Читать книгу The Bride Plan - Кейси Майклс, Kasey Michaels - Страница 9

“I said,” Chessie repeated, this time half screaming the words, “you look beautiful in that gown! The mermaid style is perfect for you!”

Oh, brother. How was she supposed to sell gowns, make her brides feel special, when she had to shout over the sounds of hammering and electric saws and—she nearly jumped out of her skin as somebody dropped what sounded like a half ton of boards all at one time.

Helen Metcalf looked into the three-sided mirror and shook her head. “The style is good, but there’s not enough bling. At my age, I need some bling, to take the attention away from my crepey neck.”

“You don’t have a creepy neck,” Chessie assured her, once more speaking over the noise of an electric saw.

“I hope not! I said crepe, not creep. Anyway, I don’t think this is the one. Then again, it’s so difficult to concentrate with all that noise. What’s going on out there?”

As she helped Helen out of the gown, Chessie explained about the construction that had already been going on for an endless three days, and would continue for at least another month, or so Marylou kept telling her.

“Ooh, construction workers. With tool belts and tight jeans and bare chests. Lead me to them,” Helen said, heading for the window in her strapless bra, French-cut silk panties and little else. She pulled back the drapery and leaned her head to one side, looking toward the rear of the building. “Oh. My. God.”

Chessie twisted her hands together in front of her, longing to punch something. Or someone. He was out there without his shirt again, the great big show-off. Jace Edwards. Owner of Edwards Construction, owner of his own built-in six-pack, and all round pain in her rump. Helen wasn’t the only person to have had that oh-my-god reaction, one way or another, to Jace Edwards.

“He’s just a man without a shirt, Helen.”

“No, my Joe is just a man without a shirt. That out there is a whole ‘nother story, that’s what that is. Can you just imagine him with butter on top?”

Chessie had to laugh. “Helen, you’re getting married.”

Slowly, reluctantly, Helen backed away from the window. “Right, married, which isn’t the same as dead, even if it felt like it with my ex. I’m still allowed to look, I just can’t touch. Have you? You know—touched?”

No, but not for lack of thinking about it, Chessie said inside her head. Outside her head, she said, “Not interested.”

“Really? Are you ill?”

Chessie blinked. “No—why?”

“Because if you’re not at least a little bit interested in that, maybe you want to consider vitamins or something.”

“I can’t believe you teach kindergarten,” Chessie said, motioning for Helen to raise her arms so another mermaid-style gown could be dropped over her head. “What a potty mouth you have.”

“It’s a part of my girlish charm. Ah,” she said, smoothing her hands down over her hips as Chessie did up the concealed zipper. “Now, this is more like it. I love the neckline, and the way it seems to give me a shape, which I’d pretty much thought I’d lost after the third kid.” She turned about to see the sweep of the demi-train, and then turned back to stand foursquare in front of the mirror.

And didn’t say another word for a full minute.

Chessie recognized the signs. She quickly grabbed the elbow-length veil and secured it to Helen’s blond curls and then handed her a bouquet of deep-purple-silk calla lilies.

Then she handed her a tissue.

“This is the one, isn’t it?” she said after Helen wiped her cheeks and blew her nose.

Helen nodded, clearly not trusting her voice. For all the woman’s bravado, her insistence that it was only a second wedding, a formality really, and she didn’t expect to feel “special,” Helen Metcalf was suddenly feeling special. Every bride deserved to feel that way.

Chessie handed her over to Berthe to discuss built-in bras and how to bustle the small train for the reception, and headed for her office, deliberately averting her eyes from the door leading to the side yard and, if she simply made a left, to the back of the house and the construction.

She inspected the progress each night, after Jace and his crew departed, but she had made it a point not to go outside while they were on-site. Not to offer them a pitcher of iced tea, not to ask any questions, not to complain about the noise … and definitely not to peek at Jace Edwards sans shirt.

Okay, once. Yesterday afternoon. Just that once she’d sneaked upstairs and looked out the third-floor attic window, just in time to see him holding up the garden hose over his head, rinsing himself off to stay cool she supposed, and then shaking his head like a dog to rid himself of the excess water. She’d thought, I could lick it off, and then mentally slapped herself upside the head, because she didn’t think that way. Who thought that way?

