by Nancy Warren
Even though she’d taken it easy on the wine and had been drinking nothing but water and coffee for the past couple of hours, Amy tried to convince her to stay over in the guest room. “Come on, it’ll be like old times. You always used to sleep over.”
She laughed. “Yeah, but we shared the same room, remember? I’m not sure Seth would be thrilled.”
“Come on, stay. You don’t want to drive all that way home.”
“It’s fine. Really. Traffic will be light this time of night and I need to get a lot of work done tomorrow.”
That was true. She also had one more stop to make before she headed back to Napa. Even though she’d said maybe to Jackson, she knew she was going to his place. From the glance he’d sent her when he’d said his goodbyes earlier, he knew it, too.
She’d get up early and leave Jackson’s to get home in plenty of time for a full day’s work. That part she kept to herself.
Before leaving, she did excuse herself to the guest bathroom, where she swiftly brushed her teeth and her hair and refreshed her lipstick.
Then she hugged both her hosts and headed out into a soft San Francisco night.
* * *
JACKSON LIT SOME CANDLES. He knew it was cheesy and he wouldn’t even own candles if a coworker hadn’t pressed them on him after she got carried away at some home party where the hostess invited a bunch of women over and tried to sell them a load of crap. “I’ve got enough candles to light up Grace Cathedral,” she’d said. “My husband will kill me if he sees how much stuff I bought.”
He lit a couple of the big, chunky ones that smelled like beeswax. He’d absolutely refused to take anything with a fake scent or an unmanly color, so he’d ended up with neutral beeswax pillars. He had to admit that once he had the wick flaming and the honey smell started to rise, he kind of liked them.
He opened the doors to his balcony because that was the best part about his place, the view. And then he waited.
He was pretty sure she’d show this time. Not a hundred percent, but sure enough that he brushed his teeth, flossed and shaved. He intended to check out some seriously sensitive skin and he didn’t want to leave whisker burn behind. He even changed his sheets. Not that he was a pig or anything, but he thought she’d appreciate fresh linens.
He put the music on low. And he waited.
She arrived about thirty minutes later. Even her voice on the intercom turned him on. Sexy. “Come on up,” he said and he’d never meant it more.
When she knocked on the door, he opened it so fast her fist was still raised in midknock. He pulled her inside, and pushed her up against the wall even as he kicked the door shut.
His mouth was on hers so fast she couldn’t have spoken if she’d planned on it.
For a second, he felt her shock and then she melted. He heard a thunk that he assumed was her purse hitting the floor, and then she was all over him, as crazy for him as he was for her.
“Oh, I love summer,” he said, reaching down and finding her legs bare.
“Mmm,” she replied, nipping his lip with her teeth.
“I love this dress, too, I’ve been wanting to get you out of it all night.”
But now, even undressing her seemed too much to handle. Instead, he hiked her skirt above her hips, slipped her panties down in one less-than-smooth move, let her step out of them and then rose, running his hands up her most excellent legs. They were smooth, shapely, the skin soft to the touch. He was sheathed in a second, and then he took her, right there against the wall, plunging up into her wet heat. He had no moves, no finesse, only naked, greedy need.
She panted, urged him on with her hands and her hips, writhing and grinding against him. She cried out way quicker than usual and he suspected that she had been half-aroused all night just as he had been. It was as though they’d already enjoyed a couple of hours of foreplay, so they were crazed with need. Her explosions set off his and he was panting, leaning his damp forehead against hers in minutes.
“Wow,” she said. “That was—”
“Over too fast.”
She chuckled softly. “I was going to say, intense.”
Then she looked up at him, her sassy mouth curving into a smile. “Well, I got what I came for. I’ll be taking my panties and going now, thanks.”
He chuckled, low and dirty. “Lady, I haven’t even started with you.” Then he leaned down, scooped her legs out from under her and hoisted her up into his arms, he-man style. She shrieked when he first picked her up, then giggled, burying her lips against his neck. “I always wanted someone to do that. It’s so Rhett Butler.”
As the candlelight cast their silhouettes on the wall, he carried her to bed.
11
MUCH LATER, LAUREN found herself curled up against Jackson. She was panting, her body still awash with pleasure and her heart thudding. Her head was pillowed on his chest, and from the way his chest rose and fell, she guessed he was panting, too. She could hear the thump of his heart beneath her ear.
“Well, that was an interesting evening,” he said. She didn’t think he was talking about the sex, but about earlier.
“It was. The food was excellent.”
“The food was, indeed, excellent. And the antipasto platter was decorated to perfection.”
Oh, trust him to take his buddy’s side of things.
“Look, Amy is particular about design. And about entertaining. I don’t know what he was thinking dumping lumps of stuff on the plate with no thought at all.”
“He was probably hungry. Guys do stuff like that. Well, mostly we eat out of the package when there’s no one around to tell us not to.”
Was he kidding or serious? With Jackson, she sometimes couldn’t tell. “Whatever. I think they were happy enough by the end.” But she couldn’t rid herself of the niggling doubt in her mind.
Jackson, however, seemed interested in something else. “So, he asked you out.”
