Читать книгу Good with His Hands - Tanya Michaels - Страница 11

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SEAN GRAYSON WINKED conspiratorially at the perky woman in yoga pants. Between the cartoon character on her T-shirt and her braided pigtails, she looked more like a teenager than his twin brother’s secretary. “I really appreciate your taking time out of your Saturday to let me in.”

She shrugged. “This is on my way to the gym. Just promise to lock up when you leave or Bryce will have my head on a platter. I’d better scoot, or I’ll be late for Zumba.” Pausing in the doorway, she asked over her shoulder, “You know what would be hilarious? If Bryce had the same idea and he’s secretly at your office right now, setting up a surprise for Monday.”

Bitterness stabbed at Sean, an unpleasant sensation somewhere between loss and anger. Alone in the spacious offices of Bertram Design Associates, he tried to imagine stepping into the trailer on his current job site and finding it filled with balloons and streamers. Never in a million years. He and Bryce might be identical twins, but these days, they had little in common besides looks and a shared birthday.

Bryce, older by nine minutes, had always been more studious, diligently making A-honor roll and graduating high school as valedictorian. Sean had excelled in different areas, like industrial arts and varsity football...and making time with the varsity cheerleaders. Despite different interests, the two brothers had encouraged each other. They’d been close. Then Bryce had been awarded a major scholarship to a college out of state.

Sean stayed behind, working for their dad’s roofing company and pooling his money with his parents’ to afford a trade school degree, eventually working his way up to supervising construction crews. When their dad suffered a heart attack—minor, but alarming—Bryce had been too busy with finals to come home. There were holiday breaks and summers when Bryce chose plans with his frat brothers or staying on campus for intern opportunities over visiting his family. After graduation, he’d returned to Georgia, but he’d been different. He was more polished and educated than anyone else in the family, and he never let Sean forget it.

Most of the time, Sean told himself it was natural for siblings to grow apart, no big deal. But his last girlfriend had accused him of being jealous of his successful, intelligent brother. “He has the prestigious degree, the loft condo and the class. You’re a glorified handyman. No wonder you resent him.”

Was Sean here in part to prove her wrong? To try to recapture some of the old camaraderie? Knock off the introspective crap. You’re here to hang some balloons and heckle him about being old.

It was only fair, considering how often Bryce had lorded his nine-minute head start on life over his “little brother” when they were kids. Sean also had a gift to leave on his brother’s desk. He’d scanned a section of one of Bryce’s first blueprints and paid a friend with graphics art talent to turn it into a one-of-a-kind multicolored kaleidoscope print. Sean had framed the resulting artwork and wrapped it in black “over the hill” paper. He hoped Bryce would hang the print in his office.

Or was the customized art too funky for the uptight man Bryce had become? Although Bryce was a decent architect, his main role in the company was getting permits passed. He was the person who crossed the t’s and dotted the i’s. As if his occupational habits were taking over his personal life, with each passing year, Bryce grew more rigid. His DVD collection of pretentious, independent films was probably alphabetized. Most of Sean’s DVDs weren’t even in their proper cases.

Unlike his brother, Sean lived in the moment, enjoying spontaneity. Why overplan the journey? In his experience, life offered many interesting detours.

* * *

OF ALL THE ways Dani could have spent Saturday afternoon, hiding in an empty office so that concerned friends couldn’t call her home line or drop by to check on her was definitely in the pathetic top five.

Granted, she’d spent the past few hours putting herself in a strategic position to reach her goal—the youngest top seller to graduate to a flat desk fee instead of splitting commission with the brokerage—but was it really healthy to be so practical? She was a scorned bride. Shouldn’t she be finding catharsis in some kind of outrageous behavior? In her career, following the rules and setting goals worked well. In her love life? Not so much. Tate was the one who’d cheated, yet he was happily married while she was alone.

When Meg had announced she was moving in with Nolan, a pharmaceutical sales rep six years her senior, after dating him only a couple of months, Dani had cautioned her exuberant friend that it was too soon. But Meg had defied conventional wisdom and seemed perfectly happy with her choice. Meanwhile, Dani had tried to do everything right with Tate—spending a year and a half getting to know him before they got engaged, being completely supportive of his needing to work out of the country—and she’d gotten screwed.

If this were a movie, she would have taken her canceled honeymoon to Maui all by herself and fallen in love with one of Hollywood’s leading men amid a learning-to-surf montage and funny luau scene. Well, it’s not a movie. So she could either stay here and continue her downward spiral into feeling sorry for herself or she could call Meg. Maybe last night’s invitation for drinks still stood. Or maybe Dani should look around the area for paintball places with evening hours. She sort of liked the idea of wearing her pristine white wedding dress to a paintball battle. If nothing else, the sight would unnerve her opponents.

She heaved a sigh. It wasn’t the bridal gown’s fault that Tate was too insecure to spend his life with a strong woman. She shouldn’t take out her rage on a seven-hundred-dollar dress. But she could totally take it out on a pitcher’s worth of margaritas.

Resolved, she shut down her computer. There was one nice thing about her abysmal little apartment; it was only two adjoining parking lots away from a neighborhood bar. She could easily walk home after a few drinks. The bar was a nice place with pool tables and a Saturday happy hour she might still make if she left now. Maybe Meg could meet her there.

Dani would call her from the car, once her cell phone was plugged in to the charger. She’d “accidentally” forgotten to charge it this morning. At least, that was the story she planned to give anyone who’d been unable to reach her. Her father had called three times alone that morning. Lord knew how many voice messages awaited her.