Helen Metcalf, probably. That woman had more fun in her mind than Chessie had awake and upright.

One hand on the doorknob to her office, a thought struck Chessie. By staying away, wasn’t she making it pretty obvious that there was a reason she was staying away? After all, any normal person wanted to see what’s going on when the thing that was having something going on with it was her very own house, her very own business.

Why, he was probably out there right now, laughing at her, thinking he’d scared her away.

The nerve of the man!

She took the stairs two at a time and headed for her kitchen and the full pitcher of iced tea she had just happened to make that morning because … Well, it didn’t matter why she’d made it. She dumped the ice out of a tray and into the pitcher. She tucked a stack of tall plastic cups under her arm, grabbed the pitcher and headed back down the steps before she could change her mind.

Over to the door. Out onto the three concrete steps leading down to the concrete path that led to the rear of the house. Down the concrete path, the cups beginning to slip out from under her arm. Around the corner to the picnic table they’d pushed over to the fence and out of the way.

All done without thinking, because thinking was dangerous. Almost more dangerous than counting up the muscles on Jace Edwards’s rib cage and getting to, yup, solid six-pack.

“Anyone thirsty?” she called out, smiling at the crew in general, her gaze sliding over the four men, landing on none of them. “I’ve got some iced tea.”

All four men put down their tools and approached the picnic table, three of them murmuring thanks as they took turns pouring iced tea, and then heading for the shade of the red maple at the back of the yard.

Jace Edwards poured himself a cup as well, but then stayed where he was. Which was much too close to Chessie. He smelled like sun and some spicy cologne and a little good old manly sweat, and she had to clear her throat before she could talk to his chest … she winced, lifted her head to readjust her gaze … before she could talk to him.

“How—how’s it going?”

“Not as well as we could have hoped,” he told her, and then drained the glass in a few manly gulps as she watched his throat work and felt suddenly quite thirsty herself. “You’ve got some dry rot we have to take care of before we go much further. Some wet rot, too. Both kinds. I told Marylou yesterday when she was here. She told you?”

“No,” Chessie said, looking worriedly at her house. “She didn’t tell me. How bad?”

“We won’t know that until we check a little more, but I don’t think it could be too extensive.”

“As in not too extensive to be too expensive?”

He smiled at her. Those light gray eyes—she hadn’t known she could like light gray eyes—sort of twinkled as the laugh lines around them crinkled. “That, too. You’ve had some water, rain most likely, get in between the original siding and the add-on. And the original siding, being wood, started to grow some mold. The rain gutter was pulled away a bit along the lower back roof, probably from all that ice we had last winter. The slate on the roof is good, nearly indestructible, so at least you’ve got that in your favor.”

“There’s mold under my siding? Isn’t that dangerous?” Chessie plunked herself down on the picnic-table bench, figurative dollar signs circling just above her head. “Does all the siding have to come down?”

“That’s the good news. The siding is already down. That’s how we saw the mold damage and got rid of it, replaced all the damaged boards. What it means, mostly, is you were hearing a lot more ripping and hammering the past two days than you probably counted on.”

“I didn’t count on any ripping and hammering,” she admitted quietly. “I was sort of hoping it would all happen magically. You know, like little elves showing up in the night, and the next thing I’d know I’d have an addition.”

“Little elves? With little tool belts? Tiny little velvet-covered hammers?”

“Magic wands, actually,” Chessie said, trying not to smile. “And wings. Don’t forget the wings.”

“I’m trying to picture Carl with wings.” He shook his head. “Nope, not happening.”

“I don’t think the look would be too good on you, either. Although the pointed shoes might be interesting. Look. I … I, um, I’m sorry about the other morning. We sort of got off on the wrong foot, didn’t we?”

He smiled that I-know-what-you’re-thinking-and-I might-be-thinking-it-too smile again. Damn, his teeth were white! She tried to picture him standing in front of his bathroom mirror, struggling to apply whitening strips like in the commercials, but that image wouldn’t form, either. He was just one of those naturally drop-dead-gorgeous human beings. She shouldn’t blame him, he probably couldn’t help it.

