by Shirley Jump
Tell me it’s something innocent. Tell me you and Tony will be okay.
Renee and Tony might not have had a perfect marriage, but they had always been the ones Alex had seen as proof that if they could work it out, anyone could. If Renee and Tony could have a happily ever after, then maybe Alex could, too.
But if they became yet another divorce statistic, then how sure could Alex be that happily ever after worked out for everyone—including her?
“Alex, hate to bother you one more time, but can I have these as samples?”
Dean again. Alex gritted her teeth and spun toward the reporter. Dean was holding up two pink scarves, one with poufy fringe and the other decorated with light purple polka dots. “Samples for what?”
“Uh…research. I’ve got to see if they block the wind.” He pressed a scarf to his cheek and smiled with contentment, then realizing he’d been caught mooning over the froufrou accessories, his face reddened and he yanked away the scarves.
Oh. Oh. “Keep them,” Alex said.
“Thanks, Alex.” He cleared his throat and deepened his voice. “I’ll make sure to give them to my, uh, girlfriend when I’m done.”
Alex shook her head as Dean left. She turned back to Renee. Just as she did, the elevator arrived with a ding. The doors opened, the green lighted triangles above announcing its upstairs destination. “Renee, don’t go. I want to talk to you.”
“I have a meeting.” Renee stepped inside and pressed the button for the twelfth floor. “Don’t worry, Alex. Nothing’s going on with me. Not…yet.”
The doors shut before Alex could ask what Renee meant. As the elevator made its journey upward, Alex opted for the stairs, choosing the opposite direction. She’d put this on hold. For now.
But not for long.
Chapter Fourteen
Whatever reaction Mack had expected, it wasn’t what he got.
He met Alex in the driveway at the tail end of Tuesday, jumped out of the truck and handed her the box. “Here. My way of saying I’m sorry.”
She stared at the fan. Then at him. “Uh, for what?”
“For…well, for Deidre.”
“You’re apologizing for having a date come over? Really, Mack, we’re not married. We’re not even dating. Or…anything close to that. You can do what you want.” She bent her gaze to study the pictures on the cardboard container. “But thanks. A ceiling fan, huh?”
What had he expected? Alex to throw a fit of jealousy? To tell him he had no right to a love life? To tell him to never date another woman because he was all hers?
Well…
Yeah.
Of course, he didn’t say any of that. Clearly, Alex was about as interested in him as she was in the cooling product he’d just bought. Had he completely misread all those signals she’d sent out last night?
Or, worse, had she been faking? Trying to ease his male ego? Keep their friendship from imploding? Oh, that was the worst. He’d rather she tell him straight out that being with him had sucked.
He covered his disappointment by pointing out the features on the fan. “Don’t you like it? It has a remote. This fancy climate control thing, too. You tell it you want the room to be seventy-two degrees, and the fan will keep spinning fast or slow enough to keep the room right at seventy-two. And look at the light kit. It’s—”
“I said thank you.” Alex gave him a smile. A mannequin could have provided a better one.
“You hate it.”
“No, seriously, I don’t. It’ll look great. Really improve the resale value.”
He could have smacked himself in the head. He’d bought her a fan for a house like she intended to stay here when all Alex wanted to do was finish the remodeling, sell this place and get the hell away. “I’m an idiot.”
Alex grinned. A much more genuine smile than the first one. “If you want to put a label on yourself…”
“Hey, you’re supposed to be my friend.”
“Yeah,” Alex said, and went back to studying the box. “I am.”
If anything said it all, those two words did. Mack needed to get that fact straight, and keep it straight. Regardless of what had happened last night. He’d tried marriage before, sucked at it and didn’t intend to practice again on Alex. He cleared his throat, took the fan from her and gestured toward the house. “We better get to work.”
“Yeah, we better.” Alex unlocked the door and entered the house. She flicked on the lights, then let out a gasp. “I have walls.”
