by Lily Cahill
"I'm telling you, there's no money on the table. For anyone," Mikey said. "Not that we've heard about at least, and we've been asking around."
"So what is it then?" she asked, exasperated. "Why is he doing this?"
Mikey rolled his eyes and sighed. "God knows why, but I think he's got a crush on your stubborn ass." Mikey made a kissy-face and started talking in a sing-song voice and prancing past the door. "Somebody's got a boy-friend. Somebody's got a boy-friend."
"Shut up," Frankie said, slamming the door in his face.
"Fine," Mikey shouted, "I'll go downstairs this one time. But now that you have a boy-friend, don't go turning into a girl and hogging the bathroom all the time. Some of us need it."
"You never know. Maybe I will," she yelled as she heard him stomping down the stairs.
Alone, she allowed a cautious smile to tilt her lips. Could it be true? Could Sam really be interested in her?
Just in case, she let her hair back down.
#
Frankie drove onto the work site in a jumble of nerves. She couldn't tell what would be worse: seeing him with 'LOSER' written on his forehead and having to actually go out with him, or seeing a clean face and knowing he'd only been messing with her all along. It was a pure lose/lose situation no matter how she looked at it.
As she rounded the bend, she saw him at the end of the drive leaning against a big pile of stacked red bricks as though he'd been waiting there all day. He was surrounded by what appeared to be every construction worker in the city, casually milling about as if they were simply out on a Sunday stroll. As she got closer, she could see the telltale word on his forehead: LOSER.
Lord help her.
She hopped out of the truck and loped over as the crew nonchalantly turned their heads toward her.
"Morning, Princess," he said. God, how she hated that name. She hoped she was a hell of a lot smarter than the kinds of girls who liked to be called Princess.
She tried to keep her voice low. "Guess this means you win," she said. She'd wanted to call him a loser at the end there, but figured if it hadn't stung him yet, it probably wasn't going to.
"Hate to say I told you so," he said. He had the cockiest grin on his face. It made her think of all sorts of things she'd like him to do with his mouth.
She had to get ahold of herself.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she said. "So what's it going to be? Taming lions in Singapore or ice diving in Antarctica?"
"Oh, you'll see," he said, pulling a box out from behind the stack of bricks. It was about half the size of a car door and wrapped in silver paper with a blue velvet bow.
What the hell was that?
"I'll pick you up at five tomorrow, Princess," he said, handing it to her. "Wear what's in the box."
#
Frankie spent the whole day staring at that box.
She'd tossed it onto her passenger seat like it was no big deal. She didn't want to show anyone how worried she was. But it had taunted her there. It had glared at her while the guys unloaded her delivery. It had ogled her when she went to the lumber yard and back to the office. It had practically laughed at her when she was driving around the entire county, checking in on all the work sites she supplied. Now it was downright mocking her as it sat on the bed in her bedroom, still unopened.
Her worries split off in two directions.
The first worry was that whatever was inside the box would be horrible. Her current top-billed nightmare scenarios were a French maid outfit or a cow costume, but she'd also considered the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man and anything having to do with milkmaids as equally horrifying. What if he wanted to make fun of her after all? What if he was going to parade her around town looking like an idiot? She'd never live it down. Forever more they'd call her Frenchie or something just as terrible.
The second, and worse, worry was that it wasn't awful. What if there was something in there that he actually wanted her to wear ... and what if it didn't fit?
She had no illusions that she was the size of girls like Becky, and she had no real concerns that she should be. She liked herself well enough. As well as a person could or should like themselves, she supposed. She was proud of being able to lift just about everything her brothers could. She liked being strong and tall and hardy--and, yes, maybe soft in places too. Her body did everything it was supposed to do. It served her well.
But she'd also learned over time that most men didn't like her as well as she liked herself. Up until now, it hadn't felt like a real loss. Yes, she wanted to have a special someone in her life just like everyone else did. But she had long ago decided that she'd rather be alone than settle for the sort of man who thought he was settling by choosing her. What kind of a life would that be?
