Chapter 19
I do my best to keep busy after I drop Claire off at that luxury cabin. If I’m too idle, if I have too much time to think and second-guess myself, I’ll overwhelm myself with doubt. I leave the trailer where it should be ready for the upcoming workdays, and after that, I head to the construction company’s warehouse to set the supplies out for my crews. Every time I think back to the exact moments when I picked up all the items, though, I’m bombarded with memories of Claire. Of how she smiled at me or how we’d joked about something trivial. She was so animated, talking about her dreams for a custom shop for her bridal gowns, and I fell right back into the rabbit hole of obsessing about her all over again.
Wasting time at the warehouse doesn’t help to distract me, so I head home to shower and prepare for the next day. Nothing’s set on the schedule, just odds and ends of errands and tasks I need to see to at home, and with this morning gone and the afternoon stretching out with too much free time, I struggle to get over her.
Claire is on my mind. She has burrowed her way under my skin, and I can’t dislodge her. If I zone out, I’ll recall the image of her naked on that bed, open and willing and trusting me. If I turn up the radio as I tidy up my condo, I’ll think back to how each time she moaned or growled my name made me that much harder.
“Dammit.” I toss my phone to the couch and drop my head back against the headrest.
Nothing I can do will pull me from thinking about her, and I know that’s clearly a bad sign.
I open my eyes and scowl at my living room; all the details of the modern and minimalistic layout a blur I don’t notice. Jason never fails to tease me about my residence. It’s all modern, with sleek angles and gray tones. Nothing rustic or earthy, which, according to him, is expected from an outdoorsman like me.
It’s not just the mere thought of her that is irritating me. If I’m being honest, she’s been on my mind since the day I met her. It’s the way I left her. The way I went overboard in setting up boundaries between us the morning after I ravished her.
I feel awful about being so weird around her. She doesn’t deserve it, but I couldn’t help it. I felt awkward and lost, and my first reaction, my initial and instinctive idea was to push her away, to erect some distance. In my mind, I was only seeking a buffer for a temporary need to figure myself out.
When I woke up and watched her sleep, so sexy and serene in that bed with me, I realized how damn much she was getting to me. She was out of my league, just like Gina, who got between me and Kevin. Claire is not my type. She’s not the kind of woman who would make sense in my life or fit in it at all, but there’s not a chance in hell that I can deny the strength of what I feel for her. After she gave me permission to love on her, I felt such a deep connection, something so profound I’ve never felt for anyone else in my life.
The severity of how much she matters scares me. She has so much power, this undeniable sway on me that pulls me to please her, that encourages me to impress her. And all for what? To have my heart broken again? I can’t help but be drawn to her, but I can’t shake the common sense in my brain that warns me not to. I’ve gone through this before. I’ve gotten close to a girl too fancy and pretty and high-maintenance for me, a woman from a whole different world than what I’m used to as a blue-collar construction guy.
And it burned. It stung when Gina left me. Just like Kevin predicted she would. That women will only ever see me as the rugged lover, good for a quickie, nothing lasting and deep. That I’m nothing but convenient eye candy, not a representation of a man to keep for good.
With those reminders of a similar heartache and loss, I didn’t have a clue about how to act around Claire after experiencing such strong feelings after having her.
There is no simple way to view Claire being in my life, even as a fling. Yes, she’s out of my league, and she’s used to such a different life than I am, but that’s not it. She’s also Dalton’s baby sister. Technically, she’s not. They’re cousins, but I noticed how he looks after her. He’s allowing her this stay at his cabin so she can work. He’s focused on helping her out however he can, so much so that I worry about what he might think of me afterward. If she were to cry to him about a broken heart or any other jaded feelings, he might alter his ties with me. I can afford to lose his business, but I’ve become friends with the man. I’d hate to ruin my friendships with Dalton and Caleb because of things turning sour between Claire and me.
“What’s the point anyway?” I mumble out loud.
Claire will never be anything more than a fling, a short-term lay. She spoke of her dream shop, but I know where she saw it happening. Not here. In Paris. Or some other big, glamorous city. The woman who’s hogging all of my thoughts doesn’t want to stick around here, and it’s a painful pill to swallow.
I don’t need to be reminded of why I shouldn’t let myself get any more connected. I shouldn’t let these feelings grow and linger because she’s not only a forbidden girl out of my league, but she will also soon be gone from this area completely.
I rub my face and sigh. “Enough.” I stand, shaking my head and wishing it was closer to the time I told my crew I’d meet them for today’s work. I’ll be early. It doesn’t matter. Whiling away my time here at home and trying to find something to occupy myself with isn’t doing me any good at all.
I head out to my truck, shelving all my thoughts about Claire. I put a lid on the emotional turmoil and check through my tools one more time before heading out to meet the crew. It should be a short and simple check, going through and making sure everything is in my bag and in the lock box on the bed, but I’m missing something. My tape measure isn’t anything fancy, but that’s the tricky thing about them. You think you’ve got one handy for when you need it, but if it’s missing, you can never locate another.
“Dammit.”
I remember using it at Claire’s cabin. I can’t tell if details are sharper when they have to do with her or if I’m borderline obsessing about her now. But I do know that stupid tape measure is at her place.
I get in my truck, mind made up and decision chosen. I’ll swing by her place on the way. It’s almost on the way. I’m due to meet my crews to start demoing the older cabins on the other end of Dalton’s property, so I’ll stop at Claire’s to grab my tape measure and leave.
It won’t hurt either of us if I see her. It’s no harm to merely glance at her and see if she’s okay. She held up all right for the ride home, didn’t she? It seemed like she was managing, but deep down, I feel like crap for even putting doubt in her mind.
