telling me about the outlets, or are you asking for my ‘convenient’ help?”
“Why would I walk all this way out here just to tell you about it?” she snaps.
I wait her out, biting my lip not to comment on just how she walked down here to me. Did she wait until everyone else was gone to talk to me alone?
“I’m asking for your help,” she clarifies.
“Then…ask.”
Her eyes go wider with annoyance, and I refrain from grinning. She could stand a lesson in manners.
“Will you please help me?” Her tone is defeated, but I give her credit for following through.
I grin and lift my arm, indicating for her to lead the way. With my arm up, I feel the soreness in my muscles, though, and I wonder how long her issue will take. Scratch that idea for a shower. I want to soak in a tub.
I follow her up to the luxury cabin Dalton told her she could stay in. Behind her, I have every chance to check out her ass and legs in those itty bitty shorts, but I don’t. I spend too much time spotting her in case she falls, wobbly as ever in those heels.
“None of these work,” she says once we enter. She points at one wall of the living room, and I pull out my conductivity tester from my toolbelt. Here, on the wooden floor, her heels click against the even surface, and I sneak a glance at her slender legs.
“You shouldn’t walk with those heels on the road we’re building. You’ll hurt yourself.” I squat down, bringing myself to eye level with her knee as I test an outlet.
“I don’t own anything but heels.”
I drop my gaze to her ankle, then check out her polished nails. I can tell.
“I need to check the circuit box.”
She leads me to the stairs, pointing at the basement where it is.
“I can find it,” I tell her, not wanting her to risk climbing down these steps in those shoes.
I quickly see the wiring issue and head back upstairs. She’s coming from the bedroom as I return. In her hand are stark-white designer shoes. “I do have these, but they’re hideous.”
I roll my eyes and chuckle. “No, don’t wear those.”
She tosses them to the sofa as she follows me, practically hovering, as I go back to the first faulty outlet and unscrew it from the wall. “Yeah,” she scoffs, “they’re pretty ugly.”
“No. I meant don’t wear those if you’re going to come down and bug me because they’re flat with no tread. Better yet, don’t bug me, and you won’t have to worry about breaking your ankles or getting your fancy shoes dirty.”
She smirks, leaning close and ignoring what I said. “What’s that for?”
“To test the electricity,” I explain.
“What do you think is wrong?”
I shake my head. “I know what’s wrong.”
“Is that metal prong supposed to be like that?”
I sigh, holding back a growl at this spontaneous episode of twenty questions. I don’t mind teaching someone something. I enjoy spreading knowledge. But with her body heat so close to mine and her sweet floral scent invading my nose, I feel filthy—not just because of how much she’s luring me to get closer even though I know I shouldn’t, but also because of the reason why I definitely don’t belong with her. I feel so opposite her and almost unworthy with my rugged, dirt-caked clothes. I’ve been reminded of how I don’t fit with a pretty woman like her. I’ve been reminded of how not everyone can see the real me past my blue-collar exterior. And I should know better than to wish for something like that with this hot blonde from Paris.
I never learn. Women, snooty women at least, see men like me as nothing more than eye candy, something to appreciate and fantasize about from afar. Never up close.
I answer her questions, and she continues to hover and pepper me with more. As I muse about the contrasts between us, I try to distract myself with a closer look around the room. Sewing patterns cover the coffee table, and piles of fabric cut in squares lay on the couch.
When I’m finished with repairing the rusty parts of the closed circuit, I show her how it’s all working by plugging in a lamp. She must have wanted to use it by this chair over here to draw under brighter light. The sketchbook that lies open on the side table catches my eye. If she were to wear a gown like that…Hot.
“These are, uh, really good.”
She arches her brow at where I point.
“Very detailed,” I add so I don’t sound so stupid. What would I know about dresses other than how sexy they might look on a woman. That and how quickly I could take it off them. Still, the detail, shading, and pencil work are not that of a hobbyist.
“You’re really talented.” I glance up to catch her vulnerable expression. For once, she’s not scowling or smirking. It’s a softer look of surprise that she quickly shutters.
“That doesn’t mean much from a guy who swings a hammer all day,” she replies.
I pull my lower lip between my teeth, fighting the urge to smile. I’m not shocked she thought that. We are different. But I admire that she said it out loud. I can’t figure out why, but I kind of like that she’s mean. That she gives as good as she gets, yet I can’t shake the suspicion that something else is going on with her than that defiance.
I sigh and step back, reaching into my wallet for my business card. I leave it on the kitchen counter as I pass through and head out, not needing her to see me to the door.
“Call me if anything else goes wrong, all right?”
I exit before waiting for her reply. Because if I stay in there for a moment longer, alone with her and intrigued about how she doesn’t back down, I’m afraid I’ll want to find more buttons to push.
And I’m not sure what to do if she lets me.