Dirty Deeds

by Lorelei James

  “Show me,” she whispered. “Make love to me with your heart, Nathan, like you promised.”

  Without another word, he lowered to her until they met body to body, skin to skin, heart to heart. Her belly quivered when his fingertips breached the thatch of wet curls. “Let me in,” he said, brushing his lips across her forehead. “I need you, Tate. I need to feel everything that is you surrounding me.”

  His welcome weight pressed her to the mattress. For a moment they merely stared into each other’s eyes.

  When Nathan slid inside, Tate knew she’d finally found what she’d been missing.

  The next morning, Tate leaned against the doorframe of the back porch, letting her coffee cool as she inhaled the fresh summer breeze. She loved days like these, sun on her face, birdsong ringing in her ears. The stench of smog and the constant hum of traffic seemed light-years away.

  Was that her reality, back to the city? The layout she’d created had been a smashing success. The company president had been ecstatic enough to reinstate her and put aside the ugly business with Malcolm. Everything she’d worked to achieve in the unpredictable business was finally within her grasp.

  So why wasn’t she reaching out with both hands for that brass ring? Why wasn’t she celebrating? Why had she curled up in bed and cried as if her life was coming to an end?

  Because she suspected it was.

  To achieve her professional dream, she’d have to leave the personal fantasy behind. And it had been fanciful, thinking she could maintain physical intimacy without involving her heart. The deal she’d made with Nathan now seemed selfish. A childish whim.

  Nathan. Why had he waited until the most vulnerable time of her life to show her lovemaking at its deepest, its finest, its sweetest? Oh Mr. Romance had impeccable timing. Waltzing in, stealing her will, marking her soul his. The electricity of the storm had only heightened the sensuality…and the burden of her decision.

  She’d woken up this morning, wedged against his body. Lying in her bed, feeling his deep exhalations drifting across her skin, his strong arms banded around them in the ultimate lover’s embrace had felt right beyond imagining.

  Tate loved him. She wanted more than sex. She wanted the whole messy side of love. Dogs, kids, in-laws, fighting and making up.

  So, she’d made her decision. If he asked her to stay, she would. But he had to ask. Nathan had to tell her with words—not with his body—how he felt. No way would she throw her heart out there without a clear sign from him that it wouldn’t bear the mark of his work boots as he strolled out the door.

  His heavy step squeaked the floorboard. This was it.

  Mint-scented breath teased the nape of her neck. “Morning, gorgeous,” he said, pressing his warm lips to the back of her head. “You smell good. You’re up early.”

  “It’s past eight thirty,” she said dryly.

  “You are a bad influence on me.” The waistband of his jeans brushed the tiny patch of bare skin in the small of her back. “Usually I would have already put in a solid two hours.”

  “You work too hard.” Tate reluctantly moved away from his roving lips. “Sorry. That was uncalled for. Not your fault I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Did I snore?”

  “I don’t remember.” She sipped her coffee calmly as if her heart and throat weren’t being crushed by the weight of her unspoken words. “When will the inspectors be here?”

  “Any minute. I’ll be stuck in Deadwood until midnight finishing up that septic system to compensate for this meeting today. Why?”

  “Just curious. Will they let me know right away if the improvements pass inspection?”

  “I assume so. Are you worried?”

  Tate nodded.

  “Don’t be. We’ve followed their guidelines.” He hesitated. “If you want, I’m used to dealing with this type of thing. You can hang out in here, and I’ll let you know how it goes.”

  Something about his tone wasn’t right. He looked…guilty. “What else is going on? You seem anxious. You okay?”

  “I’m fine. Just ready for this to be over.”

  It took a second for Tate to realize the series of loud knocks wasn’t her heart thumping, but someone hammering at the front door. “The inspectors must be here.” She tried to sidestep him.

  But Nathan clamped on to her arm. “We need to talk. Later?”

  Without answering, she scooted to the door, cursing her thin veneer of calm. Then again, telling a man you loved him and planned on changing your whole life to include him should make a woman skittish.

  Tate exchanged polite, perfunctory greetings with the two inspectors. Once they’d begun wandering around the property, she left Nathan to detail the required changes he’d made. She followed along, half-listening to their words of praise.

  But the unyielding line of Nathan’s back captured her attention. The tight smile and the curt, professional way he dealt with them showed a side of him she hadn’t seen. Didn’t he interact with inspectors all the time? So why the bout of nerves? Another thought jarred her. Unless…his anxiety wasn’t about the inspection at all. Maybe he had regrets about opening up to her last night? Talk about being paranoid.

  When the ordeal ended, the elderly woman beamed and put forth a glove-encased hand. “Well, Miss Cross, you’ve done a fine job here. Needless to say you passed with flying colors.”

  “Thank you,” Tate said, ignoring Nathan’s quizzical stare. “But Mr. LeBeau deserves the credit. He did all the work.”

  “You provided the inspiration,” Nathan added with false modesty. “Miss Cross didn’t balk at some of my…bolder suggestions.”

