by Wylie Kinson
Ellis was startled to hear his voice in the room. Simon must have come up behind her as she was having her tantrum. He was with an older man with sparse gray hair and anxious blue eyes. Ellis wondered for a moment if this was Callon Senior.
“My fault, ma’am,” he drawled thickly. “The paperwork got screwed up. Not sure how, but…”
“We’re not looking to place blame, Jeb,” Simon calmly assured before addressing Ellis. “Sorry Ellis, seems there was a mix-up. You ordered, um,” he consulted his clipboard, “Caramel Sundae, and Cynthia Travers has Sunday Sage for the master bedroom. God, who comes up with these damn names? Anyway, what’s done is done.”
“But you’ll fix it right?” She looked from Simon to Jeb. “Right?”
“Of course we’ll fix it. Tomorrow…maybe the next day.”
“But that’ll put me behind! We want to bring in the fabrics tomorrow and—”
“I’ll do what I can but—” Simon tried to interject, but Jeb put his hand up to both.
“I’m on a pretty tight leash today and won’t git to the paint shop ’til later, but if you ain’t troubled,” he directed to Simon, “I’m happy to come back tonight so the pretty lady can hang her curtains.”
“Oh thank you, Jeb. I would really, really, really be so grateful!” Ellis beamed.
Simon reluctantly agreed. Ellis had almost a full week left in which to hang her blasted curtains and he hated seeing Jeb overtaxed at his age. Good grief! He’d be glad when this competition was over and these divas out of his life.
“He seems nice,” Ellis said to Simon when Jeb excused himself. “Is he your father?”
“My what? No, Jeb’s a painter,” Simon said. “What made you think he was my dad?”
“Well, your company is called Callon & Son and I figured you’re too young to have a son old enough to be a partner, which makes you the Son.”
Simon smirked. He’d never had to tell the story behind the company name before—nobody had ever asked. Men never asked questions like that. Like asking for directions, it fell under the masculine pretense of knowing all. Figures Ellis Strathmore would be the one to call his bluff.
“There was never a father or a son,” he began, “just me. I started the company when I was twenty-eight but nobody worth their salt would work for me, and I had a hard time getting contracts because of my age and perceived lack of experience. When I added ‘& Son’ to the title, folks just assumed I was the bright protégé of a talented master builder. In fact, my real father is a banker in the city.”
Ellis’ impulsive fishing expedition paid off. Remi was going to love this. And she had a touch of admiration for someone who knew what he wanted so young, and had the moxie to get it.
* * * * *
“Mr. Callon?” Simon heard the female voice ask on the other end of the phone.
“Yeah,” he answered groggily, eyeing the clock radio next to his bed, the faintest glow of dawn visible beyond his open window.
“I’m sorry to disturb you. You are awake, aren’t you? Don’t you construction folk rise early?” Simon finally recognized the caller.
“It’s five-thirty in the morning, Miss Strathmore. This isn’t early—this is the middle of the night.”
“Oh, sorry.” He clearly heard the chagrin in her voice.
“What?”
“I could call back in an hour if you’d like.”
“I’m awake now. What.”
“Well, it’s the paint. It’s not right.”
“It was fine at six-thirty last night when Jeb put the final coat on. I inspected myself. How is it not right now?”
“The color’s not right. I’m not blaming Jeb,” she hastened, “he did a terrific job. But the color is off. My fault.”
Oh God, what now? He knew the color was correct because he—Simon Callon, owner of his own construction company with all kinds of very important things to do—personally, personally, picked up her damn Caramel Sundae.
“The color is fine Miss Strathmore. You probably just had a nightmare and—”
“No, no,” she explained. “It didn’t look right in the evening light. And now, at dawn, it’s really off. It’s too, too, um…too caramel.”
“Miss Strathmore, am I to understand that you’re at the show house now? At five-thirty a.m.?” Simon asked in disbelief.
“Yes.”
Ellis was met with silence. He thinks I’m a nut, but that’s his prerogative, Ellis thought. This was her career, her reputation at stake.
“Actually Mr. Callon, I spent the night,” she proclaimed proudly.
“Wait there,” he groaned, getting out of bed. “I’ll be right over.”
* * * * *
The hot spray combined with the fresh scent of his shower gel finished what Ellis began—that of waking Simon from a restless sleep. He’d tossed and turned well into the wee hours, his mind heavy with worry. He was facing cost overruns and his crews were falling behind schedule waiting for new supply deliveries. Marco had checked and double-checked the storage areas at the site and back at the company yard, and they both combed through the paperwork looking for irregularities. They pulled up invoices, talked to suppliers and questioned some of the men. Simon had looked at this problem from every angle and the evidence was beginning to point toward theft. But this team was a scaled-down version of the crew that had built the house—the same trustworthy, hardworking guys, damn it! He couldn’t believe that any of them would steal from the company—until yesterday, when three of the men reported tools missing.