“I don’t know. I thought it was … interesting. I’ve never before been attacked by a TV remote.”

“I usually make a better first impression. Although you probably should be glad I didn’t fall asleep holding the glue gun.”

“I can think of better things to take to bed with you than a glue gun.”

Chessie felt her cheeks going hot. She wasn’t going to touch that statement with a ten-foot pole. “I didn’t fall asleep watching TV in bed. I fell asleep on the couch because I was supposed to be making little bows and sticking them on—Never mind. Let’s just say my life is going to get easier once this addition is done and I have an actual workroom.”

“About that. I was only inside the building the day Marylou and I took the tour. Since then, I’ve been working from the measurements and drawings I made that day, and I think I might have a better suggestion now for the egress from your bedroom to the upstairs workroom. You’d have more wall space for shelving, which I think you’ll probably want to have in there.”

“Really? I, um, I guess we could go inside and you could … check that out?” My bedroom? He wants me to lead him to my bedroom? Hoo-doggies, I couldn’t have just stayed inside and let them find their own iced tea?

“That would be the plan. If you don’t mind? Marylou explained that you didn’t want anyone inside during business hours until it was totally necessary. We’re halfway through the framing, and as soon as we’re under roof, it’s going to be necessary. Let me get my plans, and I’ll meet you inside.”

He was reaching for his shirt as she nodded and headed back down the cement path, her mind retracing her steps this morning as she got dressed and raced downstairs for an early delivery. She knew she hadn’t made up her bed, but she didn’t really care about that. It was what she’d done with the clothes she’d stripped out of last night before she’d gotten into that bed that she couldn’t remember.

All she’d need would be for Jace Edwards to ask to see her room for some reason, and then let him walk in there to see her leopard-skin-patterned underwire bra dangling from the doorknob to her bathroom. That was a visual to make her carefully straightened hair curl.

Once inside, she broke into a run, climbing the stairs in record time to do a quick grab-and-stash of anything she didn’t want him to see. She’d just grabbed the bra from exactly where she’d left it—hanging on that doorknob—when she heard a knock against the door frame in the living room.

“The lady downstairs said I could come up. Chessie?”

“Yes, I’m here. Come on back.”

She lifted her pillow and shoved the bra beneath it, and then quickly sat down on the side of the bed.

Then just as quickly sprang back up again, as if the mattress was on fire. Was she out of her mind? Who sat on a bed when a man was on his way into the room? Women with ideas in their heads that didn’t belong there, that’s who!

Jace stuck his head and shoulders around the doorway, and then smiled. He was wearing his shirt, she’d give him that much. But he couldn’t have buttoned it? “Hi, again. I brought the plans and a measuring tape. Are you sure I’m not disturbing you too much?”

Oh, the many ways she could take that statement!

“No, no, it’s fine.” She turned in a small circle, her hands sort of aimlessly fluttering until she stopped them by entwining her fingers until her knuckles probably showed white. “Mi casa es su casa for the duration, or whatever. You were, uh, talking shelves?”

“Yes, a sort of combination hallway and storage area. Instead of the door opening directly into the workroom. Too boxy, you know? I was taking the easy way out, I guess. Here, let me show you.” He unrolled the plans, blueprints, whatever they were, and laid them on the bed. When the large, crinkly papers tried to roll into a cylinder once more, he picked up a sneaker that had found its home on the floor last night, and placed it on the left edge of the papers.

Then he moved to grab the pillow and use it to hold down the other edge He’d half lifted it before she could react.

“No!” Chessie grabbed his hand, then quickly let it go, as if it was also too hot to handle. “That probably won’t work. Feather pillow, you know. Too, er, too light. I … I’ll just sit here and hold them down.”

“Okay,” Jace said, looking at her in some confusion. “You’re a funny girl.”

“That’s what I’m told. A real laugh a minute,” she said through clenched teeth and a smile that hurt her cheeks. “So, uh—these are the plans?”

