Wouldn’t you know?
He backed out silently and turned, facing the bed. Now that his eyes had adjusted, he could see Rachel with the covers pulled to her chin, her pale face surrounded by a cushion of her softly curling hair.
She looked so vulnerable lying there. He knew he needed to go to the other bedroom. But he didn’t. Instead, he continued to look at her. She seemed smaller, somehow. Not that she was all that big, but he always thought of her as having a commanding presence.
Now she looked like a young girl, sleeping the sleep of innocence.
He left the room and closed the door softly behind him. Who would have believed he would find any woman innocent? He’d always been convinced that even newborn girls came fully equipped with the skills to manipulate and scheme.
His mother had certainly given him a hard-earned education about what a woman could do to a man’s heart, if he ever allowed one to get close enough. Yep, his mother could be called lots of things without a charge of libel or slander, but the one he kept reminding himself about was teacher. She’d taught him very early in life not to trust any female, no matter her age or her relationship to him.
The lesson had served him well.
But Rachel had proven to him that she was different from other women. She was honest and trustworthy. She had integrity. She’d convinced him that at least one woman in the world was nothing like the woman who had given birth to him.
Brad crossed the hall to the other bedroom, flipping on the light. It looked like the twin to the one Rachel occupied. He strode to the bathroom for a quick shower. The sooner he met with Mrs. Crossland, the sooner he could calm Carl down so this job could finish in the black.
Chapter Four
Brad found Mrs. Crossland’s rental without incident. The house sat back from the road at the end of a winding driveway lined with large stately trees. He drove the length of the driveway and parked in front of a detached two-car garage.
A comfortable-looking veranda wrapped around the front of the house and both sides. The outside light shone brightly and displayed colorfully upholstered cushions and pads placed on a casual sofa and a few chairs.
Not a bad rental, he thought as he climbed the stairs to the front door. He pressed the doorbell and waited.
He saw her shadow through the elaborately etched glass in the solid oak door, but even with Carl’s description, Brad was startled at the vision that opened the door.
Mrs. Crossland looked to be in her late twenties, possibly early thirties, and could easily have stepped from the centerfold of a men’s magazine.
What Carl had neglected to mention was that Mrs. Crossland was strikingly beautiful. Brad figured she stood about five feet ten inches tall in her stocking feet. In the spiked heels she wore tonight, she was almost as tall as he.
She’d gathered up her brightly colored hair into some kind of topknot with loose curls falling around her ears and neck. He couldn’t figure out how she’d done it, but her face was so skillfully made up that her skin looked as dewy as a young girl’s. Her large, cerulean-blue eyes looked nothing like a young girl’s, however. They practically shouted her sensuality and her willingness to get to know him in a much more intimate setting than a dinner meeting.
Her dress was made from some sort of shimmery material that Brad didn’t recognize except to know it was expensive. The champagne color set off her deeply tanned body. The dress was amazingly conservative—considering what Carl had told him about the revealing clothes she wore to the site—with its high neckline and long sleeves, although the clinging material managed to call attention to her full breasts, small waist and flaring hips. Its straight skirt ended at her knees—revealing long, slender legs.
She extended her hand. “You must be Bradley Phillips,” she said, her voice low and intimate. “Tommy never mentioned how young you are to be the owner of such a large company.” Amusement echoed in her husky voice. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your taking time out from your busy schedule to meet with me.” She gestured toward the inside of the house. “Would you like to come in for an aperitif before dinner?”
Brad found it difficult to look away from her. Here was temptation to any man who had an ounce of red blood running through his veins.
Carl must be having a good laugh about now at Brad’s expense.
He smiled politely. “I made reservations for us. I understand the eating establishments around here close earlier than we’re used to in Dallas. Perhaps we should leave now.”
She thrust her bottom lip out in a provocative moue, as though she’d been deprived of much more than a drink before dinner.
“Well, if you insist,” she said, turning away to pick up a satin evening bag. She glanced seductively over her shoulder and added, “We’ll have to plan for after-dinner drinks when we return.”
He wasn’t paying all that much attention to her words because his attention was on her bare shoulders, long bare spine and the slight curve of her derriere that was revealed before the backless dress mercifully hid the rest of her from view.
He took a deep breath. “Uh, yeah, okay,” he said absently. Not that he had any intention of walking into that house with her either now or later. She gave a very distinctive message in her every look, not to mention her choice of clothes. If any man crossed that threshold he would find her wrapped around him like a sinuous snake intent on its next meal. Brad had a strong suspicion she already had him in her sights.
He escorted her to the Jeep and opened the passenger door. She delicately placed her hand in his as though she needed help. This close, he couldn’t ignore the scent of her provocative perfume.
Good grief, he thought, this woman is lethal to a man’s peace of mind. He could certainly understand why Tom Crossland might consider her a trophy.
Brad had a moment of sympathy for Tom. If Mrs. Crossland came on to him like this, how did she behave around other men? The sexual energy radiating from her made him a little light-headed.
