So there. She would do what she wanted.
For now she took a moment to survey the structure from her high perch. Already, they had a long, hard row to hoe if they were going to get the place ready for Connor Bryce’s party. Actually, she was going to suggest that they have a grand opening party before Connor and his fiancée’s wedding reception so that they could work out any kinks.
She hoped the subcontractors would be conscientious about showing up on the promised dates and times. Ethan had said they would and that their work was of exceptionally good quality. Probably one of the perks of living in a small town like Celebration, Texas, and knowing the people you hired. If they didn’t deliver what they promised when they promised, the person who’d hired them knew where they lived.
They’d know soon enough, once the plans were approved and the real work started.
She couldn’t imagine such service in London. Even though this was her first job as head designer—er, okay, so she was the only designer on this project and she was donating her services—the process seemed a far cry from the horror stories she’d heard at Hargraves.
Of course, as a newbie, she’d never been allowed to roll up her sleeves and run with a project. Her days were filled with important tasks such as sorting fabric samples and culling through product lists, identifying and deleting discontinued items and searching for suitable replacements.
In the short time she was with the firm, Geoffrey Hargraves had allowed her to choose three light fixtures for a movie star’s London flat. The client got to pick her favorite. Chelsea had never learned which one the client chose—nor had she known the identity of said movie star because of the firm’s steadfast rule that a client’s privacy was to be protected above all else. She knew better than to ask and Geoffrey certainly didn’t volunteer the information. So that was the extent of the creative input she’d been allowed to give during her few weeks at the firm. Then the scandal had broken and she’d gotten the boot before she had a chance to prove herself.
There was something strangely fulfilling about conceiving an idea in her imagination and knowing she could watch it take shape right before her eyes.
She hoped Lucy would find a similar feeling of accomplishment once her business began gaining momentum.
Lost in thought, Chelsea swiped the long-handled dust mop as far as she could reach across the slanted ceiling. How ironic it was that she’d been searching for herself in London’s hubbub and it had never seemed to fit. She had never felt like she fit, despite the fact that London, with all its posh parties, was home and its fancy people were her people. But they weren’t really. It had always felt so superficial, but she hadn’t realized the shallowness had been the root of her discontent. She hadn’t known it until she’d gotten away from it and had been forced to face herself in the quiet.
Who knew she’d be more content alone on a Friday night cleaning a barn than clubbing in Ibiza? Even more of a shock was who knew she’d connect with herself in a place like Celebration, Texas?
London had been the puzzle piece that looked as if it should fit, but didn’t quite match up. No one would’ve ever known it really didn’t belong until the rest of the pieces were set in place and the picture was off and a piece was missing elsewhere. Celebration seemed a good fit for the puzzle that was her life. At least for the time being she could catch her breath and get in touch with her heart. And maybe get to know Ethan Campbell a little better.
The squeak of the barn door opening startled her out of her reverie. She flinched and lost her grip on the wooden pole and it fell from her hand, landing with a clattering thud at Ethan’s feet.
Chelsea’s heart thudded and the butterflies that had been her constant companion since she’d arrived swooped in formation.
“Good grief, Ethan! Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
Bloody hell, and she’d let the accent slip.
He held up his hands surrender-style, but her accent didn’t seem to have registered with him. “Don’t fall off the ladder. I didn’t intend to sneak. I had no idea you were in here. What are you doing here this late?”
Her heart was still thudding and she placed a hand on her chest as if that would help it settle down.
“I’m working,” she said. “Kenny French needed to leave for his son’s sporting event. He wasn’t finished with the cobweb dusting and I thought I would wrap it up for him. It will save Lucy some money. For that matter, why are you here?”
Thank God you’re here.
“I’m sorry I scared you. I was driving home and I saw the light on and came in to turn it off.”
She laughed and loosened her death grip on the side of the ladder. “Please don’t leave me alone in the dark.”
Her lips tingled as she thought of yesterday’s kiss, the feel of his lips on hers, his strong, capable hands on her body and how she’d hated it when he’d said good-night. What would it be like to be alone in the dark with Ethan? Her heart rate kicked up again and a slow burn of approval started deep in her belly. What would he do if she climbed down from the ladder and proceeded to jump his bones?
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I wouldn’t leave you in the dark. Not alone, anyway.”
Ethan bent down and picked up her dust mop. From her perch on the ladder, she could see that grit and dust from the floor now stuck to the cobwebs.
If she kept using it, she would scatter dirt and dust all over and make the mess worse.
“You’re going to need a clean towel,” Ethan said.
She frowned and started down the ladder. “Or I could simply rinse off that one.”
“There’s no water out here. They won’t have it turned on until next week after we get the permits.”
“Does Lucy have a spigot outside her house?” Chelsea asked.
“Speaking of, where is my sister and why isn’t she out here helping you? Again.”