Commanding herself to calm down and—for God’s sake—shut up, Chessie did her best to listen, nod in the right places and pretend she didn’t notice that he was only two feet away from her. Not exactly invading her personal space, but since this particular personal space happened to be her bedroom … well, yeah, maybe he was. Him and his cologne and his open shirt and his laugh lines and his … no, she wouldn’t think about his bare chest. She’d never had a thing for bare chests, not ever. On her list of what attracted her to men, bare chests wasn’t even in the top five. So why was she so suddenly fixated on his?

“And then I figure we can paint it all purple and put a cherry on top.”

“Uh-huh—What?”

“Then you are listening. I wasn’t sure.”

She got to her feet, the crinkling sound of the plans rolling back into their cylinder shape closely following. “Oh, cripes, I’m sorry. I wasn’t listening. Could … could you maybe just … back up a little?”

“I could,” he said, not moving. “But we probably ought to get this over with.”

“The …” She cleared her throat. Honestly, she was never at a loss for words. If anything, she talked too much. Just ask her cousin Will, he’d tell him. “You mean … talking about the plans?”

Jace took a small step closer, which definitely put him within her personal space. And her into his personal space, come to think of it, although he maybe didn’t mind so much as she minded … not that she minded. Not that she had much left of her mind at this point.

“No,” he said, tipping up her chin with his hand. “I mean this.”

Chessie’s eyelids fluttered closed as he touched his mouth to hers. Which was probably a good thing, because then she didn’t miss any of the colorful fireworks that immediately began bursting against them.

She hadn’t been kissed in a long time. And she hadn’t liked the kiss when it had happened. It had been one of those I took you to dinner and a movie and now I expect payment kind of kisses, courtesy of the last blind date Will had set her up with nearly eight months ago.

So of course this kiss was better. It didn’t have to be much of a kiss at all to be better than her last.

Except this one was not only better than her last kiss, it won hands down over any she’d had in her entire life. Maybe three lifetimes.

His mouth tasted of sugared iced tea, and his tongue had probably gotten its Ph.D. in Persuasion, with a special commendation for Artful Insinuation.

She wanted to gulp him down, tear off his clothes, lick the sweat and salt from his muscled belly, dig her fingers into his shoulders so she could use them for leverage as she half vaulted him, scissored her legs around his back, pumped her eager lower body against him until he was so rock hard that she could feel him through his jeans.

And then she’d get really serious about seducing him ….

As if he knew what she wanted, or maybe he wanted it, too, Jace cupped her backside in both of his strong hands and ground his lower body against hers. No words required. None were needed. They both knew what they wanted from each other.

This was desire. Lust. Raw need. Animal magnetism.

Good stuff. That’s what it was.

Good stuff. Heady stuff. Can’t-stop-it-now stuff. Who-cares-if-it’s-right-or-wrong stuff. I-don’t-need-to-know-your-name stuff. I don’t even have to like you. You don’t have to like me. I’m hungry; you’re hungry. Let’s eat.

Sex. It’s what’s for dinner ….

Jace pulled his mouth away from hers, pressed his lips to her ear. “You’re vibrating.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Chessie all but gasped, trying to catch her breath, as she apparently hadn’t been breathing there for a while. Was surprised she hadn’t forgotten how. He didn’t have to talk. She didn’t need him to talk, preferred he didn’t talk. She just needed. If he didn’t watch out, she might just get there on her own, just from thinking about what she wanted him to do next. She’d never felt like this before in her life. She liked it!

His low chuckle helped bring her back to earth. “No, I mean something in your pocket. I think it’s your cell phone.”

Sanity knocked on the door to Chessie’s libido, and her libido, so entirely unused to company, idiotically let it in.

“Oh. My cell phone. Right. It could be important. I should answer it, huh?”

Jace stepped away from her just as her knees threatened to buckle. “To be continued later?”

“Is … is that a question, or are you just being smug?”

“Do you care?”

Things like this didn’t happen to people like her. Sexual innuendo. Raw, primitive lust. Openly acknowledging that, yes, she wanted to have sex with somebody. There was no dance, no courtship, no promises. No flattery or flowers. No agenda or destination other than getting him inside of her as deep as he could go and then watching his face as he drove into her again and again until they both exploded in a physical release that was the entire object of the game.

