by Kat Cantrell
“You can be,” he threw out. “Do this with me. Don’t you see how perfectly the universe set this up to give you what you’ve always wanted? Help them embrace their destiny.”
Help. It was the magic word, Havana’s kryptonite and elixir of life all rolled into one.
Option B didn’t seem so outlandish all at once. When laid out in Caleb’s dulcet tones, it actually sounded pretty great. A few months wasn’t so long to stay in Superstition Springs, not when she could test out dating Caleb at the same time. Maybe she could even segue this design experience into a job in Austin or San Antonio.
If she hadn’t succeeded with Ember or crossed the finish line on getting married and the shopping center was out too, why not jump on board with Team Caleb? What did she have to lose?
Fourteen
Somehow Caleb had convinced Havana to completely abandon the shopping center idea and take a job helping him shape this town into something all the residents could be proud of. An unpaid job because, as she’d pointed out, he had no revenue to draw her salary from. And she’d volunteered to talk to Damian Scott about the new plans since they’d have to somehow convince him that he loved the idea of not razing the town.
Dazed pretty well described his state of mind since the election. Maybe even before that. Havana had knocked him for a loop the moment he’d crashed into her at Voodoo Grocery, and he hadn’t really ever regained his balance.
She was something else.
When she showed up on his balcony the next morning, he could easily call himself shocked. Hadn’t she told him they were taking it slow? That alone had kept him from mentioning the status change in their relationship—if you could call it that—when the guys had ribbed him over the amount of time he spent with Havana.
Yet there she was, knocking on the door. Since he was pretty sure she wasn’t there for the same activity he’d been visualizing, he threw some pants on and eased the door open, partially shielding himself behind it.
Just in case she was there for something a little more hands-on, he’d already be almost undressed for the occasion.
She didn’t say a word. Her gaze strayed down his torso as if she’d stumbled over the best side of beef at the market and she was starving.
“It’s a little early in the morning to be looking at a man like that,” he said drily. “Unless you’re planning to come in and make good on it.”
She cut her gaze back to his and locked on, a guilty flush staining her cheeks. Which pleased him enormously because it meant she had indeed been indulging in some naughty thoughts despite the back-off mandate she’d issued the last time they’d talked.
“I wasn’t expecting you to be half-dressed,” she mumbled. “Or have such a fascinating array of nicks and scars on that one shoulder. Your skin is this interesting bronze color that I hadn’t properly imagined and… I’m going to shut up now.”
Oh, that would be a shame. He tried to hide a grin and failed. “Don’t do that on my account. I like listening to you talk about my body. There’s more you haven’t seen if you need some additional parts to describe.”
The flush heightened. “I’d really prefer it if you’d put a shirt on.”
“You came to my door at—” He leaned back to glance at the clock, but really it was an excuse to reveal more of his naked chest because flustering her was so much fun. “Eight-oh-five a.m. How dressed did you think I was going to be?”
“Most people put clothes on to answer the door,” she countered and averted her eyes but not before she copped a peek. Hopefully that eyeful had given her enough to consider whether she’d like to take this early-morning meeting to the next level.
“Most people haven’t spent the past decade face down in dirt for the better part of a night. Now that I don’t have to, I like to be as comfortable as possible. I’ve never been modest, nor am I about to start.”
She nodded once. “I’ll take that under advisement.”
“Are you sure you didn’t come by hoping to catch me still in bed?” he asked tongue in cheek. “Or did you actually intend to have a conversation about something other than my poor battle-worn skin?”
Her gaze strayed back to his shoulder, softening. “I guess I should have put that together. It didn’t occur to me that you’d have wounds from being in the Navy.”
“I was a SEAL. We did the stuff no one wants to talk about,” he told her flatly. “I tangled with the wrong end of an al-Qaeda butcher knife. More than once.”
Her head bobbed in agreement a bunch of times as if she couldn’t quite process that. “Sure, of course. I get that it wasn’t pretty.”
“And neither am I. But I fared much better than the other guy.” Fact of life. Some women didn’t like that part of his past, and if she was one of them, now would be a good time to establish that.
But she lifted her eyes to his, and revulsion wasn’t even close to the top of the list of things he saw there. “You’re beautiful, Caleb. You earned those scars in the most honorable way imaginable. Why would anyone see them as ugly?”
Now it was his turn to flush, but why that pleased him so much, he couldn’t say. “Now you’re embarrassing me.”
“Then put a shirt on,” she advised him saucily. “If you don’t want to be ogled, don’t run around naked.”
Touché. And she’d made him laugh before coffee, a feat of gargantuan proportions. “Give me a sec.”
He ducked back into the room and found a T-shirt, pulling it on over his skin that Havana had apparently been visualizing enough that its color had surprised her. When the Navy trained SEALs, shirts often went by the wayside as recruits spent an ungodly number of hours wallowing in sand and mud. That rigorous bit of fun had been followed by multiple rounds of HALO drops into the Persian Gulf, among other things. Wet clothes weighed a man down. The reasons he had a good base tan were myriad and something he’d rather not think about right now.
