“Didn’t I tell you?” Kylie asked. “To. Die. For.”
“I couldn’t be more impressed,” Mrs. Finch answered. “The workmanship is next-to-none and the designs are lovely.”
Mason beamed. This could be everything he needed for the expansion he had been dreaming about. “I am so glad you like it,” he told her. “With these two”—he motioned toward Gabi and Kylie—“you are in capable hands.”
She smiled cautiously. “I sure hope so. I’m taking a big chance on these girls, considering how new they are to the Chicago design scene.”
“You won’t be disappointed,” he assured her, earning a huge smile from Kylie and a tiny flash of a grin from Gabi. It was enough to make his heart stop. What would happen if she ever smiled at him full-force? Cardiac arrest?
“Miss Turner,” Mrs. Finch said to Gabi, “I’m going to okay that gorgeous table, and I would like you to work with Mr. Adams here on the other key pieces we’ve discussed. I want everything in the house to be an Adams original.”
He wanted to high-five this woman so hard.
“Yes, of course,” Gabi answered, looking relieved and irritated all at the same time. “I’ll start sketching out the other designs today.”
“See that you do,” she said, and then turned back toward Mason. “Have you ever worked on a bannister? The original in the house is completely rotted away, and I can’t tell you how much sleep I’ve lost over finding the right person to recreate it.”
He was about to say no, but Gabi’s wide eyes and terrified head shake changed his mind instantly. “Of course,” he said confidently. He had done a few bannisters, it wasn’t a lie. It also wasn’t his forte, but if it meant more time with Miss Turner, he was game. “I would love to.”
Gabi’s shoulders slumped, and he had to keep from chuckling.
Chapter 4
Gabi
“I don’t know why you’re upset,” Kylie told her as they drove back to their small office. “Today was amazing for the business.”
“I know,” Gabi breathed, trying not to push the gas pedal all the way to the floor. “Mrs. Finch just seems to know how to set me off,” she lied. Truthfully, she didn’t really know why she was so irritated, but she knew it had everything to do with how her body reacted to the grin Mason gave her as she walked out of his showroom. Jesus, that man.
“But she did say your table was gorgeous.”
“True.” It was a rare compliment. “I really am glad she liked Mason’s work. At least we can move forward.”
Kylie nodded. “Agreed, I was a little afraid she wouldn’t like it and have us traipsing around Chicago for another designer. I don’t think I could handle that.” She looked pointedly at Gabi and said, “Besides, none of the other designers would be as much fun as Mason.”
Growling under her breath, this time she did push the gas pedal and Kylie laughed.
“Come on, Gabs, I know you don’t particularly like him, but as far as flings go, I think it would be a hell of a time.”
She squeezed her legs together at the thought of him tossing her backward on her bed and tearing her clothes off. Fuck. She’d already imagined him taking her on every piece of furniture in that showroom. Wasn’t that enough torture?
Just as she pulled into the parking garage of their apartment building, her phone dinged from the back seat. The sound made her stomach fall in a completely different way. Kylie was the only person she texted on a regular basis. Her dad would only call; he hated “new-fangled-internet-phones.” Which meant it was probably the very last person she wanted to hear from.
“Why the face?” Kylie asked as Gabi threw the car into park and reached for her purse.
Without answering, she fished her phone out and felt her entire body shudder when she saw an unknown number. She swiped the screen and let out an angry groan.
UNKNOWN: I miss you.
“What?” Kylie asked, grabbing the phone from her trembling hand. “Oh fuck,” she said, looking from the phone to Gabi. “This motherfucker”—she hit the buttons that would block yet another phone number from him—“needs to get a motherfucking life.”
Gabi slumped in her seat. “But how did he get my number this time? The only people that have it are you and Dad and our very small list of customers. I mean, that’s it.”
“You know him,” Kylie countered. “He has all sorts of friends with no scruples. I’m sure he called in a favor.”
Gabi let out a groan. “That means he probably has my address as well.” She looked at Kylie, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Why did I ever marry that asshole?”
Kylie touched her cheek and gave her a small smile. “Because you have an amazing heart and he said all the right things at the right time, Gabs. It wasn’t weakness, it was trickery. You couldn’t have known how things were going to turn out. You’ve got to quit thinking of this as something you did, because it is all him.”
She sighed. Kylie really was the best friend she could ever have. “Thank you,” she whispered and then pulled all her things together. “I guess tomorrow I go get yet another new phone number.”
“It’ll be fun,” Kylie offered, which made Gabi laugh. “Anyway, as soon as you’re settled, how about we order some pizza and watch Pretty in Pink. A good carb and 80s binge seems perfect for this situation.”
Gabi smiled. “I couldn’t agree more. I’ll bring the chocolate.”
“And naturally, I still have a fridge full of white wine.”
As they walked through the parking garage and into the building, it occurred to Gabi that she was particularly lucky to have someone with her she trusted at all times. When Kylie had first suggested she take the apartment next to hers, she thought it was a little silly, but not anymore. Not in this city, not living on her own again, and not now, especially with Matt texting again.
