Will Work For Love

by Amie Denman

  Even his hammering caused no movement from Whitney. She must be fast asleep. Chris had put on a clean shirt, even in this heat, to avoid a nasty burn, and he wore a Blue Isle Construction hat. He knew the back of his neck was getting red, but pretty soon he’d be under cover of the pavilion taking advantage of the speckled shade to try to finish the painting. Much longer for Whitney in the sun with her fair skin, and she’d be burned to a crisp.

  Chris glanced at his watch. Ten more minutes and he was going to do something to wake her up. He set up his ladder, found the paint can and brush where Whitney left it earlier, and got ready to paint. He looked at her again. No movement.

  Doing the right thing rather than the obviously smart thing had gotten him in trouble more times in his life than he wanted to count. It looked like he was going to add one more to the list. He walked out to the sand and stood next to Whitney’s lounge chair. She was stretched out fully with one arm over her head and one arm by her side. Her breasts rose and fell slowly and steadily with the quiet rhythm of sleep.

  Her fair skin already looked pink, especially in contrast to her white bikini. It didn’t cover ten percent of her body, but it sure opened the doors to incredible temptation. What would she do if he kissed her awake?

  What was he thinking? He came out here for the practical purpose of waking her up before she totally fried in the sun. She would almost certainly not even thank him.

  “Whitney,” he said somewhat gruffly, “wake up.”

  Her eyes flew open and she looked confused. Chris stood over her casting a very large shadow. Her first expression upon seeing him was friendly, but he watched the wave of realization sweep over her face when she remembered she was mad at him. She sat up quickly, clutching her sarong and pulling it over her.

  “Were you standing there staring at me?” she demanded.

  “I…I only came out here to wake you up. You’ve been asleep in the sun for an hour and a half. I didn’t think a sunburn would improve your mood very much,” he said, and then he stalked over to the pavilion to take up the job of painting.

  ****

  Whitney decided it was far too dangerous to go out of the house again for the rest of the day. Not only did her skin sting from the brutal sun, but her heart also stung from her feelings for Chris.

  When she awoke and found him standing over her with a look of concern, she had to force herself to remember that this was the man who nearly ruined her best friend’s wedding.

  Fine, she thought. She would stay in. She would take a cool soothing bath and then do something around the house. Whitney looked around the simply decorated living room and realized something was missing. Christmas decorations. It was only days until Christmas, and from the looks of this house, it could have been July. If she was going to spend Christmas on a tropical island along with Taylor’s whole family, there was no harm in having the house done up a little like a New England holiday.

  Whitney bathed and put on her softest sweats. Having spent two Christmas holidays during college in this house, she knew where to find stored boxes of lights, wreaths, candles, garland, and bulbs.

  She dragged the decorations downstairs, cranked up Christmas music on the CD player in the living room, and started in. Candles and garland festooned the mantle, brightly colored bulbs on ribbons hung from the chandelier, a wreath adorned the front door. The boxes were still overflowing with multiple strands of lights. White lights. They would be perfect outside strung in the bushes and trees, and maybe even on the pavilion.

  Whitney glanced out the door. Still daylight. She would have time to put up lights outside and then check out their effect after dark. If it ever did get dark on that lawn with huge construction lights waiting to light it up like a runway.

  She dragged a box of lights outside and stood on the small patio, surveying where to put the lights. Without looking, she knew she had Chris’ attention and she felt his eyes on her, following her every move.

  A small palm tree grew next to the cozy patio. Whitney started at the bottom of the trunk and wound lights around and around. She eventually got to waist height, then eye level, then over her head. Just a little higher would finish the effect. She dragged a chair over and stepped onto it, feeling it teeter a little as one of its feet rocked on an uneven patio stone.

  Whitney leaned far out to the side so she could drape the lights in the lowest hanging branches. She leaned just a little bit too far. The chair rocked and tipped. She grabbed the tree trunk for support, but her feet were already marooned in midair and she heard the chair crash onto the stones. Incredibly, though, she was still suspended in the air with one hand wrapped around a string of lights and one hand clutching the slim tree trunk. Around her waist, she felt two strong hands.

  He held her for just a moment and then slowly pulled her closer to him and lowered her to the ground, her body grazing his all the way down. When her feet touched solid ground, they were face to face, both breathing rapidly. She didn’t know who made the first move, but the kiss came hot and strong. For a moment, they weren’t enemies.

  Chris moved his lips from hers and trailed them down the side of her face. “I love decorating for Christmas,” he murmured quietly.

  His voice jolted her into reality. She jerked back and walked straight into the house, pulling the sliding glass doors firmly shut and locking them. For good measure, she also pulled the heavy drapes covering them so she could not see a thing outside and Chris could not see in. She would be staying in for the rest of the night. Before she accidentally did something stupid and let the very smooth Chris Maxwell deep into her heart again.

  Too late, she realized she had left all the rest of her white lights outside.

  “Heck with it,” she said to herself. “I’m not going out there to get them.”

  Whitney dug through the DVD drawer in the entertainment center and found a copy of White Christmas. She made popcorn, put the movie in, and settled back to relax. It would have been a perfect girl’s night in if there hadn’t been a dangerously tempting but infuriating man just outside the door.