And so she'd been content to be alone. It wasn't so bad. She was free to do as she liked. She had money in her pocket and a roof over her head and the wild outdoors just past her backyard. She had the love of family and the challenge of helping to run their business. It would make for a happy life, and that had always been enough.
She wanted it to be enough still. But as she stared at that box she knew it wasn't. Ever since she'd seen him, talked to him, she'd felt like there could be more. Images of home and family and love had seeped into her mind at the oddest moments. It was like the smell of a campfire on the wind--the promise of something comfortable and cozy if only you could get close enough to warm your hands. She didn't want to open that box and discover that the campfire had been a pipe bomb all along.
There was a knock at her door.
"Come in," she called.
Becky entered, a soft smile on her face. "I heard you lost a bet today."
"Yeah." She supposed word was traveling like wildfire through town.
Becky looked at the box. "You gonna open that?"
"I haven't decided," Frankie said.
"Why not?"
"It might be a pipe bomb."
Becky screwed up her forehead and cocked her head at Frankie, puzzling her out. "Mmm-hmm," she said with a knowing tone. "Okay, how about this? How about I open it for you, just in case? Then I'll be the one who gets blown up."
Frankie sighed. She couldn't decide if it would be more or less humiliating to let Becky see whatever was inside. But she was also pretty sure that she didn't have the nerve to open it on her own. If she turned down Becky's offer, that box might stay wrapped until people were flying around in hover cars.
"It's your neck," Frankie finally said, relenting.
Becky clapped. "Good! Because I love opening presents." She tore into the box, untying the bow and tearing the paper, revealing a shiny black box underneath. Becky's face lit up. "Saks Fifth Avenue? Seriously?"
Frankie didn't know what she meant until Becky tilted the box and she saw the white, scrolled lettering emblazoned across the box top. She didn't shop for clothes often, and when she did it was usually at a place that also sold eggs, motor oil, and lamps. She never went to malls or ventured into Portland on shopping trips like many of the girls in town. All she knew about Saks was that it was one of those places in the "too expensive to go inside" category.
She watched as Becky opened the lid and peeled back the tissue paper. And she watched as Becky's jaw dropped. "Oh, Frankie."
"Is it bad? It's bad, isn't it?"
Becky shook her head and lifted the garment out carefully. Delicate black embroidery on sheer black netting covered a bodice made of a dark sapphire color, nearly midnight blue. Frankie reached out to touch it. The under fabric was silky in her hands, but not shiny. And it kind of-- almost--looked like it might fit her.
"This is a Monde Lolique, Frankie. Do you know what that means?"
Frankie shook her head.
"It means very, very high quality. It's a designer label. This guy's got it bad for you. I mean damn, girl. You have to try this on."
"I don't know." It looked too expensive. What if she ripped it or something? What if she'd misjudged the size?
"Don't even think abo
ut it, Frankie. You are trying this dress on. Right now."
Frankie sighed and stood, taking the dress from Becky. The fabric did feel nice in her fingers. Maybe it would feel nice on too. If it fit. If.
She stripped down and slid the dress over her head. Becky was already behind her, zipping it up. And somehow, the zipper made it all the way up.
The dress didn't just fit. It fit perfectly.
Becky moved to look at her from the front.
"There aren't even words," Becky sighed. "You look incredible."
Frankie turned around to face the mirror hanging behind her door. And she almost lost her breath.
She couldn't deny it. She looked good.
The dress had a deep V that barely skimmed her shoulders and plunged down to show off her cleavage. The bodice cinched in at the waist then flared out into a soft, swishy skirt that didn't quite reach her knees. Between the neckline and the hemline, it was way more revealing than anything she'd ever worn, which made her feel a little bit exposed--until she imagined Sam's eyes on her. Then she felt practically naked. A flash of warmth spread over her cheeks.