While she’d been at work today, he’d busted his butt hanging the drywall. “You do. Granted, only in the living room, but—”
Alex pivoted and dove into his arms, cutting off his words. “Thank you!”
Mack swallowed hard, for a long second unable to say anything at all. He inhaled, and with that breath, caught the scent of raspberries, almonds. Alex’s shampoo. Sweet, like home cooking. Even though he knew he shouldn’t, even as he told himself to let go, he held her to him a little longer than he had to, then let her go and gave her a grin. “Hey, if I knew that’s all it took to get a hug, I’d have hung some Sheetrock a long time ago.”
She stepped back, her face red, as if she’d just realized she’d been touching him.
Damn. He had screwed everything up last night. Two weeks ago, two months ago, Alex could have hugged him out of the blue and the gesture wouldn’t have made her face take on that constipated, regretful look.
She put a little more distance between them. “So, when can we paint?”
“Hold on there, Speed Racer. First we have to tape and mud, then sand the drywall. It’ll be a while before we’re painting. And, realistically, I’d like to get all the walls put up before we paint any of them, so the dust doesn’t get on the paint in here.”
“Can’t we…” Alex entered the living room, then spun around, taking in the whole effect of the drywall. Even Mack could see how much brighter, fresher the room looked. The simple addition of the new walls had changed the entire personality of the space, taking it from dark and depressing to hopeful.
Alex thrust her fists onto her hips, which made her tank top rise a little, exposing a slight expanse of bare skin above her waistband. “Can’t we paint one room? And then do it your way?”
She turned back toward him and in her face, he read the reasons why. Because she needed this one visual start-over. Because painting this room would be a way to see the road ahead—one where this house no longer resembled the one where Alex grew up. Already, it had the shape of something different, but it wasn’t enough. And even though painting this soon in a renovation project went against conventional wisdom, Mack found himself nodding. Doing whatever it took to keep a smile on her face. Doing, as he always had, what it took to ensure Alex’s happiness. Protecting her heart. “Sure. What color do you want?”
“Purple.” She smiled, and when she did, Mack’s heart turned over.
“Uh…purple?”
“Just kidding. I’m thinking a nice, light taupe. Something neutral. Easy to sell later.”
“Taupe,” he echoed, still watching her smile.
She misinterpreted his dumbstruck staring as idiocy and gave him a light slug in the shoulder, a teasing glance. “It’s a gray-tan, you color-challenged male oaf.”
He laughed. “Just for that, I’ll let you tape the whole first wall.” He put the ceiling fan on the floor, then reached over to the makeshift worktable he’d made out of a sheet of plywood and two sawhorses, grabbed a taping knife, a mud pan and a white roll of drywall tape. He opened up a container of joint compound, then, with the knife, slapped a chunk of the white goop into the mud pan and handed it to Alex. “Start putting that master’s degree to work. You know, the one you earned sofa surfing on home improvement shows.”
“Uh…” She held up the taping knife, gave the mixture in the pan a dubious look, then stared at the tape. “There’s no sticky side to this tape.”
Mack chuckled, took all of it back out of her hands, then spun Alex toward the wall. “
Seems I’m going to need to teach you the finer points of finishing drywall.”
Granted, he didn’t need to be working on this part of the house, or even have Alex learn the picky task of finishing the walls. He had a whole crew he could have called in at any moment. Men he paid to do this exact job. For the rest of the house he’d probably have them take over the tedious job of seaming, sanding and finishing the walls. But with Alex right here, inches before him, he couldn’t think of a good reason why the two of them couldn’t handle this one room together. “Now, you start with a little joint compound on the wall to set the tape.”
“Which isn’t tape, if you ask me. No stickiness.” She wiggled the long, skinny paper.
“Are you arguing with me?” he asked.
She turned her pert chin toward him, her gaze a tease, one hand on her hip again. The urge to take that chin in the palm of his hand and not let go until she was thoroughly well kissed, soared inside his chest. He watched her lips move, found his heart racing, his blood pounding in his temples. The memory of her breasts in his hands, his mouth, hit him so vividly Mack could almost taste her skin.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
“Of course I’m not arguing, oh wise one,” she said. “And since you’re so smart, you can be my personal tutor.”
