"Yeah. I do.” He sighed and then looked up at her with dark, mesmerizing eyes. “And you understand my position?"
"You know I do.” Of course, with eyes like his she'd be willing to eat worms if he asked her to. “So where does this leave us ... besides in a gridlock?"
"Well, we're adults.” He shrugged and a dangerous smile tugged at his lips. “I'm sure we can come to some sort of mutual agreement between us."
Casey's breath hitched. Adults? Mutual agreement? Once again his silent suggestions made it hard for her to focus on the business end of this arrangement.
Her feet exhibited a brain she didn't know they possessed and made her move forward. Inches of electrically charged air hung between them.
"How about...” her voice withered in her throat. Focus, Case. Focus. Boy, but that was hard when all she wanted to do was explore the taste and texture of his lips. Heather and Elvis could wait until Venus froze over, for all she cared. She had important things to worry about—such as one handsome, hunky architect. A young Harrison Ford had nothing on Alex Roy.
"How about what?” he drawled, his voice damned near hypnotic. He touched her, not with his hands, but with his gaze, wrapping her in a cocoon of silent seduction.
"We compromise.” Casey tried to draw a breath, but her chest felt heavy, laden with the bedeviling weight of his attraction and her blatant desire. Her body leaned into him.
"How do we do that?” The warmth of his breath caressed her cheek. One of her knees wobbled.
"We...” The distant ringing of a phone echoed in the back of her brain, but she forced the intrusion aside. “Keep you ... a secret."
"A secret?” This time Alex was the one to lean forward. He traced the line of her jaw with the pad of his thumb.
Her heart skipped a full minute's worth of beats. Knee number two quaked.
"No one but us,” she struggled for air, “has to know you're working on this job."
"It might work.” So close, so damn close, yet neither dared move. Instead sweet, agonizing torture kept them a hair's-breadth apart.
A firm knock sounded at Casey's door. She jerked and Alex pulled his hand away. On knees as weak as an inebriated armadillo's, she scrambled backward.
"I'm sorry to interrupt,” Terri said shyly. “But, Heather Gridmore is on line one for you. She's very insistent.” Terri ducked back out of sight and Casey came up gasping for air.
"I probably better take it."
"Sure. I'll wait out in the lobby.” Alex took a step back, picked up his coat and headed for the door. How come his knees weren't threatening to collapse like hers were?
Maybe she needed to do some serious strength training.
Chapter Six
Alex was getting in too deep, too fast with Casey by letting lust get in the way. She wasn't the reason he'd decided to stay and immortalize Elvis in Omaha, no matter how hot she was. This job was about avoiding financial disaster.
Period.
He stepped out of Casey's office and into the sleek, contemporary reception area. Taking a deep breath, he focused on regaining some semblance of sanity. What the hell was he thinking? And where the hell was his common sense?
Even though he'd tried to deny it, he'd come to the unsettling realization that Casey intrigued him.
Hell, in the thirty-five years of his life, not once had any woman gotten to him so fast, to such an extreme. Now, his curiosity to find out why she tripped his trigger, mentally and physically, stuck in his craw. This was dangerous ground he treaded, both professionally and personally. He'd been blind-sided by a woman once before, and had no desire to let it happen again. Ever.
In spite of the potential risks, however, he'd convinced himself that Omaha had a lot to offer, too. When he met with potential banks this next week, he could honestly say he was working and prove he wasn't a total risk.
Normally, Alex didn't mind the stresses of his own business. They were the elements that gave him an edge, kept him hungry and willing to push harder to produce the desired end result—happy clients and personal satisfaction. And, regardless of how screwball this Gridmore job might be, it provided a challenge, and a change. For months now, he'd needed both.
Without a doubt, Casey Burrows would deliver on those two counts. He'd fight the attraction all the way, but he couldn't ignore the fact she had captured his attention. Not only was she beautiful, she smelled good enough to devour. More than once he'd caught himself fantasizing about nipping her ears, her neck and those perky breasts.
When he'd touched her smooth skin only a few moments ago in her office ... Damn. He should be running like hell, but a quarter-of-a-million dollar bank note was one big reason to stay. All he had to do was keep those dollar signs forefront in his mind, and keep Casey out of his bed.
He hoped—yet, he didn't.
The outer door opened and one of the studs Alex recognized from the photographs lining the reception room wall, walked in, white dust coating his clothes.
"Morning,” the man said.
"Mornin,'” Alex said back.
"Have you been helped?"
"Yeah. I'm just waiting on Casey.” Alex pointed a thumb over his shoulder toward her office. “She's on the phone. So, you work for Studs?” Alex asked, indicating the guy's drywall dust-coated jeans.
"You might say that. Name's Trevor Vanden Bosch.” He held out his hand and the two men shook. “I own my own advertising firm, but I help Syd out with the smaller fix-it and remodeling jobs. And you? Just coming on board?"
"Sort of.” Alex chuckled. “It's temporary. I'm Alex Roy. I'm an architect based in Denver. Casey called me in to draw up the plans for the Gridmore mansion."