I’d never felt that close to a woman before. And while I am confused about how to navigate things post-sex, I refuse to outright hurt her intentionally.
I arrive at her cabin and try my best to calm my racing heart. She always riles me up. Just thinking about her can make me feel more flustered than I should, and after the shitty way I blew her off and reduced our hot night of sex in Denver to a one-time thing, I’m more on edge than usual. It’s my fault if she is bitchy with me now. It’ll be on me, not her, if things are awkward and tense between us, and it’s a damn shame because on the way there, then all night long bar-hopping and dancing with her, we’d truly gotten close.
I hold my breath and knock on the door, but I don’t receive an answer. I try again, watching from the corner of my eye to see if she’s peeking through the curtains and seeing me here. I wouldn’t put it past her to avoid me and not open the door out of spite. She’s got to be confused, too.
I try the doorknob, wondering for a fleeting, panicking second if something could have happened to her. I’ve been trying to weed through the laundry list of jobs this cabin needs for updating, and I started with the most potentially dangerous things first. I wouldn’t be okay with her staying here if I thought it was unsafe. Nor would Dalton. The door opens easily, though, and I see her in the front room, a gorgeous proof of life.
With her music blaring, she can’t hear me enter. And with her position of sitting facing the opposite direction, granting me a view of her profile, I can tell she won’t see me, either.
Dangerous. If someone else would happen by and want to walk in…
I stride toward the kitchen. From the distance across the cabin, I can clearly make out the bright orange of my tape measure I’ve used for years. It’s sitting right there on the counter, and I see no reason why I can’t grab it from where I left it. I consider shouting hello so as not to startle her if she catches a glimpse of me or my reflection in the window, but the music is blasting so loud—some old-school classic rock I wouldn’t think she’d care for—I doubt my shout would be noticeable over Brian Johnson’s lyrics.
As I return, aiming for the door, I clip my tape measure onto my pocket. I glance at her as I pass by, finding her in an explosion of fabric. She sits in the middle of the pile. A few pins stick out of her mouth as she concentrates on the dress form. It seems my closer look on her is what it takes to pull her from her work. She jumps a bit, noticing me in surprise.
“Sawyer?” Her cheeks turn pink as her eyes widen.
I unclip the tape measure and hold it up. “Sorry for barging in. The door was unlocked.”
She taps her phone, still blushing, and the music goes down a few notches on the speakers.
Having her undivided attention, I clear my throat. “Sorry to barge in like this,” I repeat. “I forgot this and wanted to grab it before heading to the job site.”
Her lips clamp together in a tight line as she nods. I can’t look away. If that little tip of her chin was a dismissal, I’ll disobey it. I’m not done looking my fill. I’ve never seen her so dressed down and casual like this. Her hair is clipped back in a messy bun, no makeup covers her beautiful face, and in a tank top and terry shorts, she’s simply gorgeous.
“Sorry,” I say again, unable to stop apologizing.
She shrugs, glancing at the tool in my hand. “It’s fine.”
I nod, stupefied into staring at her.
She arches her brows. She’s not inviting me to talk much or acting welcoming. Still seated, she makes no move to greet me like she used to.
Which is no one’s fault but mine…
“How are you doing?” she asks neutrally.
“I’m fine.” Not fine. I can’t get you out of my mind. “I’m all right. You?”
I hate this stilted talk.
She shrugs again.
“What are you doing?” The question doesn’t satisfy my need to get close, but I blurt it out, interested in this mess and her creation.
“Framing the dress.” She states it simply, like it should be obvious.
It’s not obvious at all, not to me, but it’s incredible to witness her in her element, working so passionately. She’s open and comfortable, laid-back even. I want to ask more about her creative process, but I can tell how I threw her off, arriving unexpectedly like this.
“Well…” I lamely hold up the tape measure and sigh as I turn. “I’ll head out.” I do. I hurry to the door before she can say anything that would make this more awkward. It’s cowardly, running from her after giving in to the urge to see her, but I no longer have the time to dawdle and not make up my mind about her. I still can’t figure out what getting a glance of her could do other than ignite my need to see her more and more, but I shelve it. I set aside all thoughts of her and try my best to focus on the jobs today.
I find Dalton and Caleb inside the first cabin to be demoed, and I’m surprised. Dalt’s not a micromanager, and Caleb is usually busy on his property closer to the bed-and-breakfast. They’re not unwelcomed, though.
“You don’t mind if we stick around?” Dalton asks after I greet them.
I shake my head. “No.” It’s his place. His call, anyway.
“We’re in the mood to destroy some stuff.” He pulls his work gloves up his fingers and glowers at the old, wallpapered wall.
“Bad day?”
He rolls his eyes at me, nodding. “My aunt has been hounding me the last few days.”
I raise my brows. “Your aunt? As in…Claire’s mom?”
He nods again. “I, uh, I might have to go to New York with Claire next week.”
“So soon?” I ask, instantly hating the whininess in my voice. “Why does she need to go to New York? She said with all the samples she got in Denver, she’ll be super busy on Lauren’s dress. Is something wrong with her mom?” That would stink. I’d hate for Claire to be distracted from her first big job of her dream career with a family emergency.
“Plenty is wrong with that woman,” he mutters darkly. “My aunt is essentially trying to sell Claire off to a Rothschild. Some antiquated crap about the ‘old money’ marriages and needing to keep with the lines and all that.”
Sell Claire off?Like fricking chattel? I see red. Anger immediately sweeps through me. My muscles tense, and I grind my teeth together to ensure my mouth stays shut long enough for me to keep my cool.
Claire is going to New York to be sold to some rich punk over my dead body.