  Tate colored scarlet upon recalling some of his suggestions.

  Neither the woman nor her rotund male companion noticed her discomfort. Sunlight gleamed off the man’s balding head. “I must agree with Florence. I am impressed. Marvelous things can happen when vision is mixed with a little imagination. I’ll admit that design for the new fire station was even more of a knockout than the plans for here.”

  “Yes. You are quite the artist, Mr. LeBeau. And it was a shrewd business decision to use it to sway our opinion. We only want what’s best for our city.”

  Nathan drew in a quick, harsh breath. “Actually, the final proposed sketch in your office is Miss Cross’s design.”

  Her design? On a fire station? What fire station? Tate’s head snapped his direction.

  “Regardless.” The woman waved dismissively. “I’m so pleased we accepted this property as your entry into the Maxwell Competition. We killed two birds with one stone, so to speak.”

  Competition? What competition? Tate frowned at Nathan, who all of a sudden was avoiding her probing gaze.

  “I was under the impression that entry in that competition remained confidential,” Nathan said cautiously.

  “Of course it is. But I’m sure that’s not something you’d keep from Miss Cross,” the woman chided. “That would be highly unethical. Besides, I’ve done some checking on you, and I’ve heard nothing but praise.” The powdered wrinkles on her forehead drew into a frown. “I must say, after denying your entry request last year, this surprised me. Especially when I checked your accreditations—seems you’ve been busy learning the trade. Now I can see why you’d want to branch out into landscape design.” She gestured to the renovated property. “You have quite the knack for it.”

  Tate watched color flood Nathan’s face.

  The woman’s birdlike gaze turned sharp. “Would you feel vindicated if I said I’ve chosen this project as the grand prize winner?”

  Nathan’s smile was slow in coming. “I guess.”

  “Good.” She leaned on her cane. “Once word gets out that you’ve won, I imagine the demand for your landscaping services will skyrocket. Your business should double.”

  Tate stared at the ground until it seemed to shift beneath her feet. Time stopped. The dizzy sensation moved from her stomach to her head in record time as the truth hit her like a ton of paving bricks.
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  Nathan’s motive in taking on her landscaping project hadn’t been because of the promise of art lessons or unencumbered sex, but the possibility of winning a competition. A competition she knew nothing about. A competition in which he’d submitted her draft as his own.

  She had been played. Again.

  The familiar, bitter betrayal arose. To think she’d fallen for him. Last night had been the real clincher. She’d even foolishly contemplated giving up everything if he’d asked her to stay. But he hadn’t asked—and he wouldn’t. It was obvious his work, his damn job, would always come first.

  No doubt she’d cause serious problems for him and his business reputation if she insisted he hadn’t disclosed to her that he’d entered the competition. In this case, revenge felt wrong. Suddenly everything felt wrong. Now there was no reason for her to remain in sleepy Spearfish, South Dakota. She’d passed the inspection and the only thing left was to sign the realty contract and hire a cleaning service to ready the house for potential buyers. Once the house sold, she’d come back with a U-Haul for the few decent pieces of her aunt’s furniture and never return.

  That thought punched a hole straight in her heart, effectively breaking it in two.

  “Miss Cross?” The elderly woman set a shaking hand on her arm, prompting her from her nightmare. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” Tate smiled awkwardly. “Just confused as to what I do now. My attorney insists I get the final details documented.”

  “Naturally. If you’d like, you can sign everything at our office. When would it be convenient for you to drop by?”

  “It’d be great if we could get this out of the way this morning. Could I catch a ride to your office? I’d love to hear more about this award. Mr. LeBeau was pretty mum on the details.”

  Before Nathan could object, the woman trilled, “What a lovely idea. That’d be fine.”

  Tate smiled even when she felt like part of her had died. “I’ll grab my purse. While you’re waiting, why don’t you tell Mr. LeBeau about the award ceremony? I’m sure he’s anxious to know when and where”—she flashed her teeth at him—“so he can pass out flyers.” Dirty pool, but he deserved it. She blindly passed the stone birdbath and tripped over a clump of barberry bushes as she escaped to the house.

  She’d barely stumbled past the couch when the screen door slammed. She didn’t need to turn around to gauge Nathan’s mood; his anger pulsated across the room like a sonic wave.

  His voice was hard as steel. “What’s the deal?”

  Physically coming face-to-face with him would have to wait until she regained control. She sorted through junk mail on the table. “The deal is completed. You fulfilled your end of the agreement. I fulfilled mine. Time to move on.”

  “Move on?” he repeated dully.

  “I called a real estate agent. She’ll be here at two o’clock.”

  A minute of stunned silence followed. “You called a Realtor? When?”

  She finally glanced up at him. “Yesterday.”

  “Right after you got the news.”

  Tate nodded, but didn’t tell him yesterday she hadn’t made any firm plans. She’d foolishly hoped they’d make future plans together. “That’s why I wondered what time the inspectors would be finished. The Realtor needs written documentation that I’ve met the Beautification Committee’s requirements before she can list the house.”

