Sets Appeal

by Virginia Taylor

  Making herself over in the image of the purportedly sexy blonde had been to show Tim that outward appearance could be manipulated by anyone who so chose. Anyone could have blond hair. Anyone could pile on makeup. Anyone could diet and exercise. In this effort to point out his foolishness, she’d gained new knowledge of herself. She had hidden behind her frump image deliberately when she had discovered she didn’t like sex. Tim left her completely alone when she put on weight and he found someone else. His scathing attack on her sexuality had proved right, but she could live without sex, and had very gratefully during the past year.

  Now she was caught in her own dilemma. She looked like a woman who might be sexually available when she very definitely wasn’t. Until a few days ago, she didn’t have a scrap of sexual awareness either, but that had changed on Saturday night when she met JD. She was now only too aware of him. The flesh on her cheeks warmed when she thought of him.

  Her ladder trembled and she glanced down at his thick shaggy hair, his broad shoulders and his upturned, interesting face. “How are you planning to paint the stonework?” He had his foot on the bottom rung, and her complete attention.

  “Painstakingly.” She cleared her throat. Her hormones had gone wild and her hand shook. “I’m going to cut a stencil, which will take me all afternoon.”

  “Or all year, if you mean to make a stencil twelve feet by sixteen.”

  “Of course I don’t. I will cut a small section and keep repeating the pattern.”

  “Do you want to use my table for cutting?”

  “I can set up another.”

  “No need. I’ve finished with it. How about a lunch break?”

  She stretched her back, so amazingly happy that she almost didn’t know herself. JD would never be Tim. JD was not just interested in sex. He was interested in tasks, who could do what and how. He made even her job relevant. He would never be the center of attention; people would never speak of him in hushed whispers or give him the benefit of the doubt. He would never spend hours on his dressing or in front of the mirror. He didn’t need to. He was a man with a tall, fit body, a careless, sexy walk, and a smile that warmed a woman’s body.

  He could do more for her libido during a few second’s conversation than Tim could do in a year. She breathed out, glad to find that she actually had a libido to dither about. “Would you like to see the green I mixed for your feature wall?” she asked, her face warming with her thoughts.

  “I don’t have an eye for color. Surprise me on Saturday.” He waited for her to descend the ladder. “Do you want me to make windows in your house flat?”

  She shook her head. “Real windows will make the rest look fake. I want to paint it all in a realistic way.”

  “Be sure you plan for pillars outside that turret, then.”

  “I have.” She scrutinized her big, half-finished sketch on the flat. “Should I do marble pillars, do you think, or the rough-cut stone ones I’ll be putting either side of the porch?”

  “Marble.”

  While she ate her sandwich, she watched him. He leaned back, confident of himself and his work. The others didn’t question his orders. They asked for his advice. The man was a natural leader.

  And, amazingly, he agreed that her stone foursquare mansion would look far better with marble rather than rough-cut pillars between the upper windows and fronting the third story.

  * * * *

  “Is fettuccine carbonara bland enough for you?” Jay stood back, waiting for Ilona to enter the house.

  “And good evening to you, too.” She stepped into Jay and hugged him, elbows around his neck, her body a little too snug against his. “Carbonara sounds perfect,” she said, her breath tickling his ear. “I brought a bottle of red, a Maintree.”

  He set her aside, taking the bottle. “You’re looking good.”

  She lifted back her long blonde hair. “You’re looking hot, and I don’t mean warm-hot.” With a heavy-lidded glance up and down his length, her version of sexy, she turned and made her way into his kitchen.

  He followed with the bottle, cracking the seal while she reached into an upper cupboard for two wine glasses.

  “Steve said you found a blonde for the volleyball game. Who is she?” She held out her glass for him to fill.

  Jay shrugged. “The set painter.”

  “Trust you to combine work and play.”

  He lifted his eyebrows. “Who says I did?”

  The color of her eyes changed from caramel to black. “Instinct. I’m pretty sure I walked in at a bad time on Sunday morning.” She looked as eye-catching as usual, wearing long silver earrings with a figure-hugging gray dress.

  “No worse than at any other time.” He gave a wry grin.

