Читать книгу Thunderstruck - Vicki Thompson Lewis - Страница 12

4

PHIL WAS USED to hard work, but she’d never had the mingled pleasure and pain of constructing a cabin with Damon Harrison. The man provided gorgeous scenery, but she barely got to enjoy the view because he never let up. She’d thought her dad was a dedicated construction guy, but Damon had him beat by a country mile.

They started building the walls at dawn, a process similar in principle to the old Lincoln Logs set she’d had as a kid. Except these logs required a forklift to transfer them from the correct pile to the section of the cabin where they belonged. She suggested taking turns driving the forklift and he’d agreed immediately.

In general she had no complaints, except the man seemed to have no Off switch. She was determined to work at least as hard as he did, so they kept up a steady pace. First they put down a layer of caulk along the flat side where the logs joined. After they positioned the next log, they drove spikes through predrilled holes to make sure the walls were rock-solid.

They ran the electrical wires between the logs for a cleaner look, and Damon’s exacting measurements guaranteed they never drove a spike through a wire. When Phil had worked for her dad, they’d sometimes run into careless builders. She’d guessed from Damon’s emails that he wasn’t at all careless, but after the first few hours, she knew it for a fact.

Rosie brought them lunch at noon, and talking with her had been the only time Phil had been able to sit down all day. By the time they stowed the tools at six o’clock, they had walls that reached to her waist. At this rate Damon would be able to go back to California early if he chose to.

Any worries that she’d be distracted by the way his sweat-dampened T-shirt clung to his muscled chest or how his jeans cupped his firm ass when he leaned over to pick up a drill bit were pointless. She’d had no leisure time to enjoy those things, not unless she wanted to look like a slacker.

“Good.” Damon took off his straw cowboy hat and mopped his face with a bandanna as he gazed at the walls rising from the foundation. “This was the height I wanted to reach today.”

Phil stopped drinking water from a large jug and looked at him. “I didn’t know you had daily goals for this project.”

“It didn’t seem necessary before, when I thought...”

“When you thought I was a man?” She was hot and tired and in no mood. “But with a woman you need daily goals? What the hell is that about?”

“Hey, hey, hey. That’s not what I meant at all. You’ve worked faster and more efficiently than any guy I know. I’m blown away by what you can accomplish.”

She was somewhat mollified. “So I guess you can forget about the goal thing, now that you know I can cut it.”

“Nope.” He put on his sweat-stained hat. “I set up ambitious production goals to keep me on track. Thinking about the job last night, and knowing how you affect my concentration, I decided some benchmarks would help me stay focused.”

“You didn’t seem to lack concentration today.” A breeze wafted through the meadow, and she fanned her damp T-shirt to take advantage of it. “I’ve never worked with anyone who concentrated on the job as hard as you do.”

He gave her a long, slow grin.

“What?”

“Then I must have hidden it well.” His smile widened. “Props to me.”

“Hidden what well?”

“You didn’t catch me watching you?”

“No.”

“Excellent.”

“When were you watching me?”

“A lot. Whenever you leaned over to spread the caulk, and especially when you drilled holes for the spikes.”

“There’s nothing sexy about using a power drill.” Not true. Damon with a power drill would have been extremely sexy if she’d had the luxury of watching him.

“That’s what you think. When you use the drill your breasts quiver.”

That movement would have been subtle. He’d definitely been paying close attention. “I can’t imagine where you found the time to notice things like that. I’ve been going full throttle all day and barely glanced at you.”

“And consequently, I’m pretty sure you got more work done than I did.”

“Really?” That was a gratifying thought.

“Yep, I’d bet on it. I have the feeling you were out to prove something to me today.”

“I thought you were trying to prove something to me!”

“I was, but then you’d do something sexy and I’d forget about my macho image and stop working so I could stare at you.”

“I totally didn’t notice.” No doubt because she’d been determined to show him that she could work rings around any man doing the same job.

“You were pushing pretty hard.”

“We need to get this done.” But that hadn’t been her motivation.

His soft smile told her he knew that. “Let’s make a deal to take it easier tomorrow.”

“That’s a given. It’s the Fourth. We’ll need to quit early so we can get cleaned up for the barbecue.”

“Yeah, right. I forgot.” He glanced at the water jug in her hand and held up his empty one. “Can I have some of that? I’m out.”