"You came. Thank God. These women have been stressing over this deal for weeks. Heather's pestered the hell out of them the whole time. Maybe now that you're here, Syd will relax and we can get our love life back."
"You and Syd? Together?"
"Yeah.” There was no mistaking the territorial tone in Trevor's voice. Sydnie was his woman—hands off.
"That's great. I met her this morning. She's a nice gal. Pretty as hell, too."
"We used to work together in the advertising game. But we didn't really hook up until after she started Studs. We're pretty tight. We're even thinking about making things permanent."
"Marriage, eh? That's a big step."
"Who's getting married?” Casey asked, excitement in her voice as she joined the two men in the outer office.
"Uh, the gal I'm doing the drywall work for, Case,” Trevor said quickly. Obviously he didn't want Casey to know how serious things were between him and Sydnie.
"Oh. Well, everything is all set with Heather, Alex. I told her we'd be over in about an hour. What do you say we have some lunch and then get to work?"
"Sounds great."
"Do you have plans, Trevor?” she asked.
"I'm taking Syd out to a quick lunch and then I've got to get back to work. This drywall job has to be done before the happy couple gets home from their honeymoon in two weeks. Great to meet you, Alex. Good luck on the Gridmore job. You're going to need it.” Trevor grinned and headed for Sydnie's office.
"Thanks. I think."
"Don't pay any attention to Trevor, Alex,” Casey said as she slipped on her coat. “I'm confident Heather will love our ideas."
"Yeah. Well, I hope you have some because, I sure as hell don't."
* * * *
"No. No, no, no. That won't do at all,” Heather said as she paced the length of the massive marble fireplace that filled one wall of Hector's former office, now the holding cell for every piece of Elvis memorabilia she owned.
She waved around the one page contract she'd insisted Alex and Casey sign—stating they wouldn't cease working on her home until the job was complete. She claimed she'd been burnt in the past by handymen who'd started a job and failed to finish on time, or if at all. And just to make sure they finished the job, they would be paid in four installments of five, fifteen, fifteen, and sixty-five percent.
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Leave it to Heather to make things complicated.
Casey took a deep breath and prayed for patience. For the last three hours she and Alex had checked out every room in the mansion, scribbled pages of notes and measurements, took scads of pictures, and tossed ideas back and forth. Now, with every basic idea they suggested to Heather, she shook her head and gave them a thumbs down.
Alex pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and Casey knew she needed to get him out of here before he changed his mind, if he hadn't already, and high-tailed back to Denver, after all.
"Heather, these are ideas off the cuff. Alex and I haven't really had a chance to explore many possibilities. Now that we have a better idea of what you're wanting, we'll sit down and do some serious planning."
"I hope so. My confidence in you, Casey, is waning.” She twisted a finger around the long beaded necklace she wore. “I'd hate to let you go since Hector was so fond of you. But, I suppose Alex and I could manage on our own if we have to."
Great. They hadn't even started and Heather was threatening to fire her. It was clear that since Hector's death, Heather had become even more independent and demanding.
Concern knotted Casey's insides. A quick glance at Alex told her that under the surface, he was struggling with some concerns of his own. He shot her a look that said, do something.
"Don't worry, we'll come up with a plan you'll love. I'm sure of it.” Casey planed her moist palms down the front of her jeans, not liking how uptight Heather was making her feel. Even after all the wacky dealings she'd had with the woman over the years, not once had she gotten under Casey's skin. So, why now?
Because this was personal. Casey had more invested this time around. This wasn't just a job—this was her company.
"I hope so. This is a serious assemblage of genuine, certified Elvis artifacts. This isn't just a box of dusty, warped LPs and magazine clippings we're talking about here. These items need to be treated with respect and be preserved for generations. Elvis was the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll, for crying out loud. Need I say more?"
"No. I understand perfectly,” Casey said, even though she really didn't. Assemblage? How the heck did Heather know a word like assemblage? Though currently a red head, Heather fit the dumb blonde persona to a T. Of course, this might simply be an act on Heather's part to to get what she wanted. The young widow had always been good at that trick. Hector had even said so on several occasions.
Casey sighed. They were heading down a long and difficult road.
"You're right, Heather,” Alex said, ending the silence. “Elvis was a major influence in the music world. We'll do our best to preserve your collection and honor his memory at the same time."
"Oh, Alex. I knew I could count on you.” Heather sidled up to him, wrapping her arm through his. Casey resisted the temptation to roll her eyes.
"I think we have everything we need, don't we, Casey?” Alex asked as politely as he could muster through clenched teeth. She needed to get him out of here or he was going to strangle her for this fiasco.
"I'm sure we have more than enough to get us started."
"Good.” Alex carefully slipped his arm out of the tight hold Heather had on him. “We'll be in touch in about a week.” He headed for the door, Heather trailing behind like a love-sick puppy.
"A week? That long?” she whined. “I want to get started right away. We're on a deadline. My next Elvis convention kicks off January eighth, Elvis’ birthday."
