by Alison Kent
She frowned, gave him the head-to-toe once-over.
“Who are you?”
“Wyatt Kent. I have an appointment with Calliope Andrews.”
She laid her hand on his chest to keep him in place. “Stay here. Miss Calliope, there’s a Wyatt Kent here. Says he’s supposed to meet with you.”
“Oh, that’s right. It’s okay, Beth. I’m expecting him.”
Beth tossed a thumb over her shoulder. “Go on back. You’re in my way.”
“Go on back where?”
“Straight down the hall, then turn right. All the way to the end.”
Wyatt nodded and dodged a bunch of giggling little girls on his way. They were a few years younger than his eight-year-old niece, Zoey, but they were all dressed in pink—Zoey’s favorite color.
Most of the kids must have gone home by now. With the exception of a few stragglers dashing by him on his way down the hall, the place had gone quiet. He found the room Beth had directed him to. It was fairly small and completely empty.
A playroom, it was stuffed with overflowing bookshelves and toys and tables and a giant castle.
He stood in the middle of the room, figuring Calliope had stepped out.
Until he heard a rustling in the castle, then a groan. He turned around and saw one very attractive, jeans-clad butt attempting to back out of the castle opening.
“I swear if my butt gets any bigger I’m not going to be able to clean the toys out of this thing and we’ll need to get a bigger castle.”
He disagreed. She had a great ass.
She flung toys over her shoulder while Wyatt stood there, feeling sort of inept.
“You need some help there?”
She stilled, her head jerked up and she bumped it against the opening. “Ow. Dammit.” She rubbed the wild curls on top of her head, then backed all the way out and sat on the floor, adjusted the tortoise-shell glasses that had ridden down the bridge of her very cute nose.
“Wyatt. I thought you were Beth. You’re not Beth.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Sorry. I was cleaning up in here.” She pushed off her knees and stood, adjusting her shirt over some very full breasts and grinned at him. “I’m so glad you’re here. Let’s go to my office where it’s a little less insane.”
The last time Wyatt had seen Calliope Andrews, he’d still been married to her older sister Cassandra, and Calliope had been—hell, in college? Maybe nineteen or twenty, at most, was his guess. She’d been chubby, her hair a corkscrew of untamed brown curls, and she’d worn really ugly glasses. In short, she’d been a hot mess.
He followed her down the hall, watching the way her hips moved when she walked.
“Here we are.” She opened the door and led him into a small office. Her desk sat next to the window and there were a couple chairs on either side. He took one and she sat across from him instead of at her desk.
She still wore glasses and her hair was still curly and she was still hot, all right. But she wasn’t a mess at all. Calliope had grown up. It had to have been six years or so at least since he’d seen her last. She’d lost the baby fat, was curvy in all the right places, and her glasses made her eyes look like sparkling emeralds.
God, she was gorgeous.
But she wasn’t at all like Cassandra, who’d been tall, slender and blonde.
And the devil in disguise.
“Thank you for taking on this project, Wyatt.”
“No one else had the time.”
She quirked a brow, then grinned again. “So you’re stuck with me, then?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” She laughed and didn’t seem at all offended. “I know this is probably hard for you, seeing as how you’ve managed to avoid me since I came to town.”
“I haven’t avoided you.”
“Yes, you have. But it’s okay. I understand why. You’re not very fond of my sister, and you think we’re exactly alike.” She patted his hand. “But trust me, I’m nothing like Cassie.”
He blinked, not sure he understood anything that had happened so far. He figured the two of them would dance around the topic of Cassandra, and here Calliope had said her name, torn open the wounds, making them bleed fresh, like it had happened yester…
“Wyatt. Wyatt.” She snapped her fingers. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” He stood. “Let’s go see where you want this addition.”
“Sure.” She stood, too. “Surely you’re over her by now, aren’t you? I mean it’s been three years. She’s not worth mourning over for that long.”
Calliope opened the door to her office and walked down the same hallway they’d come from.
Her saying it that way made him feel foolish for feeling closed up and angry for three damn years over a woman who’d only cared about herself.
“You are over her, aren’t you?”
God, she was persistent. “Yeah. Over her.”
“Good. Because I want us to be friends.”
He stopped in the middle of the hall. “What?”
She stopped, too, turning and dipping her head back to look into his eyes.
Damn she had pretty eyes. Pretty hair. And she smelled good, too. He couldn’t figure out what she smelled like. Something that made him want to swipe his tongue across her neck.
His jeans tightened. It had been a long damn time since that had happened. He didn’t trust women, tried to stay away from them.
And he sure as hell planned to stay away from Calliope.
“Wyatt. Are you drunk? Did you stop at the bar after work?”
“What?” He looked down at her. She must have been saying something, because her lips quirked.
“I’ve been talking. You’re not listening. Want to do this another day?”
“No.” He didn’t want to do it at all. “Show me what you want.”
She paused, her cheeks turning pink. “Sure. This way.”
They went into the room where the castle was. “I want the addition off this room, to extend the play area so I can separate the kids by age group. Younger kids in here, older kids in the new room.”
