"Left in the dark? Alex.” A nervous laugh escaped her withering voice. “I told you Heather likes to entertain.” Alex moved toward Casey, purpose in his steps. He reminded her of a Rottweiler who'd had its bone taken away. “Didn't I?"
"What's going on here?” he asked, his voice low and hard.
Casey swallowed. Here it comes. She braced herself, ready for him to express his dissatisfaction.
"Casey ... what haven't you told me?” he said into her ear, his tone menacing. The feel of his warm breath against her skin sent her senses reeling. A wave of desire washed over her like a sudden summer storm, weakening her knees.
Dangerous, a tiny fragment of her brain whispered. Very dangerous. Casey stepped back, putting some much needed distance between her and this man who smelled like spice and fresh mountain air.
"What's going on here is exactly what I told your secretary over the phone,” Casey said, her business facade firmly in place. “Heather wants to remodel the existing house and add on.” She shrugged, trying to act as if this was no big deal and that he was overreacting. Alex scowled. He wasn't buying it.
"Remodel it how? For some reason I'm getting the feeling her idea of remodeling isn't up my alley."
"I admit Heather is a bit ... unusual."
"Unusual?” He gritted his teeth. His eyes darkened.
"Eccentric is a better word, maybe?"
The sound of Heather's heels clicking on the marble announced her return. Alex turned away.
"Oh! I've been waiting months for that suit to be authenticated,” Heather said excitedly. “It's a genuine Elvis. I have to have it."
"So you're an Elvis collector?” he asked.
"A very serious collector. I've amassed nearly a thousand items so far. That's why I want to add on. Did Casey tell you my ideas? I've got everything figured out just how I want it."
"No. Unfortunately Casey hasn't filled me in, yet.” He turned his gaze to Casey and there was no missing he was more than a little unhappy.
"Alex's plane was late,” Casey said in her own defense. “We didn't have time for me to go into detail."
"Detail,” he mocked. Casey winced. Would this rotten day never end?
"Well, you're here now,” Heather squealed. “And I'll be happy to tell you all my ideas.” Heather wrapped her arms through Alex's and led him down the hallway and into a large room on the right.
The room sported a heavy masculine decor, and Casey remembered from working for Hector that this room had been his office away from the office. Now it overflowed with Elvis memorabilia. Everything from records and photos, to clothes, shoes, newspapers and magazines covered every available space.
"I see you weren't kidding when you said ... serious,” Alex said.
"I never kid about Elvis. He's one of my passions. I want to add on a special room to showcase my collection. Of course you'll need to factor in temperature and humidity control, all that archival stuff."
"Of course.” Alex unhitched himself from Heather and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. Slowly he made his way around the room, perusing the vast collection.
Casey watched as Alex stopped and studied a life-sized cardboard cutout photo of Elvis. Dressed in his famous black leather outfit, and complete with the sexy sneer that made women's hearts palpitate, Elvis looked delicious. And so did the architect standing next to him, she thought. Unfortunately the sneer on Alex's face at the moment didn't exactly exude the sex appeal that the King's did. To be frank, Alex looked pissed. Not a positive sign.
"I also want to remodel the entire house to reflect an Elvis theme,” Heather continued. “It'll be so cool. I thought I'd name each room after a different Elvis song. For my bedroom I like the Burning Love suite. I can see it all decked out in red and gold, can't you? It needs to be really hot and wild."
Heather's bedroom wasn't the only thing going to be hot. By the tight set of Alex's jaw, and the tinge of red coloring his cheeks, Casey figured he was well on his way to getting hot under the collar.
Time to get him out of here before things got really ugly and Casey found herself short one architect, and one very big job.
"Sounds like you know exactly what you want, Heather,” Alex said with calmness Casey sure as hell didn't feel.
"I've always known what I want.” She leveled a sultry gaze on Alex and ran her tongue along her bottom lip.
Okay. Now it was really time to go. “We've taken enough of your time, Heather. We should get going. I'm sure you have plans for tonight."
Alex turned his gaze on Casey. “It's been a long day. And I can see Casey and I have a lot to discuss."
Ouch. That didn't sound good.
"We'll talk more tomorrow, right?” Heather asked. “I'm anxious to get started. Every square inch of this house reminds me of Hector's morbid side. I can't handle it anymore. I'm far too young to live like this. And I'm feeling cramped. I need more space."
"I'm afraid—"
"Alex and I'll kick around some ideas tonight and be in touch,” Casey interrupted. She circled the room and took him by the arm. “I'm sure we'll come up with something that will show off your Elvis collection without compromising taste and style. We'll call you."
"We?” Alex asked, as she ushered him out of the room. They grabbed their coats from Joey as Casey pushed Alex out the door.
"Yes. We."
