by Dawn Atkins
"Of course you'll manage the project," Wade said, snapping Max's attention back to the conversation.
"Huh?"
"Contain costs, make sure she doesn't go over budget."
"That's not really necessary," he said, his mind racing. He had to get out of this. "She's perfectly capable and—"
"I need someone to keep tabs on the project and I can't come down there. You're already working for her, aren't you? So you're perfect. You can supervise things. Subtly."
"I can?" he said weakly.
"I'd think you'd want to. I'll be approving this on your say-so, Max. I need to count on you for follow-through."
"Sure," he said. "I'd be glad to help." On what planet? Here he was again, dragged back to Lacey. He seemed to be the victim of some kind of undertow tugging him closer and closer. He was just scared he'd get tired of dog-paddling and go with the flow. Straight into trouble.
* * *
A week later, Lacey sat at the card table she'd set up in the middle of the expanded seating area of the coffeehouse so she could answer her workers' questions and help out where she was needed – but mostly to watch the Wonder Coffeehouse grow before her eyes.
She loved hearing the power saw buzz and the hammers pound.
She hated tracking the budget. She studied the spreadsheet she'd just created on her laptop computer until the numbers blurred. It just would not come out right. She'd underestimated the costs of the building supplies, especially because of the extra plumbing – Max had been right about that – and even with the great deal she'd gotten on arty black chairs and faux granite tables, whenever she hit the "total," the program threw error symbols.
She sighed and looked up. Just beyond her laptop Max was bent over, hammering the planks of the stage steps. He had such a great butt. She sighed in frustration. Max had stayed physically distant from her for the entire week and begged off whenever she invited him to dinner. Of course, the diet dinner she'd nuked for him the night they went over her plans hadn't exactly been gourmet, but she doubted her cooking was the problem.
He braced a plank with his hip, then put the nail in place, preparing to hammer it in. He was the sexiest handyman she'd ever seen. She shifted slightly so she wouldn't be distracted by the sight of those muscular arms, those thick thighs, that butt…
"Ow!" Max exclaimed. He dropped the hammer and grabbed the hand he must have smashed with it. He might be the sexiest handyman she'd ever seen, but he was certainly not the most skilled.
"I'll get some ice!" Lacey said. She rushed to the ice chest and scooped cubes into a plastic cup, which she carried to him.
"I'm fine," he said through gritted teeth.
"It'll keep the swelling down," she said, pushing the cup at him.
Reluctantly, Max stuck his smashed forefinger and thumb into the ice and took the cup from her. "Thanks."
She looked past him, tilted her head and closed one eye to study the plank he'd hammered. "That step's crooked."
Max turned to check it out. "It is not."
"Yes, it is." She went to the stage, picked up the level and set it on the step. The bubble was way over the line.
"Damn," Max said.
"No biggie. It's a mistake anyone could make," she said, hoping she hadn't bruised his ego. Not likely. Max was so masculine, so sure of himself, she doubted her criticism would have any effect on him. Thank goodness the three assistants she'd hired knew their way around a circular saw. Max McLane's rapid calculations on the Quonset hut art studio had led her to the wrong conclusions about his construction competence. Of course, her judgment probably had been colored by how much she wanted to sleep with him. Not a good basis for a hiring decision, that was for sure. And she'd thought she was really good at hiring.
She picked up the hammer, braced her foot on the wood and pried out the nail with a satisfying squeak. She really loved the chance to get her hands dirty. Rodney, one of the assistants, had showed her how to use the saws and she'd cut most of the boards for the frame for the liquor bar. Rodney'd actually said she had a good eye. High praise from the taciturn worker.
In a few seconds, she'd hammered the step straight. When she turned back around, she saw that Max was studying her computer.
"You've got the wrong factor here for per-piece costs," he said.