With both feet now planted firmly on the ground Chelsea stepped away from the ladder.
“She had another business meeting tonight. I don’t mind working by myself. The quiet is kind of nice.”
Ethan studied her in that unapologetic way of his. The man was such a study of contradictions. On one hand he was gruff and a little rough around the edges, but on the other, he was so comfortable in his own skin, so completely unselfconscious. A refreshing change from the guys she was used to. Ethan Campbell, all long, tall, six-foot-something of him, was a take-me-as-I-am-or-leave-me-the-hell-alone kind of guy. Chelsea had to smile to herself because she was ever so tempted to take him exactly as he was right here, right now.
“You don’t strike me as the type who thrives in solitude,” he said.
How on earth had he come to that conclusion? “Why would you think that?”
The dimple in his left cheek winked at her again. He was flirting with her. Her heart soared.
“I can usually get a pretty good read on people.”
“Is that so?” she said, trying to play it cool.
He nodded.
Swallowing the urge to come clean and confess everything to him, she put her hands on her hips and tilted her head to one side. “Tell me, what else do you think you know about me?”
She’d learned a long time ago not to give anything away. If he’d learned something, say, about the video, let him broach the subject first. If he knew anything. And she was betting that he didn’t. Praying that he didn’t.
God, please don’t let him know.
He studied her for a moment and her heart thudded with each passing second.
“I think you’re one hell of a hard worker and I think you look like you could use a break. Want to come to my place and have something to drink?”
She started to protest, but he stopped her.
�
��Come on. It’s Friday night and the two of us are standing here in an old barn. We can do better than this.”
She always had been a sucker for dimples. His dimples in particular.
“Well, since you put it that way. How can I refuse?”
After she stepped outside, he clicked off the light and shut the door. The night air was springtime cool, and she caught a whiff of something heady and wonderful perfuming the air.
“What is that lovely scent?” she asked, lifting her face into the evening breeze.
“That’s jasmine. It grows hardy out here. That’s it over there, climbing the fence.”
“Mmm. I could bathe in it. It’s intoxicating.”
He followed her to the passenger side of his truck, opened the door for her and held her elbow, helping her into the Ford’s cabin. When she turned to thank him she saw him draw in a deep breath.
“Funny how you can get so used to something you don’t even notice it anymore,” he said. “It is nice.”
They made small talk as they followed a dirt road that was bordered by white post and rail horse fencing on either side. The path cut through a large stretch of grassy land. It led to a ranch-style house that sat a good distance off the highway.
The amber porch light welcomed them and illuminated two rocking chairs and several barrel planters brimming over with an assortment of colorful flowers.
“Is this your house?” she asked as she climbed the steps.
He nodded.
She couldn’t recall the mental picture that had come to mind when she’d pictured Ethan at home, but it hadn’t been quite like this.
“It’s nice,” she said as she stood on the porch, squinting out through the veil of inky evening, trying to get the lay of the land. There was a lot of it, for as far as she could see.
Some kind of night creature chirped in the distance. “Does all this property belong to you?”
“Lucy, our brother Jude and I each own a third.” He turned the knob on the unlocked door. They stepped inside. “We decided it would be easier to split it into three equal parcels. Lucy owns the area surrounding the barn. This part is mine. Jude owns the property over on the west side. We each inherited about three hundred acres.”
“That’s a lot to take care of.” She glanced around as she followed him into the living room. The eighties-era decor was rustic, but the house seemed neat and tidy. Chelsea imagined that it probably looked exactly as it had when Ethan was growing up. Since his parents were gone he probably found some comfort in that.
“It keeps me busy,” Ethan said. “I have my routine. As long as I stick to it, upkeep’s not a problem. I like keeping busy.”
“You and I have that in common,” she said. “We both like to keep busy.”
He cocked a brow, as if he might have read something into her words. But then he nodded and gestured to the couch. “Make yourself comfortable. Would you like something to drink?”
“A glass of wine?” Her hand flew to her mouth. The words had no sooner escaped her lips when she realized what she said and that he probably didn’t keep alcohol in the house.
She waved her hand as if to erase her mistake. “Actually, water is fine. I’m sorry, Ethan. I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”
He shook his head. “You don’t need to apologize. I wish I could offer you wine, but I don’t have any. We could go to Murphy’s Pub if you want. They have a good wine list.”
“I don’t need wine. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“You don’t have to tiptoe around the subject when you’re with me. You’re not the one who has a problem with alcohol. You can have wine when you’re with me and you don’t have to apologize for it.”
She thought about the people she used to go out and about with in London. The parties, the mornings when she would sleep until noon because she was nursing a headache from overindulging the night before. She’d never thought she’d abused alcohol. Not even after Hadden recorded their intimacy unbeknownst to her. Maybe if she had been more cognizant it wouldn’t have happened.
