by Robin Wells
With Ali? A jolt of adrenaline surged through him at the thought.
Impossible.
Or was it? All he knew for sure was that she made his heart unfurl like an oak leaf in the sun and that he couldn’t get her off his mind. He’d always been a man of action, and it made no sense for him to just sit around and pine after her. He had to do something. As irrational as it seemed at first blush, it was beginning to look like the only logical course of action was to pursue her and see what happened.
Matt realized Hattie was still standing in front of his desk expectantly. “The houses are turning out better than I thought they would,” he agreed noncommittally. He scrolled through his Blackberry, anxious to get the day’s pressing business out of the way so he could go see Ali. “Is anything going on today that I need to know about?”
Hattie nodded. “One thing. Seems the bank’s board of directors are having a meeting in town today, and the bank president wants to take them on a tour of their major loan projects afterward. Mr. Armstrong plans to bring than by the job site sometime this afternoon.”
“I’d better check the construction schedule and see what’ll be going on,” he said, clicking the mouse on his computer. “We want to look our best.”
Matt frowned as the day’s entry filled the screen. “Ali’s using a new painting subcontractor? Why? What was wrong with our usual team?”
Hattie ducked her head and began busily shuffling papers. “ABC Painting is a newly formed company anxious to build a reputation. Their bid was a lot lower than the contractor you usually use and they could get started sooner, so Ali decided to give them the work.”
Something in her voice sounded suspiciously defensive, as if she were trying to hide something from him.
Matt shrugged off the feeling. He was probably imagining things. After all, he’d seen the houses for himself, and the wood staining, painting and papering looked like first-class jobs. Besides, he’d meet these people this afternoon.
Right now, he was eager to see Ali, and the banker’s visit was the perfect excuse. “I’d better let Ali know about the bank’s plans.”
He found her seated at her desk, the phone cradled to her ear, gazing out her window. She wore a tailored black pantsuit and her hair was loose around her shoulders. He stopped in the doorway and stared, taking in the way her hair gleamed in the light, remembering how soft it had felt, how delicious it smelled. The memory tugged at him and he fought an urge to circle around her chair, lift the heavy mass of curls and nuzzle the nape of her neck.
“That sounds great. Thanks. Goodbye.” Ali hung up the phone and turned, her lips curving into a wide smile when she saw him. A bevy of butterflies took wing in Matt’s stomach.
“Hi! Welcome back.”
“Thanks.” Matt crossed the room and lowered himself into an armchair across from her desk. “Looks like you’ve been busy in my absence.”
“You’ve seen the houses? What do you think?” Ali leaned forward, her eyes bright and anxious.
“Personally, I think they look great.”
“And professionally?”
Matt shifted on the chair. “I’m still concerned that the interiors are too individualistic for public tastes,” he admitted.
“The public doesn’t buy homes, individuals do,” Ali replied confidently. “You’ll see I’m right when buyers start flocking to your door.”
“I can’t wait.”
Her mouth flowered into a soft smile that hinted at all the unspoken things between them. Matt found himself longing to run his fingers along her cheek, to touch the gentle mounds her smile created on her cheekbones, to feel the velvety softness of her skin.
The gaze stretched into something more. Matt’s heart thudded wildly as they sat, motionless, just looking at each other, sparks of attraction flying between them so thick and fast it was a miracle the smoke detector didn’t detonate. Matt opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. When he finally found his voice, it was low and husky. “Would you like to have lunch with me today?”
Ali lowered her gaze to her desk. “Oh—I, uh, can’t. I’m planning to spend most of the day at the job site and I have a million things to do.”
“Surely eating lunch is one of them,” Matt cajoled.
“I’ll grab something on the run,” she said, keeping her eyes averted. “Thanks, but I’d better not.”
She was saying no to more than lunch. Disappointment tightened his chest.
“Maybe some other time,” he said with an indifference he didn’t feel. He hoisted himself out of the chair. “I stopped by to tell you that the banker is bringing the board of directors by the job site this afternoon.”
“Is anything wrong?”
“No. It’s just a show-and-tell visit for some out-of-town board members, but it’s important that everything looks professional. I’ll be going to the bank for financing on future projects and I need to maintain their confidence and goodwill.”
“I’ll make sure things go smoothly.”
Matt nodded as he headed for the door. He paused, a hand on the doorjamb. “Good. I’ll see you out there.”
Back in his office, Matt closed the door and rubbed his forehead, trying to make some sense of this maddening relationship. As far as he could determine, there were two facts. Fact One: regardless of what she pretended, Ali had no more put their attraction behind her than he had. It lay between them, unmentioned but far from forgotten, as combustible and dangerous as a stick of dynamite.
Fact Two: she was determined to keep him at arm’s length, to make sure that none of the sparks flying back and forth between them caused another explosion.
Well, fine, he told himself, stalking to the window. The last thing he needed was a relationship with Little Miss Mishap anyway.
Besides, Fact One and Fact Two kept him from having to deal with Fact Three: that he wanted Ali McAlester more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life; that he cared about her, craved her, and if the truth be known, was downright obsessed with her.