* * * *
"We? Kick around ideas?” Alex grumbled under his breath. Casey gave him a tight smile, squeezed his arm and hurried him down the steps and away from the Gridmore house. For a tall and slender gal she was pretty darn strong. He liked that.
He didn't, however, like the remodeling ideas Heather had dropped on him like a bomb. This whole deal was starting to feel like one big peck of trouble, and a major headache he sure as hell didn't need.
Fog had settled on the October night, surrounding them as they stepped onto the damp blacktopped driveway. Casey hurried toward her car, not relinquishing her hold on his arm. Obviously she wanted to get him as far away from Heather as possible. For that he was grateful, but the real reason she pushed him along was what bothered him the most. She didn't want him saying no to the job. At least not in front of her star client.
He could see it coming. She'd beg and plead with him to take the job, but she was in for a helluva surprise. No way was he going to say yes to building a shrine to Elvis.
At last they reached the car. She let her hand fall away and the sudden loss of her touch left him with a surprising emptiness. Not a good way to be feeling right now. This was no time to let his libido get the better of him. His reputation was on the line.
He leaned against the driver's side door and crossed his arms. “Just what do you mean by kick around ideas?” he asked again. He wouldn't let her skirt the issue forever.
"Omaha has a great French restaurant down in the Old Market. Sound good to you? I hope you're hungry because the food is to die for.” She dropped her gaze to her purse and dug for her car keys.
"You're changing the subject, Casey."
"Food is always a good subject. One of my favorites, actually."
"One of mine, too. But you're avoiding my question. I want an answer."
"Alex, Alex.” She smiled sweetly and smoothed the collar of his leather jacket. “There's no need to get testy. The weather really isn't conducive to an outdoor conversation. We'll discuss matters at the restaurant."
She was so close the delicate scent of her perfume wafted gently around him on the evening air. The soft glow of the antique street lamps lining the crescent shaped driveway reflected through the fog and onto her blond hair, creating a halo effect.
Alex seriously doubted Casey was an angel. Well, maybe. She did look like one with more curves to her than a racetrack. Any man worth his salt would drool over this babe. However, looks and what was on the inside were two totally different issues. He'd seen plenty of gorgeous women who harbored major ugly streaks on the inside—including one woman who had personally taken him to t
he cleaners.
As for what Casey's insides looked like, he wasn't sure. He'd only known her for a few hours, not near enough time to make that kind of determination. Although he'd been burnt to a crisp by a scheming woman, Alex considered himself a fair guy. He preferred to give a woman the benefit of the doubt before he handed down a verdict. And in spite of the craziness of the job Casey was offering him, he was willing to give her a chance and hear her out—that is if he could get her to talk.
"I'd rather discuss it here,” he said. Casey slid her hand down the length of his arm. Unexpected bolts of awareness warmed his flesh, even through the layers of leather and flannel. Damn. “And I'm not testy. Yet. But if you keep avoiding my question, I can't make any promises."
Forcing himself to retain his resolve, he stepped away, breaking the contact. Man, he needed some space, but they weren't going anywhere until she fessed up. He'd be damned if he'd let himself be blindsided a second time in his career, but he had to admit, she'd piqued his interest. The curious side of his brain wanted answers. And he wanted them now, before she tried to snooker him into taking the job.
"Tell me what's going on here?” he asked again. “Kick around what ideas?"
"Alex, the weather.” She pulled her collar up against the elements and shivered. “Let's at least go someplace warm and dry."
She was a determined woman. For that he'd give her credit. But he'd already wasted an entire day on this crazy endeavor. And wasting time wasn't a luxury he could afford.
"What kind of joke are you trying to pull?” he asked, determined to make her come clean.
"Joke?"
"Yeah, joke."
"There's no joke."
Alex's heart stopped in his chest. Casey's face was as sincere as a heartbeat. Either she was one hell of an actress, or she was genuinely telling the truth.
"You mean Heather's serious about this?” He spread his arms and glanced at the mansion looming tall and encompassing behind her. It was an amazing house, architecturally speaking. “She really wants to turn this place into a Graceland?"
"I wouldn't go that far. But yes, she does want to redo many of the rooms with an Elvis theme."
"Why?"
"You saw her collection. She's a fan."
"A fan? Heather wasn't even born yet when he died."
"What difference does that make? She can still have a love and appreciation for his music. I'm a Marilyn Monroe fan myself."
Alex eyed Casey. Yeah, he could see why she'd be a fan of one of the greatest sex symbols to ever live. In fact, Casey even looked a little like Marilyn in a modern, updated sort of way.
"Okay, so I watch John Wayne movies but—"
"So, that means you'll do it?” Casey smiled.
"I didn't say that.” Even in the dim light Alex could see her excitement fade as fast as a deflating balloon.
"But you said okay."