“Happy?” he asked her as he pulled the door open wide to reveal his now-covered torso. “Or at least happy enough to tell me the purpose of this early-morning lesson on how I should dress for a woman who sneaks onto my balcony instead of calling first?”
This time she didn’t flush, which he immediately missed.
“I’m right upstairs. Calling felt anticlimactic.”
Somehow he didn’t think she’d appreciate any of the jokes that sprang to his tongue, so he bit them back and crossed his arms to keep from reaching out. He hadn’t brushed his teeth yet, and if she kept standing there looking so delectable, he might be tempted to get a little handsy. “And now you’re right downstairs. Still not telling me why you’re here. A man might start getting the idea that you want exactly what it seems you came for but you’re too shy to admit it.”
She scowled. “If I wanted that, you’d know. I came to see if you’d go with me to talk to Damian. I told him the fake engagement was off. We’re a united front, and I need him to see that.”
Well, well. That statement was full of so many loaded variables he hardly knew where to start. Oh, yeah. He did. “How exactly would I know you wanted that? Give me some clues.”
“Please get your mind out of the gutter,” she said, her exasperation clear. “If you’ll focus, I solemnly swear I will never come to your door this early again.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You come to my door any time of day or night that it strikes your fancy. It’ll never be locked.” His mind refused to get out of the gutter where Havana was concerned, so he didn’t even bother to try. But since she’d asked, he shifted the conversation to her chosen topic. “I’d be thrilled to go with you to talk to Scott. Especially if the goal is to establish us as a couple.”
She rolled her eyes. “I wish you were half as cute as you think you are.”
“Oh, come on. I’m at least sixty percent as cute as I think I am.”
“I’ll be downstairs. Waiting.”
Fighting a smile of her own, she flounced away, hips swinging nicely, and he shamelessly watched her go. Next ti
me, he might break a few of his own rules about how fast he got intimate with a woman and haul her inside to let her examine his war wounds a little more closely. Hands-on. But for now he’d honor her request to keep things casual until it suited him to change her mind.
The car ride to La Grange might have been considered torture in some places. But Caleb kept his cool and pretended an unhealthy fascination with the landscape, which wasn’t any different than the scenery between Austin and Superstition Springs.
Scott answered the door of his hotel room completely dressed in a suit and tie, not that Caleb expected anything less. The man had probably been born in a suit.
“Damian, thanks for seeing us on short notice,” Havana interjected smoothly, apparently picking up a thread from the text message she’d sent him earlier from the Yukon. “We have a proposition for you.”
As he ushered them inside, Scott’s gaze cut to Caleb and back to Havana, clearly trying to figure out the vibe that he surely sensed. That made two of them.
“Don’t mind me, I’ll just stand over here,” Caleb suggested in an attempt to assure the other man he wasn’t a threat and leaned up against the wall unobtrusively as Scott showed Havana to the scarred table near the window.
The Best Western was probably a far cry from the luxury Damian Scott was used to, but he didn’t seem to mind, taking the seat farthest away from the door and angling his chair toward both Havana and Caleb. He gave them both his full attention, no cell phone in sight.
Classy. Now that he knew Scott and Havana weren’t really an item, some of their awkwardness around each other made sense. And Caleb had to give the man all kinds of props for doing the fake engagement thing without taking extra liberties with the woman in question.
Havana jumped right to the point. “Let’s find a different place for the shopping center. Caleb wants to give his town-refurbishment idea a shot, and I’d like to help him.”
To his credit, Scott didn’t register an iota of surprise, which was more than Caleb could say about his own shock level. When Havana committed to something, the woman went ballistic. The little nugget of heat that had pretty much lived in his gut since the Dorito aisle crash grew into something a great deal bigger.
“Tell me more,” Scott said sincerely and steepled his hands. “The text message you sent me didn’t have enough details. I have to take it to the group, and I’ll need solid numbers.”
Figured Havana would have gotten in front of the deal early, which was where her skills really shone. She didn’t leave things to chance.
“Sure,” she returned agreeably. “Caleb knows your investors aren’t thrilled about an old falling-down mining town marring up the landscape. But his vision for changing that is pretty inspired. You heard most of it the other day at the diner. All we’re asking for is a chance to show your investors what a complement a historic town with an artisan soul can be to the resort. I can get you similar projections as what I did for the shopping center by, let’s say next Thursday?”
Well, he didn’t know about Damian Scott, but Caleb was sure sold. More on the woman than the town though. She was something else, her blue eyes flashing with passion and her red hair nearly bristling. He might be a little more in over his head with her than he’d been pretending.
His heart hurt when he looked at her, and he didn’t seem to be able to do anything to stop it. What was he supposed to do with that? Nothing—she’d laid down the law about what she was and wasn’t looking for from a man. Odds were good that a sudden declaration of deeper feelings wouldn’t go over well.
Scott just nodded as if he had these kinds of conversations twice a day. “If the projections line up, I’d be willing to give you six months to get the plans in order and prove the execution. Otherwise, I think you owe it to me to bow out.”
Uh… so that was it? Havana had gotten what she’d come for in under five minutes? Was this the same woman who claimed she didn’t have the ability to influence people?