He could only have been referring to Daniel, and, since everyone had witnessed it, there was no point in denying it. “He asked for my number. He’s new in town. Doesn’t know many people.” Why was she making excuses? She shut up.
“Oh, he’ll call. And he’ll ask you out. You going?” He didn’t sound jealous or possessive, simply curious.
“I don’t know.” Her hand was tracing idle patterns on his naked belly. “It feels weird.”
“Hey, it’s not like we’re a couple or anything. Go for it.”
“What about you? You sure rushed out the door when Sylvia left. Did you ask her out?”
“No.” But there was something abrupt about his answer. She thought lying on a man’s chest right after sex and asking questions was as good as a polygraph.
“Did you ask for her number?”
“No.” Again with the abrupt negative.
She thought about Sylvia, how direct she was, the way she’d asked Lauren in-depth questions about her work before even hinting that she liked it or might want to hire her. A woman like that wouldn’t waste a lot of time waiting for a man to make the first move. “Did she ask for your number?”
He hesitated for a split second. “Yes. She’s interested in what we’re doing with our start-up.”
“And your Irish blue eyes had nothing to do with her wanting your phone number.”
He shrugged, which she took to mean that he knew as well as she did that the architect’s interest was not purely professional.
“How can we date other people if we’re doing—this?” she asked.
“Well, we’re not dating. It’s not like anybody’s betraying anybody.”
But she knew what betrayal would look like and it was very clear. She raised her head so she could look right into his eyes. “Okay. But I have one stipulation. If you even think about having sex with that woman, or any woman, you warn me first so we can break this off.”
He nodded. “Same with you.”
She had no intention of sleeping with Daniel, but she agreed anyway.
They managed
a few hours of sleep. She’d intended to wake at dawn and leave quietly, as seemed to be their pattern in the very short time they’d been having secret sex, but to her surprise, Jackson was already up when she opened her eyes. It was five-thirty and the bed was empty. She rolled out of bed, yawning. Dressed swiftly in her discarded clothes and, as she eased out of the bedroom, found Jackson looking disgustingly healthy in running shorts and a gray athletic T-shirt. “You want coffee?”
Of course she did. Desperately, but this was way too domestic, so she said, “I’ll grab some on my way home.”
“Okay.”
She felt bleary and not at her best. She was fully aware that her hair was a mess and she was wearing the walk-of-shame clothing she’d worn last night. “What are you doing up so early?”
“I like to run in the morning. Get it out of the way.”
“Even on the weekend?”
He shrugged. “I’m an early riser.”
“Right. Okay. I’ve held you up, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
He hesitated, and then crossed to a desk set up in the corner of his living room. He opened a drawer and drew out a set of keys. “Here,” he said. “You might as well take these. You can let yourself in and out when you need to.”
She glanced at the keys in her hand and then back at him. “We’ve never had a date and you’re giving me the keys to your place?”
The five o’clock shadow darkening his cheeks was stupidly sexy. His sleep-heavy gaze rested on her. “You want to go on a date?”
“God, no.”
“Okay, then. This is more convenient. If you’re in town, say, and want to drop in before I get home from work.”
“So I can cook you dinner?”
He took a step closer. “So you can get naked.”
They barely spoke and he was giving her a key to his place?
A million jumbling thoughts all collided in her head. A key to a man’s place felt so intimate.
Shouldn’t they talk about this?
She should toss the keys back at him. Really, she should. If she’d had coffee and could think, that would probably be what she’d do. What was the man thinking?
But, she found herself sliding them into her purse instead.
Which didn’t mean she’d use them, obviously.
* * *
WHEN HER CELL PHONE rang Monday with a number she didn’t recognize, it wasn’t Daniel calling as she’d expected. It was Sylvia Yang.
The architect’s voice had the pleasant, crisp tone of a woman calling from her office. She didn’t waste a lot of time on pleasantries before saying, “I’d like to meet for lunch one day this week. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
The keys to Jackson’s place practically burned a hole through her leather bag. Had Sylvia picked up on some vibe between her and Jackson that no one else had noticed? What would she say if the woman confronted her, demanding to know about her relationship with Jackson? Would she lie? “Um, lunch. Wow.”
“I’ve got tomorrow free. How’s tomorrow for you?”
She had to go into town anyway, to pick up supplies, so she supposed she might as well get it over with. She agreed to meet and Sylvia suggested a restaurant close to her work. “Sounds good.”
The second the call ended, Lauren hit speed dial for Amy, but as the phone rang, she wondered what she was going to say to her best friend. She realized she didn’t want her knowing about Jackson. But before she could hang up, Amy answered.
“Hey, you. What’s up?”
Since she’d already called and thanked Amy for the dinner and they’d rehashed the entire evening, including Seth’s bumbling attempts to help, how hot Daniel was, and did she think Jackson and Sylvia had hit it off, she didn’t know what to say.
“It’s so amazing that you would call,” Amy said. “We’re like identical twins, except for the part where we have different parents and don’t look a bit alike, obviously. But we totally have that spooky thing where I’m thinking of you and you call me.”
