by Darcy Burke
Dylan moved forward and plucked up two paint cans. “Let’s start in here by clearing off these shelves. Just pile everything near the stairs and the guys will haul it up later.”
She jumped in and they made short work of emptying the room. “Do we get to demolish something now? I didn’t sign up to clean.”
He chuckled. “Sure.” He went to the landing area and came back with a sledgehammer. “Let’s take out these shelves, then we’ll do the walls. Have you ever swung one of these before?”
She shook her head as she picked up the sledgehammer. “Wow, this is a lot heavier than it looks.”
“Awkward, too, especially if you raise it over your head.”
“I’m not sure I can do that.”
“No need to for these shelves. Here, let me show you.” He came around behind her and put his hands over hers. The proximity of his chest behind her back sent a current of desire shooting through her. Not good. She wanted to ask if his physical assistance was really necessary, but didn’t want to draw attention to her reaction. He’d given no indication that he had any lingering attraction. And she’d do well to bury hers for good.
“For the shelves, bring the hammer up to dislodge the wood.” He guided her hands up, but the bottom shelf only buckled; it didn’t come loose. “A little harder.” He did most of the work, sending the sledgehammer into the wood. The wood came up then clanked to the floor.
“Nicely done.”
She smiled over her shoulder at him. Mistake. He was far too close. And far too handsome.
She turned back around and eased away from him. “Let’s do it again.”
“All right, then.” His tone carried a sheen of admiration. “You try the next one.” The room contained probably two-dozen shelves.
Sara moved up to the next shelf and did as he’d showed her. It took three swings of the hammer, but she finally brought the plank of wood down, dancing back in anticipation of it falling to the floor.
He grinned. “Excellent work. I’ll just be next door, if that’s okay.”
He was going to leave? Disappointment skipped over her—not because she needed his help, but because she was enjoying his company. But she didn’t tell him so. “Yep.”
He disappeared from the room, and she got back to work. By the time she’d finished half of the shelves, she was perspiring. She loved the feel of the hammer hitting the wood. The connection sent a tremor along her arms and up her spine that grounded her in space—something that helped with her regulation. It was fantastic sensory input. Maybe she ought to abandon event planning for construction.
She suffered a guilty pang as she realized she sort of had abandoned event planning. No, that wasn’t fair. She was doing what she needed to do right now for her family. And for herself.
She set the hammer against the wall and shrugged out of her hoodie. Conveniently, a nail jutted from a stud near the door and she hung it there. The floor was a bit littered with wood and debris, so she took a few minutes to tidy up. When she went to the next bank of shelves she paused, noticing something odd behind it. It looked like there were hinges on one side.
Working efficiently now that she had the hang of it, she took out the four shelves in rapid succession. Yes, they were hinges. Her gaze moved to the other side, looking for a knob or something, but there was nothing. She scrutinized the wood from the ground up and saw a hook-type fastener holding the door closed. At least she assumed it was a door. A cool draft snaked over her. Definitely a door.
“Dylan, can you come here? I think I found something!”
The sound of his hammer halted and he joined her. “Everything all right?”
She pointed at her discovery. “Look, there’s a door.”
He moved beside her and lifted his hand to touch the fastener. “Should we open it or are you afraid of spiders?” His tone was teasing.
She smacked him in the bicep. “Open it.”
His gaze sparkled with mirth. “You have an adventurous spirit despite your arachnophobia.” He flicked the hook up and pushed on the wood. The hinges creaked as the door swung open. Cool, underground air rushed at them.
Though it was pitch black past the doorway, it was clearly a room or a tunnel. “Did you have any idea this was here?” she asked. “We didn’t.”
“No.” He looked at her expectantly. “Should we take a look?”
Sara peered into the darkness. Curiosity pricked her neck, but was it wise to wander into some unknown place with Dylan of all people? “Yes.” Wise or not, she was in.