A sudden visual image stole her breath. Her caller could leave her a voice mail.

“I have a date tonight,” she heard herself say. “A blind date. I can’t get out of it. It … it’s for a dinner party at my cousin’s house. If I didn’t show up, it would make the numbers uneven. And I think the only reason for the dinner party is to …”

Jace picked up the plans and his measuring tape and began backing toward the door to the hallway. Was he angry? Did he look angry? Did he have any right to be angry?

Chessie decided he wasn’t angry. And then got a little angry that he wasn’t angry.

Talk about your mixed-up heads—she ought to have hers examined the first chance she got!

“Set you up? Been there, done that.”

“Got the T-shirt?”

“Didn’t want one. I’m not into relationships.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“I know.”

“I’m divorced. I found my wife in bed with another man.”

“I was left at the altar. He ran off with my maid of honor, and I doubt they’d only been sharing longing glances before they hopped that plane to Mexico. Which do you think is worse?”

He stepped back another pace, his eyes still very much locked with hers. “Are we keeping score?”

“I’m just saying. I’m not into relationships, either.”

“Good. Because I don’t want one.”

“No. I know what you want. You made that pretty obvious.”

“I didn’t hear you telling me to stop.”

Chessie pressed her crossed hands against her chest. “Oh, darling, are we having our first fight?”

Jace laughed, shook his head. “You’re something else, Chessie Burton. Don’t make me like you.”

“I wouldn’t think of it. Whatever was going on here had nothing to do with liking. We know nothing about each other. We should probably keep it that way.”

“What was ‘going on here’? Say it, Chessie. We were about to have sex, and if that phone hadn’t vibrated we’d probably be done by now, because there wasn’t going to be anything slow or easy about where we were heading.”

Chessie felt another blush starting and turned her face away from his gaze. “Yes, I know. But you started it,” she said, feeling like a child in a childish argument.

“Let’s at least be honest here, Chessie. We both started it, the first time we saw each other. And it’s not going to go away unless we finish it.”

She turned to answer him, saying what, she didn’t know. But the doorway was empty.

She dropped onto the bed, her chest rising and falling rapidly, as if she’d just run a marathon in some alternate universe, where she was a sex-starved nymph in transparent flowing draperies and he was the flesh-and-bone mating invention of some mad scientist out to re-populate the world with six-pack abs.

A vacation. That’s what she needed. A long vacation far, far away from here. Long enough so that the addition would be done and he’d be gone by the time she got back. Because she could never face him again after this, and she was sure he wouldn’t have the same problem. No, he’d just be there every day for the next three weeks or so; no shirt, big smile, crinkly creases around his eyes, and oozing sex from every pore. Just there, waiting for her to give him the signal.

Chessie sat up all at once. Signal? What was the signal? She didn’t know any signals. She didn’t even know who she was anymore, because she certainly wasn’t the woman who had almost … almost—Good Lord!

“I’m not going to think about this anymore,” she told herself as she stood in front of the mirror over the bathroom sink, reapplying her lipstick. “Everyone is entitled to one aberration in a lifetime. He was mine, but I was saved by the bell, and now I’m over it. It’s out of my system. He’s out of my system. He was never in my system. I don’t even like him. He’s arrogant, and assuming, and clearly just out for what he can get, and I—

“Good Lord. Now I’m trying to set myself up as either a victim or a Goody Two-shoes who didn’t know what I was doing even as I was doing it. The man is sex on a stick. He can’t help it. The only question is, do I take what he’s offering, or do I do the sensible thing and walk away?”

Her reflection had no answer for her. Neither did her formerly rational brain nor her once-bruised and now wary heart.

But her body? Oh, her body had cast its vote before she’d even finished the question.

“Where’ya goin’, Jace? Is something on fire somewhere?”

Jace had already picked up his lunch bucket and was heading toward the alley and his pickup when Carl asked his question. He turned back to look at the man, his mind racing to come up with a reason he was walking off the job. Okay, running off the job.

