by Kris Pearson
Their transport juddered to a halt and Rafe released her so he could unlatch the door.
“Mind the gap—and everything else.”
There were power tools and timber offcuts strewn around the planking. A builder in ear protectors worked on, unaware of them, as he banged away with the nail gun at the end of the sun drenched deck. The tang of the sea rose strong and salty as waves pounded far below.
Rafe crossed to where a railing edged the surrounding glass barricade. He stared out toward Pencarrow, surveying the view for thirty seconds or so. Then he turned his back to it and leaned, elbows on the railing, long legs silhouetted against the restless sea. “Come and see it from here.”
Sophie stepped unwillingly closer.
Rafe sent her another dark eyed glance. “Don’t look so worried. Everything’s way over specification. This might seem as light as air—I hope it does—but you’d be hard-put to break the glass with a sledgehammer. I wasn’t planning for anyone to crash through and end up down there.”
It wasn’t the glass that worried her. She gazed about, and suddenly her imagination caught fire. She saw his small dark haired sons yelling and whooping on tricycles... outdoor furniture and a big gas barbecue placed close to the house... tubs of bright seaside flowers flanking the wide doors. It would be a wonderful home once it was complete.
When construction was first under way, Faye had boasted about it. The staff at Severino Design had suffered her gloating descriptions with tight nods and pasted-on smiles. They’d all been glad when she’d dropped the subject, not that they’d known the reason why.
Sophie sighed. Leaving the house would have been bad enough, but leaving the man even harder. Yet Faye had shown no sign of regret; dropped no hint of what had happened.
Rafe had sounded surprised his marriage breakdown wasn’t public news in the small gossip ridden design community. She concluded Faye must have worked very hard to keep it that way.
She chose her own piece of railing a few feet from his and examined the long glassed front of the house with attentive eyes.
“Tiles for the entranceway,” he said. “Maybe a greyish blue? See what you can come up with. Perhaps I should tile the whole of the top floor?”
“Is there another?”
“Another two. Bedrooms below this. Self-contained guest accommodation and a gym and spa pool on the bottom level.”
She swallowed and nodded, and thought how pitiful her tiny apartment must have seemed to him. “How many bedrooms?”
“There are plenty of options. Depends whether they’re slept in or used as playrooms or studies or whatever. There’s a big master suite. I’d want maybe three other dedicated bedrooms plus the guest suite. Tell me what you think.”
“I think it’s bigger than mine.”
He sent her one of his killer smiles, no doubt at the woebegone note in her voice. “Hard to find anything smaller,” he agreed.
*
He pushed away from the railing, took her hand again before she could object, and led her across the tool and timber strewn deck. He’d been super-aware of her taut body as he held her steady in the cable-car. Her waist was slender, but he’d felt the start of her curvy hips, and seen the swell of her breasts when he’d looked down to tease her about trying to escape from him.
There’d been a glimpse of white lace—the neckline of her camisole had gaped out a little. The low cut lacy bra cradled creamy breasts which looked so absurdly virginal and enticing that enough of his blood had headed south to make him at least half hard.
They’re no bigger than a schoolgirl’s. Get your mind off them. She’s here on business. And why the hell are you hanging onto her again?
He let go of her as though she was red hot. “Careful of your footing, there’s stuff everywhere.”
“I’m used to doing site inspections.”
He almost heard her sniff of disdain. Certainly she sent him a glance that spoke of cool competence rather than distressed damsel.
And then she followed it with a flustered blush, downcast eyes, and a sudden turning aside.
Hmmm, not entirely immune then, Ms Calhoun. You’d be fun to play with.
He watched as she stepped over more timber offcuts and skirted a pile of boxes which had originally held plumbing fixtures. The place was a mess—walls all lined with sheetrock, joins plastered and sanded, but with no further hint of finishing. White dust coated everything.
“I’ll get the building crew to tidy up for you. Make your work easier.”
“It doesn’t matter too much at this stage.”
And just like that he decided the job was hers. He had enough faith in her taste from what he’d seen at the studio and in her little apartment. Annoying Faye would be a satisfying bonus of course. But right now he felt more alive than he had in months. He wanted progress on the house. Progress that would keep Sophie in his life for a while.
She was way different from the women who usually threw themselves at him. Nothing like egocentric Faye, for sure. Faye had certainly never oiled a floor or painted a ceiling in her life.
Sophie seemed self-contained and self-sufficient. She’d only grudgingly allowed him to hang her fabrics. She seemed to have no need of him. Rafe didn’t like that. He was used to being in charge. Being the provider. Things would be changing between them if he managed to take this any further.
“Okay, main living area.” He stretched his arms and rubbed his neck just so his hands couldn’t wander back in her direction.
“Formal sitting room or casual family area?”
“I’ll grab a copy of the plans for you, but formal sitting here. Casual family at the far end, down past the kitchen. And there’s a media room behind that.”
“Then I’d tile it through to the end of the kitchen. Use some big textured rugs to define your seating areas. You’ll need a soft floor in your media room for good acoustics, of course.”
“True.”
She stopped and pivoted, eyes everywhere. Rafe watched, fascinated by the strength of her concentration.
