by Amie Denman
“Will that take a week?”
“Depends on how many distractions we have,” he said as he pulled her closer and made it very clear he knew a thing or two about distractions.
She responded instantly to him as she breathed in his masculine scent with just a tinge of sweat and sawdust. His lips were achingly seductive and she felt an answering urgency deep inside. This was a man she wanted over and over. Especially after last night. Sex had never been like that for her. Explosive. Hot. Definitely not polite and sensible Boston sex.
Whitney clung to Chris and kissed him with all the fervor she felt. She didn’t know how she was ever going to say goodbye to him when the work here was done, the wedding was over, and it was time to fly home where her business manager awaited her decision about the company’s future.
Chris pulled back and studied her. “Something wrong?”
Whitney shook her head. “Not with you. This is so perfect.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“I was just thinking that I don’t want to, that I—”
“That you what?” Chris asked gently, his big hand cupping her face, his thumb rubbing back and forth gently over her cheekbone.
“That I don’t know how I’m going to make myself get on a plane headed to cold gray Boston after all this.”
Chris pulled her close. Her ear pressed against his chest wall and she could hear his heart beating.
“Right now,” he whispered, “I’m don’t even want think about what happens when the wedding is over.”
Chapter Thirteen
“You’re sure you don’t mind?” Chris asked for the second time, a note of trepidation in his voice.
“Painting? Nope. I’ve done some before and I kind of like it,” Whitney answered.
She tied a red handkerchief over her hair and wore an old T-shirt and a pair of shorts. The effect was sexy as hell. A woman who didn’t mind climbing a ladder and painting a trellis, also strangely sexy. He pretty much had her body imprinted on his mind, but he wanted to touch it all over again, just in case he’d forgotten anything.
“Okay, but just be careful. Don’t lean too far off the ladder.”
“Gotcha, boss,” she said playfully.
“I’ll be right over here working on the gazebo,” he said.
“Better get moving on that. As soon as I finish painting this pavilion, I’m coming over to the gazebo to paint it.”
“No threat, honey, that will take you all day and then some to paint,” he said as he swatted her butt as she climbed.
“Race you,” she said, throwing him a sassy look and hauling her paint bucket to the top of the ladder.
Chris grinned at her and walked over to the gazebo, his tape measure already in his hands. It was going to be a long haul, but by the time the sun set on this day, it would look a whole lot better. Only seven days until company came to town, and he knew damn well that this place had better be perfect before the owners swept in and took it all off Whitney’s hands. No doubt his fate would be out of his hands, too, when someone got around to connecting all the dots.
****
“All right, I surrender,” Whitney said. It was past lunchtime and she’d only painted about one third of the pavilion. She didn’t believe Chris when he said it would take all day, but she realized now that he knew exactly what he was talking about.
“I like the sound of that,” Chris said as he stopped what he was doing on the gazebo and came over to stand beneath her ladder. “That must mean it’s time for lunch. Hand me your bucket,” he said.
Whitney handed down her bucket and brush and started down the rungs. Chris plucked her off the ladder and swung her slowly down to the ground then began kneading her aching shoulders. He looked intently into her face like he was trying to memorize it and watched her reaction closely as his hands sought the sore places.
“Is that where it hurts?” he asked.
“Right there,” she groaned and closed her eyes, barely able to stand. “That feels so good.”
Chris continued to rub her neck and shoulders and then moved behind her and started slowly down her back. The feeling was exquisite. Whitney was a sponge soaking up his strength and touch.
“You could do that all day,” she said huskily.
Chris leaned in and kissed the back of her neck. “No, I couldn’t,” he said. He bit her ear playfully and then trailed his tongue down the side of her neck. “I’d want a whole lot more than a massage.” He kissed the delicate skin at the back of her neck. “And then we’d both be naked and risking a killer sunburn.” She could feel him smiling as he continued, “It’d sure be worth it, though.”
“Maybe we should have some lunch,” she suggested. “Any ideas?”
“All food is good food when you’re this hungry,” he said. “I’ll take you anyplace you want to go.”
“Dressed like this?” she said, gesturing at her paint-flecked scarf and work clothes.
“Take out?”
“You call, I’ll pick it up.”
Chris pulled his cell phone and hit a few buttons. Whitney wasn’t surprised he had food on speed dial. It was the restaurant that served the Virgin-esias, which Whitney could easily find.
Forty-five minutes later, she was back with a bulging bag of hot food which smelled so tempting she’d considered sampling it on the way back to East Pointe.
A small palm curving gracefully over the back patio of the house shaded them from the afternoon sun. Chris washed his hands inside and sat down across from Whitney.
“Don’t tease me,” he said playfully. “I have a powerful weakness when it comes to food.” He pointed at the scar over his left eye. “Guess how I got this.”
“Fighting over the last piece of a pizza?”
“Chicken. My older brother has a mean right hook.”
“What else should I know about you?” she asked.
“Ask away.”