“All right, then.” He pulled a small flashlight from his pocket. “I always carry one of these on the job site. Never know when you have to peek into dark holes or investigate secret passages. Unfortunately, I don’t have a pink one for you.”
“It’s fine. I have a light on my phone, plus you’re totally going first anyway.”
He cast her an amused glance. “Right, spider-web removal service. Ready?”
She nodded. He turned and moved into the darkness, his flashlight spreading a wide glow in front of him. She followed him, stepping over the wood threshold and finding soft dirt beneath her feet. The floor began to slope downward. “Is this leading us into some deep pit?”
“What, you mean like hell or something?” The soft timbre of his voice comforted her in the unknown.
“This is like an X-Files episode. Maybe it’s just the flashlight.”
He turned to look at her. “You watched that show?”
“We loved it when I was growing up. Spooky. Tori and I thought Fox was cute.”
“Yeah, I was more interested in Scully. And the gross stuff. That one episode, ‘Home’ is so creepy.”
She shuddered, clearly remembering that particular show, which had featured a grotesque family of inbred people. Their current exploration of a house out in the middle of relative nowhere bore an eerie similarity to the show’s storyline that she didn’t want to think about as she and Dylan descended into the abyss.
A mixture of apprehension and excitement bubbled in her chest. She hurried forward so that she was close to Dylan’s back. Then she reached up to clasp his bicep. The contact of her fingers—even encased in gloves—against his thinly clad muscle nearly distracted her. “Are you sure this is safe?”
“Looks like it.” He shone the light on the ceiling. “Packed dirt, and there are regular supports.” Wooden two by fours went up the sides and met on the ceiling, providing primitive archways along the way.
Sara studied one of the beams and decided it was probably safe enough, especially if Dylan the construction guy said so. “If this falls in on us, I’m blaming you. And relying on you to dig us out.”
“Deal.” He grabbed her hand and continued downward along the tunnel. His touch surprised her, but she clasped her fingers around him eagerly.
While the basement had smelled a bit damp, in here it was positively dank. The tunnel seemed to reach a plateau. Then it veered sharply to the left. “Where do you suppose this leads?”
“Based on how this turns, I’m guessing we’re headed toward the monks’ quarters. You all right to keep going?”
“Yeah.” Although the farther they got from the house—and an exit—the more her apprehension threatened to quell her excitement.
He squeezed her hand, which did a lot to bolster her courage. It also caused her to repeat to herself, he’s holding your hand for safety, do not read anything into it.
The tunnel curved a few more times, this way and that. Each time, she slowed down and he didn’t rush her.
“This had to have taken a lot of time and energy to build,” he said. “Digging, hauling out dirt, hauling in the lumber for these supports.”
Just then the tunnel opened into a room maybe forty feet by thirty feet. Racks lined the walls and there was an archway on the other side, presumably leading to another tunnel.
“Whoa.” Dylan let go of her hand as he moved into the room. He went to one of the racks and studied it closely. “I can’t say for sure, but these lo
ok large enough to hold a cask. I wonder if this was built as storage. The monks used to make wine and sell it.”
Sara followed him cautiously, sorry that he’d let go of her hand. “I read that, but I thought they made it off-site.”
Dylan shined his light around the cavernous space. “They must’ve stored it here.”
“I’m surprised they couldn’t find another location. Like you said, this took a lot of work to build.”
His light landed on the other archway. “Should we find out where that leads?”
Her muscles had relaxed when they entered the room. She liked the larger space. But she also knew she had to go back into a tunnel to get out.
He turned and flashed his light at her midsection so that the light illuminated her. “You okay?” he asked. “You look a little pale.”
“Sorry, sometimes tight spaces make me edgy. I’m good. Let’s just hang here for a minute.”
He stepped toward her, still wearing that worried expression. “We can go back. I can come exploring with one of the guys.”