His neck and shoulders were knotted with tension so he turned the shower spray to pulse, bent his head and let the steaming water pound at his muscles. His temples stopped throbbing and his mind sifted through the issues that plagued him. The outline of a plan began swirling through his brain—one that Ellis had unknowingly inspired.
Truth be told, Simon enjoyed Ellis. Yes, she was a unique character, yes they sparred more than talked, and yes she was demanding, but he also found her refreshing and original. He found himself passing her show room for no reason other than to catch a glimpse of her at work. He had caught her mumbling to herself on more than one occasion. Oh hell, knowing Ellis, she was probably talking to the fireplace or the wood screws. Often he was treated to the sight of her perfectly proportioned backside as she bent to pick up a tool, or was gifted with a glance at her bare abdomen, flat and creamy smooth, as she stretched to reach something.
Simon could feel himself begin to stiffen, so he edged the tap toward cold. The trick was getting past her room before she saw him because then it was “Oh, Simon, please could you look at this” or “Simon, the bathroom isn’t happy. It needs better lighting” or “Simon, I’m so glad you happened by! I’m having a problem with mood and was wondering if you could…” The hardest part was containing the deep urge to jump her, tear off her clothes and taste every inch of her skin.
Frustrated that the cooler water was having no effect on his rising lust, he pumped liquid soap onto his palm and wrapped his fingers around the base of his engorged cock. With a tightened grip, he slid his fist up and down his shaft, giving in to the images that played through his mind…
Ellis, standing in his bedroom, shimmies out of her hip-hugging jeans, pushes her black thong underwear down her thighs and kicks them off her feet. She stands there naked from the belly button down and winks before she pulls her tight T-shirt up and off. She isn’t wearing a bra. She runs her hands over her pert breasts, stopping to pinch her nipples, down her creamy flat stomach and stops at her thighs. She giggles and sprawls naked on his bed.
Simon held his breath and squeezed his eyes shut tight to capture the erotic picture of Ellis in his mind.
She crooks her finger at him. “Oh Simon, could you help me with this.” She opens her legs, inviting him to look at her, wanting him to see her secrets, taste her gleaming wet pussy.
Panting, Simon pumped harder, bracing his other hand against the shower wall. His thigh and ass muscles clenched,
poised for his release.
Ellis licks her middle finger then slides it through her tawny curls, moaning with pleasure as she rubs herself.
He groaned and dropped his chin to his chest, letting the water pound against the taut muscles of his back and shoulders. His forearm burned with tension as he quickened his movements.
Ellis rubs herself with two fingers, frantically, moaning and crying for him to come with her. She gyrates her hips, arches her back, convulses.
Simon pounded his free hand against the wet tile as he shot his seed almost to the top of the shower stall.
“Good God,” Simon gasped as the cool water washed away his fantasy. “How on earth can this woman be responsible for giving me both a hard-on and a headache?”
* * * * *
“There’s too much orange,” she explained, arms raised like a game-show hostess. “See how it argues with the floor?”
“Argues?”
“Yes, argues. Look in the direction of the grain and let your eyes travel up the wall.”
Simon emitted a throaty groan, more of a growl. He took a sip of steaming coffee from a takeout cup. At least she had the forethought to have a hot coffee waiting for him when he arrived. It took the edge off the crankiness caused by lust for this confounding woman.
He played along and took a hard look at the colors and he had to admit, after looking at the walls in the early morning sunlight, she had a point. Only Ellis could describe a wall and a floor arguing and have it actually make sense.
Pretending to further scrutinize the arguing colors, he relied on his peripheral vision to admire Ellis. For someone who didn’t get much sleep, she looked good enough to eat, even in a wrinkled T-shirt and baggy denim overalls. The morning sun shone on her mussed shoulder-length hair. He had thought it was brown but that one simple word couldn’t begin to fairly describe it. Like a piece of polished, exotic wood with a rich grain, her hair was shot with streaks of amber and gold, red oak and maple. She looked fresh, young and entirely sexy. Try as he might, he couldn’t shake the picture of her naked, in his bed, out of his mind. He wondered if her honey complexion would taste as scrumptious as it looked. He wondered if he ran his tongue along the curve of her jaw, it would lose its stubborn set—
“So do you agree?”
Simon raked his fingers through his hair, a mixture of lust and frustration. This woman had him completely off balance.
“Oh yeah, I see.”
“But do you agree? Because there is no harmony, and if there’s no harmony, there’s no mood. And we already know that if the room isn’t in a good mood, it won’t work.” She continued, despite Simon’s raised eyebrows. “Now, if we add a little bit of a deeper gold, like in this sample called Divine Caravan, I think we’ll nail it.”
“Won’t it be too dark?” Simon suggested, hoping desperately not to have to repaint.
“This is a large enough room to support the tonal depth.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means that it’s not too dark,” she stated firmly.
“Problem is, Ellis—can I call you Ellis? I usually call the women who I’ve shared my morning coffee with by their first names.” And women I masturbate to, Simon thought.
