by Coleen Kwan
“So how often do you fill in for someone at the country club?” he asked.
Amber looked up, wary. “That was the first time. It probably showed, huh?”
“No, you were fine.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I feel I should apologize for my parents, especially my mother. She—”
But Amber was already shaking her head, color rising in her cheeks. “Please don’t apologize. Your parents were fine, and your sister and her fiancé were lovely, but we don’t need to dissect the whole evening. In fact, I’d prefer it if we just forgot Saturday night ever happened.”
“Why? You had nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“Are you kidding me?” She slapped a palm to her forehead. “How could you forget the chicken swimmer crab or—or sea butter browned in bream?”
He couldn’t help smiling. “Sea butter happens to be a favorite of mine.”
She stared at him for a moment, before her lips twitched. “Yeah, well, it’s a very rare dish.”
“Mm. I like mine with a side of greened wilts.”
She snorted, eyes dancing. “Okay, stop it. You’re making me laugh.”
Her chuckle made him tingle with pleasure. Her laugh was sexy, even if she hadn’t meant to be. If he leaned over the counter he could wrap his hand around the back of her neck and kiss that delectable mouth of hers… Damn, it was hard resisting her.
“See? It wasn’t so bad.”
Her smile faded. “I’m just glad it’s over and my mom still has her job.” She bit her lip as if she’d revealed too much.
“Your mom? You were filling in for her?”
“Yeah.” Her eyes narrowed. “My mom works at the country club. Got a problem with that?”
“No.” He wondered why she’d had to take her mom’s shift and remembered all the old stories he’d heard about Amber’s mom—she was a stripper, a pole dancer, an ex-showgirl from Las Vegas. He’d seen her around town once or twice over the years, a slender, cheerful blonde with a penchant for bright colors and lots of makeup. Whatever the truth, Amber clearly stood one hundred percent behind her mother, and he admired her for that. “I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
She sighed and tapped a finger on the plans. “We should concentrate on this. Have you gone over the list of materials I sent to you? Will everything be on site tomorrow morning?”
She was all business now, but her prickliness only heightened his interest. She was a fighter, struggling against the undeniable attraction pulsing between them, and her obstinacy only made him want her more. Maybe—no, definitely—it was stupid of him, pursuing her when there was so much at stake, but for the life of him he couldn’t stop. He wanted her, wanted to kiss that stubborn mouth of hers and every inch of her curvaceous body. But she wouldn’t make it easy for him. If he wanted to make his fantasies come true, then he’d first have to plot a strategy to scale her barriers.
…
The second playhouse turned out brilliantly and on time. For two days Logan and Amber worked under the blazing sun. Of course they had their arguments. Even though Amber was supposed to take the lead on this build, Logan had strong opinions about a lot of things and wasn’t shy about stating them. Strangely, she began to appreciate his argumentativeness. As exasperating as it was to have her decisions questioned, it also made her think hard, and in several cases Logan had come up with better solutions that enabled them to finish the project on time.
The daycare manager was impressed by the modifications included for the vision-impaired kids who attended the center.
“How clever you are,” the woman exclaimed as Amber demonstrated the light and sound wall mural and the balls with bells that her neighbors had made.
“I had some help,” Amber said.
“The children will love this.”
Outside the playhouse, the reporter from The Gazette had popped up unannounced and was already snapping pictures. “How about a photo with all three of you?” she said, waving to Logan who was standing to one side.
Imelda Jones wasn’t one to take no for an answer. The Gazette had already published a story on the first playhouse, both in the paper and on its website. According to Imelda, the feedback had been positive, which meant she was eager for more.
Amber groaned and flicked at her grubby T-shirt. “Do I have to? I’m a total mess.”
