Wade laughed and took off his ball cap. “Unfortunately, that’s what’s happened.” He scratched the back of his head, then repositioned the cap a half dozen times before settling on a spot.
Looking at his boss with a combination of brotherly affection and hero worship, he said, “My fiancée wanted an outdoor wedding. Kevin’s house in Riverside overlooks the Pamlico River… the perfect setting.” He said the last in a singsongy voice as he made quotation marks with his fingers. “Kevin offered his house and now he’s dealing with Lizilla—my fiancée’s sister. She’s an event planner and this is a great opportunity for her to do her thing. But she’s driving everyone crazy. We’ll be lucky if he and Lizbeth are still speaking when this is over.” He kicked the curb. “We should’ve made life easy on everyone and eloped.”
“I’d advise skipping the wedding altogether.”
Wade grinned. “Bad first marriage?”
“Yeah, apparently.”
Switching her attention to more important matters, she chewed the inside of her cheek and inspected the area surrounding the clubhouse, restaurant, and office. She pointed to a fresh-poured concrete slab in the back corner of the grouping. “Is that the dumpster pad?”
Wade nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
She pivoted on the heel of her boot and studied the parking lot and long, winding driveway. Working from memory of the site plan, she tried to envision where the waterline fed into the property.
Dread and regret for Mazze constricted her chest. Once open, this fly-in golf community along the Intracoastal Waterway would be spectacular. Until then, it was an expensive piece of property, racking up massive construction loan interest. Mazze needed, at bare minimum, to get the office operational so he could start selling lots and memberships.
This hiccup would set him back weeks, if not months, and cost a fortune. Not only in the additional fees required to solve the problem, but also in lost income.
She’d been in Mazze’s shoes, taking chances that landed her in this exact square on the builder’s chessboard. He wasn’t facing checkmate, but certainly a significant setback.
Only in Myrtle Beach a few months, she’d gained a reputation for being a bitch. She didn’t like the moniker, but if her refusal to play by the good-ol’-boys’ rules of overlooking code violations earned her the nasty name, she’d learn to live with it.
However, while she may be a bitch, she wasn’t heartless.
She couldn’t get him the Certificate of Occupancy if he didn’t have operational sprinklers, but she might be able to help speed up the process. Not by a lot, but opening in two weeks rather than four could mean the difference in an annual profit or sinking into the red.
“I can’t make any promises,” she said, turning to Wade. “But I’ll go back to the office, make some calls, and see what I can do.”
His breath left in a whoosh as he extended his hand for a shake. “Thank you.” He released his grip and reached into his back pocket for a cream-colored business card with black-and-gold lettering. “This has mine and Kevin’s cell numbers. Call if you have any questions or need anything. Day or night, doesn’t matter.”
Well now, that certainly left a wide-open door to a room full of endless possibilities. No telling what she might need from Mazze in the deep of night.
She ran her thumb over his number and smiled. “I’ll be in touch.”
* * *
Kevin climbed into his truck, cranked the motor, and turned the A/C on full tilt. Myrtle Beach in September should be mid-eighties with reasonable humidity. Not hinges-of-hell hot with a humidity level so high it felt like the ocean packed up and moved inland.
He stared out the windshield as Samantha Wallace took off her sunglasses and wiped the sweat from her eyes. Dammit, why hadn’t she done that earlier when he could steal a glimpse?
He leaned to the side so cold air from the vent blasted him in the face and gnawed on his lip while chewing his thoughts. Maybe the building inspector, not the weather, was the reason for his temperature spike.
Numerous rumors about her abounded, but she wasn’t the ball-busting giant he expected. Hell, she wasn’t any bigger than a minute.
He laughed and shook his head. His ass had been shut down by a folletta.
A feisty pixie wearing relaxed-fit jeans and a Horry County shirt that showed a lot of creamy cleavage when she threw her shoulders back and the buttons pulled tight.
She pivoted on her heel, which pulled his gaze to her beat-to-shit work boots. His boots were five years old and in rough shape. Hers were older and worse. She hadn’t bought them specifically for this job, and he was intrigued by her work history.