  “Is there a reason why you didn’t tell me this last night?”

  “It didn’t exactly come up while we were having sex, did it?”

  “Making love,” he corrected with an edge to his voice. “We were making love last night, Tate.” His eyes searched hers. “And you didn’t think to tell me about this sudden development?”

  “That’s because it wasn’t sudden.” Needing something to do with her hands, Tate picked up her cup and downed the cold coffee. “It’s simple. We’ve both known all along what happens now. I’m returning to Colorado.”

  Silence stretched between them, heavy, thick, oppressive.

  “Why?” he said finally. “If you lost your job in Denver, why are you leaving here?” His eyes turned shrewd. “If this is about money—”

  “It’s not about money,” she snapped.

  “Then what?” he snapped back.

  It took every ounce of Tate’s resolve to keep her gaze firmly locked to the distress growing in his. “I didn’t lose my job, Nathan. They held the hearing early. I was cleared and promoted. I can start Monday.”

  Blood drained from his face, turning his robust complexion pasty white. She fought the guilt that swamped her and maintained an aloofness she didn’t feel.

  “Whoa.” He stepped away, wrapping his big hands on the top rung of the ladder-back chair. “Wait a minute. You didn’t get fired? If you were reinstated,” he repeated slowly, “then why were you crying last night?”

  The sound of his ragged breathing resonated in the silent room as he waited for her response. Tate didn’t dare glance up to confirm that the anger in his voice was reflected in his eyes. She knew.

  “Fine. We’ll do it the hard way,” he said. “Why were you crying? And don’t feed me some bullshit story about those tears being tears of joy. I’m not stupid. I know the difference.”

  As usual he was dead-on. She couldn’t lie to him, but the truth of her pathetic hopes seemed worse.

  “Tate? Answer me.”

  She shook her head.

  “Goddammit. At least look at me.” He loomed above her, filling every inch of available space until she couldn’t breathe. “Look me in the eyes and tell me that last night and everything that happened between us the past few weeks were nothing more than a business arrangement. Tell me you’re not that blind.”

  A thread of anger rose to the surface, supplanting her misery. She grabbed it with both hands. “Blind?” she spit, pleased when he retreated. “Yes, I’ll admit after what I’ve seen and heard this morning I might’ve been blind. Blind to the real reason that you agreed to this ‘deal.’ Winning the award was the new direction for your business, wasn’t it? Seems you neglected to tell me that fact. Why?”

  His gaze zoomed to the china hutch. Then to the crystal teardrop chandelier and the arrangement of yellow, white and purple daisies in the center of the table, but never once landed on her. “Because you were selling the house anyway, and I didn’t think it would matter.”

  “Look me in the eyes, Nathan LeBeau. Look me in the eyes and tell me that you didn’t mislead me in any way about any thing.”

  He turned and studied her without comment.

  Tate’s heart dropped. It was true. She’d been nothing but a means to an end. And the end was here. She yanked her backpack off the teacart, knocking the phone book to the floor. “I’ve gotta go. They’re waiting—”

  “They’re gone,” he said crossly. “I told them I’d give you a ride downtown.”

  Her grip on the thick straps tightened as she fought the urge to whirl around and smack him with it. “You had no right.”

  “I have every right. You’re not going anywhere until we talk about this. You are avoiding the main issue here, Tate.”

  “Which is what? That you lied to me?” She gave him a scornful once-over. “You never wanted the intimacy—”

  “Yeah? Then how did we get to be so very intimate?”

  “At my urging,” she argued against his pseudo-seductive tone. “From day one you tried to avoid the physical aspect of the deal.” The truth made another sharp stab at her soul. “God. I’ve been so stupid. That romance angle was completely bogus, wasn’t it? No way did any woman tell you that you were a bad lover. You would have done anything, said anything to me to feed the lie because you only wanted to win that stupid contest. I’m not stupid either, Nathan. Entering that contest meant everything to you if you’d been planning it for a year.”

  Guilt flared in his eyes. “You’re right.”

  His admission floored her. “I am?”

  “Yes. I didn’t tell you
about the competition. Honestly, I couldn’t care less about it now.” He shuffled his feet and seemed equally at a loss as to where to place his hands. “But that’s not the worst part, okay?”

  Tate managed to keep cool even as her stomach roiled. “What else?”

  “I never wanted…” Nathan scrubbed his hands roughly over his face. “Hell, it’s complicated.” His laugh was bitter. “Jesus. This is gonna sound so wimpy. The truth is, for the first time in my life I didn’t want just a sexual relationship.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s the only kind of relationships I’ve ever had.”

  Tate didn’t block her disbelief. “I find that hard to swallow.”

  “Look at me.” He threw his arms wide open. “I’m not some high-powered suit-and-tie-wearing businessman that regularly sweeps women off their feet. I build sewers, Tate. I get dirty and I like