She snuck a glance at Logan. It wasn’t fair. He was just as dirty as she, but somehow it only made him look hotter than ever. Earlier in the day he’d torn his T-shirt, and the gaping hole gave her tantalizing glimpses of his rock-hard abs that had tormented her all afternoon. His hair was rumpled, but in a sexy way, making him look like he’d just rolled out of bed. The faint stubble on his chin only added to his rugged appeal, and several times she’d found herself fantasizing about kissing that dimple in his chin. She only hoped he had no clue how close she’d come to caving in to her cravings.
Imelda was already tugging at Logan’s arm. Amber had noticed how the reporter gravitated toward Logan, using any excuse to touch him. But why was she surprised? Logan was catnip to most women, including herself. She couldn’t blame Imelda for fondling Logan’s hard biceps; she was only envious she couldn’t do the same.
“Come on, Amber,” Logan said, casually beckoning to her.
Amber found herself walking forward. Damn, it was so hard to resist him.
Logan took up position next to the daycare manager, with Amber on the other side, and the reporter snapped a few photos.
“Now, if I could just ask you a few questions about the center…” The reporter and the manager wandered off to one side.
“We did a good job on this one.” Logan rested hands on hips and gazed at the playhouse. “I think we’re onto a winning strategy. Plenty of healthy argument followed by intense production.”
Amber laughed. “I guess I do enjoy our arguments.”
“You’re a tough competitor, no doubt about that.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Well, sure.”
“Because some people use it as a putdown. To imply that being competitive means I’m unfeminine.”
He let out an expletive. “You unfeminine? Only if the Pope’s not Catholic.”
She burst out laughing. “And for that you have to pay into your swear jar again.”
As the corners of his eyes crinkled up, it struck her how many details she noticed about him—the tiny scar on the back of his left hand, the creases that bracketed his mouth when he was amused, the rumble in the back of his throat when he was frustrated about something. Throughout the days spent laboring beside him she had accumulated many particulars, adding them to the collection she already had from high school.
“Got any more sodas in that cooler of yours?” he asked, his gaze skimming lazily over her.
She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead, acutely aware of his scrutiny and his nearness. “Sorry, we finished them all earlier.”
“I’d ask you to have a drink with me, but I’m guessing you’d say no.” There was a definite challenge in his tone that made her look twice at him.
“What’s this? Some kind of reverse psychology to make me say yes?”
He leaned in and rested a hand against the fence behind her, boxing her in. “I don’t want to make you do anything, Amber. I want you to say yes because you want to.”
His chocolate-dark voice whetted her appetite, making her hot and reckless. His male scent tinged with wood surrounded her, tempted her. She flicked her hair over her shoulder. “Okay, I’ll have a drink with you.”
His eyes widened, interest sparking in the deep, cool greenness. “I knew you couldn’t resist.”
“But on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“I choose where we go.”
He thrust out his hand. “Deal.”
She grasped his hand, and as soon as she felt the dry strength of his fingers, a quiver of longing shot through her, and she wondered if she’d miscalculated.
L
ogan reached out and tugged at a lock of her hair, his knuckles rubbing softly against her shoulder, and she felt another wave of heat surge through her body. “Where are we going?” he asked lazily.
She sucked in a breath. “You’ll see.”
…
From the outside, TJ’s looked like a building a demolition crew had forgotten, its walls covered in peeling paint, its roof held together by rust, the dusty parking lot half filled with pickup trucks and motorcycles that had seen better days.
“Is this your regular drinking spot?” Logan asked from the passenger seat.
Did he sound nervous? Amber’s uncle’s dive bar was definitely not the kind of place a man like Logan would frequent, which was why she’d chosen it.
“Sure,” Amber answered breezily, hoping he couldn’t tell that she was lying. If she had a regular drinking spot, it would be Jimmy’s in town. She only came to TJ’s to visit her uncle on occasion. But this was one place where she would feel at home, and Logan, she was betting, wouldn’t. Was that mean of her? Maybe, but she knew that she needed every advantage if she was going to drink with him and not lose control.