Not a chance. She wanted to share this adventure with him. Ugh, what was she doing? She had to stop thinking of him like that—in that way that made her stomach flip and her heart speed up.
He flashed his light around again in a slow arc. “You know, this would be a pretty cool underground pub or something.”
She turned in a circle, her mind summoning a vision of what it might look like. “You’re right. Something straight out of Hobbiton with a round door.” She stopped to face him. “Could we do that? I mean, structurally and whatever?”
“Sure. I don’t know when this was built, but I’m guessing it’s been here for decades, at least.” He walked toward one wall. “This could be the bar. And you could have maybe ten tables around. It wouldn’t be a huge venue, but that would be part of the charm. And I bet we could install some skylights so it’s not completely in the dark. Plus, we’d have to dig out an emergency exit. Actually, I’d recommend a separate entrance straight from here—your Hobbiton door.” He flashed her a grin. Desire sparked in her gut. Did he know how sexy he looked? It wasn’t fair. “We’ll have to map it and see exactly what’s above us.” He sounded really excited about this. His gaze found hers, then he looked away. “If you hired us to build it, that is.”
She almost said, “Of course we would,” but she wasn’t at liberty to make that decision on her own. She’d lobby the hell out of it though. “Write up a proposal.”
“I’ll do that.” The excitement was gone from his tone.
She went to where he was testing the sturdiness of the wine rack. Again, she touched his arm and relished the delicious jolt the contact gave her. “Hey, it’s not entirely up to me, but I’ll sell this as your idea and your project, which it is, as far as I’m concerned.”
He looked down at her, his gray-green eyes seeming luminescent in the near-darkness. “Thanks.”
An electric charge leapt between them. She’d wanted to kiss him in the parking lot at the sports bar, but they’d wisely parted before things could go that way. This was another moment like that one. “I’m ready to keep going if you are. Through the other archway,” she added hastily, lest he think she meant something else. Sara, get over yourself. Of course he wouldn’t think you meant something else.
“You got it.” He turned and led her toward the archway. As soon as they stepped through, the change was apparent. This tunnel had walls and some sort of lighting system, given the bulb hanging from the ceiling. “Looks like they spent a lot more time on this one.”
“Yeah; that bulb can’t possibly work though, can it?” she asked.
He flashed his light along the walls and ceiling. “I don’t see how to turn it on.” The electrical cord was exposed—it ran from the light bulb down the tunnel away from them. “Let’s see where it leads, though my money’s still on the monks’ quarters.”
“Which would be cool. People could come from the hotel to the pub.”
He looked back over his shoulder. “And you can still use it as an underground passage system for transporting things from the restaurant kitchen to the wedding cottage if that’s necessary.”
Though it was dark, she could see his features perfectly, with plenty of help from her mind’s eye. She’d thought of him far too much in recent days—his smile, his charm, his sense of humor . . . She was so busy fantasizing about him, she didn’t notice the rock or whatever it was jutting up from the dirt. She tripped, her arms flailing. Her body launched forward and she closed her eyes for impact.
Chapter Ten
DYLAN HEARD HER cry out. He just barely spun around in time to catch her, but the force of her fall was enough to send him sprawling backward in the dirt. He dropped the flashlight and it rolled toward the wall, the light casting in the direction they’d been walking. She’d crashed on top of him.
He gripped her waist. “You all right?”
“Physically, yes. My pride is down for the count, however.”
He loved her wit. He’d never met a woman more willing to laugh at herself or expose her flaws. Most women he knew kept their true selves buried beneath a coat of makeup and flirtatious behavior. But then he’d purposely picked up women who wouldn’t expect anything from him. Is that what was keeping him from Sara? The fact that she would expect more from him than he could give?
Yes, but she was also keeping herself from him. They both had to admit they wanted each other. Even now, his cock was swelling against her. But who could blame him? Her hips were snuggled against his, and even his toolbelt wasn’t providing a decent buffer.