Loosening his tie, Matt propped his hands on either side of the glass and gazed out, not really seeing the scene before him. Instead, he saw Ali, naked and wet and glistening in candlelight. He muttered an oath and pushed off the window, aroused and distressed and as irritable as a bear with a thorn in its paw.
How ironic, how infuriating, how utterly, gut-wrenchingly frustrating that Ali would choose to be sensible on the one issue where he was willing to throw logic to the wind!
“Up a little bit more.” Ali stood back and eyed the wainscoting two white-overall-clad workmen held against the entryway wall. “There—that’s perfect!” She nodded in satisfaction, and one of the workmen deftly marked the spot in chalk.
“Does the wallpaper go above or below the molding?” he asked, repocketing the chalk in his shirt.
“Paint above, paper below,” Ali replied. The man nodded and Ali strolled into the living room. She stopped in the middle of the room, surveying the painted walls.
“Wonderful,” she breathed. The room was her favorite color, the same warm terracotta she’d used in her own home, glazed with a soft tan to create an expensive, textured look. Here the warm color was offset by creamy woodwork and an antique marble fireplace mantel Ali had found at an auction.
“You like the paint job?” asked a masculine voice behind her.
Ali spun around to find Derrick Atchison standing in the doorway. She stretched out a hand and smiled. “I love it!”
“Thanks.” He beamed as he shook her hand, then looked down, scuffing his boot on the cement floor. “I really appreciate your giving me the work, Ali. They told me in the alcohol rehab center that it wouldn’t be easy to turn over a new leaf.” He pulled off his painter’s cap and self-consciously rubbed his ear. “I’ve got a pretty lousy track record in this town, and it’s going to take a while to earn people’s trust. Thanks for giving me a chance.”
“It takes a lot of courage to admit to a problem like alcoholism—and even mo
re courage to overcome it,” Ali said softly.
Derrick swallowed. “Yeah, well, it takes just as much courage for people like you and Matt and Justin to have faith in me. I still can’t believe Justin loaned me the money to start my own business.” He shook his head wonderingly. “I just want you to know I won’t let you down. I’m determined to stay clean and sober, and I really appreciate you and Matt giving me a second chance.”
No point in telling him Matt didn’t have a clue. She patted his arm. “You’ve done a great job, and I’ll be happy to tell anyone who asks. Feel free to use me as a reference.”
“Thanks, Ali.” He reached out and gave her a quick hug, his voice suspiciously gruff. “I’d better go give my guys a hand.”
Ali watched him amble toward the kitchen, wondering what Matt’s reaction would be.
Just thinking of Matt made a little shiver run down her arms. Ali rubbed her arms and crossed the room, heading for the staircase to check the progress of the upstairs bedrooms.
During the two weeks that Matt had been gone, she’d entertained a lot of fantasies about him. The most outlandish centered around the idea that a relationship might actually be possible. If they were both willing to make a few concessions, if they both made up their minds to appreciate the differences between them, if Matt would just bend a little, maybe, just maybe things could work out. In so many ways, Matt was everything she’d ever dreamed of in a man.
Physically, for example. Just being in the same room with him made her skin feel sensitized and tingly and hungry for his touch. And when she thought about the way he kissed her—the gentle, urgent insistence of his lips, the clean male scent of his skin, the hard, muscular planes of his body pressed against her—she grew breathless and restless and aroused all over again.
But the part of Matt that had completely, irretrievably stolen her heart had nothing to do with the physical. Underneath that tough exterior he was kind, decent and generous, and he’d proven it in dozens of ways—by quietly handling the details after Robert’s death, by helping paint her house, by being so understanding, supportive and sympathetic when she’d talked about her mother’s death.
The problem was that he was also rigid and controlling and stubborn. She wanted—needed—a man who viewed her as an equal partner.
Which brought up a whole other issue. Matt had made it clear he didn’t want to ever get married again, and Ali wanted the works. Love. Commitment. Children.
Ali’s fingers trailed absently along the banister as she climbed the stairs and headed to the master bedroom. She’d been right to tell him no, she told herself.
So why was she standing here feeling as empty as the unfurnished room, ready to burst into tears in the middle of the day?
She had to stop dwelling on Matt. Turning abruptly, she headed out of the room, down the hardwood stairs and out the door.
The wind whipped her hair and cooled her cheeks, helping to clear her mind. She hurried to the next house, the one she called the gingerbread cottage, forcing her thoughts back to her work. She was decorating this house in crisp ginghams and English floral prints, and she was anxious to see what progress had been made on it.
Halfway across the lawn, she felt a sudden, sharp burning in her eye. She stopped and blinked hard as tears coursed down her cheeks. “Darned contact lenses,” she muttered. The wind had blown something into her eye, and a tiny speck was trapped behind the lens. She would have to remove her contact.
She tugged at the corner of her eye and popped out the lens, only to have a strong gust of wind blow it away.
“Oh, no!” she moaned, dropping to her knees and frantically searching among the leaves.
“Did you lose something, Miss McAlester?”
Ali looked up to see Big Jim Bentmore looming over her, his ruddy face blurred by her lopsided vision.
“A contact lens. I dropped it right in here somewhere.”