Finally, something to distract him from Calliope, from the way she looked, the way she smelled, the things—people—she reminded him of. He took out his tape measure and started making some notes based on what she wanted, which was a room a little larger than the one they stood in, with ample storage space.
Nothing fancy. Doable. Easy enough. He’d bring in some extra labor to help, and he’d be out of there. Calliope stayed quiet while he wrote down materials and labor needed to get the job done. He turned to her. Looked at her. And all the memories came flooding back.
He couldn’t do this.
“Wyatt. I know I was kidding you about getting over things and doing this job, but if you’re seriously having second thoughts, I know there’s this other company I looked up that can handle it. The Johnson Brothers?”
That did it.
Kent Construction was a family-owned business and had been since their father and grandfather had started up the company over fifty years ago. They’d had a stronghold on Deer Lake with very little competition.
The Johnsons were a new outfit who’d been leeching into their territory for the past few years, stealing business away from them. Wyatt didn’t mind competition, but he didn’t like the Johnson brothers. They weren’t local, their workmanship was shoddy, they cut corners and used inferior products. And he hated losing to them.
It was only a single room addition. How long could it take? A month, six weeks at most.
He could suck it up and deal for six weeks. And even if he couldn’t, he wasn’t about to give a job away—an easy job he could handle.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ll go back to the office, write up an estimate and have it delivered to you tomorrow.”
She cocked her head to the side. “Won’t you bring it by so we can get the contract signed? I’d like to get started on this as so
on as possible.” She raised her hands out to her sides. “As you can tell we’ve outgrown the space and really need the extra room here.”
He inhaled, let it out. “Fine. I’ll deliver it in the morning and bring a contract with me.”
There was that grin again. She had dimples. Awfully cute.
No. She wasn’t cute. Not at all. Nothing about her was cute. Or sexy.
“I gotta go.” He turned and fled the room.
“Okay.” She skirted in front of him. “Here, let’s go out the front door.”
Once again he was forced to trail behind her, giving him a great view of her ass.
Calliope was the first woman he’d noticed—really ogled, as a matter of fact—in a long time.
That sent danger and warning signals flashing in his head.
Say no. Walk away. Don’t do this job.
But he’d be damned if he was going to lose another job to those asshole Johnsons. How much danger could he be in with Calliope Andrews? She owned a day care center. She would be busy all day. So would he. They’d barely run into each other, right?
She opened the door and stood with her hand on the door knob, the other pushing up her glasses.
“Thanks for coming by, Wyatt. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See ya.”
He hurried out the front door and hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath until he reached the sidewalk. He turned back to look at the door.
Calliope was still there. She waved at him.
Like an idiot he waved to her, then snatched his hand back and shoved it in his jacket pocket.
He was not going to be nice. He didn’t have to be. All he had to do was his job.
And nothing more.
Chapter Two
Calliope finished cleaning up the playroom, then went into her office to shut down the computer.
That was when she saw Wyatt’s clipboard.
Oh, no. He’d need that if he was going to do her estimate. She picked up the phone, intending to call his office, then laid it back down.
She was on her way out the door anyway, and the offices of Kent Construction were a few miles away. She’d drop it off on her way home.
So maybe his office wasn’t exactly on her way home, since she only lived a couple blocks from the day care center, but she didn’t mind going out of her way to deliver his clipboard.
And maybe she might want to see him again tonight.
And maybe she might still have a crush on him.
But crush or not, this was business, and it had to come first. She needed the addition to the day care center and she needed Wyatt focused on giving her that estimate.
She climbed into her car and headed toward his offices, remembering how it had been all those years ago.
She’d been more than a little bit in love—or at least lust—with Wyatt since she was fifteen years old and her older sister Cassandra had dragged him over to the house to meet their parents. When he’d walked through the door, she’d been sitting at the kitchen table doing her homework. She’d looked up, saw him and her breath had stopped.
Wyatt had been twenty-three back then—and gorgeous. And then Cassie had walked in and slipped her hand in Wyatt’s and all Calliope’s hopes were dashed. Cassie had been taken with Wyatt’s lean good looks, his dark hair and blue eyes. And why wouldn’t she? Every girl in Deer Lake wanted him, and Cassie loved competition—loved to win. She’d won Wyatt, though Calliope had been certain Cassie had never loved Wyatt. She’d only wanted him because every other girl in town had wanted him, too. Once Cassie had him, she paraded him around town like a prize possession.
Cassie was beautiful, with her dark blond hair that fell straight and sleek to her waist, and a killer body that she honed for hours at the gym. And she was so smart, had gone to college and gotten her business degree, then gone to work for one of the top real-estate firms in town, eventually branching out to start her own company. Real estate and construction—Cassie and Wyatt’s businesses had even meshed.
They’d really been the perfect couple.
But the two of them hadn’t been the perfect couple at all, and it had broken Calliope’s heart to see both of them so unhappy. Sometimes things don’t work out. They were better apart than together. Cassie had moved on, but for some reason, Wyatt seemed to hold a grudge.