"Really?" She walked over to look over his shoulder. His short hair revealed the nice curve of his skull and his great ears. She liked the muscular line of his neck as it disappeared into the open collar of his brown cotton shirt. Straight, dark hair poked up from his chest at the vee of his shirt. She thought about how his bare chest had looked when he'd stripped to wash off the car oil. No tattoo, but everything else she could ever want. She wondered how he looked below the waist. She shivered. "How did you get to know so much about spreadsheets?" She'd let her fantasy color her words, she could tell by the tone he took when he answered.
"I told you I'm good. At math." He might as well have said at sex. He stood and pulled back the chair. "Sit and I'll show you."
She sat and he reached past her cheek to point at the screen with a forefinger that wore a bandage. He'd sliced it with a mat knife. His sleeve brushed her bare arm, giving her goose bumps. "See the sum here?"
"Yes," she said, but she felt like she was in his arms. She could feel his heat, smell the nice musk of his skin and aftershave, sense his breath going in and out.
"That sum doesn't reflect…" His words faded. "It doesn't reflect…"
She glanced up and saw he was staring down at her breasts. Feminine satisfaction rushed through her. She shifted so her cleavage deepened. "It doesn't reflect what?" she asked innocently.
"The sum of this column," he said in a rush. She could see red underneath his tan and a haze of lust in his eyes.
Before things could go further, they heard a yelp from the kitchen, some cursing in Spanish and the sound of rushing water.
"Omigod!" She leapt to her feet and raced to the kitchen, where water geysered from the back of the sink. Ramón held the faucet, which had obviously broken off.
"I can not work under these conditions," Ramón said. He handed the faucet to Lacey and stomped off. "Plus I need a better fryer," he called over his shoulder as he left.
Max put a stewpot upside-down over the fountain of water and dived under the sink for the shut-off valve. Lacey ran to get tools from the stage area. She snagged a pair of pliers, a crescent wrench and a sledgehammer for good measure. By the time she got back, Max had succeeded in turning off the water. He sat on the floor soaked to his waist and looked up at her.
He nodded at her armload of tools. "Your confidence in me is stunning."
"Just being prepared."
Max climbed to his feet until he stood tall before her and close. Very close. "That was refreshing," he said, shaking water from his hair. Drops sprinkled onto her own wet face.
"You're all wet." She took in his handsome, water-kissed features. His cheeks gleamed with water and his shirt clung to his muscles.
"You, too." His gaze dipped to Lacey's chest. "Black lace," he murmured. "Nice."
Ye gods, he could see through her wet blouse to her bra beneath. He reached out to coil a damp curl of her hair around one finger. "Curly when wet."
Wet. A little thrill went through her at the way he said the word. Like wet every place she could be wet.
In the silence, they heard water drip from the ceiling and appliances. Plip, plip, plip.
Max groaned and closed his eyes. When he opened them they were dark with heat. "You tempt me, Lacey," he said, his voice thick with longing, "too much."
"Just give in," she whispered. "We both want it."
"Lacey…" His hands cupped her face, his thumb gently brushed her lip. He looked as though the sensation caused him pain. He wanted her and she loved it. "We've been through this before. This would be just sex, Lacey. Nothing more."
"That's what I want."
He shook his head like he knew her better than she knew herself. "Whe
n did you ever have just sex?"
"Lots of times," she lied. It was uncanny the way he seemed to know her. It was true that sex had always been part of a relationship for her. But that was the whole problem. She didn't know sex's possibilities and she wanted him to teach her.
"Lacey," he chided. "I'll bet money you have a boyfriend right now, don't you?"
"Not anymore," she said, jutting her chin at him. "I broke up with him. And what I want now is sex, pure and simple." She leaned closer, within kissing range.
"Sex is never simple," Max said slowly.
"Yes, it is. It's as simple … as … this." She reached up and kissed him. To her delight, after only a second of hesitation, he kissed her back, long and sweet and hard. Just when her knees were about to buckle, he broke it off. "I've got to take care of the plumbing," he whispered.
"I know," she said, dazed. She opened her eyes and he was gone. When she heard him tell Rodney he was going to the Home Depot store, she realized, of course, that the plumbing he meant was of the kitchen variety.