When Dani had arrived at the office, she’d been wearing a three-quarter sleeved semitransparent blouse over a lace-edged red camisole and white denim skirt. But the air-conditioning didn’t run on the weekends and the day had turned into one of those humid summer previews when Mother Nature demonstrated what Atlanta had to look forward to in June, so she’d shrugged out of the blouse. Now she scooped up the discarded garment and her briefcase, suddenly eager to escape the barren office and the loneliness it represented. She could imagine how Tate would gloat if he knew she’d spent the day here alone.

But it turned out the building wasn’t entirely deserted. As she juggled her belongings in her arms to lock the brokerage door, she heard footsteps in the hall behind her. She glanced back immediately; her dad, who’d been far more comfortable teaching her self-defense than taking her bra shopping, had coached her to be aware of her surroundings.

Her eyes widened. Hot Architect! It was like a sign. Or fate, if she believed in such nonsense. For today, be a believer. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he echoed. “I didn’t think anyone else was cooped up in the building on such a gorgeous day.” His lips quirked in a lazy half smile, his gaze dropping in a brief but appreciative once-over before returning to meet hers. “Never been so happy to be wrong.”

He was flirting with her? His unexpectedly playful tone was like diving into cold water on a scorching summer day—an initial shock to the system, but damn it felt good.

Although he still hadn’t given her a full smile, humor danced in his eyes. “I hope your presence here on a Saturday afternoon doesn’t mean you’re a stuffy workaholic,” he teased. “That would be tragic. But I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

“You’re here, too. Workaholic tendencies?”

She could almost believe the man she normally saw in well-tailored suits was a workaholic. But now? Lord have mercy. His dark hair was rumpled. With no trace of styling product, it looked shaggier yet sexy. He filled out a pair of jeans in a way that could make a grown woman weep, and his T-shirt... She tried not to gape, scarcely believing how he’d hid those biceps under his suit jackets.

He crossed his arms over his chest, giving her a great view of corded forearms. “I wouldn’t describe myself as a workaholic.” This time, instead of the half smile, he flashed a wicked grin. “But I don’t stop until the job’s done to everyone’s mutual satisfaction.”

Her mind raced, full of suggestions on how such satisfaction could be reached. Hadn’t she promised herself that when he finally smiled at her, she’d make a move?

“Are you on your way to the elevators?” he asked.

“Stairwell, actually. I prefer physical activity.”

His grin widened. There was a bracketed indentation to the right of his mouth, not deep enough or boyish enough to be called a dimple, but close. “Sounds like you and I have a lot in common.”

Two days ago, she’d offered the innocuous suggestion of buying him a pastry. Now she wanted to offer a whole lot more than that. Dinner, maybe. And dessert, back at her place. Slow your roll, Yates. The guy doesn’t even know your name yet. “I’m Danica, by the way. My friends call me Dani.”

“Mine call me Grayson. Or just Gray.” He reached out to shake her hand, his fingers calloused and warm against her skin. She suddenly wanted to know what that touch would feel like along the rest of her body.

“Do you have anywhere you have to be?” She blurted the question before she could change her mind. “Because, personally, I’m dying to let off some steam.”

Heat flared in his eyes, his smile fading into something more intense. “What did you have in mind?”

“For starters, a drink at a bar I know.” The delicious way he was looking at her made her reckless and lightheaded. “After that...well, I guess we’ll see.”

He stepped closer. They weren’t touching, but the proximity was intimate. Her body prickled in heightened awareness and if her hands weren’t full, she’d be fanning herself. “Consider my evening cleared.”

Wow. She was really doing this. Exhilaration and desire were a potent mix, an electric buzz along her nerves.

They fell in step together, and he opened the door for her when they reached the stairwell. Dani walked up and down these same concrete steps on a daily basis, but it had never felt thrilling or sexy before. Gray’s presence heightened her senses, made her more aware of her own body. As she descended the stairs in front of him, she swore she could feel his admiring gaze drop to her hips and butt. The ogling wasn’t unwanted. After all, she was the one who’d propositioned him. And holding the attention of such an incredibly sexy man made her feel powerful and feminine. Boldly sensual.

While she’d never been shy, even she was surprised at how brazenly she was behaving. She’d daydreamed about making a move on him when he finally smiled at her, but she’d had no idea how hot the chemistry would be between them. It made her wild impulse to take him home feel inevitable rather than insane.

Still, one-night stands were uncharted territory for her. At this precise moment, tasting his kisses seemed like the best idea she’d ever had, but would she feel that way the next time they ran into each other outside the coffee place? What would it be like to stand in line for a latte behind a guy who’d seen her naked?

As they reached the exit, she took a deep breath. “No matter what happens tonight, you don’t have to worry that seeing me will be awkward when Monday rolls around or that I’ll crowd you.”

“Monday?” he echoed. Evidently, he hadn’t thought that far ahead yet.

She gave him an earnest look over her shoulder, wanting to clarify that there were no strings. “I’m definitely not looking for a relationship. I was supposed to get married in...” She consulted the slim gold watch around her wrist. “Forty-five minutes. My fiancé eloped last weekend with the woman he was seeing on the side. Right now, I need to have a really good time and forget the whole mess.” Permanently, if possible.

Did her words make it sound as if she’d picked him at random? “I’ve been thinking about you all week,” she added. “And it seems like the attraction’s mutual. What do you say, Bryce?”

He frowned.

“Gray,” she corrected. He’d said the nickname was what his friends used, and she was hoping they would become very friendly before the night was over. “Want to help generate a little amnesia?”