Her tongue licked over her full lower lip. He wanted it to be his tongue.
One hand pushed some wisps of hair back from her face. He wanted it to be his hand.
Her fingers tapped on the delicate end of her nose as she stood there, deep in thought. He imagined his fingers smoothing over her warm skin. “Color?” he asked, trying to ignore the dusty smudge now decorating the black denim over her curvy butt. He itched to brush it off.
She gave him a distracted smile and looked away again too fast for his liking.
“I’ll consider your blue-grey suggestion for the tiles. More grey toned than blue, for sure.”
About the color of your eyes, he thought. Those big cool grey eyes I’d like to drown in as I slide into your tight little body. As if that’s going to happen any time soon.
“I can get some samples together for you.”
“Sorry?”
“I can get some samples together for you. Tile samples?”
He nodded, still distracted.
Sophie turned to inspect the immense sweep of blank wall against the cliff.
“What are you planning here?”
Rafe made a supreme effort to drag his mind away from her dusty derriere and tantalizing grey eyes. “It’s a good place for some of my bigger pieces of art. Far enough from the sun to avoid UV damage, and it’ll break the space up well.”
“Yes of course, but I presume you’d like me to suggest a finish for the wall to make it more of a feature? Something not too noisy so your art doesn’t get overwhelmed? A paler tint of the tile color perhaps? There are some wonderful new textured French wall coverings I could show you?”
He felt himself nodding as he tried to get back to practicalities. French wall coverings, French kissing, French knickers...
French champagne!
He cleared his throat. “Sounds good. You can bring me some to consider?”
He watched as she j
otted a few words on her notepad. Her hands were small, her nails varnished a soft pearly pink. He could imagine those nails digging into his shoulders as she pulled him close. Could picture her hair in disarray again, hear her soft moans.
“What have you arranged about the kitchen?”
“Uhhhhh—Faye started with Casa Fiori, I think.”
“So I’ll liaise.” She made another note before turning away from him and walking to the far end of the floor. “I see there’s wiring in for electric rollershades,” she called back. “Block-outs or sunscreens?”
“I see there’s dust decorating your butt,” he heard himself say. “Brush it off before I lend a hand.”
Sophie turned and raised an eyebrow. “Don’t even think about it, Mr Severino.”
“Rafe.”
“He’s not to think about it either.”
But Rafe caught her grin as she twisted to inspect her jeans.
Chapter 4 — Dusty Butt
They proceeded down the stairs to the bedroom level. Here the noise was deafening, although there was no-one visible. Rafe snapped the battered radio off and sudden ear-ringing silence fell.
“Hey!” someone bellowed.
“Leave it alone, you—” another voice yelled.
“Lady on the premises,” he grated, managing to drown the colorful description which would no doubt have followed.
“Sorry Chief...”
“Just need a few minutes to hear ourselves talk.”
Sophie heard workboots clumping across a nearby floor, and then a shaggy head peered through a doorway.
She smiled at the sawdust covered apparition. From amongst the tangled hair and beard, blue eyes twinkled and an affable grin appeared.
“Sophie, meet my foreman, Chris. He’s an ugly brute, but he knows what he’s doing.”
“Just cutting those final architraves for the deck doors, Chief. I’ll give the big saw a rest for a while. Time for a break, eh?” He shook himself like a dog shedding sea water and headed for the stairs. The scent of newly sawn timber followed him.
She wondered if Chris called any boss ‘Chief’ or whether it was a nod to Rafe’s Cherokee blood.
“Donny! Crank! Smoko time!”
Other men materialized and also trooped down to the floor below. Sophie suffered their interested inspections as she stood quietly beside Rafe. Then she heard a door slam and they were alone with the sound of the sea.
She trailed him into the first of four large identical spaces. Like the living area, they were fronted with floor to ceiling glass sliders which opened onto more decking. As he’d promised, there were other rooms too.
They walked without haste. Sophie made suggestions, took notes, enjoyed the unhurried wander.
It was easy to picture his children splashing in the bathrooms, fighting interplanetary battles on the sunny bedroom floors, and poring over computer screens and keyboards in the studies. She could almost hear their skateboards swishing along the deck in years to come.
The hairs on her nape suddenly rose.
“We’re going to have to do something about this dust all over you,” Rafe murmured, too close behind her, hands settling on her hips.
She dared not turn toward him.
Wet warmth tingled between her thighs. The intense sexy throb had reappeared so fast she had no defense against it. “Black was probably a silly choice,” she agreed, making a token effort to pull away. Much more token than effort.
His grip was gentle, but he seemed determined she wouldn’t slip free. She knew she should whirl aside and put on a show of outrage. Presumed he’d release her if she did, because he wasn’t grabbing her like some lustful roughneck, even if he was built like one. This was Faye’s civilized husband—or separated husband, she corrected herself frantically.
Almost available. Definitely gorgeous.
Still way forbidden.
She summoned all her determination and found most of it missing. His hands burned hot around her waist, thumbs rubbing lightly against her ribs. “Look, I don’t want to go complicating a business situation.” She heard the faltering desperation in her voice.
“This has nothing to do with business.”