* * *
Lacey tossed and turned all night, thinking about Max and trying to keep from rolling into the wall. She had to get this bed fixed. She'd ask Rodney in the morning. He was a wonder with metal. Unlike Max, who didn't know a jigsaw from a circular saw. Maybe she'd help and Rodney could teach her to weld. So far, she'd had good luck with wood and plaster – she'd helped frame the new window and plaster the arch between the new section and the old – but metal was a different challenge.
That settled, what was she going to do about Max? He thought she'd take sex too seriously. How could she convince him she could be as easygoing about it as he could? The only thing she could think of was having a fling with someone else. Except she didn't want anyone else. Just Max.
That didn't mean she wanted to get serious or anything. She just happened to be attracted to only one man at a time. So how could she convince Max they could do it with no strings attached?
She slugged her pillow and rolled over to try and sleep, except she slid into the wall. Damn. She'd definitely get Rodney to fix this thing tomorrow.
The next afternoon, Lacey showed Rodney the broken bed and he set to work hammering the frame back into shape while she studied his technique for future reference. He was a cute guy, she realized. Mid-twenties. Easygoing. Capable. And thoughtful Maybe she could sleep with him? He was a little young for her, but if she could manage it, a little bouncy-bouncy with Rodney and she could prove to Max she could be casual about the big "I."
"I think that'll hold, Ms. Lacey," Rodney said, standing up and coming toward her. "The joint may be a little weak now, but I reinforced it some. To weld it, I'd have to bring it outside."
"Let's go with this for now."
"If you want, I can show you how to weld when we change the pipes in the kitchen."
"Sounds great." She looked him over. So, how about a little horizontal mambo with Rodney? But she couldn't do it. She didn't feel anything. No spark, no chemistry, no flash of heat like she felt with Max. Too bad. "Thanks, then."
"No prob, Ms. Lacey."
Lacey glanced past his shoulder through the screen of her open window and saw that Max was heading their way. He probably needed the keys to the truck.
And that gave her an idea. She didn't have to actually have a fling, she just had to make Max believe she'd had one.
Abruptly, she flopped onto the bed. "I just want to try it out," she explained to Rodney, pausing for a second to give Max time to reach the trailer. Then she said, "Ooooh, this feels soo goood," breathily, but loud. She rolled around on the mattress then bounced hard. "Mmm. You are sooo good at what you do."
"Thanks," Rodney said, looking at her like she was crazy. "It was just a bent leg. No big deal."
"No, mean it. You are wonnnderful. This feels sooo good." Surely, Max had heard that.
Rodney backed toward the door, his face red.
"Don't go," she said, leaping off the bed. "Wait here and I'll pay you."
"That's okay. We can settle up later." He looked a little scared.
"Why don't you … um … check the closet. The right panel is about to come off its rail," she said, getting between him and the bedroom door.
"Okay," he said nervously.
She closed Rodney in the bedroom just as Max knocked at the front door. As she hurried across the living room, she whipped off her blouse and bra, tousled her hair, pinched her lips, then held the shirt up to her chin. She opened the door slightly and leaned in the opening, hoping she looked like a woman who'd been interrupted midboff. "Max! What brings you here?"
He stared at her, looking exactly as she'd hoped – jealous and stimulated and pink under his tan. "I need Jasper's truck keys," he said slowly, a little puzzled. "Looks like I caught you at a bad time."
She tossed her hair back. "Actually, I am a little busy." She winked at him. "I do that now and then, you know. Get busy."
Abruptly, he grinned and his eyes twinkled. "You don't say," he drawled.
"I swear I didn't touch her, Mr. McLane," Rodney said behind her. Damn.
Lacey jerked around, clutching her blouse against her chest and found Rodney holding up his hands as if Max might have a gun.
"I just fixed the bed. That's all. She flipped out on me and started bouncing on the bed saying weird stuff."
Max could barely restrain his laughter, she saw, and his eyes twinkled merrily.
"It was just a joke, Rodney," Lacey said. "I can explain—"
"That's okay. I gotta go," Rodney said, easing past her and out the door.