  ****

  Late that night, Whitney crawled into bed and dozed off, dreaming of Bing Crosby crooning her to sleep and Christmas cookies baking in the kitchen. She awoke in the middle of the night and noticed a sliver of light creeping in the small crack between her curtains. Of course. She was used to the lawn being lit up all night.

  Whitney glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table. Two-thirty a.m. She laid her head back on the pillow and looked at the light coming through the curtains. It wasn’t the same light she had started to get used to, the glaring construction light more obnoxious than the noonday sun.

  This light was more subtle, softer. Whitney crossed the room and pulled aside the curtains just an inch. What she saw on the lawn made her draw the curtain all the way.

  The light was not coming from the construction equipment. It was coming from the wedding pavilion. It was covered in twinkling white lights. The Christmas lights she left outside hours earlier were all strung up. The supporting posts of the pavilion were carefully wrapped with neat circles of lights, the overhead trellis dripped lights in an elegantly draped pattern. Magic. Pure magic.

  She looked more carefully. The pavilion was completely finished, white paint covering every old board and new one, unifying them. The gazebo was also completely finished. White lights draped in neat swags around the outside of the gazebo and hung down in a pattern on the inside.

  Whitney’s eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t know why she felt like crying. It was beautiful. Chris had done this. As a way of saying what? I’m sorry? Maybe he was hoping she’d be mollified and wouldn’t take down his company. Whitney wondered for a moment how he was going to appease all the other people on the island who, according to Mavis, were also all mad at him about their hurricane damage. No doubt he would manage to charm and play them all. Just like he was doing to her right now.

  Chris was sound asleep, right there among the magical
lights, on her beach lounge.

  Taking an extra pillow and a light blanket from the hall closet, Whitney stole out on the lawn to where Chris lay, sound asleep. He didn’t stir when she lifted his head and slipped the pillow under. Didn’t move a muscle as she draped the soft blanket over his sleeping body. She stood there and looked down at him for a minute, imagining what he had been thinking when he stood over her as she slept in the sun earlier in the day.

  She stood for several minutes, watching him sleep and resisting the temptation to awaken him. On her way back to the house, Whitney walked slowly down the center aisle of the wedding pavilion, stepping gracefully like a bride under all the whimsical white lights illuminating her way.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chris woke to the sun’s slanted rays glancing across his tired eyes. An unfamiliar, yet comfortable, shape under his head barely registered, but the warm soft blanket brushing his skin caught his attention.

  Despite years of hard work, his arms and shoulders reminded him of the toll of the past week. The past few days had worn him down. Working like a dog for several years to build his business was nothing compared to working like a man possessed for the last few days to save it.

  Fully awake now, he wondered where the soft blanket came from. And the pillow. He remembered falling, exhausted, on the lounge after stringing all the lights Whitney left when she retreated into the house after their unexpected kiss. She must have come out here in the night. He could only imagine why. Considering she’d brought a pillow and blanket, there were two possibilities. Maybe she just wanted to make him more comfortable, which would mean she was softening toward him. Maybe she planned to smother him with the pillow and changed her mind. Which meant another thing entirely.

  Chris rolled off the lounge, ran his hands over his stubble and through his hair, stretched, and walked toward the house. Birds flew overhead, squawking in the morning sunshine and dipping into the sparkling water. Ignoring them, he headed for the back patio. He didn’t know what he was going to say when she came to the door, but he figured he’d let things take their natural course. Maybe it would work. Judging from the sun, it had to be at least nine o’clock in the morning. Whitney would be up and ready to give him hell. He was going to give her the opportunity.

  He knocked on the sliding glass door and waited. Knocked and waited again. Tentatively tried to slide the door and it didn’t budge. Locked. He went around to the kitchen door and rang the bell. No answer. Tried the knob. Also locked. He couldn’t see into the garage, but he had to guess her black rental Jeep was gone. Or she was really serious about hiding out from him.

  Chris walked back to the yard and unplugged the white lights. He started cleaning up any leftover debris and throwing it into the bed of his truck along with any tools he found still on the grounds. Loaded his truck and hitched the small trailer with the construction lights to the bumper. He was packed up and ready to go. He just wasn’t sure he wanted to leave without saying goodbye.

  He walked slowly down the front of the house, looking at every window and shutter. He shaded his eyes and tipped his head up to check out the roofline of the house that had been a resting place for a palm tree for the past several months. His feet touched every stone and paver in the patio and on the walkway as he walked slowly around the gazebo and inspected it. He thought of Whitney with every step.

  He saved the pavilion for last. It was a huge structure that had taken a lot of intricate work and a lot of patience to paint. It was nice that Whitney did a great deal of the painting, but she left him some to finish late last night. The whole structure gleamed and looked perfect. He liked to think the Christmas lights he added gave it a festive appearance, and they were really perfect for a Christmas Eve wedding.

  Chris didn’t know why he wanted Taylor East’s wedding to be perfect. He didn’t even know her. But he knew her best friend. And she deserved perfect.