Comfortable tromping through the mud without high stepping like most women, she’d obviously spent a lot of time on construction sites. And while standing her ground against him, she hadn’t flinched.
The way she came at him with equal attitude was more of a turn-on than a high-dollar strip show. And when she bowed up and questioned his hearing, it took every ounce of self-restraint not to laugh.
Or kiss the shit out of her.
Make-up sex with her could become his favorite pastime.
As the daydream spiraled out of control, his overheated body drew taut and hardened, preparing for action, but his ringing phone broke the spell like an ice-cold bath would a fever. Without masking his anger or frustration, he answered. “What?”
“Bad day, darling?”
Lizbeth’s sultry voice used to soothe him, but lately, especially on days like this, her slow drawl rankled his nerves and tightened the muscles in his neck and shoulders like a wrench. “Yeah, Lizbeth, not the best. You’ve called me fifteen times in the past hour. Someone better be on life support.”
The sniff coming through the line painted a picture of her crimson lips pooched into a pout. He supposed he should feel bad and apologize for snapping, but his give-a-damn was busted, and he couldn’t dredge up the energy to care.
“I haven’t talked to you at all today and hardly any yesterday. I wanted to make sure you remembered tonight’s party.”
He exhaled in a slow, steady stream while willing his blood pressure to drop back into the safety zone. Fifteen calls to ask about a party? Good thing he hadn’t interrupted his meeting to answer or he’d really need to apologize for a few foul, anger-laden words. Even in Italian, his intent would’ve broadcasted loud and clear.
He knew this would be the case, though, which was why he didn’t even consider taking her earlier calls. Lizbeth was the girl who cried wolf. Everything was an emergency, assuring dire consequences if he didn’t come to the rescue. Immediately.
In the beginning, the Mr. Fix-it in him liked being needed and enjoyed helping. After nearly two years of being on the job twenty-four-seven, Mr. Fix-it was tired and needed a break. He’d come to the conclusion it was time for a permanent leave of absence.
He just needed to figure out the right time to talk to Lizbeth… which wasn’t two weeks before her sister’s wedding.
“First off,” he said, locking his jaw to temper his response. “The fundraiser is at my house. It’d be a little odd if I didn’t show, don’t ya think? Secondly, you and Kat have put a lot of effort into this fundraiser; it means a lot to you. Of course I’ll be there.”
His dedication to making an appearance had more to do with his loyalty to Kat than Lizbeth, but for once in his life, the filter responsible for keeping those kinds of comments unsaid actually worked.
“Thank you. I knew you wouldn’t let me down. I… well, I wanted to hear your voice. Is that so bad?”
The weight of fatigue carried his head back until it landed with a thud against the headrest. He stared at the sun visor, then squinted, trying to read the scribbled, barely legible notes jammed everywhere. Jesus, what a mess. He really needed to clean his truck.
“No,” he said, getting back online with the conversation. “Just bad timing. I have a serious problem with the new Vanguard development—”
“What ti
me can I expect you?”
His temple gave a thump, warning him to lighten up on the teeth gnashing. He didn’t know why he got angry since this was the way conversations normally went with her. No matter what he had going on, her issues always took precedence.
The stress of planning her sister’s wedding and obsessing over every detail made her psychotic. At least, he hoped the wedding was to blame.
He’d hate to wake up and realize she’d been this way all along, and he’d been a blind, oblivious dumbass.
Rather than continuing the dead-end conversation, which would only keep him frustrated and make her whinier, he said, “I’ll get there soon as I can,” then disconnected the call without waiting for a response.
Man, he didn’t want to do this. In a perfect world, he’d go home, grab a beer, hit the couch, and sleep thirty-six hours. But his world was light-years away from perfect, and what he wanted, at least right now, didn’t matter. He needed to follow through on his commitments and get back to Riverside to a house full of people he didn’t know. He sighed and his shoulders slumped so far forward he thought he might cave in on himself. He needed to get back to Lizbeth.