“I know you’re from Maine and that your dad owns a construction company, but I don’t know how you ended up so far from home.”
“Probably the same way anyone ends up moving here,” he said. “I fell in love with it when I came down for spring break during college.”
“Were your parents disappointed? I mean, they must miss you.”
“My dad thought I would take over his company. I think he’s never quite given up the hope that I would.”
“But that’s not for you,” Whitney prodded gently. “You prefer—”
“Island life. Working in the sun is better than the snow any day.”
Whitney sensed there was a lot more to the story of why he’d parted from his father’s company, but he didn’t seem like he wanted to talk about it. Maybe he was just a little too interested in his chicken sandwiches; maybe there was something deeper.
“I came here for spring break when I was in college, too,” Whitney said. “Taylor’s family always invited me along.”
“Nice of them.”
“They’re my only real family.”
Chris set down his sandwich and met her eyes. “Your only family?”
Whitney nodded. “I’m an only child.”
Chris’ blue eyes looked straight into hers, and she felt like she could tell him anything. She took a deep breath. After seven years, she could almost say the next sentence without her voice shaking.
“And my parents are gone. Killed in a car accident when I was a freshman in college.”
Chris reached across and took her hand. “I’m so sorry,” he said.
Whitney looked out at the ocean, the calm blue waves like a balm for the raw emotion that bubbled up in her throat whenever she let herself think about that terrible phone call from her uncle.
“Taylor East was my roommate during my freshman year,” Whitney paused and swallowed hard. “I don’t know what I would have done without her and her family. They pretty much adopted me.”
Chris looked at her in silence for a minute. “They gained a beautiful daughter,” he finally
said.
“Well,” she said. “What they really need is a general contractor, not another daughter.”
“Guess that’s my cue to get back to the construction business,” he said.
“Not quite yet. First, you have to finish your lunch. I’ve already noticed you operate a whole lot better on a full stomach.”
“Don’t tell me you’re done already,” he said, gesturing to the half a sandwich and entire salad that Whitney hadn’t touched.
“It’s all yours,” she said, shoving it across the table to him.
“I’ll finish your lunch on one condition,” he said. “You have to tell me about your business at home.”
“Such a generous offer,” she said, grinning.
Whitney tried to pull up an image of her business in her mind. Sitting here in the warm shade with the sparkling ocean to her right and an outrageously handsome man decimating two lunches in front of her made it very hard to picture anything in Boston.
“For starters, it’s probably snowing right now,” she said. “And my business manager Kelly is probably trying to convince someone else to go out and shovel the sidewalk to the parking lot.”
“I don’t miss the snow,” Chris said between bites.
“I doubt that I would either.”
“Sorry, but I have to ask. After I thought you were marrying someone named Taylor for days, I have to know. Is Kelly a male or a female?”
Whitney laughed. “Unisex names are fun. And confusing. Funny how we both have one.”
Chris grinned at her, the scar over his eye slipping up at a jaunty angle. “But there’s absolutely no doubt in either of our cases,” he said.
“Female,” she said.
“I know.”
“I mean Kelly. She’s been my business manager for several years. She enjoys bossing me around, agonizing over receipts and tax deductions, and generally making sure we make money.”
“Sounds like a good lady to have around.”
“Most of the time,” Whitney said. She frowned slightly. “Right now, she’s driving me crazy.”
Chris raised his eyebrow as a means of asking a nonverbal question with his mouth full.
“She’s after me to expand the company,” Whitney explained.
Chris nodded.
“I mean a lot, a major expansion,” she continued. “We’ve been buying the shirts, sweatshirts, uniforms and such from a wholesaler and then adding our own screen-printing and embroidery. Kelly thinks we’re big enough to start actually manufacturing the clothes.”
“Sounds like a smart idea,” Chris commented.
“I guess so, but it means a major expansion. Buying or building a small factory space. New machines. Adding lots of employees.”
“So…”
“I’m just not sure I want to go that big. And it would mean taking on some major debt and risk, especially for the first several years.”
“Sounds to me like you’re no stranger to hard work,” Chris said.
“True. But maybe I don’t want to totally bury myself in it like I used to. Maybe,” she said, looking up into the branches of the palm tree over her head, “the bottom line isn’t the most important thing in the world. My employees already make a decent living. I make a decent living. Maybe my company is already exactly what it needs to be.”
“I’d love to hear you tell my dad this,” Chris said, his eyes dancing merrily.
“Why, would he agree?”
“Not at all. But the fireworks would be incredible.”
“Is he a ‘bottom line’ kind of guy?”
“Yep. Maybe we ought to arrange a meeting with him and Kelly.”
Whitney smiled. “Seems like there ought to be a happy medium. Some way to expand while still keeping it personal.” She looked seriously at Chris. “Do you ever think of expanding your business here on St. Thomas? You should go into building. You’re so good at it.”
Chris took a long sip of his drink. “I think I have enough trouble keeping it going just like it is,” he said. “And I think I’ve dallied here in the shade long enough.” He winked at her and got up from the table. “Wouldn’t want the boss to catch me sitting down on the job.”