"It's too short, isn't it? And the neckline--"
"The neckline is perfect. And so is the length. It shows off all your best features. Honestly, that dress looks like it was made for you."
"You don't think I'm showing too much skin?"
"Hell no. If you've got it, flaunt it. And you've got it, girl."
Frankie rolled her eyes, but smiled.
"You do need a different bra with it. Probably a bustier. And panties to match, of course."
"How could that possibly matter?"
Becky raised her eyebrows. "Do I really need to spell it out for you?"
"Things aren't going to go that far. It's one night."
"Trust me on this one. A guy doesn't buy you a dress like that unless he's hoping to see it crumpled up on his floor."
Frankie's heart pounded. She hadn't considered that. Not really. Sure, she'd fantasized about what it would be like to sleep with Samuel Ryan--she'd fantasized about it a lot--but she'd never thought it might actually happen.
A fresh wave of panic coursed over her. Was that what Sam would be expecting? Could she do it if he did? Frankie wanted to--at least she thought she wanted to--but could she go through with it?
She wanted to ask Becky if she really thought it might come to that, but Becky had already moved on. "You'll need shoes, too. And a handbag. And a dressier jacket--it's been a cold September already and you only have that old parka. I can do your hair and makeup, of course. But it would be nice to get a shade of lipstick that was right for your skin tone."
"What are you talking about?" Frankie asked, overwhelmed, feeling like she'd stepped into the conversation mid-stream.
"I'm talking about the fact that we need to go shopping."
Chapter Seven
Samuel
Sam had been right about that dress. He watched it swish around her long, gorgeous legs as she walked downstairs to meet him. She looked amazing in it. He'd flown to Seattle and met with a stylist to pick it out. The stylist had shown him several options, but he'd known it was the one the moment he'd seen it. The dark blue drew attention to her eyes without overshadowing them and the way the embroidery swirled and formed around her ample breasts had him telling a certain part of his anatomy to cool down before it told all his secrets. Of course, he seemed to have that reaction no matter what she wore.
"You look incredible" he said, handing her flowers.
"Thank you," she said.
Behind Frankie, her three brothers were standing near the door to the kitchen, arms crossed and staring him down. One of them cleared his throat and Frankie rolled her eyes.
"Sam, these are my brothers: Mikey, Eddie, and Jamie."
"Nice to meet you," Sam said, holding out his hand. But the brothers were having none of it. They continued to stare, continued to cross their arms. He wondered if their faces would be so brave if they had any idea what they'd be up against if they fought him.
"Shake," Frankie commanded, as though she were speaking to a dog. "Now."
Finally, the biggest one, Mikey, took Sam's hand, gave it one pump, then held it. "You seem like a nice guy," Mikey said, though his face was full of mistrust. "But if you're not a nice guy, you're gonna have all three of us to deal with. Got it?"
"Got it," Sam said with a smile. It made him happy to know that Frankie was so well protected. Not that he'd ever let anyone who hurt her live long enough to have a run-in with her brothers, but still. She was loved, and it warmed his heart to see it.
"Back off, Mikey," Frankie said, and Mikey finally let go of Sam's hand. Frankie turned to Sam. "Ready?"
"Can't wait."
When they were finally in Sam's truck and pulling away, Frankie spoke up again. "Sorry about that," she said. "They're a little over-protective."
"As they should be," Sam said. "It's what brothers do."
"Do you have any sisters?" Frankie asked.
"No. I'm an only child." It felt like a half-truth when he said it, though he didn't intend it to be. But saying he was an orphan--telling her he'd been raised by someone who felt more like an employee than a parent--felt like too much of a downer. There'd be time for that the next time he took her out ... if there was a next time.
