“We should stop for the day,” Jamie said.
I was tired, too. I met up with the final corner.
“I can’t believe you did all this,” I said, looking around.
The room looked brighter and fresher already.
We’d picked up the supplies after climbing yesterday, and Jamie had insisted on coming back to help me this morning.
I felt guilty then, and I felt even worse now, especially when I looked at my watch and saw that it was after six.
“We’ve been working for hours,” I said.
He crossed the room and reached up toward me. “Hand me the paint can.”
I bent over to get it to him. “I’m sorry I kept you all day.”
He smiled, and his blue eyes warmed. At least, they warmed me. They warmed me a lot.
I had no idea whether or not he could tell.
Our hands brushed as I handed off the can, and the familiar charge of energy sped up my arm.
He looked sexy in his worn jeans, his faded T-shirt and scuffed work boots. I really liked the new scruffy look he seemed to have landed on. It emphasized his square chin, his strong, straight nose, his eyes that were honestly the most beautiful shade of blue. They were bright in the sun, midnight indoors, always startling, always striking.
His shoulders were broad under the snug shirt, his biceps taut and solid. Under a tux, he looked great. Dressed for construction, he looked spectacular.
“The brush,” he prompted, pulling me out of my thoughts.
He was staring right at me, into my expression, into my eyes, and for a terrible second I thought he could read my mind. If he could see my thoughts, he’d know I was compromised. I wasn’t his buddy, his pal, his wingman.
I was falling for him. And that wasn’t even remotely what he’d signed up for here. He’d be disappointed if he knew. He might even be amused if he knew. Mousy little Nat Remington thought a veneer of makeup and a few new clothes would turn her into Brooklyn.
Sure.
Could happen.
In my dreams.
I leaned down to give him the paintbrush.
The ladder shifted. The brush slipped from my fingers.
The russet-brown end caught Jamie in the forehead. “Crap!” I cried out. The brush bounced to the floor. Jamie grasped the ladder, righting it, but dislodging me.
I lost my balance and fell into his arms, and he caught me, pulling me tight before my feet hit the floor.
The ladder wasn’t so fortunate. It teetered, then tipped, then banged on the linoleum, the sound reverberating.
“Good thing we moved the paint can,” he said.
I blew out a sigh of relief. “You caught me.”
“I caught you,” he said.
He shifted, and our gazes met.
They locked.
His arms flexed tight around me.
We stared at each other in silence while time suspended.
“Tasha,” he whispered.
I wanted him.
I wanted to breathe him, to taste him, to feel him touch me anywhere and everywhere.
I was about to make a fool of myself.
If he didn’t let me go, I was going to kiss him hard and long, and he’d know exactly how I’d been feeling all these days.
He kissed me.
Okay, that was unexpected.
I hadn’t seen it going that way at all.
But there it was.
His lips were on mine. They were firm and tender and delicious, and this was the best kiss of my life, possibly the best kiss ever in the history of mankind.
I didn’t want it to stop.
I cupped his cheeks, feeling the stubble like I’d been dying to do since he’d grown it out.
It felt rough and rugged, adding to my sensory overload.
My breasts were pressed against his chest, my thighs against his, my belly, his belly, his sex.
A roaring sound came up in my ears, as the kiss went on and on and on.
He pulled off my T-shirt, revealing my lacy bra.
We stared at each other, breathing hard. I think we were trying to figure out which of us was more shocked.
Only I wasn’t shocked. Okay, I was shocked. But I was aroused more than shocked. I was aroused more than anything.
He removed my glasses. I peeled off his shirt, for the first time getting a look—though it was blurry—at his magnificent pecs, his bare shoulders, what I knew were gorgeous abs.
He reached for the clasp of my bra, and I knew we were gone. This was right out of control, and we weren’t stopping for anything.
My doorknob rattled.
We simultaneously whipped our heads in that direction.
“Nat?” It was Sophie.
She knocked. “Nat? I can hear your music. Is everything okay?”
“She has a key,” I hissed to Jamie.
He set me down.
I grabbed my T-shirt from the tipped ladder and threw it over my head.
“I’m coming,” I called to her.
Jamie threw on his own T-shirt and ran his fingers through his hair.
We stared at each other for a second.
I had no idea what to say or do or even think.
We’d almost had sex.
I gave myself a shake and went for the door.
“What took you so long?” Sophie said as she marched in.
“I was up on the ladder,” I said.
She saw Jamie first. Then she saw the ladder and the painted walls.
I could almost hear her brain humming as she took everything in.
“Hi, Sophie,” Jamie said.
“What?” Sophie seemed at a loss for words as she looked around.
“James was helping me paint.”
Sophie looked completely confused. “Why would he do that?”
As far as Sophie knew, Jamie and I barely talked to each other—which had always been true in the past.
“We were talking, uh, the other day,” I said, my mind scrambling for something logical.
“At the tennis club,” Jamie put in.