"I have to pay you," she called to him.
"No need," he called back, practically running.
"Considering how excited you got about a bed repair, I can't wait to see what you'll do when we finish the stage," Max drawled. "We'll have to put a wallet between your teeth so you don't swallow your tongue."
"Very funny!" she said, embarrassed, irritated and, to tell the truth, amused, too. She shut the door in his face.
Max knocked at the door. She pulled her shirt over her head and opened the door. "What?" she demanded.
"The keys?"
"Oh." She stomped to her purse, fished out the keys and brought them to him. "Here!"
"Don't be mad. It was cute, okay? I'm flattered." His brown eyes searched her face.
"I just wanted to show you that sex isn't that big a deal to me."
"Even if that's true, Lacey, you don't really know me or who I am or—"
"Sure I do. You're a man and I'm a woman. That's all I need to know."
"It's not that simple. Our lives are entirely different. We live in very different worlds."
"I know. I like how different you are."
"You don't know the half of it," he said, with a wry smile. He bounced the keys in his hand, tugged his Stetson hat in farewell and walked away with that great swagger, leaving Lacey pondering his last excuse for not sleeping with her: We live in very different worlds.
Okay, time to make their worlds collide.
* * *
Chapter 6
«^»
She looked just like she'd stepped off a billboard for Lady Wrangler jeans, Lacey thought, evaluating herself as best she could in the mirror in the trailer's cramped bathroom. She wore her tightest jeans, along with her used-clothing store steals – a ruffled, pearl-snap rodeo blouse in virginal white, red cowboy boots and a matching Stetson hat.
If the problem was that she and Max were from different worlds, then she'd just mosey over to his for a while. She'd started that at the cowboy bar, but she'd ruined it by getting drunk. Now she had to show Max she was really into the cowboy thing.
Her plan was to ask Max to take her on a horseback tour of the ranch. She hadn't been on a horse since she was a kid, but it had to be like riding a bike – you never forgot. Today was a perfect day since they had to let the saltillo tile set and couldn't work on the coffeehouse.
She'd briefly considered dropping the idea of sleepi
ng with Max, but it had become a challenge, a test of the new Lacey – the woman who set goals and went after them. Maybe a fling wasn't a fabulous goal, but it was a compelling one. Because of Max. Something about him – his cowboyness, of course, but more than that, his complexity, his intelligence – drew her in, made her want more. She couldn't get him out of her thoughts or her dreams. He'd practically become an obsession. She knew they'd be great together, just as she knew she'd be great for Wellington Restaurant Corp.
It also gave her a place to expend her nervous energy, and something else to think about besides the coffeehouse, which she tended to agonize over. Why shouldn't she have it all?
Max was holding back, but it was just a matter of chivalry. That was charming, but enough already.
This ought to meet his last objection. She'd be smack-dab in the middle of his world and she'd love it, she was sure. Max's passion for ranching would rub off on her. Her passion for him would rub off on him. And soon they'd be rubbing their passions together like flint and steel in tinder.
She snugged the hat on her head at a determined angle and strode across the highway, feeling sexy, tough and wild in her cowgirl outfit. She found Max in the barn, walking a horse into its stall.
"If you'd pick up the pace, I could get you back here for your afternoon snack a hell of a lot faster," he told the animal.
"Hey, there, pardner," Lacey drawled, one hand to her hat, propping a foot on a hay bale, acting out the Wrangler jeans ad.
Max stared at her. "What are you doing here?" He paused. "Looking like that." He liked it. Goodie.
"I was hoping you'd take me on a horseback ride around the Rockin' W."
"Why would I do that?" He pushed his hat back with his thumb.
"It'd be fun. We can't work on the coffeehouse anyway. And I like riding." She paused. "I love it, actually."
He shook his head, grinning. "You never give up, do you?" He removed the horse's saddle and blanket and patted her flank, raising dust.
"Come on, Max. It'll be fun." She hurried closer to him. "You can show me everything about the ranch – what you love, how it works, everything."