“In…?” He let the sentence trail off, watching her pulse tick in her throat, his own accelerating.
“Walls, of course,” she said.
“Of course.”
Silence ticked between them, Alex’s gaze steady on his. Was she thinking what he was? Was she imagining them back in bed? Thinking of his body on hers? In hers?
“The walls, Mack?” Alex asked. “Are we going to work on them or what?”
No. She wasn’t imagining any of that.
Mack cleared his throat. Get back to work. “Yeah, sure. Now, as I was saying, you apply a thin layer of compound first because that creates a place for the tape to stick.” He dipped the knife into the mud pan, smeared it with joint compound, then slid it along the first seam, placing a neat swath of white along the two edges of Sheetrock. Then he followed that with a piece of tape, cutting the end cleanly with the edge of the taping knife.
“Now what?”
“Now you add a little more compound. But carefully, so you don’t mess up the tape. Too much and you’ll just get cracks in the compound. A thin, even layer. You can always add more, but taking away when it’s dry is a lot more work.” Using the knife, he again whisked a layer of white down the seam.
“Well, hell, I can do that.” She shifted into place in front of him, unwittingly brushing against his pelvis.
Mack swallowed. Resisted the urge to grab her, press her to the wall and finish what they had started last night. Oh, he was not concentrating at all. It’d be a wonder if the wall didn’t come out looking like a band of wild kindergartners did it. “This is, uh, not as easy as it looks.”
Alex turned and arched a brow. Teasing him, driving him crazy. “Are you saying that because you’re a guy? Or because it really is hard?”
“Oh, it’s hard,” Mack said, watching her, wanting her, yet all the while her earlier remark about them only being friends beat over and over in his head. “It really is.”
“Uh-huh.” Alex took the knife from Mack, scooped up some joint compound, then plastered that onto the next seam. Globs of white dropped to the floor and spattered onto the wall, then onto her shirt. “What’d I do wrong?”
“Too much compound, and you pressed too hard. Here, let me show you.” He reached out, placed his hand over hers. Acute awareness ran through him as soon as he touched her, shooting into his veins. Mack redoubled his concentration. “Smooth, easy.” And he pulled her hand along with one even stroke.
“Smooth, easy,” Alex whispered back, shifting against him as she moved, her buttocks sliding along his pelvis with their own smooth and easy movement. “Like that?”
He coughed. “Yeah. Exactly.”
She affixed a strip of tape into the seam, then turned back toward him. “Is that good?”
But Mack could hardly see what she had done. All he saw, all he knew, was that Alex stood right in front of him, and it was hot, and he wanted to take off everything he was wearing, everything she was wearing, and throw her into his pool and plunge into her.
But they weren’t at his house. His pool was miles from here. And she was staring at him with an expectant look, waiting for an answer. About the damn Sheetrock. Not about them. Not about him taking her to bed and finding out if the rest of her skin tasted as wonderful as her breasts. “Yeah, it’s very good.”
You’re very good.
“Great.” She beamed at him. “Time for more smooth and easy.”
Assuming Mack could take more. He loaded and then handed her the taping knife, then prepared to step back and let Alex take over.
“Uh, Mack? I still don’t think I have this part down. Could you help me again?”
“Sure.” He moved into position behind her again—did she move closer this time or was that his imagination?—and wrapped his arm around her body, taking her hand in his a second time. It was like they were dancing, a waltz with construction tools Mack could never have imagined in his wildest fantasies. In the background, the radio he kept turned on while he worked played some Top 40 song, a constant fast beat to their work.