Havana offered her hand for a perfunctory shake, all smiles. “That’s more than fair. You’re good people, Damian.”
He returned her smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Not good enough. I did honestly expect that thing we talked about to take a couple of weeks though. Guess I was more right than I thought.”
A fascinating blush stained Havana’s cheeks that only heightened her outrageous beauty as she studiously avoided Damian’s gaze. “Don’t be silly. You’re every bit good enough, and that’s way more than needs to be said in present company.”
Wait, what present company? Did she mean him? “What am I missing?”
“Nothing.” Refusing to look at Caleb too, Havana shot to her feet, nearly toppling her chair backward. “Thanks, Damian, for being a good sport about the shopping center.”
“I’m still going to build it,” he said, his voice even. “You just won’t be on the project. You have six months to convince me I should find a new place to break ground on it. Otherwise, I’ll start the hard sell on the residents. Piles of cash turn almost all noes to yeses.”
Havana nodded and tried to hustle Caleb out of the hotel room. But he stopped to shake Scott’s hand because after all, the man was giving them a chance, no questions asked. The flash of red hair in his peripheral vision vanished before Caleb had cleared the door.
“What was that all about?” he called after her as she strode four lengths ahead of him toward the Yukon. He easily caught up, holding the key fob out of her reach as she tried to fight him for it, presumably so she could unlock the door to escape. She fumed about it for exactly two seconds, then switched gears ultrafast.
“It was about Damian agreeing to give us six months,” she said brightly like she thought she was fooling him. “Weren’t you paying attention? That’s the best news ever.”
Oh, he’d been paying attention all right, and the undercurrents had been fierce. Because Scott had been referencing how they’d talked about Caleb’s lack of ability to take on a mission of this magnitude? He was missing intel on this, and that wasn’t going to fly. “What thing was supposed to take a couple of weeks?”
“Caleb.”
The way she said his name slid down his spine, raising all kinds of awareness that wasn’t fitting for a hotel parking lot. Okay, well, it would be if they were headed in the opposite direction, toward a room. But instead, they were circling each other for the eightieth time, and he wasn’t sure if he should find it exhilarating or irritating, given the subject in question.
Which still hadn’t been addressed.
“Havana.”
Apparently saying her name didn’t have quite the same effect on her. She blinked up at him with a small smile. “Is it that hard for you to not be in the know? I am allowed to have secrets. We’re not at that place where I tell you everything.”
That deflated him faster than anything else she could have said. Of course they weren’t. They were barely dating, regardless of any revelations he might have had about his feelings for her during that speech in Scott’s hotel room.
He sighed and ruffled the hair on the back of his neck. “Yeah, now I’m the idiot. Sorry. I’m carrying some crap around from… before.”
It was so ingrained to not talk about classified ops that Caleb’s conscience automatically pulled back, though it really wouldn’t matter overly much if he told her. The media had torn the op apart after it came out that his team had destroyed a village with not one insurgent present. Bad intel—the gift that keeps on giving apparently. Caleb hadn’t realized he had such issues with trust as a result.
Maybe because he’d been so busy backing off per her request. Funny how easily he’d jumped on that, barely offering one squeak of protest.
“It’s okay.” She put a hand on his arm, and the skin underneath tingled. “I made a bigger deal out of it than it needed to be. Can we focus on the fact that we have six months to get the town in order?”
Yeah. That was the thing he needed to be freaking out about. Six months was not an et
ernity. It was barely enough time to really get rolling—and that was assuming the whole shebang was being helmed by someone who knew what they were doing. The absolute last thing he should be doing was having some knee-jerk realizations about his own emotional ability to have a relationship with a woman.
He beeped the Yukon locks and opened her car door, praying it didn’t seem like the distraction it was. He needed a minute to get his head in order.
By the time he rounded the SUV and jumped into the driver’s seat, he’d at least gotten his expression semiblank. That was progress.
“Can we talk about the infrastructure plan?” she asked as soon as he clicked his seat belt into place.
He rolled out of the Best Western lot and headed west toward the dust trail that he had to take to get back to Superstition Springs. Hopefully there would be a sign to differentiate from all the other dust trails. “Which plan is that?”
“Police force. Fire and ambulance services. A school system. That plan. We’re going to need to figure out where those services will be located so I know how to fit them into the master design.” She chatted about that for a few minutes, oblivious to how his chest had gone numb.
What did he know about creating municipal services from the ground up? He’d need people to head those things. Not just people—they had to be experienced, willing to live in an experimental town with an uncertain future, and who knew they were on deck to help make it all happen.
Havana trailed off and glanced at him. “Are you okay? You got really quiet.”
“I’m thinking about all the stuff I have to do.”
It wasn’t even a lie. That was exactly what he was thinking about. Panicking would be a better term than thinking. But how was he supposed to admit that? It would almost be better to flat out ask her how they could get past casual and fall into special.
That’s what he wanted. And it was killing him that he couldn’t figure out how to stop hesitating.
“I’m here to help,” she reminded him and reached out to slide a hand down his forearm where it rested on the center console, stroking his bare skin in what she must have thought would be a comforting gesture. It might have been more so if her touch wasn’t electric, waking up all his nerve endings.