Her hands were on the dirt on either side of his shoulders. This position, her on top, reminded him, erotically, of their night together. He itched to take off his gloves and slide his hands under her shirt, up her sides, and stroke her skin. Without thinking, his fingers dug lightly into her hips.
She ground against him. Christ, that felt good. Lights sparked behind his eyes as desire slammed into him.
But then she was moving off him, pushing up to her feet. She hadn’t pushed down against him for sexual purposes. She’d done it to get the hell off him. He was such an ass.
He helped her find her footing as he got up himself. “You sure you’re all right?” He tried to sound as though the entire interlude hadn’t aroused him beyond belief and could only hope he pulled it off.
She bent and picked up the flashlight. “Yeah. I’m fine.” Had her voice gone up an octave or were his ears playing tricks? “Here.” She handed him the light.
Their fingers grazed each other and it was all he could do to keep from pulling her against him. They were alone in the dark with a ridiculous amount of sexual attraction sizzling between them. Only a saint could refuse that, and Dylan was no saint.
He also wasn’t a prick and, for now, she wasn’t encouraging anything. And damn, she was his boss. Why did he keep forgetting that? Because they’d become friends, damn it, and he liked her more than he’d ever liked any boss or commanding officer.
“Let’s keep going. I want to get out of here.” Because of what might happen? “The close space is getting to me a little.”
Yeah, that. Damn, he really was an ass. “Let’s keep moving.” He resisted the urge to take her hand and turned to lead the way. He blew air from his nose and mouth and urged his body to stand the hell down. Maybe he could keep his mind out of the gutter if they talked about something that wouldn’t make him want to rip her clothes off.
“Hold up a sec,” she called, and he could tell she was a little ways back.
He turned to see her palms against the wall. It was like she was doing vertical pushups. “What are you doing?”
After she finished, she brushed her hands together to knock the dust from her gloves. “Wall pushes. Uh, it helps me regulate.” She wasn’t looking at him—her gaze was directed somewhere to his left.
He had no idea what she was talking about. Suddenly a thought hit him like a brick. “You aren’t wearing long sleeves. No
fidgeting. Your sensory disorder . . . does this have something to do with that?”
She nodded and looked to the side, looking a little embarrassed.
He didn’t want her to feel that way. “Tell me about it.”
Her gaze flickered with surprise, but she still didn’t look directly at him. “I process sensory information differently. Sometimes I have a hard time regulating myself and I sort of get spun up. It’s a bit like wanting to crawl out of your skin or just feeling overwhelmed in a particular situation. It can be auditory, like loud noises or a boisterous atmosphere. Or it can be a space thing—like these tunnels are bothering me a little. It can also be a touching thing. I sometimes touch people without thinking or realizing—that sort of tactile input regulates me.”
He started to understand. “Like the sleeves. But what do you mean by ‘regulated’?”
She shifted her feet. “People with normal processing can navigate most situations without thinking about it. Their bodies stay regulated with what’s going on around them. It doesn’t knock them off balance, for lack of a better description. I’m just wired differently so that I occasionally have to think about it. Like with the wall pushes.”
That required an incredible amount of self-awareness. “Fascinating.” She’d finally looked up and now her eyes narrowed slightly. “No, I mean it. This is interesting. Is this a common thing?” Just because he hadn’t heard of it didn’t mean it wasn’t mainstream.
“Probably more than people realize. I mean, everyone’s senses are wonky from time to time. Some people can’t stand certain fabrics or tags in their clothes. Other people walk on their toes or sway when they’re standing still. We all do little things we aren’t even aware of to process our environments. For me, those processes can get messed up or can cause me to slow down. Like I said, I’m pretty good at managing it now. It’s been a long time since I’ve even talked about it to anyone.” Her shoulders hunched and she looked self-conscious again.
He considered touching her, but after their lusty tumble decided it wasn’t a good idea. “I’m glad you shared it with me. Sounds like you overcame a lot.”