“Great logo. Did you design it yourself?”
“Actually, a buddy of mine did. His name's Evan.”
“Evan Dandridge? With Dandridge Marketing?”
“You know him?”
“I've heard of him. He's talented, but much too pricey for me, I'm afraid.”
“That's Evan. He's good and he knows it.” He always had, even when they'd shared a dorm room back in college. It had been Evan who'd first came up with the idea for Hire-a-Hunk. Evan had been his roommate and a marketing major, and Beau had been working his way through college. He'd been behind on his tuition payments and this close to calling it quits when Evan had come up with the whole gimmick to give Beau's handyman service a boost.
“You're good-looking,” Evan had said. “You should capitalize on it.”
“If someone wants their garage renovated, they don't care what the hired help looks like,” he'd told Evan.
His friend had smiled. “You'd be surprised.”
Beau had been surprised, all right. And swamped with jobs. He'd been forced to hire a fellow frat brother to help. And then another. And another. By the time he'd graduated with an architectural degree, Hire-a-Hunk had been pulling in so much money he would have been forced to take a drastic pay cut to take an entry level architectural position.
He wouldn't have cared. Beau was a low maintenance guy, but his dad had come to depend on the extra income that Beau sent home to help with his younger brothers. Not to mention by the time graduation had rolled around, he had a dozen employees who'd depended on Hire-a-Hunk to survive.
His guys had been loyal over the years and most were still with him. But now they weren't just loyal employees, they were aging employees who were entering their comfortable thirties. Qualified men who didn't deserve to lose their jobs just because they'd lost their six-pack abs and traded their high protein yogurt shakes for waffle cones filled with scoops of cookies ’n'cream.
And so Beau needed a new image for his company. He needed to bump things up to the next level, to turn his glorified handyman service into a major renovation team. To turn his trendy Hire-a-Hunk service into the renowned, respected H&H Construction. And to do that, he needed this project.
To restore Xandra's house to its original grandeur would gain the attention of the right people. Namely, the staff at Texas Monthly. The magazine hosted a yearly contest to name the up-and-coming restoration company of the year, and Beau was determined to earn that title.
“We're in the process of expanding right now into a full-fledged construction and renovation business. No more of the small time stuff,” he went on. “My guys have been loyal over the years and so I want more stability and a larger market share that comes with being more than just a passing fad.”
“So you're the man behind Hire-a-Hunk?”
“I'm the man behind and out front and usually smack dab in the middle. Speaking of which”—he handed her the plans—“these are the drawings for the renovations.”
“I thought your company's architect was going to drop them by.”
“I am the architect.”
“You're an architect?”
“By default.”
At her questioning glance, he shrugged. “I set out to earn a degree in mechanical engineering. But I couldn't afford an architect early on, so I switched some of my classes to learn how to draw plans and read blueprints and before I knew it, I'd earned enough credits for a degree.”
“That's great. I mean, sort of. Great that you got a degree, but not that you didn't actually earn it in your area of interest.” She smiled and eyed him. “Yeah, I can see you doing the engineering thing.”
“How's that?”
“You were always working on cars and fixing things around the gas station. When I heard about your business, I figured you were handling the physical end of things rather than just the plans.”
“Being an architect—a good architect—is a full-service job.” He told her the same thing he'd told himself time and time again, whenever the past caught up to him and the regret set in. “I don't just design whatever I'm commissioned to work on, I do hands-on work to make sure those designs are fully implemented. Hire-a-Hunk is a full service contractor. We do most of the work ourselves: electrical, slab, drywall, flooring—we do it all. I'm sure you'll be pleased.” The minute the words were out, the image of a girl, her face illuminated by moonlight, pushed into his head. “I mean satisfied.” Okay, that wasn't much better than “pleased.” “Happy,” he rushed on, “with the renovation. Well,” he said, turning to pull the folded papers from his briefcase. “Here's a copy of the blueprints for the planned changes and updates, along with a copy of the original plan from the initial builder. Have a look and call me with any questions. My crew will be here first thing Monday morning to start work.”
“I don't—”
“We've got the master key you gave to Annabelle, so don't even think that you'll be inconvenienced during any of this. You won't even know we're here. Have a nice day.” He turned and started toward the door before she had a chance to open her mouth. At the moment he was holding tight to the possibility that she didn't really remember him—namely, the five minutes they'd spent in the backseat of his daddy's Impala when they should have been at the dance.
Five fast and furious minutes where he'd lost control and totally ruined what should have been one of the hottest sexual experiences of his life. Particularly since he'd been more turned on by Xandra Farrel than he'd ever been with any other woman. Then again, it was that fact that had stirred him up and made him lose control in the first place. He'd blown it. Literally. A few thrusts and he'd exploded, and that had been the end of their encounter. And the beginning of a night spent thinking about her, dreaming about her, and wanting her all over again.
Not that he'd spent the past eleven years wanting her, mind you. Or crying over what had happened. Beau Hollister didn't cry. He'd only cried twice in his entire lifetime. One had been when his mother had passed away. The second time had been less than two weeks ago when he'd had to hand Evan his first mirror since the devastating car accident that had burned half his face.