“Yes,” I said. “At the tennis club. And I was asking, well, you know, all the stuff you and Bryce and Ethan told me.” I went with the first and only thing that came into my mind—Sophie’s new business. “And with James’s job and all. Well, it got me to thinking, maybe, and I didn’t want to say anything to you, because it wouldn’t be fair. You know, if it didn’t work out.”
Sophie and Jamie were both staring at me as if I’d lost my mind.
Which I had. I apparently had completely lost my mind.
To be fair, my brain had overheated from Jamie’s kiss.
After a kiss like that, a woman shouldn’t be required to think anything coherent for at least a couple of hours, maybe all night long.
“Ethan was saying you needed investors,” I plowed on. “James sometimes invests in things. So, I asked him.” I looked at Jamie, trying to apologize with my eyes. “I asked him about your 3-D printer dessert thing, if it was maybe something that he could invest in.”
“You did?” Sophie looked amazed and hopeful at the same time.
“But I don’t think it’s going to work out,” I quickly said. “It’s not the kind of thing that—”
“I’m going to need more information,” Jamie said.
I gave him a warning look. My story was only a way to get us through this awkward moment. We couldn’t let it go any further.
Sophie moved closer to where Jamie was standing. “We can give you anything you want.”
“James usually makes short-term investments,” I said from behind her, trying to shut it down. “Yours is at a really early stage. And it’s going to take a long, long time.”
“We’re going to revolutionize the food service indu
stry,” Sophie said.
My gaze hit Jamie’s, half apology, half warning.
“We’re upping the level of precision and sophistication with which restaurants,” Sophie said before I could slow her down, “even small establishments, can conceive, refine, create and serve desserts of all kinds with our technology.”
What had I done?
* * *
“That was amazing,” Sophie said, dropping down on the single sofa that wasn’t covered by the painting drop sheets. “But why was James here? And why are you renovating? And why didn’t you tell me?”
I decided to answer the easiest question. “It was a sudden decision.”
“I could have helped. I can still help. What’s your color scheme? What else are you doing besides the walls?”
I said a silent thank-you that we’d moved past James.
I pushed the passionate kiss from my mind. Could I call it a kiss? It was a whole lot more than a kiss—even if we hadn’t technically gone any further than a kiss.
“Butter yellow.” I did a circle point to the painted walls. “Plus a russet-brown feature wall. And we’re... I’m thinking of adding some pumpkin accents.”
Sophie stared unblinking at me. “Who are you and what have you done with my friend Nat?”
I wanted to say I was Tasha. But I kept the thought inside my head.
I did smile.
Sophie smiled back. “This is going to be fun.”
I’d known that one would be coming.
“Have you thought about furniture?” she asked. “It would be so much fun shopping. This stuff is pretty tatty.”
“I’ll have to check my budget before I decide.”
“It doesn’t have to be right away. I mean, not all of it anyway. We can start with some small pieces. Honestly, Nat, anything would be an improvement.”
“You keep telling me that.”
“And you’re finally doing it.” She grinned. “We need to celebrate.”
Then she went quiet for a moment, looking thoughtful.
I braced myself for another question about James. I hoped I could keep a straight face and that I wouldn’t have to lie too much. I wasn’t going to betray Jamie’s confidence. But I was thinking I could talk a little bit about the changes I’d made to my own image—my hair, my contacts, my apartment.
People upgraded their lives all the time. It wasn’t so weird.
“Do you think he’ll do it?” Sophie asked.
I was guessing she meant Jamie.
“He said he’d talk to people,” she continued. “I guess he must know those kinds of people. He works in a financial place, right?”
“He does.” I didn’t want to say more. I didn’t want to get her hopes up.
It was impossible to tell if Jamie was being polite and trying to protect my cover story, or if he really did know people he could talk to about angel investment into a tech start-up company.
I would have liked to ask him—about the money, about the kiss. At least, I thought I’d like to ask him about the kiss.
It had been one incredible kiss. We’d practically torn off each other’s clothes. We had chemistry together. That was for sure.
But I was nervous because this wasn’t what Jamie had signed up for. And it could have been a momentary impulse. Physical attraction could take you by surprise, and he might regret it already.
The best thing to do was to take his lead. That made sense to me. If he wanted to talk about it, we’d talk about it. If he wanted to pretend it never happened, I’d go along with that.
I didn’t want to mess up our friendship or our deal to help each other. Both had become too important to me.
“Nat?” Sophie said. “What do you think?”
I ordered myself to stop obsessing. It was a kiss. It was over. Life was moving on.
“I don’t want you to be disappointed,” I said to her. It was my honest answer.
“I can’t help but be hopeful. I should really call Ethan.”
I was surprised Ethan was her first thought. “What about Bryce?”
“Oh, him, too. Of course, him, too. But Ethan’s put his heart and soul into this. Bryce is a little bit on the sidelines with the recipes and all.”
That hadn’t been my impression. Bryce had seemed quite passionate about the project.
“We should meet them somewhere,” Sophie said.