Phew. “It’s because we’ve been best friends for so long. What’s up?”
“Seth and I decided to throw a housewarming party. I wanted to make sure you’re free before we set the date.”
“When were you thinking?”
She mentioned a Saturday. “We thought we’d open the doors so part of it’s on the patio, you know, indoor-outdoor. Kind of like our wedding was.”
There was no way she could refuse to attend her best friend’s housewarming even if she’d wanted to. so she made a note in her electronic organizer. “Yep. I’ll keep it free.”
“Fantastic. Well, I’d better go and get back to work.”
“Yes. Me, too.” And she was left to ponder Sylvia’s strange lunch invite with no BFF to talk it over with.
Which sucked.
* * *
LAUREN DECIDED SHE wasn’t going to dress up for lunch with Sylvia—it might look as if she had something to hide. Instead, she settled on wearing what she wore most days: jeans, though these were her best pair. The figure-flattering ones with no burn holes in them, and a pretty top. She put on sandals, grabbed her supply list and her bag and headed into town.
The restaurant wasn’t difficult to find, even if parking was, and soon she was sitting across from Sylvia, who seemed, if possible, even more stunning, accomplished and intimidating than she had at Amy’s dinner party.
She wished suddenly that she’d taken the time to get a fresh pedicure before slipping on her sandals and that her sunglasses popped into a real glasses case with a designer logo on them the way Sylvia’s did. Instead, she dropped hers right into her bag. She’d lost whatever case they’d come in, if there’d even been one.
“I’m so glad you could make it,” Sylvia said as they were led to a table for two.
When their waitress came around, they both ordered iced tea and Sylvia didn’t even look at her menu. “I always order the seafood salad. It’s very good.”
Not wanting to spend an extra minute in Sylvia’s company—and, damn it, why hadn’t she taken the keys to Jackson’s apartment out of her bag?—she said, “That sounds good to me, too.”
Before their waitress had moved away, Sylvia gave her their food order and they handed back their unopened menus.
“That was a really nice evening at Amy and Seth’s,” Sylvia said.
“Yes, yes, it was.” She reminded herself that she wasn’t doing anything wrong by having a friends-with-benefits relationship with a man Sylvia might be interested in, so she wasn’t going to get all flustered and say something stupid. She took a sip of her iced tea.
Sylvia leaned in closer, an intent look crossing her face. “Look, I don’t have time to waste so I’ll get right to the point.”
No, please, don’t, Lauren felt like saying. Waste some time, do a slow waltz around the point. Really, I’m in no hurry.
“I thought your window was amazing.”
“My window?”
“The one you made for Seth and Amy. Your stained-glass window. Their wedding gift.”
“Oh, right. Of course. The window. Yes.”
“I’ve taken a good look at your website, and I even drove up to your winery to look at the window you made there.”
“Wow.” Good thing she hadn’t been working that day.
“Plus, I’ve talked to a couple of architects you’ve worked with in the past. Everyone speaks very highly of your work and I’ve really liked what I’ve seen.”
“Thanks.”
“Here’s the situation. I’ve got a client who’s renovating a mission-style home. He wants to keep the windows and some of them are in pretty poor shape, and after I saw your work I thought it would be stunning if we could commission some new windows that would complement what’s there but still provide a contemporary vibe. Pretty much exactly what you did for Seth and Amy’s place.”
She was nodding, amazed that she’d been stupid enough not to connect Sylvia’s interest in her window
s with today’s lunch. What was the matter with her? Of course Sylvia wouldn’t be threatened by her. And there was certainly nothing to be threatened by.
She pulled her business hat on fast. “You’ve said that you don’t have time to waste. What’s the time frame?”
Sylvia smiled at her, approving. “You are correct in assuming the timing’s tight.”
They paused as their salads arrived and were placed in front of them, and then Sylvia continued, squeezing lemon over her salad while she talked. “We’re behind schedule for several reasons, but the client’s very anxious to get moved in as soon as possible. The windows would need to be installed in a month.”
“How many windows are we talking?”
“Two need repair. I’d like you to assess the rest and give us your opinion. We think they’re fine, but better to be certain. Eight brand-new exterior windows. A couple of interior doors.”
“Dimensions?”
“You haven’t run screaming down the street. Does that mean the deadline is doable?”
“I think I could do it, but I’d need to see the specs.”
She stabbed a lump of crab and a chunk of lettuce.
“Excellent. If you’ve got time after lunch, I can take you back to the office, where I can show you all the drawings and the specs. Then I’ll get one of our interns to run you out to the site.” She sent Lauren an apologetic look. “I’d take you myself, but I’m slammed to the wall on this project.”
“Sure. That’s fine.”
“The faster you can get a proposal to me, the faster I can get it approved and we can start.”
And just like that, one of the juiciest commissions of her career fell into her lap. It wasn’t just any old house. It was a glorious old Craftsman built in the 1920s that included some of the finest deco windows she’d ever seen. No wonder Sylvia had been picky.
She was juiced with ideas and excited at the prospect. As she drove away after touring the house, she called Amy to tell her the good news. “I have to prepare a proposal. I hate this part.”