With one last glance to the little folletta who stormed onto the scene, disrupting his life in the most aggravating yet interesting way, he shoved the shifter into drive and pulled out of the lot.
* * *
Sam slid the piping-hot pizza box onto the kitchen counter, dropped her bag on the end table in the living room, then headed down the hall to her bedroom. Yelling over her shoulder to her five-year-old daughter, Michaela, she said, “Let me change and I’ll be right there to get your pizza.”
Five minutes later, she came back to a kitchen that smelled like the world’s finest pizzeria and found Michy staring at the box like she could eat the pizza through osmosis.
“I’m starving, Mommy.”
Sam slipped a slice of cheese pizza onto Michaela’s plate before grabbing a slice of mighty meaty for herself. “I know, and I’m sorry I was late picking you up. I promise, next time I’ll call and tell Ms. Kay so you won’t be worried.”
Running ten minutes behind was a serious and costly offense in the world of afterschool programs. However, the enormous late fee nor the lecture from the grumpy-faced director were the punch in the gut that left Sam aching for the past half hour.
That was compliments of her daughter.
Michy’s eyes were still red-rimmed—not from crying, but from the extreme effort she’d exerted not crying. The poor thing even had teeth marks in her bottom lip from biting down to stop the quivering.
And that’s why Sam nominated herself for the Mommy Fail of the Year Award.
Sam’s little apple didn’t fall far from the tree, and, like her mom, Michy would explode with pain or fear before she let her emotions escape in the form of tears.
“It’s okay,” Michy said through slurps of her soda. “I was just scared something bad happened.”
Michaela started showing signs of insecurity after Sam’s dad died. A year later, when Sam’s piece-of-shit ex disappeared without a backward glance, Michaela turned into a leech. Her anxiety worsened with the move to Myrtle Beach, and Sam should’ve realized how severely her tardiness would affect Michy.
“Sweetie, you’re the most important thing in the world to me. I would never just not show up.”
The internal voice of black butterflies and stormy skies said, You can’t make those kind of promises. Your dad didn’t plan on not showing up for work that morning.
She growled, dismissing the doom-and-gloom thoughts once and for all, but Michy’s reply only intensified the suffocating squeeze in her chest.
“I know. That’s why I thought something bad happened.”
“Yeah.” Sam sighed. “I understand.” She was glad Michy knew she’d never voluntarily abandon her like the son of a bitch Michy called daddy. But she hated the lingering trauma her little girl suffered as a result of Papa’s fatal heart attack and Michael’s abandonment.
There was no way to reassure her daughter something like that wouldn’t happen again. Heart attacks, car crashes, or the millions of other freak accidents that occurred on a daily basis didn’t guarantee a girl wouldn’t suddenly lose a parent. Or any loved one, for that matter.
As Michy grew up and started dating, Sam wouldn’t be able to protect her and make sure she never had her heart broken. But she would do everything in her power to shelter and protect Michy as much as possible while she could, and hope, as a child, she never had to suffer another loss.
The late afternoon thunderstorms dropped the temperature, so Sam had traded her work clothes for sweat pants and a T-shirt. She glanced down at her fuzzy socks as she carried their plates to the living room.
Look at you. All dressed up and nowhere to go.
For the millionth time since leaving the Vanguard site, she thought of Kevin Mazze. An attractive, intelligent man like him probably spent his weekends attending extravagant parties or dining in upscale restaurants, surrounded by tall, thin supermodel types.
What would it take to get him interested in a short, curvy, less-than-glamorous mom, who spent her evenings at home, watching Disney movies, eating pizza, and drinking beer?
She was a lousy cook, so going by way of his stomach wasn’t an option. Besides, she didn’t want him on a permanent basis. She only wanted him for late-night extracurricular fun.
She glanced to the Vanguard Subdivision folder and site plan sitting with her bag. Maybe they could work something out in trade. She would help him figure out a solution to his problem, and he could show his gratitude by granting her a few dozen orgasms. How was that for sexy romance, guaranteed to drive a man wild?
“Of course I found someone else. Why wouldn’t I find a real woman?”