“It’s Sunday night.”
“It’s not even eight o’clock. We can grab dinner and talk about the possibilities. Whatever happens, we should be prepared for it.”
If I had to make a bet, I’d say nothing was going to come of this. And I really didn’t feel like going out right now.
I made a show of looking down at myself. “I’m a mess.”
“We won’t go anywhere fancy. Comb you hair, put on some makeup, change your clothes.”
That all sounded like a whole lot of work to me. I was exhausted.
“Angelo’s at the Lake would be perfect. It’s only five minutes from here.”
“I’m really tired,” I said. “And I have to work tomorrow.”
“Come on, Nat. This is huge. I mean, I know it’s not a sure thing. But I want to see Ethan’s face when I tell him the news.”
“There’s no news yet,” I pointed out.
“You have to eat,” she said. “Summon up that peppy new gal who did all this redecorating and come out for dinner with your best friend.”
When she put it that way, I felt like a cad saying no.
“Fine,” I said.
Her grin made me feel a little more energized.
I pushed myself from the depths of the comfy armchair, telling myself I’d perk up once I got out in the fresh air.
While I got myself ready, Sophie texted Ethan and Bryce.
I combed out my hair, fighting a few globs of stubborn paint. It occurred to me that I should have worn a hat while I painted. I’d definitely do that next time.
I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and put on a little makeup before changing into black jeans and a dove-gray sweater with a silver thread running through the weave. The jeans were a gift from Brooklyn. They were tighter than the ones I usually bought, so I hadn’t worn them often. But I was feeling very Tasha-y right now.
“They’ll meet us there,” Sophie called out.
“Okay,” I called back.
I put a pair of silver hoops in my ears and decided I was ready.
I did feel a little more energized. And I was really hungry. Angelo’s made fantastic seafood lasagna. I was going to treat myself to that.
I felt bad that I hadn’t fed Jamie. I’d planned on ordering something in once we’d cleaned up. As it was, all I’d done was close the paint can and put the brushes and roller to soak while Jamie had talked to Sophie about investments.
“I’m all set,” I said as I walked around the divider.
“That was fast.” Sophie did a double take of me and then stared.
“What?” I asked, looking down at myself and craning my neck to see the back.
“You look great,” she said.
“Thanks.”
“No really... I mean...you look... Wow.”
“I’m going to assume that’s good.”
Sophie took in her own outfit of blue jeans and a multicolored blouse. “I feel like I should change.”
Her hair was windblown, and her makeup wasn’t as fresh as it usually was, but she looked perfectly good.
“Don’t be silly,” I said. “You look awesome. It’s not like you need to impress Bryce. He’s impressed already.”
I wasn’t an expert on long-term relationships. My romance with Henry Paulson didn’t qualify, since it had crashed and burned. But it seemed to me that at some point you could start relaxing your look around your boyfriend.
/> I thought about how I’d looked today with Jamie. I’d looked pretty casual, beyond casual. I’d looked downright functional—probably because I was downright functional.
Not that Jamie and I had anything romantic going.
Even that kiss hadn’t been romantic. It had been passionate and erotic and exciting. But I wasn’t foolish enough to equate those things with romantic.
Sophie still looked uncertain.
“You want to borrow some makeup?” I asked. “I’d offer my wardrobe, but you know what my clothes are like.”
Sophie laughed at that. “That’s a cute outfit, though.”
“These are the jeans Brooklyn gave me last year.”
“Oh, yeah. I remember. Why don’t you wear them more often?”
“They’re a bit snug.”
“They fit perfect. You’ve got to get away from the early-matron look.”
“I think you mean the early-librarian look.” I was trying to get away from it.
It occurred to me that I should do some more shopping. Maybe Jamie would like to come with me. Maybe I was obsessing about Jamie. Maybe I should get a grip.
“Either.” Sophie paused. “I think I will borrow a little mascara or something.”
“Help yourself.” I gestured to the bathroom.
While she was gone, I opened the closet and took in my shoe choices.
The black cutout ankle boots I’d bought for the dance club would go great with the jeans. I hesitated, knowing I would have to explain them to Sophie.
But I couldn’t resist.
I put them on. Then I stood in front of my full-length mirror.
I looked sharp. I had that casual, “I don’t really care about it, but I look pretty great” appearance that Brooklyn seemed to so effortlessly achieve.
Part of me was excited, and part of me couldn’t truly believe it was me staring back from the mirror.
Eight
Jamie agreed to another shopping trip.
But there was something off in his texts. They were so brief and to the point. He seemed more formal somehow than usual. And then I thought I was imagining it. And then I thought I was still obsessing about the kiss—which I was—and I was reading things into his seven-word texts that simply weren’t there.
After work on Wednesday, one of my coworkers dropped me off downtown. Jamie and I had agreed to meet at Brookswood. We’d barely scratched the surface of its ten floors when we bought his tux and my dress.
The Dating Dare (Gambling Men Book 2) Page 11