Alex shifted, and this time Mack knew she was closer because there was no mistaking the feel of her tight ass against his growing erection, the way her shoulder blades brushed his chest, the feel of her hair tickling against his bare arms, his neck. Oh, God. He bent down, his mouth hovering inches away from the warm, enticing skin of her neck. Mack closed his eyes for a moment, just long enough to inhale the floral notes of her shampoo again. Then he opened them and drew her hand back, nearly gouging the wall as he moved with her arm, because he was looking down her shirt and thinking about the curve of her breasts, wondering how they would feel in his palms. Instead of caring what happened to the damn walls. To anything but him and Alex.
“Did we do it right?” Alex asked.
“We didn’t do it at all,” Mack said, his voice low, his gaze still on her breasts, the fine sheen of sweat that glistened down her cleavage, dipping beneath her tank top. He reached out his other arm, intending to pull her closer, turn her around, do whatever it took to silence this roaring in his head, when Alex pivoted first.
Out of his grasp.
Mack jerked back. A glob of joint compound fell to the floor with a disappointed thud.
“What are you talking about? We just finished a second seam. Honestly, Mack, it’s like you’re sleepwalking today.”
The wall. The house. The reason he was here in the first place. “Oh, yeah, the wall. It looks great. Perfect job.”
“Then let’s move on. There’s a whole lotta house left to go.” She picked up the tools and moved to the next seam, turning back toward him and holding out the taping knife. Expecting him to help.
Oh, no. Not more smooth and easy. He could only take so much.
“Why don’t you fill in the screw holes”—damn, even that had him thinking about things he shouldn’t—“and I’ll do the seams. Filling in the holes is easy.” He took a second knife off the table, then showed her how to swipe a little joint compound into the dimple created by the screw. “See?”
“Sure. Whatever you want.” But her face had fallen. With disappointment? Before Mack could tell what it was, Alex had gotten to work, staying a respectable distance away.
For a while, the only sounds in the room were the radio and the scraping of the knives against the wall.
“We need to talk about it sometime, Mack,” Alex said.
“Talk about what?” But as the words left Mack’s throat, he had a feeling he didn’t want to have this conversation.
“What happened last night.”
Mack’s hand stilled on the wall. The knife’s edge carved a skinny canyon in the joint compound. “I told you, I’m sorry about
Deidre. She shows up when she feels like it.”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Alex put down her tools and turned toward Mack. “What happened between you and me.”
Mack dropped his tools to the bench, then headed to the cooler and grabbed a Coke. He popped the top, then handed it to Alex. He pulled a second one out of the ice, welcoming the cold against his hand and the momentary reprieve. “Not much happened, Alex.”
“Maybe in your eyes, but to me…” She ran a finger along the rim of the soda can. “What happened changed the dynamics between us. Maybe forever.”
So she hadn’t been immune to him. She had felt something. Joy roared in his chest, then he looked at her crestfallen face, and the joy plummeted to his gut.
“You’re my best friend, Mack,” she went on, “and I can’t lose that.”
“You’re my best friend, too.” He put down the soda and crossed to her. “But maybe we can have something really good together if we—”
“Mack, be serious. You suck at commitment. Do you want to get married? To settle down?”
“Well, no, but—”
“There. That answers my question. We’re not meant for each other. We want different things.”
“Did you enjoy yourself last night?”
Her cheeks reddened. Damn. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Alex embarrassed.
“Yeah.”
“Then what’s so wrong with a little more of that?”
“We could get hurt.”
He tipped her chin to meet his gaze. “Don’t you think we could be smarter than that?”
“Oh, what? Have our cake and eat it, too?”
“Even better.” He grinned. “Have our cake and eat it in bed.”
Her green eyes darkened and she drew in a breath. “It’s a bad idea and you know it. We shouldn’t—”
He covered her mouth with his, cutting off her protests with a kiss. Alex groaned and her arms went around him, the cold can in her hand meeting his neck, an ice to the fire erupting in the meeting of their mouths.
She was soft where he was hard, like a ying to his yang, and as much as he told himself he shouldn’t do this, should steer clear of her, he couldn’t. His tongue plunged into her mouth, and hers surged up to join his. Mack nearly came unglued with desire, every ounce of his body demanding he finish what they’d started once and for all.