The incident with Xandra had been totally different. A disaster, as far as he was concerned, but not even close to anything life-threatening. He'd had an off night that had led to an off morning during which he'd bombed the physics exam that would have awarded him a full ride to Texas A&M. While he'd wanted to cry, he'd wanted to smack himself upside the head even more for letting a girl interfere with his lifelong dream.
He'd vowed then and there to never fall into that trap again, and he'd succeeded. While he loved women, he made sure they were temporary women. Those interested in one hot night rather than a morning after. He hadn't let himself get sidetracked since.
He had people who depended on him, like always, and so he wasn't in any hurry to stroll down memory lane with Xandra Farrel.
He didn't want to know if she remembered that night as clearly as he did. If she thought about it. If she regretted it.
She probably didn't remember. The whole thing had gone from zero to sixty in about as many seconds. Maybe it had been too fast and she simply remembered the episode as some heavy-duty petting.
The thought bothered him almost as much as it soothed his anxiety. Almost. But Beau needed this job way too much to let his damned male pride get in the way of his future. Her home was the oldest in the area, the most rundown, and the best chance he had to impress Texas Monthly. Then it would be bye-bye Hire-a-Hunk and hello H&H Construction. His guys would have the job security they'd earned with their expertise and their loyalty.
And Beau?
He would keep using the degree he'd earned, even if he wasn't all that happy doing it. For Beau, life wasn't about being happy. It was about being responsible. It always had been.
Chapter Five
Beau Hollister.
His image rooted in Xandra's head and stayed with her long after the door closed behind him.
In every dream she'd had where she pictured the moment they would meet again and she would get her chance to show him exactly what he'd missed out on by not seeing the hot girl beneath the fat-chick persona, she was always wearing a sexy dress, her hair and makeup firmly in place, her legs freshly shaven.
Instead, she looked like Queen of the Domestic Damned with her ratty bathrobe and unkempt hair, her face free and clear of makeup. There was no mascara to make her eyes look bigger. No lipstick to make her lips look pouty. No blush to take away from her usual pasty complexion.
Nothing to make her look the least bit hot, or make him the least bit regretful.
But Beau…Now he'd looked hot. Sure, he looked older, but if anything the changes made him all the more appealing. His tall frame, which had made him seem gangly as a teenager, had filled out. His shoulders were wide, his chest broad, his muscles more solid and well-defined. His stance seemed more confident, too, his gaze lit with a knowledge that said he'd seen and done more than his fair share. His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. The dimple that cut into the side of one stubbled jaw seemed slightly deeper, and she'd had the insane urge to reach up and dip her tongue into the crevice.
Which she would have done in any of her how-do-you-like-me-now? fantasies. But the past few minutes had been more like a yikes-I-look-like-hell nightmare, and so she'd tucked her robe around her unshaven legs, smiled, and tried to look nonchalant rather than caught off-guard.
The story of her life, it seemed, when it came to Beau. She'd done the very same thing the night of the senior Sadie Hawkins dance when they'd gone parking.
She closed her eyes as the images rushed at her. Beau stopping to help her with a flat tire. His kindness giving her the courage to ask him out. The shopping trip to the mall to buy her first pair of high heels and a new outfit to fit the smaller body she'd been working toward her entire senior year. The excitement when she'd pulled off her baggy jeans and sweatshirt and slipped on the black miniskirt and a leopard print tank top. Beau showing up at her door looking so handsome in a plaid shirt and starched Wranglers. Beau looking slightly shell-shocked and stealing glances at her every few minutes during the drive to the school gym. As if he couldn't believe they were actually on a date together. As if he regretted the fact that he'd said yes.
He hadn't been mean or standoffish; he'd just been quiet. Except when he'd asked her to dance. He'd actually looked as if the idea excited him. But then Xandra had turned him down and suggested they go parking, and he'd lapsed back into the awkward silence.
She could still remember the gleam in his eyes and the pull of all those swirling lights. She'd wanted to dance in the worst way, but she'd chickened out because she'd never danced with a boy before. Other than the frantic gyrating she did in front of her mirror in the privacy of her own bedroom, she'd never actually danced, period. And so she'd turned him down and opted for the make-out session.
Which had been the whole point of the entire evening in the first place. It was all about sex. Not slow dancing. Or drinking punch in between the fast dances. Or getting to wear one of those pink carnation corsages she'd seen the other girls carry to school the Monday after.
Sex, she told herself. That's what it had all been about. She'd meant to lose her virginity and have her first sexual experience, and the dance had just been an excuse to ask him out.
Even so, she'd relived the experience in her mind a time or two since, and she'd changed things a bit to reflect what she should have done. Just the way she'd imagined her first encounter with Beau as an adult.
Burning condoms in front of him hadn't been part of the plan. Then again, that was her problem. She was stuck in a rut. Her original plans—namely to secure the job of her dreams and have a family of her own—were thrown by the wayside. She'd lost sight of her path, of herself, she realized as she eyed the singed Madonna pillow he'd used to put out the fire in her lap.