"I promise we'll get started as soon as possible. I have to return to Denver tomorrow to finish up some other business first. And, it'll take some time to draw up plans for the addition. Casey will call when we're ready to meet again."
"What am I supposed to do in the meantime?” Heather asked.
Casey and Alex worked their way across the tiled foyer to the front door and Joey the butler appeared with their coats. The man was like a wisp of smoke, coming and going virtually undetected.
"In the meantime, I suggest you pack up your collection for safekeeping,” Alex said and shrugged on his coat. “We'll be making a lot of dust. You wouldn't want anything to get ruined."
"Right. I'll do that. I need to finish cataloging the Elvis concert scarves anyway now that I've completed that part of the collection. I have exactly forty-two.” Heather clapped her hands in excitement.
"Forty-two?” Casey asked.
"Yes. Elvis was forty-two when he passed away, so as a tribute I've collected forty-two scarves, complete with his sweat I might add, that he tossed out to concert goers."
"How do you know they're authentic?” Alex asked. “Any ol’ scarf could be passed off as an Elvis scarf."
"DNA testing. I have every scarf tested for Elvis’ DNA. Each seller has to agree to the test, or the deal is off."
"Interesting,” Casey said, buttoning her coat. “It sounds expensive."
"Yes, but worth it. Each scarf is authenticated by a letter from the lab stating that Elvis did, indeed, wipe his handsome brow with it."
"Did it take you a long time to find forty-two?” Casey asked, genuinely interested.
"I started with the one my mother got at Elvis’ concert here in Omaha in June 1977. She was a huge Elvis fan, you know. So I only needed to find forty-one. Once I got the word out I was looking, people came out of the woodwork, hoping to make a quick buck. There's a lot of weirdoes out there, too, let me tell ya. Some real fanatics."
Alex and Casey exchanged looks, knowing that many would consider Heather herself a fanatic.
"Tell me, Alex,” Heather said, “is there anything you're passionate about?” Heather slid one perfectly manicured hand up the front of his leather jacket. She pursed her lips in a seductive pout, her eyes heavy with desire.
"Building fine homes, Mrs. Gridmore. That's the only thing I'm passionate about.” Heather's hand stiffened at the use of her married name. Her seductive smile gave way to a thin-lipped frown.
Casey figured she should intervene, but it was too much fun to watch Alex discreetly pull the plug on Heather's blatant attempts at seduction.
Heather stepped back, clearly insulted by Alex's put off. Oops. Pissing Heather off wasn't a good idea, either.
"But, I am a man who's open to finding additional passions,” he said, his words laced with suggestion. He gave Heather a lazy smile that even Elvis would be proud of.
Heather's smile returned and she leaned forward just enough to give Alex a better view of her ample cleavage. “Well, now. That's what I like to hear—a man who is open to passion."
Silently, Casey thanked Alex for making the save, but she didn't care for his methods. Standing here as if she didn't exist, like a third wheel, wasn't her idea of control. Time to get that control back. For good. Casey Burrows was in charge of this job, and she'd better act like it.
* * * *
"You aren't going to bug out on me now, are you?” Casey asked as she and Alex waited late Sunday morning for the flight attendant to announce boarding for the plane that would take him back to Denver. There was a teasing lilt to her voice, but Alex heard the underlying concern too. He had her worried.
"I agreed to take the job, Casey. No matter how bizarre this whole thing is, I won't leave you hanging. Trust me."
"Oh, I trust you, Alex. But if you do anything to make me regret my trust, it won't be pretty. I'll track you down myself.” She grinned and gave him a playful slug on the shoulder.
"Don't worry. I don't relish the idea of pulling a three inch heel out of my backside,” he laughed. He let his gaze take a slow, appreciative glance down the length of her shapely legs and to her feet decked out in a classy, yet sensible, closed-toe number. Mercy. What he wouldn't give—
"Good. I'd hate to ruin a perfectly good pair of shoes on a man,” she said, curbing the lustful direction of his mind.
"Gee. I'm not worth a pair of shoes? I'm crushed."
Casey laughed, the lilt of her voice reminding him of the sound of low-toned wind chimes tapping softly in the b
reeze. His breath hitched.
She really was pretty. No, not pretty. Gorgeous was more like it. Dressed in a classy business suit, she looked nothing but professional. Yet, in spite of his resolve, he couldn't stop undressing her with his eyes and imagining what lay beneath the black fabric that fit her body to perfection.
Stop. Get over it. Continuing to think about her would only clutter his mind, and more pressing matters awaited him back in Denver. What he needed was a swift kick in the ass. Hopefully, a few days away from her, back in his own reality of financial troubles would be that kick he needed to scour his brain of any lingering lust.
Except for a year-long affair that had cost him dearly, he'd gotten along fine without a woman messing up his life. Women clouded a man's judgment and ripped away any common sense he possessed. He didn't need those kinds of distractions. Especially not now. His future depended upon it.
James, Sherry - [Studs For Hire 02] Page 8