She nodded in embarrassment, giving Simon a glimmer of satisfaction. Damn, how can a woman who’d spent the night on an air mattress in a house reeking with paint fumes possibly look so damned perky? And edible.
“Problem is, Ellis, I don’t know if I can pull Jeb off another job. He’s on a pretty tight rotation between all the designers,” and before Ellis popped a vein, he added, “but I’ll certainly see what I can do.”
“It just has to get done Simon! We’re running out of time!”
“Well you should have thought of that before you chose Caramel Sundae!”
“But it worked on the sample board and—”
“Enough,” he interrupted, in no mood to argue with her. “I said I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you,” she said humbly, her eyes locked on his. That little glint of anger she saw made her pulse quicken and pushed her to ask, “Are there a lot?”
“A lot of what?”
“A lot of women with whom you share your morning coffee?”
Simon leaned in close—close enough for her to smell the fresh scent of his wet hair. Close enough for his heat to make her knees wobble.
“None as annoying,” Simon said in a husky voice, “or as gorgeous as you.”
He crushed the empty cup in his fist and strode from the room without a backward glance.
Chapter Four
Ellis adeptly placed a shard of burnt umber tile onto the mosaic she was creating around the hearth. She fought to stay focused, to concentrate on the perfect placement of tile chips to get the effect she envisioned, frustrated that she wouldn’t complete it before her four o’clock appointment. She was scheduled to meet with Valentina, the designer in charge of the children’s suites, which included both a bedroom and adjoining playroom-nursery. Ellis gave a passing mention of having a visual baby monitor linked to the office and Val loved the idea. Today, in a matter of hours, they would meet to finalize the integration of the system into their perspective rooms.
Ellis dug her trowel into the bottom of the pail and sighed in resignation. The cement compound was stiffening up as she struggled to work at her normally spry pace. It was Simon’s fault. His eyes, those shoulders, the way the worn denim of his pants accentuated his solid thighs…she just couldn’t get him out of her head. More than once over the past few days, Simon had appeared just as she’d immersed herself in a project, distracting her, making her say stupid things. When he left, she couldn’t get the sexy scent of him out of her nose or his devil-may-care grin out of her mind. He was making a mess of her typically steely concentration, her ability to block out the world and be in emotional harmony with the rooms she decorated.
She hadn’t seen him since their early morning meeting but the image of him with damp, curling hair and a day’s stubble on his angled jaw kept repeating in front of her like a slide show, interrupting her artistic flow. She felt the warmth rise from her groin to her cheeks just remembering his gravelly morning voice, telling her she was gorgeous. How could she get him out of her head? Oh hell, she thought with a ripple of humor, maybe I should have wild, hot monkey-sex with him and get him out of my system. She imagined running her hands over the ridges of his well-defined abdomen, tracing her fingertips down the line of hair that disappeared under the waistband of his jeans.
“You okay Ellis?” Remi asked, looking down at her from his perch on the stepstool where he was mounting a curtain rod. “You’re looking a little flushed.”
“Fine, it’s nothing.”
“Come on, girlfriend, tell Auntie Remi what’s got you all hot and bothered. And don’t lie to me because you’ve not been yourself in days.”
“Nothing, it’s just—”
“Hey,” Simon poked his head around the corner. “Someone in here order a cabinet?”
Simon stepped aside to let Marco and his crew haul in the pre-made sections of Ellis’ built-in. Remi, vexed at the interruption, noticed a blush creep from Ellis’ neck to her hairline. Ah ha! So that’s what’s been bothering her. He should have known. There were some strong vibes bouncing between these two lately.
“I thought it wasn’t coming until tomorrow!” Ellis rose from her kneeling position and unconsciously brushed the ceramic dust, and the blush, from her cheeks.
They stood back while the men bolted in the supports, then began to piece sections of the cabinet together using glue, nails and screws. Ellis watched with giddy pleasure as the unit began to take shape. She was relieved that Simon had left the room while his men installed it, leaving her to continue the mosaic in peace. Mr. Callon had a talent for causing complete uproar to her emotional nervous system with his mere presence. Every time he had stopped by during the past few days, she found herself babbling inanely and asking him for silly favors
, just to cover her nerves.
An hour later, the carpenters had the pieces installed, the hardware mounted and the holes puttied. The hearth mosaic was only three quarters complete and Ellis had just enough time to splash some water on her face and grab a coffee before meeting with Val.
“Those two.”
Surprised, she turned to see Simon standing in the room. Lost in her work, she hadn’t heard or seen him come in. He separated two landscape scenes from the six framed pictures that were propped against the opposite wall.
Ellis had borrowed two abstracts, three landscapes and a large still life from a local gallery, intent on seeing how they looked in the changing light before making her final decision on which prints to hang. She hadn’t quite decided what she preferred, and was interested in Simon’s rationale. “Why those?” she asked, fully expecting him to say something inane like he was partial to the pretty colors.