Sam sucked in a breath and dropped to the sofa as Michael’s words rushed at her, knocking her off her feet. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, determined to beat back the autopilot response that always insisted on replaying the entire tape.
Michaela, who had gone to her bedroom to get her pillow and blanket, ran to the sofa and crouched at Sam’s feet. Peeking up from the floor, she asked, “Mommy? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, sweetie. I just lost my balance and tripped.” Sam drew in a ragged breath and set the paper plates on the old, worn-out coffee table that had fallen an inch short of the junkyard finish line. “Eat your pizza, and I’ll get the movie ready.”
Michy sat cross-legged in front of the coffee table and dove into her dinner while Sam carried tonight’s Disney classic, Beauty and the Beast, to the DVD player.
“Can we go to the beach tomorrow?”
Bent over at the waist, disc in hand, Sam glanced over her shoulder. “Wow, what a shock. You want to go to the beach?”
Michy giggled and took a bite of her pizza. After sucking in a few quick breaths to cool her burning mouth, she said, “Yeah, but not to the part where we normally go. I want to go to the part that has the fierce wheel.”
Sam grinned and finished loading the disc into the player. “A fierce wheel, huh? Since you don’t even know what that is, why do you want to go there?”
Michy slurped her soda and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. “Because my friend Spencer’s gonna be there.”
Michaela met Spencer her first day at daycare, and the two became instant friends. For weeks, she asked if he could come over to play, but Sam’s path hadn’t crossed with Spencer’s mom’s to make arrangements. With both of them being single moms, Sam even wondered if Spencer’s mom might be interested in trading weekend babysitting so they each had some free time.
“Is it the fierce wheel at the boardwalk or the other one?” She grinned and winked. “It’s a Ferris wheel,”—she narrowed her eyes and growled playfully—“not fierce like I’m going to get if you don’t start using your napkin and stop ruining your shirts!”
“Yes, ma’am.” Michy swiped at her face with the paper and thought for a minute. “He said something
about walking.”
Gee, that narrowed it down. She didn’t want to burst her daughter’s bubble, but finding Spencer at the Boardwalk on a Saturday wouldn’t be easy. Granted, the middle of September wouldn’t be nearly as crowded as a few weeks ago, but still…
Oh, what the hell. She didn’t have anything pressing to do, and she wanted to talk to Spencer’s mom anyway. If by some miracle they found them, it would give the two women a chance to talk. The thought of making new friends was damned appealing, and it wouldn’t be a hardship to spend the day at the beach.
“Do you have any idea what time he’s going?”
Michaela’s face dropped and she shook her head.
“It’s okay. We don’t have anything else to do tomorrow. So if you’ll let me sleep in for a while, then we’ll head over there and see if we can find them. Okay?”
“Yay!” Michy grabbed Sam’s leg and squeezed. “You’re the best mommy, ever.”
Sam grabbed the remote from the coffee table and flopped down on the sofa. “Even though I worried you?”
Finished with her pizza, Michy climbed onto the couch, snuggled against Sam’s side, and pulled the blanket over her. “Yep. Still the best.”
Sam smoothed back a rogue curl and rested her cheek on top of Michy’s head. Wouldn’t it be awesome to be five again, with the amazing power to forgive and especially forget so easily? She cut off the lamp beside the sofa and hit PLAY on the remote.
Since she wasn’t five and she didn’t seem able to ever let anything go, she was grateful for the opportunity to fly away to magical kingdoms, where even a beast had hope for finding happily ever after.
Chapter Three
Kevin tugged at the tie cinched around his neck like a too-tight leash, desperate for relief from the suffocation that probably had more to do with his life, in general, than the piece of silk in his hand.
The coat and tie were bad, but he took a small measure of comfort in having been spared the cummerbund and bow tie. Point to Lizbeth for dialing back the required formality of tonight’s affair. Most of the women, looking for a chance to relive their high school prom, chose to wear long cocktail gowns. Most of the men, probably also hoping to relive their proms by getting laid, went with less formal suits.
Crossing Lines Page 2