She'd just picked up the pillow to survey the damage when her phone rang again.
“Mom just called me,” Skye's frantic voice rushed over the line.
“And?”
“And I didn't answer. She'll ask questions and then I'll have to tell her I'm procreating and—”
“I thought you were just planning to procreate?”
“We were, but then Clint tasted my lasagna and it sucked and one thing led to another and…You know how it goes.”
“You went from sucky lasagna to procreating.” Xandra nodded. “Definitely a natural progression.”
“It sucked and so I cried and then he tried to comfort me and we started kissing and—”
“Procreation.”
“Exactly. Mom's like Big Brother. She'll know. And then she'll give me a hard time, and I'm depressed enough as it is, which is why I called to talk.” A heavy sigh floated over the line. “I don't think it worked.”
“Why not?”
“Because I didn't feel anything. I mean, I had an orgasm and it felt good, but it always feels good. Great. But it didn't feel different.”
“Maybe it's not supposed to feel different.”
“We're talking about creating human life here. You would think you'd be able to feel something. I mean, Clint's youngest brother's wife said that when she conceived their first child, she just knew it. She felt it. It was like this fantastic moment. Mine was fantastic, but it's always fantastic. I was expecting something different. Like the ultimate orgasm.”
“There's no such thing.” The minute the words left her mouth, an idea struck. A crazy, far-out concept she should have dismissed without a second thought.
She would have had she not been sitting on the ledge of the fireplace wearing a singed robe, her body still buzzing from the encounter with Beau Hollister, of all people, a half dozen packages of surviving condoms littering the floor near her feet.
Her gaze shifted from the condoms to the fiery heat licking at the grate and her mind started to race.
“Not yet, that is.”
“You want to make the ultimate orgasm?” Albert finished lacing up his tennis shoe, stood, and reached for his racquet.
“I want to make something that gives women the ultimate orgasm.”
“Like a vibrator?”
“Maybe.” She shook her head as she leaned back against the wall of the court and drank a sip of her bottled water. “Probably not. I need something a little more inventive. Something a woman can actually use while she's having sex with a partner.”
“A stimulator.”
“Kind of.” She closed her eyes and prayed for Albert and his racquet to go away. “Don't look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you expect me to get up and play.”
“I do expect you to get up and play.” He came over and reached for her hand. “That's why I dragged you here. You need to play. To get your blood flowing. To get your mind off the whole Mark thing.”
The kicker was, she'd stopped thinking about Mark hours ago. Instead, she'd been thinking and rethinking her meeting with Beau Hollister.
“Can't I just vegetate a little longer?”
“I guess so, but just so you know, the more sedentary you are, the quicker your arteries are to harden. Then your bones start to creak when you do move. And before you know it, you're popping One-A-Days like they're candy and shopping for orthopedic shoes.”
“I guess if I have to get old I should at least go kicking and screaming.” She got to her feet and reached for her racquet. Not to mention, she needed a distraction from Beau and all the should-haves racing through her mind.
She should have looked better. And sounded more witty. And thrown herself out the nearest window when she realized it was him.
Shaking away the thoughts, she grabbed the ball and dropped it into a serve.
They spent the next thirty minutes slapping the ball back and forth while Xandra brainstormed various ideas for her ultimate orgasm. All too soon, she'd run out of ideas and she found herself telling Albert all about h
er unplanned meeting with Beau and the fact that she hadn't shaved her legs in two weeks.
“It gets worse.”
“Worse than two weeks of stubble?”
“Unfortunately. He owns the construction company doing the restoration on my house, which I already knew, which was why I picked his company. Not that I expected to see him. I suppose I thought I might see him, but not this soon, not today. But I come to find out he actually does hands-on with his business, which means I get to see him for the next three weeks until all the work is done.” She blew out an exasperated breath. “The Big Lady Up High definitely has it out for me.”
“Your first sexual experience really took all of five minutes?” Without waiting for an answer, he grinned. “That ought to make you feel good.”
“That he was in a hurry to be finished?”
“That's one way to look at it.”
“And another?”
“Maybe he was so excited that he couldn't control himself. You're a vivacious woman.”
“You didn't know me back then. I mean, when we did it, I wasn't a total tubby. I'd lost twenty of the thirty-five pound goal I'd set for myself. And I actually put on a skirt for the event. But I was still young and awkward and geeky and I knew absolutely nothing about sex.” At his raised eyebrows, she added, “I mean, I knew everything. But I'd never done anything. Doing was a lot different from knowing.”
“I don't know if I can remember back that far.”
“You were probably more than experienced by the time you turned eighteen.”
“I'm not talking about remembering when I was eighteen. I'm talking about remembering the doing. It's been a while.”
“How long is a while?”
“Let's just put it this way…I'm a traitor. I've tried every product the Lust, Lust, Baby! guys have put out.” At her narrowed gaze, he added, “Hey, our products are geared for women. A guy has to do what a guy has to do. Besides, somebody from our company has to keep tabs on what they're up to. It might as well be me.”
Sometimes Naughty, Sometimes Nice Page 5