At her advice, they had left Logan’s fancy new truck at her store, and he’d caught a lift with her. A prudent decision. Not all of the clientele who came to TJ’s were law abiding, and she’d hate for any harm to come to Logan’s expensive vehicle.
She parked her own battered pickup and threw on the brake. “My uncle owns this fine establishment. Come on. The drinks are better than the decor, I promise.”
The interior wasn’t much nicer than the exterior. Scarred tables, dim lighting, and walls painted puke green gave the bar a dingy, sticky atmosphere. Amber hadn’t been here in months, and the place seemed shabbier than she remembered. Christ, TJ hadn’t been joking when he’d said business was down.
A smattering of drinkers occupied a few tables in the corner, while a few old-timers propped up the counter behind which her uncle was lazily wiping a glass with a rag.
“Hey, Amber!” His face lit up when he spotted her. He was a couple of years younger than Amber’s mom and had the same good looks and slim, long-limbed body. In his youth TJ had been a handsome man with lots of prospects, but he had the most appalling luck of anyone she knew. Every job he took seemed to end badly, as did every relationship he embarked on. Now, years later, he’d lost some of his looks, but he was still the eternal optimist. In some ways he and Cristal were very alike.
He put down the rag and glass and came out from behind the counter to hug her. “Hi, stranger,” he said, holding her by her arms.
“Sorry about that. Work, you know, and other stuff.”
“Like your mom.” He nodded before his gaze traveled past her to Logan. “I see you brought a date. About time you started dating again. Who’s the lucky man this time?”
She was used to her uncle’s teasing, so why was she suddenly blushing? She never blushed. “This is Logan. We’re not dating,” she said in a rush.
TJ shook hands with Logan. “Hi, Logan We’re-Not-Dating. I’m TJ, Amber’s uncle.”
“Hey, TJ,” Logan said, giving Amber an amused glance.
“You want to sit at the bar or grab a table?”
“A table, please,” Amber said. It was going to be hard enough acting casual around Logan without her uncle razzing her.
Her uncle flipped the rag over one arm and gave her an exaggerated bow. “Of course, madam. May I show you to your table? This way, please.”
When her uncle was in this frivolous mood, she knew it was best just to go with the flow, so with a shrug to Logan, she followed TJ to a table near the jukebox.
“What can I get you fine folks to drink? A martini, perhaps? Or champagne?”
Amber scowled at him, though she knew it made no difference. “A couple of beers, please. And some pretzels.”
“Certainly. Beer and pretzels coming up.” Sketching them another bow, TJ sauntered off, chuckling to himself.
Logan leaned back in his rickety chair, looking quite at home. “So how long has your uncle run this bar?”
“Five, six years. As you can see, it’s not exactly doing a roaring trade.”
“A lot of businesses are hurting around Pine Falls.”
“Bet yours aren’t.”
He gave her an enigmatic look. “We’ve had to cut back, just like everyone else.”
“You mean you’ve had to cut back on the caviar and Moet you have flown in from Europe each month?”
“You have a strange idea of me. You really think I eat caviar and champagne on a regular basis?”
“Of course. Please don’t shatter my fantasies.”
He rested his elbows on the table, eyes glimmering. “And what other fantasies do you have about me?”
She played with her hair, thinking. “You probably have your shoes handmade by some tiny old Italian cobbler in San Francisco, and a special, signature cologne shipped in from Nice, and you order your T-shirts by the dozen.”
“Mm. And don’t forget the barber who visits every morning to keep this masterpiece looking good.” He stroked his stubbled chin.
“Oh, yeah. And of course you live in a chic, ultra-modern house with spectacular views and an infinity swimming pool.”
Logan raised his eyebrows. “You know where I live?”
“No, of course not. I was just guessing. Why? Is that an accurate description of your house?”
He nodded slowly. “It’s up in the hills, overlooking the lake.”
“Of course. A prime location.” Her curiosity rose, and along with it, a strong desire to see his home.