Chapter Fourteen
Two days later, Whitney walked out on the lawn in the mid-afternoon sunshine and marveled at what she saw. Things were definitely looking up. All traces of wreckage from Hurricane Destiny were gone now, and the yard simply looked like there was a nice home improvement project going on.
She leaned against the finished frame of the wedding pavilion. It only lacked a few details before it would be ready to host her best friend’s wedding. In only five days.
All thanks to Chris Maxwell. They had less than three days left before the East family and other relatives started arriving.
Only two full days. Two full days of being blissfully alone with Chris and working with him on the construction project and then sharing her bed with him. Or the lawn. Or the beach. Wherever they happened to be. Whitney giggled.
It was so freeing, being here with Chris. No one around, no one telling her to be sensible. She completely avoided thinking about her business back home. Kelly could handle it. Aside from her conversation with Chris about the possible expansion of the business, she’d managed to put it completely out of her mind.
Whitney had been listening only to her heart for days now, and she knew she was getting good advice. One look at Chris as he laid down the board and the tools and looked meaningfully at her was all the evidence she needed that her heart had already given itself away. She was along for the ride.
Chris closed the few yards of distance between them with three long strides. He paused a foot away, waiting for a sign from her. This was his way. He made his desires clear, and considering he was a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier, he could take anything he wanted. But he didn’t, she knew he would wait for the tiniest sign from her. And then wouldn’t hold back a thing.
Whitney didn’t prolong the wait. She stepped into his arms and her lips found his, total surrender in every curve of her body.
“I want to take you,” he whispered when he finally drew back an inch from searching every corner of her mouth.
She nodded her assent and parted her lips for him again.
“Out on my boat,” he finished, already tugging her toward his truck.
“Wait,” she said, laughing at his hurry. “Do I need anything? I should grab my purse.”
“If you want, but I’ve arranged for everything. Dinner’s waiting for us on the boat.”
“When did you do that?” she asked. “I thought you were supposed to be working out here.”
“It just took a call to a friend,” he said.
Whitney laughed. “Then, let’s go.”
“We have about two hours of daylight,” Chris said after they were in the truck. “I want to give you a tour of the island from the water.”
Chris drove to a small marina with only a few boats bumping gently against wooden docks. The tires crunched on the gravel. It seemed strangely loud in the peaceful marina. This was obviously a place where the locals kept their boats, no tourist trappings in sight.
They both got out of the brown truck. There were several boats tied up, and Whitney waited while Chris led the way to his and began to untie its ropes.
“Hope you don’t mind chips and sandwiches for dinner,” he said.
“It’s a classic,” Whitney said. “Tell me it’s the famous chicken that your friend’s sister makes.”
“Mavis,” he said, nodding, “it’s been a few days since I’ve had it.” He grinned at her. “Guess I’ve been filling up on something else.”
Whitney watched Chris untie his boat. Different from his delivery boat, this boat was clearly in the process of being refurbished, but the craft’s true beauty was obvious in the gleaming wood parts already done. Shining chrome and new vinyl seats invited her on board.
****
Chris watched her as he readied his boat, and
he couldn’t believe his luck. These past few days were bliss. Whitney was a match for him in every sense of the word. She worked side by side with him on the pavilion and the gazebo, measuring, sawing, hammering, painting. And when they put down the tools and the clothes came off, there was no describing the incredible physical hunger and satisfaction.
He stepped on and started the engine, delighting in the low rumbling sound. “Unhook that last one and hop on,” he said over the engine sound.
“Gotcha, captain,” she said, tossing the rope in the boat and stepping down carefully onto the vinyl seat in the back.
Chris watched her and realized with a sudden boyish longing that he really wanted her to love his boat. He looked for a reaction from her, some sign of approval. Why did it matter so much to him that she liked the Sherwood? Maybe because it was an important part of him. He had been meeting her on neutral territory at East Pointe, she didn’t know the real him at all. Did it matter? After all, their fates were on a collision course and she would soon be far away anyway.
Right now, watching her dig a pair of sunglasses from her purse and then turn back to the late afternoon sun glinting sideways across the small waves, he couldn’t help but think she looked happy to be right there.
As if on cue, she turned to him and said, “I love your boat.”
Chris’ heart skipped.
“Thanks,” he said, just loud enough to be heard over the rumble of the engine. “It’s a project I’ve been working on for about a year. Needs some restoration,” he waved his hand at the weathered wood floor and sides toward the back of the boat, “but I’m working on it little by little.”
“Looks like a classic,” she said.
Chris grinned. “Not quite old enough to be a classic. It’s the same age I am.”
“And that is?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“I guess that makes you a pair,” Whitney said. “It also makes me the youngest thing on this boat.”
Chris raised an eyebrow, an unspoken question in his eyes.
“Twenty-six,” Whitney said. “Why Sherwood?”