Mason
Mason flipped the channel on the television and tried to figure out why he was home alone. Again. He’d had a quick after-work burger with Cruz, had plenty of opportunities to find some companionship, and yet here he was flipping from the Cubs game to the History channel and back again like a sixty-year-old empty-nester.
He looked around his small yet beautifully crafted house and wondered what the actual fuck he was doing with his life. The only time he was home alone this early without a woman was when he was sick.
“Fuck it,” he muttered out loud and picked his phone up to text Anna. She was always pretty available whenever he needed someone. He clicked over to contacts, but before he could send a text, one from Dom came through.
DOM: Hey man, you busy?
He laughed at just how un-busy he was.
MASON: Depends, you don’t want to talk about wedding flowers, do you?
DOM: Nah, Lu’s got all that taken care of. Lots of purple.
MASON: I don’t fucking care about your flowers.
DOM: I don’t either, but don’t you dare tell Lu, I just want to marry her already.
Mason rolled his eyes but felt a slight pang of jealousy toward their relationship that surprised him. That had certainly never happened before. Not once. Up to this point, he’d always kind of pitied Dom.
MASON: Then what’s up?
DOM: Actually I’m a little worried about Seb.
MASON: Me too, man.
DOM: It’s been escalating for awhile.
Mason blew out a breath. This was not an easy thing. Seb acted tough but was the most sensitive of all of them. Youngest child syndrome.
MASON: Let’s watch him. If we say anything too early, it’ll just make him mad.
DOM: Agreed.
MASON: What does Lu think?
DOM: Same.
MASON: Smart girl. Except the marrying you part.
DOM: Fuck you.
Mason laughed and set his phone down, quickly forgetting about Anna. He was worried about Seb, and constantly fantasizing about a woman that, by all accounts, seemed to be extraordinarily irritated by him.
Good Lord, if he ha
d her right there, right now, he would bury himself in her sweet little body until he forgot about everything else. Just thinking of her astride his lap made him harder than he would have liked to admit.
And when he imagined her pale blue eyes darkening with pleasure, he had to get up and walk around the house for a few laps just to calm himself down.
He wondered if he should try to get her number from Kylie. It would be stupid—especially if they were going to work together so much. Once he had her out of his system, things would just be awkward.
He smiled at the memory of Mrs. Finch, now one of his favorite people, declaring that she wanted Gabi to work with him on all her designs. In one sentence, she had guaranteed that Mason would get to see Gabi a lot more. A whole lot more, because he was going to personally design and work on all the projects with her.
Normally he would enlist the help of Cruz or another of his crew. Not this time. He wanted it to be just him and a redhead in an old busted-up Victorian house.
He smiled, thinking about taking her on the stairs, her cries of ecstasy reverberating through the empty house. Yes. He would very much have to thank Mrs. Finch.
Chapter 5
Gabi
Gabi pulled up to the Finch house the next morning armed with paint samples, measuring tapes, and her design boards tucked under her arm.
Now that she had a go-ahead from Mrs. Finch, at least as far as the dining room was concerned, she needed to get in there, try the paint colors in real space with real light, and then finalize the plan.
Today was a particularly good day for it as there was no work scheduled to be done until the afternoon. If everything went as planned, she would be in and out without seeing anyone. Just how she liked it.
She smiled at the progress the crew had made when she unlocked the front door. All the new wood floors were down and covered in protective paper, walls had been removed, old cracks had been patched, and they had been restoring the vintage crown molding and picture rail. Just a tiny piece of this house’s former glory was starting to shine through.
She loved it. Every corner of this house made her happy. Being able to design an interior that reflected it’s past while boasting modern lines and conveniences made excitement zing through her every time she thought about how lucky she was to have this project.
With a satisfied sigh, she set her bag down in the dining room and studied how the morning light drenched the wall. This is where she needed to test the color, to see how it looked at its highest and lowest light.
Quietly humming to herself, she put her phone in the corner, turned up an old 80s playlist, and began the process of rolling four large paint squares onto the fresh drywall while she danced.
She loved to paint—the smell, the process. It reminded her of summers with her father, painting her room a new color each year. Her favorite had been a buttery yellow that Kylie’s mother had sewn curtains to match.
As she was finishing the last sample, “Whip It” came up on her playlist. She froze and then broke down the dance she and Kylie had perfected in middle school. It was absolutely necessary whenever it came on. It was a law somewhere.
Swinging her hips from side to side, using her roller as a microphone, she spun around and let out a blood-curdling scream when she saw someone watching her.
She dropped the roller, covered her mouth with one hand and her heart with the other. It was beating so fast, she almost couldn’t breathe. Blinking in shock, she tried to regain her composure.
“I am so sorry,” Mason Adams told her, trying not to laugh as he pushed himself off the doorframe where he had been casually leaning, taking her in her dance moves. “I didn’t know you’d scare so easily. I just didn’t want to ...” He could barely keep the smile from his lips. “I didn’t want to interrupt whatever that was.”