Thinking of Agatha made him realize he owed her a call. She'd called him twice this week, but he hadn't listened to her messages yet. He dreaded speaking to her. Their conversations always felt like getting a physical exam. She asked him the same things every time without any real interest--how are you, how's work, have you met anyone special?--almost like she was working from a list. He was pretty sure she was. Agatha wasn't exactly a warm person, but she was the closest thing he had to family. He'd call her tomorrow, get it out of the way. Tonight, he'd let himself enjoy his time with Frankie.
He watched her fidget nervously with the edge of her dress, her fingers winding around the hem and tugging it farther down, trying to hide herself from him. He wanted to take her hand away and slide that skirt up and show her she didn't need to hide anything from him ever again. But he managed to restrain himself.
Tonight was about taking things slow. It was about making her comfortable. It was about making sure there was a second date. So as much as he longed to pull the car over and hike that dress up and taste her--finally taste her--he wouldn't.
They arrived at the airfield in only a matter of minutes. When Sam pulled in and parked, Frankie turned to him with a perplexed look.
"What are we doing here?" She still had that tone in her voice that made it sound like the Candid Camera crew was about to pop out at any moment. He was determined to make it go away if it was the last thing he ever did.
"Proving that this isn't a joke."
"I don't understand."
"Frankie, when the night is over, I don't want you to have any doubt that my interest in you is both real and honorable," he said. "So I thought the best way to prove it might be to take you out of town for a bit."
"We're flying somewhere?" she asked incredulously.
"Not far. Just to Seattle. I promise to have you in your own bed before midnight."
Frankie seemed to fidget at the words, and he wondered if she was thinking the same thing he was--how much he'd like to be in that bed with her. He was glad he'd gone into his bear this afternoon to let off a little steam. Not seducing her tonight was going to be a challenge.
He got out of the truck and went to her side and opened her door. He held out his hand. "Ready to fly?" he asked.
She stared at his outstretched hand for an impossibly long time. Agonizing thoughts raced through his mind. She might say no. Right now. This might be it.
But slowly, tentatively, she slipped her hand into his. The warmth of it sent a tingle up his spine and pasted a grin on his face.
"I guess I've come this far," she said. It wasn't exactly a ringing endorsement, but he'd take it.
#
; Sam kept his eyes on Frankie as she stepped onto his jet. Her eyes grew wide and her mouth fell open just the tiniest bit. It wasn't a large aircraft, but it was luxurious. At standard configuration, its maximum capacity was up to thirty passengers set in ten rows of three seats across. But he'd ordered the interior custom when he'd bought the plane. It was configured for comfort, not capacity. There was an L-shaped couch on one end of the space that faced a large television. On the other half were four plush seats positioned to face each other. Between the seats, panels in the wall flipped out to create a modest dining table, which was now set with fresh white linens and flowers in a sturdy vase.
"Welcome aboard," the pilot said to them. "The chef is ready to serve dinner as soon as we're airborne."
"Thank you, Kent," Sam said.
Frankie turned to him with raised eyebrows as the pilot secured the door behind them and went into the cockpit. "Chef?" she asked.
Sam grinned. "That's a splurge just for tonight. I don't usually keep a chef on staff."
Frankie laughed. "Yeah. 'Cause that would just be excessive."
"Exactly," Sam laughed. "I know it seems like a lot, but I have buildings in progress in twelve cities right now. Which means I fly constantly--sometimes more than four times a week. At some point I got tired of living in airports. The cost is actually not that bad, especially when you factor in all the time I was losing and the extra work I can take on being able to fly on my own schedule."
"I guess that makes sense," Frankie said, though she still seemed a little overwhelmed.
"It used to take me a full day of travel to get from here to New York, for instance. Now I can do it in half that and hit Chicago on the way."
"Your life sounds very busy," she said. There was something in her voice, and he instantly regretted telling her about the demands of his job. What if she thought he was one of those types that was obsessed with work and could never take time for her?
"It can be, yes," he admitted, looking her in the eye. "But it's also flexible. I only take the projects I care about. And I always make time for the things that are important to me."