“We’ll find it for you.” He turned toward the house, cupped his hands and shouted. “Hey, guys—we need help over here!”
Before she knew what was happening, eight workers had gathered around her. “We need to find Miss McAlester’s contact lens,” Jim explained.
“What do we look for?” asked a large, burly man.
“Something small and shiny,” Ali said. “Our best bet is to try to see the light reflecting off it. It helps to get your face down low and look at the ground at an angle.”
All eight men hit the ground and began crawling cautiously through the leaves, their heads cocked to the side, their backsides in the air.
“The next house is just over this hill, gentlemen.” Matt led the way to the gingerbread cottage, pleased with the way the visit was going. The bankers had raved about the first house, and it was barely framed in. If they liked that one, they were sure to love the next two.
As he topped the crest, he froze in his tracks and blinked hard. What the hell was going on? His work crew was crawling in the dirt like a bunch of anteaters, their heads down, their rumps aimed at the sky. One trim, shapely backside stood out from the rest. He’d recognize that rump anywhere, he thought grimly. Ali.
Matt felt his temper build like a thundercloud. He’d told her the bankers were coming; how dare she stage a scene like this?
Time enough to deal with her later. Right now he needed to try to salvage the situation. Maybe he could steer the bankers in the other direction.
Too late. The five men in business suits had joined him on the hill and were staring down at the scene below.
“I found it!” roared Big Jim, jumping in the air with an upraised arm, his enormous belly jiggling. The work crew noisily applauded and whistled as Jim handed something to Ali.
“What in heaven’s name is going on here?” Mr. Armstrong demanded, his round face puckered in alarm.
Ali whirled toward them. “Matt! Mr. Armstrong!” She scrambled up the hill, extended her hand to the banker and fixed him with an enchanting smile. “So nice to see you! Sorry we looked so undignified just now, but I dropped a contact lens and the men were helping me find it.”
“I see.” Placated, the broad man patted her hand and smiled. “Glad you found it, dear. Gentlemen, this is the little lady responsible for the interiors of these homes. Ali, I’d like to introduce you to the bank’s board of directors.”
She had charmed her way right out of the situation. The sense of relief Matt knew he should be feeling was overshadowed by a sense of outrage. He hated being so out of control. He’d told her the bankers were coming this afternoon, dammit, and he’d specifically requested that she make sure things were in order.
She fixed him with a winsome smile. “Matt, why don’t you take these gentlemen on a tour of the cottage?” Ali suggested. “I’ll see to my contact, then I’ll join you.”
Matt had no choice but to comply. Ali caught up with the group on the porch of the house with the turret.
Mr. Armstrong turned to her and beamed. “Ali, I love what you’ve done with the interiors.”
Ali smiled. “Thank you. You’ll have to come back for the open house and see them with furnishings. Did Matt tell you about it?”
“No,” said Mr. Armstrong, casting a glance at Matt that indicated he considered it a serious oversight. “But I saw the ad in the Sunday newspaper. My wife can’t wait to come.”
Ad in the newspaper? Why wasn’t he consulted about this?
“I’m delighted to hear that.”
They stepped onto the porch and Ali opened the door. Matt hung back until the rest of the group had entered the house. He brushed by Ali, his shoulder touching hers in the doorway. Despite his aggravation, a shiver of attraction shot down his arm. The fact only increased his irritation; she was making him as out of control as she was, and he didn’t like it one little bit.
“Sorry,” she whispered, stepping back.
“You damn well should be,” he muttered stiffly. The air was charged between them. Their eyes collided, and Matt read the confusion in her wide gray g
aze as it clashed against his own.
The woman had no idea she’d done anything wrong, didn’t even have a clue why he was upset. The realization rankled all the more, because it made him feel like he was being unreasonable.
Which he most certainly was not. Matt blew out an exasperated blast of air as Ali darted from the doorway. He ran a finger around the neck of his shirt, which suddenly seemed to have grown too tight and too hot, and followed the others into the living room, where murmurs of approval were coming from the board members.
Ali addressed the group with ease and graciousness, giving them the history of the antique fireplace mantel, then directing them into the kitchen. Despite his irritation, he admired her aplomb. She was good—damned good. She had them in the palm of her hand. For some reason, the thought annoyed him all the more.
He tagged along as the group made the turn into the dining room where three painters were at work, their backs to the crowd. The man standing on the stepladder looked vaguely familiar. Matt stared at the back of his head as Ali talked, trying to place him. When he turned to dip his brush in the paint can, recognition poured over Matt like a pitcher of cold water.
“Derrick! What the hell are you doing here?”
“His new company is handling the painting and papering,” Ali offered quickly. “Their bid was more reasonable than the one from our regular subcontractor and they could get started sooner. Since you told me to go ahead and handle the interiors, I hired them while you were out of town. I think they’ve done an excellent job, don’t you?”
Matt stifled a sharp retort as the board members nodded their concurrence. There was nothing to be gained from making a scene, no matter how badly he itched to give her a piece of his mind.
How dare she hire Derrick, knowing full well how much he disliked the man? And why hadn’t he been informed? He felt like a fool, not knowing what was going on in his own company.