"I said okay to the fact that Heather can be an Elvis fan as much as you are a Monroe fan. Not okay to this crazy remodeling plan of hers. What she's proposing is insane. Obsessive, even."
And Heather's bank account no doubt reflected the blow of her obsession. Alex had spied the 1975, Elvis Las Vegas Hilton menu from the Showroom where he'd performed, and an original Sun Records 45 RPM of Elvis’ Good Rockin’ Tonight. Both rare and pricey items.
"But you said yourself you're a John Wayne fan."
"I said I like to watch his movies. That doesn't mean I want to turn my home into a shrine to the man.” He shook his head and uneasiness dropped into his stomach like a lead weight. “I can't be a part of this."
"Can't, or won't?” Casey placed her hands on her hips causing the collar of her black trench coat to open and reveal the slender expanse of her throat. Against his better judgment he let his gaze travel the length of that exquisite path down, down, and down.
Oh, yeah. He didn't need to see her standing there in nothing but her birthday suit to know what lay beneath. He had an imagination.
And he was a man. Certain things were instinctive.
"Are you through ogling?” she asked, her voice tight.
Shit. Alex raked his fingers through his damp hair. A light mist now fell around them and he hadn't even noticed. And what was worse, she'd caught him in the act of blatantly checking out her attributes. What the hell was the matter with him?
"Typical,” Casey mumbled.
"What's typical?” Alex knew he was asking for trouble here, but for some reason he couldn't seem to help himself. Much to his chagrin, he was curious to know what made Casey Burrows tick.
"You. Men. Always letting a certain part of their anatomy do the thinking for them instead of their real brains."
Alex's temper hitched up a notch at her slam of the male species, but she did have a point. Sort of. Well, maybe in a lot of ways. Especially after her ordeal with the old man in the airport.
If only she wasn't so damned delectable standing there, the mist clinging to her clothes and skin. How could he help but ogle? Under the light her face took on a luminous glow, glistening as though diamonds had been sprinkled on her skin.
Where the hell did that come from? He never thought about women in romancey terms and clichés. Trading in his T square for a chance to lick those “diamonds” off those sexy lips was mighty tempting, though.
"Hello? Alex? Here?” She waved a hand in front of his face.
Damn. He was becoming more demented by the minute. “Ah, sorry. I was thinking.” He shrugged and hoped he could get himself out of this mess without making matters worse.
"Well, why don't we do our thinking together, and someplace dry? I've been soaked enough for one day."
"Thinking together?” he teased, unable to resist. “Your place or mine?” He winked. What the hell. She already believed he had nothing but sex on the brain—he might as well make the most of the situation. Besides, he was going to be in Omaha less than twenty-four hours. First thing tomorrow he was heading back to Denver. How much trouble could he get into in this short span of time?
"As tempting as that might be, that isn't the kind of thinking I had in mind."
"Tempting? Why, Miss Burrows, you like me enough, even with my limited brain capacity, to be tempted? I'm flattered."
"You should be."
Alex chuckled at her self-assuredness. She had spunk. Yeah, he liked that. Too damn much.
Chapter Three
"Hello,” an aggravated voice answered on the other end of the line.
"What did you find out? Did your disguise work?” she asked, anxious to get the scoop on all he'd seen and heard at the airport.
"Sugar, you're way too anxious. I haven't even had time to get all this makeup off yet. My pores are screaming for air."
"Your pores can wait. I want to know what happened. Did it work?” She paced the ugly paisley carpeting covering her bedroom floor.
"The disguise worked like I said it would. Casey saw me exactly as I wanted—a dirty old man. Hey, you didn't tell me she could get so feisty. I like a woman with fire. Maybe you could set us up sometime?"
"Stop, Rory. Get your mind back on business. What did you find out?"
"Not much, really."
"What? Surely they talked."
"Not a whole lot. His plane was late and then he was detained on board talking to the pilot about building a house."
"You didn't learn anything about Alex's personal life, like if he's in relationship—serious or casual, or about his current financial state?"
"Cripes. Not asking for much are you? They talked for five, maybe ten, minutes in the airport surrounded by hordes of people. And they'd just met. It wasn't a place conducive to a personal history revelation."
"Dammit, Rory. Didn't you learn anything at all?"
"He doesn't particularly like to fly. Is that helpful?"
She sighed in frustration. “Anything else?"
"There is one thing.” A long pause hummed on the line.
"Well, what is it? I don't have all night to pla
y guessing games."
"He's very gallant."
"Gallant? What's that supposed to mean?"
"I was having a little fun, playing up the part of the dirty old man pretty good.” He laughed.
"And?” she asked through clenched teeth.
"Oh, I got a little too friendly for Casey's taste and Alex came to her rescue."
"What did he do?"
James, Sherry - [Studs For Hire 02] Page 3