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Now her heart was thundering for a completely different reason. It would behoove the Chicago police to outlaw this man from wearing a green shirt the exact color of his eyes. If sneaking behind her wasn’t criminal, that fitted T-shirt should be. “What are you doing here?” she managed to choke out.
He grinned. It was sinful “Mrs. Finch came by the showroom this morning to give me a key to the house so I could get started on the bannister. I’m here to take some measurements. I swear I had no idea anyone would be here.”
She just blinked at him. The fright coupled with his rippling chest had completely obliterated her ability to form coherent thoughts. Why hadn’t she waited for a time Kylie could come with her?
Mason held up a hand. “Don’t let me stop you from, uh, working,” he said, clearly amused by the entire situation. “I don’t want to interrupt your flow.”
Oh, God. She was mortified. Her head was swimming with a thousand emotions, and her blush started its slow, secret-telling creep up her neck. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people,” she snapped lamely, irritated by how pleased he seemed with himself.
“True,” he said gently, wiping the smile from his face. “And like I said, I am very sorry.” He had trouble keeping the grin down when he added, “But I was not expecting such a delightful show when I came into the house.”
That did it. Her blush swallowed her whole, and she could feel it burning into her hairline. She threw her hands up. “Just go, do your work. Leave me to do mine.”
He shrugged, completely in control of the situation—a fact that pissed her off fully. “All right, I will, but just so you know, the view won’t be quite as nice as in here.”
Her eyes flew open and she was positive she was now the most heinous color of scarlet. She was about to open her mouth and ask him how he dared say such a thing, but he was gone before she could.
She growled at herself and then cried out when she looked down to find the roller had landed on her favorite tennis shoes, leaving a messy splotch of “Sage Morning” across the toes. “Dammit!” she called out and swiped the roller from the floor.
At least it hadn’t soaked through to the hardwood. How would she have explained that to the contractors?
She turned the music off and finished the swatch muttering awful things about Mason to herself.
When she was finished, she rinsed out the roller and paint pans, carefully avoiding any paths through the house that would take her anywhere near him.
Not that she didn’t wonder what he was doing, or how the muscles in his giant arms looked as he measured the staircase. But she did avoid him. It was a small win, but at this point she would take what she could get.
As she finished up, she figured the paint squares would be about dry.
She pulled out her phone and snapped pictures from different angles, studying the way the color subtly changed as she moved around.
“They all look the same to me,” Mason said from behind her, startling her once again.
She gave him an angry look.
And he returned it with his heart-stopping smile. “All I see is green.”
“Then you aren’t looking close enough,” she bit.
He stepped closer to her so they were almost shoulder to shoulder.
She felt a twinge of desire shoot through her stomach as his cologne enveloped her. It was manly and warm, and fuck it, she was losing this battle quickly. Especially when he looked down at her with those green eyes and said in way too seductive of a tone, “I’ve been looking plenty, Gabriela.”
Her heart stopped beating. Fully. She couldn’t tear her eyes from him. She wanted him to pull her into those massive arms and ...
“But I guess I can see what you mean,” he said, pulling her from her thoughts. “There are very subtle differences.” He stepped away from her and studied the colors a little more, giving her some breathing room.
She just watched him silently, definitely not staring at his entirely too perfect backside, or the way his back narrowed into a V at his waist. Definitely not that.
After a few moments of contemplation, he came and stood next to her again. “Which one are you leaning
toward?”
Shaking her head from forbidden thoughts, she focused on the task and stared at the colors again. “I like this one.” She touched the second of the samples. “It has a little more light-play than the others.” She touched the third. “This one has too much grey, it almost seems gloomy in the shadows. Too blue,” she said about the fourth. “What do you think?”
He almost looked surprised that she asked. “The second one,” he answered easily, and then shocked her by adding, “It has a more welcoming feel than the others, a little more fresh maybe?”
She stared at him.
He chuckled lightly. “What? Furniture design has the same elements, I have to consider how the grain and the varnish are going to work together in the light.”
She had to give him that. She gave him a small smile. A very small smile. “I agree, actually.”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets, giving him an adorably vulnerable look. “I’m an agreeable guy.”
“When you’re not scaring the daylights out of women.”
He put his hands up in defense and stepped closer to her. “I really am sorry about that. I don’t make a habit out of it usually.”
“Usually?” She swallowed nervously. He was so close, all she would need to do was lean forward a little and ...
He grinned and his voice lowered in a way that made her dampen inappropriately. “I might make an exception for you, though, Gabi. Like I said, I enjoyed the show.” He reached up as if he was going to touch her cheek but instead brushed a loose piece of hair off her neck.
It made her shiver slightly.
“Well,” he said, “I’m all wrapped up here. I’ll lock the door on the way out, okay?”
“Okay.” And then suddenly she was alone again.
Shit.
Mason
Mason smiled all the way back to his shop. Jesus, that woman was so fucking sexy; he could scarcely believe she was real.
He had expected the house to be empty, and finding Miss Turner there in short shorts and a tank top swinging her gorgeous bottom around was almost more than he could handle.
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