But the past was the past and she’d hoped Wyatt was over it by now. Nobody was worth pining over for three years—not even her sister.
She pulled up to the offices. Wyatt’s truck wasn’t there.
Huh. She got out anyway and went to the front door, tried to open it, but it was locked up tight. She peered through the glass. It was dark.
Maybe he decided he’d come in early in the morning to do the bid. She shrugged and got back into her car, deciding she’d come back in the morning and bring him the clipboard.
On her way back down Central, she spotted his truck parked in front of Stokey’s bar.
Oh. That’s where he was. She’d drop off the clipboard to him there. She parked and went inside, blinking to adjust her eyes to the darkness.
She wasn’t much of a drinker, so she’d never been in Stokey’s before. There wasn’t a whole lot of atmosphere to the place. Dim lighting, bottles of alcohol stocked behind a very dark wood bar. There was a pool table off to one side, a dart board on the opposite wall and a couple televisions scattered about showing various sporting events.
There were only a handful of people inside—all men. Then again it was a Tuesday and not even seven-thirty yet. Maybe the big crowds didn’t show up until later.
The men who were present stopped what they were doing to give her the once-over as she made her way to the bar.
Wyatt had a beer in hand, his focus on one of the televisions mounted behind the bar. She climbed onto the barstool next to his.
“Hey there.”
Nothing. He didn’t even acknowledge her. Then again, the television was turned up pretty loud, so maybe he hadn’t heard her.
“Wyatt, you forgot your clipboard.”
He finally turned his head, then frowned. “Calliope. What are you doing in here?”
She slid the clipboard across the bar to him, then smiled at him. “Your clipboard. You left it at the center. Thought you might need it to work up those numbers for me.”
He looked at her like he had no idea who she was. Then he gave her a quick nod. “Yeah, right. Thanks.”
He used to be so full of life. He’d laugh and his face would light up when he smiled. Her toes curled remembering what he looked like when he smiled.
“You want something to drink?”
She shifted her gaze to the bartender, a heavyset guy with male pattern baldness.
“Oh. Uh. You know, I don’t know.” She turned to Wyatt. “What should I have?”
Wyatt stared at her. “How should I know?”
“Well, I don’t really drink that often, so I’m not the best judge of what’s good. What do you suggest?”
Wyatt raised his bottle to his lips. “Beer.”
She nodded and looked at the bartender. “I’ll have a beer.”
The bartender flipped the top off the bottle and slid it to her. She reached into her purse for the money and paid him, leaving an extra dollar for a tip. Then she slid around on the stool to check out what was going on while she took a long swallow of the beer, shuddering at the taste.
Soda would be better, but this would have to do.
She slipped off the barstool and walked over to the pool table to watch the two guys play. She’d never played pool, either, though there’d been a table at her dorm in college.
The cool people played. She’d never been one of the cool people. Now that she was a single adult, she should learn to do cool things instead of always being wrapped up with work.
One of the guys—a burly, halfway decent-looking type wearing jeans and a plaid shirt, shifted his gaze to hers and grinned at her. “Want to take me on, honey?”
“
Oh, I’ve never played before. Can you teach me?”
He took his shot and straightened, grabbed his beer and came over to stand beside her while his partner took a shot. “Honey, I can teach you anything you want to know.”
“Great. Then I’d love to learn how to play.”
They finished up their game, and the guy—who introduced himself as Joey Johnson—put the balls in the triangular thing. He called it “racking the balls”. Once they were all set, he put the white ball in front of them.
“Now we break,” he said, leaning forward with the pool cue.
She watched as he shot the white ball toward all the other balls. They scattered, some falling into the holes around the table.
“We’ll play simple eight ball,” Joey said. “I’m solid, you’re stripes. I shoot until I miss. Then it’s your turn to get your ball into the pockets.”
“Seems simple enough.”
Except Joey didn’t miss very often. He put four of his balls in one of the pockets before she had a chance.
Of course that meant she’d gotten to watch his technique. It seemed easy enough. She bent over the table and tried to hold her pool cue the same way he did.
She wasn’t very coordinated, though, and couldn’t quite remember the hand positioning.
Joey laughed. “Here, let me help you.”
He aligned his body next to hers, his pelvis shoving up behind her.
She might be naïve about pool, but she wasn’t dumb about men. Joey was hitting on her in the most basic of ways, and wasn’t subtle about it at all.
He could teach her to play pool, but she wouldn’t be going home with him tonight.
“Just do it so it’s comfortable for you.” He put the cue in her hands, showed her the proper positioning. And that wasn’t the only positioning he showed her.
Really? Sometimes men were so obvious.
Her gaze drifted over to Wyatt, who had swiveled around on his barstool and glared daggers at them.
He looked upset. At her.
She rolled her eyes.
And sometimes men were just plain dumb.
She straightened, smiled at Joey. “I think I’ve got the hang of it now, and if you shove your—” she looked down at his crotch, “—assets at me again, I’m going to knee you in the balls. Understood?”