It certainly wouldn’t hurt her to abstain for a while.
“How about some coffee?” she asked.
“Coming right up.”
She followed him into the kitchen, which also looked like it had been frozen in all of its eighties grandeur, with its ivory-painted cabinets, sky blue tile backsplash, butcher-block countertops and light blue-and-yellow linoleum floor.
Just like the living room, it was neat and clean. Everything seemed to be freshly scrubbed and in its place. An honest kitchen for an honest man. Just like Ethan, it was unapologetically bona fide. No arrogance. No pretense. No airs. It was what it was and there was beauty in that.
As she watched him spoon coffee into a filter, the old familiar tangle of anger at Hadden and self-loathing for landing herself in this degrading situation knotted in her stomach. She felt like such a fraud standing in Ethan’s house, pretending to be someone she wasn’t, someone virtuous and honorable. The person he deserved didn’t hide her name or her reason for being here. She certainly didn’t fake an American accent for fear that she would be found out for who she really was.
Again, the sudden need to confess everything to him swept through her with gale-force intensity.
What would he think of her if he knew her real story?
What would this man, who took pride in carrying on his family’s legacy and fiercely protected his little sister, think of her if he knew the truth?
What would he think of her if he saw the recording?
The humiliation of disgrace bloomed on her cheeks as he turned around to say something to her.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
No.
“I’m fine.” She mustered her best lying smile. “Why would you think I wasn’t?”
He watched her for a minute.
Maybe she wasn’t as good at deception as she thought.
“You looked upset. Are you—Is this okay? If you’re uncomfortable—”
The coffeemaker started hissing and chugging.
“I’m not uncomfortable,” she said, hanging tight to her enunciated American accent. She just couldn’t seem to let go of it. “I promise.”
Her last words were softer. Because she really was okay being here with him. No, more than okay. She wanted to be here. That part wasn’t a lie. She just wished it all could be aboveboard.
She wanted to kiss Ethan again. In full self-disclosure, she wanted to do more than kiss him. She hadn’t felt that way about a man in a long time. Ethan Campbell was built from different stock than Hadden Hastings.
But she was getting ahead of herself. Right now they were having coffee. It was a chance to get to know a man who seemed to be interested in her for herself. Not because of her brother’s political connections or because her sister could score front-row seats at any number of fashion week shows.
His lopsided grin brought his dimple out to play. “Good, because I’m glad you’re here.”
Chelsea experienced a moment of clarity. This was how it should be between a man and a woman. Organic attraction. Nothing premeditated or conditional. With Ethan, she could glimpse the potential to becoming the person she always wanted to be. This person she was pretending to be now.
This was nice...and intimate.
“So, I never asked. How long are you staying? It seems a shame that Juliette has to be away so much of the time you’re here.”
“It’s sort of open-ended right now.”
He looked a little surprised. “Are you on vacation or between jobs?”
“It’s a long story,” she said.
“I have all night,” he returned.
That deep Texas drawl wound its way down her spine like a velvet caress and sent a shiver that reached all the way to he
r core. That was a loaded statement, and there was that inflection in his voice that she could take all sorts of different ways.
“What a coincidence. So do I.”
Chapter Nine
Ethan couldn’t deny the spark of longing that surged through him. He wanted her. He hadn’t wanted a woman like this for a very long time.
There had been other women since Molly. Most of them had been one-nighters, especially before he’d gotten a handle on the drinking. But since he’d been sober, the idea of sex for sex’s sake didn’t appeal to him as much. Sure, he still had needs, but sex to numb, sex to forget himself for a while, just didn’t seem worth the hustle anymore. Living in a small town like Celebration, it wasn’t really feasible to sleep with your neighbor or the bartender at Bistro Saint-Germain and expect to remain platonically friendly. Word got around. Women started comparing notes.
Things felt different with Chelsea. It wasn’t just because she was leaving soon. At first he thought it might be convenient, but she was Juliette’s best friend. Juliette had always been like family, even though she wasn’t seeing his brother, Jude, anymore. By virtue of friendship, it took Chelsea out of the one-nighter category.
So, where did that leave them?
Chelsea was the first woman in a very long time who had thawed his frozen heart and warmed him to the idea of something more than casual sex, something more than friendship.
They had taken their coffee into the living room and were sitting comfortably close on the couch. They’d talked about the barn; they’d talked about horses and going riding sometime this week; they’d even talked about the weather. It wasn’t that they’d run out of things to say as much as it was that with each exhausted topic, the urge to kiss her, to touch her, to pick her up and take her to his bed, edged out his ability to keep up a conversation.
But he didn’t want her to feel like he’d brought her here with ulterior motives.
His eyes fell to the creamy expanse of her neck, which looked enticing and smooth beneath the V of her T-shirt. He forced his gaze back up to meet hers.
The Cowboy's Runaway Bride Page 12