“Sure. Let me pour you some.”

“Not necessary.” He set his jug on the wall. “I’ve kissed you, remember?”

As if she’d ever forget. But she’d pushed it to the back of her mind today to make sure she didn’t lag behind. But now that kiss was all she could think about. He walked over, took the jug and tipped it up so he could drink.

Maybe if she hadn’t been dazed by hours of physical labor, she would have maintained her cool. Or not. He’d been staring at her all day so why not return the favor?

He was an arresting sight, and she couldn’t manage to look away. She took it all in—the flutter of his blond lashes as his eyes drifted closed, his full lips circling the mouth of the jug, the tendons tightening on the back of his hand as he grasped the jug and the movement of his tanned throat as he swallowed.

He lowered the jug and glanced at her. His breath caught. “Good God, Phil. Don’t look at me like that unless...”

“Unless what?”

“You want me to show up at your door tonight.”

She held his gaze as her heart thumped in an urgent rhythm. She imagined him at her door, in her house, in her bed. “As it happens, I do want that.”

“You’re absolutely sure.”

“Yes.”

“Then count on it. I’ve been thinking about this all day, and I—”

“Hey, kids!” Herb’s cheerful voice blasted through the mounting tension, scattering it.

He was quite a distance away, and Phil wondered if Rosie had cautioned him to make his presence known well in advance, in case something significant was taking place in the meadow. Turned out it had been.

Damon returned the greeting and stepped away from Phil. “Hey, Dad! Come see the progress we’ve made.”

“Whoa!” Herb came close enough that he didn’t have to shout. “You two accomplished a heck of a lot.”

“Phil gets the credit. The woman’s amazing.”

“I think you’re both amazing.” Herb beamed at them. “Rosie wants to know if you’re ready for some lasagna, so she sent me to check on things.”

Phil made a decision. “You know how I love Rosie’s lasagna, but I’m sweaty and tired. I want to go home, take a cool shower and put on my silk caftan before I even think about food.” She took satisfaction from Damon’s quick gulp when she’d mentioned the silk caftan.

“I completely understand,” Herb said. “Damon, do you want to hit the showers before dinner? There’s time. Lasagna will keep.”

“I definitely need to do that.” Damon flicked a glance at Phil. “Enjoyed working with you today. Looking forward to the next round.”

She smiled at him. “See you then.” Could be tonight, could be at dawn in the morning when she returned to the building site. If Damon wanted to keep their potential rendezvous a secret from Rosie, he wouldn’t have complete freedom of movement.

As she drove away, she realized he didn’t know her address. He could probably get that from...someone. But then she thought of something else. He didn’t have his own transportation. If he wanted to keep his visit on the down-low, he couldn’t borrow Herb and Rosie’s truck, so that left Cade’s. She wasn’t clear on how Cade and Lexi were working out their situation, so his truck might not be available, either.

Damon couldn’t very well walk to her house, although he might be motivated enough to do that. The scenario was fun to contemplate but unlikely to happen. By the time she reached home, she’d decided the chances of seeing Damon tonight were slim to none.

Her routine wouldn’t change much regardless, so she proceeded the way she always did on nights when she’d worked up a sweat doing her job. After a long, cool shower, she smoothed lotion over her tired muscles. Then she slipped into one of her three silk caftans, all in shades of blue and green.

In winter she wore flannel and slippers, but in summer she spent her evenings in caftans—and nothing else. The silk felt sensuous against her skin, especially without underwear.

Her dinner was a salad topped with fresh veggies. She opened a bottle of white wine. As she settled in front of the TV, she remembered to be grateful for the life she’d created even if she didn’t have a special someone sharing it.

Even if Damon showed up, which he probably wouldn’t, he’d only be around for less than a week. Maybe she’d be better off if he didn’t come over tonight, or any night. She talked a good game, but she might not be as happy about the temporary nature of their connection as she’d said.

She wanted to be happy with it. Intellectually, she accepted the idea of taking pleasure where she could find it, specifically when no Mr. Right happened to be on the horizon. A woman had needs.

Logically, if she could release some of the tension from those needs with Mr. Wrong, she wouldn’t be in deprivation mode if she met Mr. Right. She’d also be less likely to mistake Mr. Wrong for Mr. Right. Not everyone was as honest about their intentions as Damon.