  ****

  Whitney got up, showered, and left the house very early. She wanted to be gone when Chris woke up. Not because she was afraid to face him, but because, well, she didn’t want to face him. What good would that do? Their relationship came out of nowhere and that’s exactly where it was going to end up.

  She had a multitude of plans to make today, and distractions weren’t going to help her finalize the wedding details. She had chairs to rent and have delivered, flowers to check on, and bows to make. She needed to review the menu and drop off a check for the caterer at the five-star hotel that Taylor’s dad had somehow convinced to make a house call for his daughter’s wedding reception.

  A whole lot of money and hope were pinned on this wedding. As Whitney drove into town, she thought about how much she had accomplished for the East family. If they only knew what their place had looked like when she got there. She spent almost ten days battling it into perfect condition. She gave up a relaxing vacation in the fight. And she gave away her heart. That was not something she was likely to ever get back.

  Whitney went to the Marriott first and asked to see the event planner. When Taylor first told her of the simple island wedding, there were only a handful of guests invited. That number grew, however, with the prospect of spending Christmas on St. Thomas. Luckily, only the immediate family was staying at East Pointe. The rest would be enjoying the luxuries of the five-star Marriott.

  “Hello,” an impeccably dressed man said as he approached Whitney with his hand extended, “you must be Whitney Oliver.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Monroe, and thanks for seeing me.”

  “Any friend of Martin East’s is a friend of mine,” he said sincerely.

  “I appreciate your help with the wedding. I spoke with your assistant last week and he told me it was all set, but I should stop by and see you a few days in advance.”

  “Perfect,” he said. “At your service: one quintet, three dozen white chairs, one catering staff with a five-star chef.”

  “It sounds too good to be true,” Whitney said.

  “I thought so, too, especially since it’s Christmas Eve, but my old friend Martin is pretty convincing.”

  “Are you coming to the wedding?”

  “I plan to. Unless we have another incident like last year with a drunken Santa who fell in the kiddie pool and caused a general riot.” He paused with a mock pained expression on his face. “Who knew the red suit would bleed in warm water? Guess there’s a reason those are dry-clean only.”

  “I love the holidays,” Whitney said, giggling at the manager’s story.

  “Me, too, but they don’t always bring out the best behavior from everyone.” He shrugged and smiled at her, “People are here to have a good time.”

  “I guess so,” she replied.

  “I’ll send a truck out with the chairs later, and don’t be surprised if you get a visit from our chef this afternoon. He wants to see the kitchen.” The manager shrugged his shoulders as if to imply chefs were like that.

  Whitney thanked him and headed to her next stop. Tomorrow, the whole East family would arrive and she had a number of details to keep her occupied until then. She was also in no hurry to get back to East Pointe. Chris was certainly awake by now and she wondered what he was going to think of the pillow and blanket she provided. She didn’t know herself why she left them. A lot of things were hard to explain lately. It was probably better if she didn’t over think it.

  “Hi, Whitney,” Ella said warmly when Whitney stepped into the small fragrant shop. “Is it final detail time?”

  “Getting close. The whole family arrives tomorrow, so I thought I’d make those bows tonight,” Whitney said. “If I can get some expert instruction, that is.”

  “No problem. I’ll have you making bows like a pro in no time.”

  Ella pulled a box filled with wide satin ribbon from below the counter. “I hope this is the right color,” she said. “Salmon pink doesn’t mean exactly the same thing to everyone. It’s not too coral is it?”

  “Perfect,” said Whitney. “My dress is exa
ctly this shade, and Taylor picked it out herself.”

  “Good. I’ll find some wire and I’ll show you my magic trick for making perfect bows.”

  Ella got a spool of green florist wire and two pairs of cutters. She started rolling out and cutting three-foot lengths of ribbon. Whitney admired her obvious skill and experience.

  “Did you ever get all your hurricane damage repaired?” asked Ella.

  “I did,” Whitney answered in a low voice. She was glad Ella was too occupied with measuring and cutting to look up and see her face.

  “Good,” said Ella. “Now, you take this ribbon in your left hand and make a loop, then…”

  Whitney tried to listen closely to Ella’s instructions, but her thoughts kept returning to the sleeping man on her lawn last night. She wondered what he was doing right now. Even though she wanted to run him and Blue Isle Construction right off the island, she also spent nearly every hour of the last week in constant company with him. The feeling washing over her right now was loneliness. She was a traitor to herself, but she missed him.

  Whitney took her supplies and headed home. She expected deliveries and visitors as the preparations for the impending wedding really ramped up. She needed to be at East Pointe, and she was thankful she had something to do.

  The first thing she noticed when she arrived at East Pointe was its desertion. The pickup parked off to the side of the driveway for nearly a week was gone now. The little trailer with the construction lights, also gone. No extension cords, no tools, no construction debris. No Chris.

  She set up a table on the patio and left the sliding door open so she’d hear the doorbell. The air was soft in the shade of early afternoon. No breeze interfered with her ribbons that she laid carefully across the table. She took a deep breath and dove into the business of making dozens of salmon pink bows for her best friend’s wedding. How hard could it be? She owned a successful business silk screening and custom embroidering sportswear for teams all over the North East. She could do this.