“But the work would be very valuable to me.”
“Then the work’s yours.”
“What?” she gasped, still staring out at the ocean. Still standing trembling between his big hands. “How much of it?”
“All of it. Easy decision.”
Hot joy rushed through her. Closely followed by chilling disbelief. “All of it? The whole huge job?”
“Yup, the whole huge job.”
She tried to absorb the fact she’d just been awarded the city’s most prestigious décor contract.
Her new studio was now assured of success.
She could reclaim Camille in plenty of time to start her first crucial year of school in Wellington.
And finally life would be normal and enjoyable after all the years of hard struggle.
Just like that? It was too much to take in. She wanted to yell and scream and leap about with joy. Instead she stood frozen and blitzed by the enormity of it all.
Rafe’s warm breath caressed the side of her face and suddenly a most unwelcome thought hit home. Did getting the job depend on her willingness to fall into bed with him? He’d definitely been flirting, and still stood far too close.
She feared she’d make no sense if she attempted to ask. Overcome with shock she tried to step away, but his grip held firm.
“I wasn’t joking about the dust,” he said, loosening one hand to swat gently at her butt. Sophie knew it was close to a gentle sexy spanking, and as her commonsense slowly swam back to somewhere near normal, she made a more serious effort to free herself. He felt too good, too dangerous, too much like everything she’d been missing.
*
Rafe registered Sophie trying to lever herself away. God, she had more willpower than he did! He was uncertain quite how he’d got his hands on her again, but he knew he wanted more than a quick fumble in the echoing shell of his half finished house.
Paddling her pert curvy butt was some consolation, but not enough... not enough. He needed to take his time somewhere private and warm, wanted to explore and delight her and lose himself in her rose scented softness.
He hoped she was only trying to fight him off because of the damn work. Okay, he needed to tread carefully, but he’d taken a direct hit when he least expected it and no way would he give her up now.
His hands slid up to cup her face, and he tilted it so their eyes meshed. “Stop panicking. And don’t start thinking the work’s tied to anything personal. It’s yours regardless.”
He felt her relax a little and then saw her earrings dangling against his hands. He’d noticed them earlier—small cubes of blue stone edged with silver. He pushed a cautious forefinger behind one of her ears. The silver wire hook slid through the piercing and an earring slipped forward into his waiting hand as she pulled away from him.
He smiled to himself as he dropped the jewel into his trouser pocket.
A reason to see her again.
The door on the lower floor slammed at last. Once the builders had thudded back up to the middle level he walked her to the stairs and snapped the radio on again. Chris had it tuned to an old classic hits station. Billy Joel pounded out “Uptown Girl’. The big saw restarted its raucous screaming.
“Master suite,” Rafe said, glancing in the direction of the noise. “We can see that later.”
“So where are we going now? Should I take notes?”
He shook his head as he led her down to the lowest level of the sprawling house and closed the door. “Not yet. Treat this visit as a quick recce and come back properly once you have more time.”
She put a couple of quick steps between them and he let her go with reluctance, knowing his need to be close to her would only grow. He wouldn’t be giving up without a fight, that was for sure.
“Ground floor.”
He felt super-aware of his thudding heartbeat, his faster breathing. He hadn’t reckoned on being anywhere near this attracted to her. Strange reaction considering they’d met over his shattered headlight!
Far too warm, he pulled off his jacket, tossed it onto a chair, and reached out for hers as well when he saw the flush on her cheeks. “Guest accommodation. Currently the site office and lunch room.”
He watched as her big grey eyes inspected the spacious area. One corner had been set up as a compact kitchen with a well-used electric kettle and microwave oven on the counter. Battered plastic chairs and a rough table sat alongside it, and plans covered the wall above a paper strewn desk. But the rest was much more luxuriously appointed, and he saw her registering this.
“Some site office?” she queried. “Leather sofa...big-screen TV?”
“Night watchman’s perks.”
Her eyes widened. “You have an actual night watchman?”
“You’re looking at him.”
“You?”
“When I’m in Wellington. It works well. It’s the best site office in town. Better than the shipping container up the top ever was. I got the guys to fit out this floor first. Painted everything white for starters so you’ve got a blank canvas.” He turned, surveying his domain. “This’ll be the guest suite when the rest of the house is finished. Right now it’s mine.” He grabbed her hand and led her across to a doorway. “My temporary home office.”
Sophie glanced in at his state of the art equipment.
“And this way to my bedroom,” he continued, grinning broadly as he opened another door.
*
He really does live here.
She stared open mouthed at his kingsize bed with its crisp navy and white striped cover. At the sleek Scandinavian Ash chests of drawers. And at the industrial shelving along one wall which held books, squash racquets, a crash helmet, beautiful model boats, and scuba gear.
She heard herself make a strange strangled noise as he pulled her further into his room. “No, Rafe.” She tugged her hand out of his.
He had a killer smile. Cocky and confident, but not threatening. She was torn between trying to wipe it off his face and doing a little flirting right back at him. Commonsense won out. “I don’t socialize with clients.”
“Maybe I don’t have socializing in mind?”
Above them the saw screamed and Billy Joel played on.