“I need to go downtown, check on some permits. I think we’re going to enlarge Ms. Burton’s existing bathroom, make it a Jack-and-Jill open to the workroom, which is going to change the entryway from the bedroom to the workroom, and I’m going to have to amend the plumbing permit to do that.” As lies went, this was a pretty good one, and he decided he would do just that. He’d tell Marylou about it when he saw her. She’d approve it. She’d pretty much tossed the job at him and told him to do anything he wanted with it.

But she’d never told him much about Chessie Burton. Jace wished she had. Maybe then he wouldn’t act like a complete ass every time he saw her.

“Okay, sounds good. But there’s a problem. I just got a call from Bob. He says that flatbed with the siding we were expecting today broke down on the turnpike. They’re sending a new cab, but it will probably be six o’clock before it gets here. I called the wife, but she can’t pick up Aiden, so I can’t stay, and George—”

“It’s okay, Carl. I’ll be back in plenty of time, and I’ll wait for the delivery. No problem. Gotta go.”

Jace escaped the scene of the crime—okay, now that was being a little dramatic—and then drove to the nearby park and carried his lunch pail down to the stream and the waiting ducks.

A slice of bologna for him, a few hunks of bread for the ducks. A pickle for him, a slice of bologna for the ducks. His entire second sandwich, his small bag of potato chips and the container of green grapes for the ducks. The slice of bologna he had eaten, lying in his stomach like a chunk of cement.

What the hell had he done? What the hell had he been thinking?

Had he been thinking?

Hell, no. His hormones had been doing the thinking.

Never a good idea. Never.

Damn, she’d tasted good. Tasted good, felt good, looked good.

He hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind since that first morning. Three days. Three days he’d waited, wondering when he’d see her again. And nothing.

Then suddenly there she was, all smiles and iced tea and flushed cheeks and that way she had of sort of tipping her chin down and looking up at him through those incredible long black lashes. Those huge blue eyes. Those see-into-her-soul blue eyes. Trying not to look, unable to look away. And that was both of them. She knew he couldn’t stop looking at her, devouring her with his own eyes.

God, she was funny. Odd funny, silly funny, nervous funny.

Every moment they were in each other’s company, you could cut the tension with the proverbial knife.

He’d honestly thought the kiss would do it. Cut the growing tension. Satisfy his curiosity. And hers.

Next time he had a bright idea he should go soak his head in something wet and cold until the feeling passed.

At least she’d come to her senses, even regained her sense of humor with that darling crack. And she’d turned down his arrogant suggestion that they meet again later, finish what they’d started. Nice to know he was attracted to a woman with a brain. Not nice to know he’d already decided he hated her blind date and hoped he got food poisoning at lunch and would have to call and cancel.

He wadded up the sandwich wrappings and shoved them back in his lunchbox before heading back up the hill toward the pickup, a couple of the ducks, hoping for dessert, he guessed, following him.

Tossing the lunchbox onto the front seat, Jace turned and leaned back against the driver’s side door, trying to remember the last time he’d been so consumed by a woman, and finally decided the answer to that was never. Not even with Marci.

He wondered if Marci had known that, sensed it, acted as she had because of it. Because he hadn’t been a good husband. He’d had his job during the day, college courses at night and then his fledgling business that took all of his energy and concentration … and devotion. He’d been 110 percent devoted to building his business. His marriage had been a casualty of his ambition.

So that was it; he wasn’t marriage material. And he wasn’t in a hurry to take another swing that would probably end up as strike two. Even being around Second Chance Bridal made him sort of knot up inside. How did Chessie stand it, having been left at the altar as she’d said she’d been? You’d think she would stay as far away from anything to do with weddings as possible.

Funny girl. Odd girl.

He couldn’t get her out of his head. That, and the last thing he’d said to her. That asinine near challenge: It’s not going to go away unless we finish it.

What a stupid macho thing to say.

“Who the hell does saying something like that make me?” he muttered to the world at large.

There was a strange, fairly strangled quack coming from ground level. Jace looked down to see that one of the larger ducks—a female, naturally—had just christened his right work boot with a suggested answer.

“I was thinking of it more as a rhetorical question,” he said, smiling in spite of himself. “But thanks anyway ….”