He reminded himself that Mrs. Crossland had already caused him a great deal of trouble and possibly a delay in completing the project. By the time he slid into the driver’s seat, his mind had cleared somewhat. He focused on the reason for this meeting and how necessary it was for him to appease her without running up cost overruns that her husband might refuse to pay.
He started the Jeep and turned it around in the driveway. She placed her hand with its taupe-colored nails lightly against his coat sleeve. “I’m so pleased to be able to meet you at long last. Tommy is always singing your praises. I understand that you’ve built more than one of his projects. Is that right?”
“Yes.” He drove back to the two-lane highway and turned toward the private club that tenants of the condos were invited to use.
“He told me that he really had to talk long and hard to convince you to help us with our summer home here in the Carolinas.”
“All my work is located in and around Texas.”
Her warm chuckle caressed his senses. “Then we are indeed lucky to have convinced you to make an exception in our case.”
He kept his mouth shut on several responses he could make. He reminded himself that Tom Crossland was a good client who had recommended him to several potential clients. There was no reason to alienate him by offending his wife.
When they pulled into the driveway of the restaurant she said, “Oh, how marvelous. I’ve always wanted to come here but haven’t really had the time. You must have read my mind.”
If her body language, tone of voice and choice of apparel hadn’t signaled her availability so blatantly, he might have thought he could read her mind. From the glances she kept casting his way, he would guess that what she had in mind for after dinner was probably against the law in more than one state.
Now that it was too late, he wished he’d waited until tomorrow to meet with Mrs. Crossland. Rachel’s presence was needed to emphasize the business nature of the meeting.
Brad escorted Mrs. Crossland into a qui
et, dimly lit dining room. The room appeared to be full of patrons. As soon as he gave the maître d’ his name, they were led to a table for two that no doubt had a lovely view of the surrounding area. Unfortunately, it was too dark at this hour to appreciate the gesture of seating them there. He smiled and gave the man a nod of approval.
Once seated, Brad studied the menu, suddenly feeling exhausted. He envied Rachel peacefully sleeping at the condo. He should have followed her example.
He glanced toward his guest and asked, “Have you decided what you would like, Mrs. Crossland?”
She smiled at him, a slow, intimate smile that would have been more appropriate for a bedroom setting. “Please. No one calls me Mrs. Crossland. That title belongs to Tommy’s mother. My name is Katherine, but I insist that you call me Kat. I hope that since Tommy refers to you as Brad, that you might allow me the same privilege.”
Her voice had become a soft purr. His body reacted to her but his mind and emotions were coolly observing the interplay. Was this the way she got her way? By attempted—sometimes successful—seduction?
Once again he had his parents to thank for the early—and painful—lessons he’d learned about women.
“I’d be more comfortable calling you Katherine,” he replied smoothly.
She wrinkled her nose and gave a slight shrug. “Well, I certainly want you to be comfortable—” she gave the word a particularly seductive emphasis “—by all means.”
He wondered if she was putting him on to see what kind of response she might get. If so, good old Tommy would hear about any unprofessional conduct on his part before the night ended. Katherine must enjoy taunting any male with whom she came into contact. She was certainly enjoying the covert glances from the men at other tables.
His mind soon disciplined his unruly body. As he had told Carl, he’d been exposed to women like Katherine Crossland before, but he had to tread lightly not to lose Tom as a client. It was obvious that Katherine didn’t care about possible fallout as a result of her behavior.
Once he faced that, her looks and behavior no longer affected him.
After several minutes of dithering on her part over the list of entrées, Brad managed to get her to select one.
The hovering waiter appeared to receive their orders. Once the waiter left, Brad said, “Why don’t you tell me what seems to be the problem with the construction of your home?”
Her husky laugh caused a few of the nearest occupants to glance their way. “The biggest problem is that Tommy and I tend to disagree on what a summer home should be. He wanted something rustic and informal in contrast to our home in Dallas. Of course I told him that regardless of where we live, we have certain standards to maintain. I thought he was clear on that, but now that I see the house being built, I realized I wanted some changes made to his rather quaint ideas. I see no reason why your men can’t honor my suggestions.”
Brad tried to think of something diplomatic to say. His headache had continued to worsen as this nightmare meeting dragged on. “Mrs. Crossland—” She held up her hand in a stop motion and he amended himself. “Katherine, according to the man in charge of this project, your suggestions would cost several thousand dollars more than Tom agreed to pay. We can’t make those changes without his written approval.”
“Not even when his wife gives her permission?”
“Not even then. However, if you’ll have Tom contact me, we can discuss the changes you want to make and can go from there.”
She shook her head wearily. “This is all too absurd. It isn’t as though we don’t have the money to pay for any changes I might make to the original plans.”
He nodded. “Of course you do. If you had suggested these changes to the architect when he drew up the plans, we would have no problem implementing them.”
She studied him for several moments before she said, “You aren’t going to do this for me, are you? You’re going to stick to all your petty rules and not listen to a thing I want.”