“You should come and visit one day,” he said casually. “I’ll give you the grand tour.”
Amber thought of her own home, three modest rooms above the hardware store, and wondered what Logan would make of it. No views, no pool, not even cable. Like most people, he probably wouldn’t think much of it, but her home meant everything to her. It represented stability and independence. It was solid and reassuring. It might be humble, but she didn’t envy anyone else because she had everything she needed.
“I’m sure it’s amazing,” she said.
TJ arrived with their beers and pretzels. He folded his arms, looking like he was settling in for a long gossip. “So, Logan,” he said chattily, “how do you know Amber?”
“We went to high school together,” Logan answered before taking a pull of his beer.
“Yeah? Were you a Goth too?”
Amber snorted. “Him? A Goth? No, he was a jock.”
“Interesting.” TJ stroked his goatee. “A jock and a Goth. I suppose you loathed the sight of one another, huh?”
“No.” Logan met and held her gaze as if challenging her to contradict him. “Amber didn’t like me at first, but I think she changed her mind.”
“We weren’t friends,” Amber felt the need to point out. “Logan hated it when I beat him in English.”
“You always were a smart cookie.” TJ smiled indulgently. “Don’t know where you get it from, really.”
“I didn’t hate it.” Logan was looking intently at her. “I enjoyed the challenge, and it improved my grades. Thanks to you, I got into Harvard.”
“I didn’t realize I spurred you on that much.”
“Harvard!” TJ gave a low whistle. “How’d you manage that? You got a scholarship or something?”
Amber rolled her eyes. “No, he’s a Wright. He didn’t have to worry about scholarships.”
TJ’s eyebrows shot up. Then he leaned forward and muttered, “I wouldn’t advertise your name around here, if I were you. Some of the guys sitting over there lost their jobs at the lumber yard, thanks to the Wrights. I don’t know if you’re personally responsible, but as long as you’re with Amber, you’re okay by me.”
Amber glanced about her, noting the glum expressions and slumped shoulders on some of the clientele. She may have liked seeing Logan out of his comfort zone, but she didn’t want to put him in actual harm’s way.
“We can leave, if you like,” she said to Logan.
“Why?” He picked up his beer and swallowed another slug. “I thought you wanted to see me squirm.”
Oh, so he’s onto my motive in bringing him here. “Maybe, but I don’t want to see you get beaten up.”
TJ looked mildly offended. “Hey, this isn’t such a hole. We don’t have fistfights every night. Logan can stay.” He gave Logan an approving nod. “You’re not too bad, even if your last name’s not right.” He chuckled at his own joke. “Got that? Even if your last name’s not right.”
Logan grinned back. “Even when I’m Wright, I’m wrong, huh?”
TJ slapped him on the shoulder and winked at Amber. “This guy’s all right. You might want to hold onto this one.”
“I told you we’re not dating.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Her uncle flapped his hand. “Who’re you trying to kid? It’s obvious you two have a thing going on.”
She glared at him. “You know, it’s coming back to me why I don’t drop by more often.”
“She’s real prickly, but inside she’s a marshmallow,” TJ mock whispered to Logan. “Just be careful of the thorns, and you’ll be all right.” He ambled away, whistling cheerfully.
“Don’t pay any attention to him,” Amber said to Logan.
“Why? He has a sense of humor. That’s nice.” Logan leaned closer. “And it’s nice to meet a member of your family.”
She squinted at him, suspicious. “Why?”
“Because I want to learn more about you.”
She searched his words and expression for any sign of sarcasm and found none. She sipped her beer, the ice-cold lager chasing the dust away. He offered her the basket of pretzels, and for a while they both crunched in companionable silence.
“Do you have any other family?” he asked.
She shook her head. “It’s just me, my mom, and TJ.”
“You don’t see your dad these days?”
His question made her start. “Jesus, why’d you ask that?”
There was an awkward little pause. “Sorry,” Logan said. “I didn’t mean to touch a nerve.”