“How about if we meet at the site tomorrow and see what we can do without running up the tab too much. Would you be willing to do that?”
The waiter brought their meals, and Brad stared at his food, wishing he’d settled for a sandwich. His headache made the rich food on his plate distasteful.
Katherine waited until their after-dinner coffee had arrived before she answered his earlier question. “Thank you for at least listening to me. Sometimes I feel invisible. Tom does what he wants without considering what I’d like.” She smiled at him. “Are you married, Brad?” she asked.
Now there was a loaded question in her present frame of mind. He searched his brain for a suitable answer and was getting a little desperate when he thought of Rachel, who had traveled to North Carolina for business purposes, after all. He definitely needed her as a buffer on this particular job.
“Not exactly,” he replied, hoping she would read all kinds of hidden meaning in the words. Maybe she would let it go at that.
No such luck.
“What does that mean?” she asked, a hint of sharpness in her voice.
Now what? He didn’t want to lie. That wasn’t the way he worked. He’d seen enough scams and lies in his life to consider the truth a sacred trust.
So, what was the truth about his relationship with Rachel that might help him in this situation?
“There’s someone very special to me. I couldn’t do without her.” True enough, he thought.
“I see,” she responded thoughtfully. “I’d love to meet her sometime.”
“That’s easy enough to do. I’ll bring her with me tomorrow and introduce you.”
“Oh,” she said faintly. “She travels with you?”
“Occasionally,” he said, which was true. He saw no reason to add that this was the first time he’d flown with her.
The waiter appeared and discreetly placed the bill near Brad’s elbow. Brad immediately placed a credit card in the folder, anxious for this meeting to be over.
Katherine remained silent on the way back to her house. When they arrived he helped her out of the Jeep and escorted her to the front door. She unlocked it and turned to him.
“You aren’t going to come in for an after-dinner drink, are you?” she asked, sounding resigned.
“No.”
“I hope your friend isn’t upset about our having dinner tonight.” Her tone conveyed the opposite hope.
Brad smiled. “She knew this was a business meeting. I would have brought her with me but she decided to get some rest, instead.”
Katherine stared at him in silence as though memorizing his face. “She’s a very lucky woman,” she finally said, softly, then turned and went inside, shutting the door behind her.
That takes care of that, he thought, feeling uncomfortable. He had told the strict truth but implied so many things that weren’t true. Maybe it was a case of wishful thinking on his part.
Brad returned to the condo more tired than he could ever remember being. The day hadn’t gotten off to a good start and had gone downhill from there.
He strode across the parking lot to the front door of the condo. As soon as he let himself in, he realized that Carl had left a light on upstairs for him. He climbed the steps to the living/dining area and paused, staring into the compact kitchen in surprise.
Rachel stood at the stove, making something. She looked smaller than usual. Whether it was because he’d just spent the past few hours with an Amazon-sized woman, or whether it was because Rachel wore an oversized robe and was barefooted, he didn’t know.
Her long hair tumbled around her shoulders and down her back. She must have heard him come in, because she glanced casually around and said, “You hungry?”
He shook his head.
“Well, I’m starved. I woke up with my stomach growling, so I found the makings of an omelet. I also discovered some leftover coffee. It was cold, so I made a new pot. Want some?”
All he’d wanted to do when he walked into the condo was to go to bed. How
ever, the freshly brewed coffee smelled too good to ignore.
“Yeah. Although I don’t think all the caffeine in the world is going to keep me awake for long.”
She looked him up and down, no doubt noticing that he’d already altered his appearance somewhat. He’d unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt and taken off his tie as soon as he’d dropped Katherine Crossland at her house. He’d walked inside with his suit jacket tossed over one shoulder. He dropped it on the back of one of the chairs and sat at the bar, rolling up his shirtsleeves.
Rachel filled two cups and set them on the bar before turning back to the stove. “So how did the meeting go? Were you able to address her concerns?” she asked, slipping her steaming omelet onto a plate.
He watched as she came around the bar and sat next to him. He swiped his hand over his face, wondering how to answer. The question was straightforward enough; the answer much more complicated.
He decided he was too tired to be diplomatic. “I listened to her complaints, explained about the contract her husband signed, then agreed to meet her at the site tomorrow,” he related tersely. “The only problem I had was convincing the lady I was not interested in lingering at her place after dinner.”
Rachel had a bite of food on her fork halfway to her mouth when he spoke. She froze and stared at him. “Are you saying she came on to you?”
Her incredulity amused him. “Well, I could explain that most women have that kind of reaction when they’re out to dinner with me—” Her huff of indignation was the response he’d hoped for. He relaxed and picked up his cup before adding, “However, the truth is I don’t think she cared who I was as long as I bought into her seductive siren act.”
“Oh, my,” Rachel said, ducking her head. She quickly took the bite of food waiting on her fork.
“Don’t bother trying to hide your amusement. I guess I would find the whole thing amusing, too, if her complaints hadn’t pulled me away from more productive work in Texas.”
But Not for Me Page 6