  “You were loving up your blonde, that’s why you wouldn’t let me come into the bedroom.” She gathered her hair in a bunch, a restless habit like her next fiddle, which took the lot over her right shoulder, where she combed her over-gilded locks with her fingers. This meant that the next time she moved, her hair would cover two shoulders and her back. Then, within minutes, the whole routine would begin again.

  “Nope.” Jay filled her wine glass to the brim, and trickled an inch into his. “I was asleep until I heard you call out.”

  “I bet you screwed her all night long.”

  “No.” He took a saucepan from the cupboard. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “Okay. I get it. The subject’s closed,” Ilona said in a sulky voice as he filled the saucepan from the sink tap. “It’s not as if that particular subject has ever been open. You’ve never talked about your sex life. I’m the one who does, always wanting your advice about this man or that man. You never comment one way or the other.”

  “You’re a big girl, Lonny. I think you can make your own decisions.”

  She toyed with the keys he had left on the counter top. “In the whole world, I think you’re the only person I trust. I felt the same way about you when we were younger. I punished the other boys with sex, but not you.”

  He added a pinch of salt to the water. “Trust me. None of them feels punished.”

  “Thirteen-year-old girls don’t know too much, no matter how sophisticated they pretend to be. I had to be tough, and you know why.”

  “Yeah, I know. Your mother’s bastard boyfriend raped you.”

  “Legally, but technically I consented, which even now makes my flesh creep.” She took a mouthful of wine, swirled the fluid around and swallowed. “I thought I was a grown woman and grown women let men do things like that. The child protection services would have taken me away from Mum if I’d said anything, and no matter how lax my mother was, she was all I had... until you took over and let me join your gang. In all that time, nothing has changed. I still hang around, I still try to get your advice, and I still love you.”

  He swiveled to face her, wondering what she wanted from him. She rarely brought up the old days and she didn’t have a sentimental bone in her body. Finally, he nodded. “What’s this about?”

  Her gaze flickered over his face and she took another large glug of her wine. “Hey, this wine’s good, even if I do say so myself. It’s an exclusive one I got from Tim.”

  Jay waited for her to lift her gaze, but she kept toying with the keys as if she was deciding what to say. Finally, he picked up his glass and took a taste, trying a swill around his mouth, too, acting like a connoisseur, but he didn’t have taste buds that cared. “Since you say so, it must be.”

  She forced an overdone sigh, indicating that whatever she had been about to confide was now safely tucked away in the place she called “forget it.” That’s what she did when she thought she couldn’t get what she wanted—pretend she didn’t want it. He knew her too well. He turned to put the saucepan on the hob.

  The keys clattered onto the laminate. “I don’t know why I bother bringing wine around here,” she said in a petulant voice. She brushed past him to drag out the cutlery drawer from
which she took out two forks.

  “I can’t afford to be a drinker, not with my family’s background.”

  She pushed back past him to clatter the implements onto the gray table. “Just because your father was a drunk doesn’t mean—”

  “It means I don’t want to be like him. And it means I don’t want you to be like him, either. Slow down. There’s always tomorrow.”

  “Thankfully. Because I’ll be drinking tomorrow, too, if I feel like it.”

  Jay shrugged. Over the years, he’d discovered that any criticism of Ilona made her go the other way. He wished he hadn’t said anything because she tossed down her wine faster than he could breathe. He refilled her glass, sniffed his thyme-flavored bacon and mushroom sauce, and turned on the oven to heat the garlic bread. “Put on some music.”

  She walked over to the old cupboard on the farthest wall and opened out two tall doors, exposing the old stereo, the speakers, a few CDs, and overhead shelves stacked with books, mainly library loans. Within minutes the thud of a metal band saturated the room, too loud, the way Ilona liked music. He didn’t care. With her in a tricky temper, he would rather listen to music than flounder with her moods.

  He served the pasta. When she’d eaten half, she pushed her plate away with a wrinkling of her nose.

  “Perhaps now you can tell me what’s griping you and get it over with.”

  Her dark eyes connected with his. “I did something I swore I would never do and now I’m regretting it.”

  “That’s a breakthrough on two levels.” He grinned at her.

  She grabbed her hair and settled the bunch on her right shoulder, again. “I’ve had regrets before. I just don’t admit to them. And.” She drew a breath. “What would you say if I asked you to make love to me?”

  “You know what I would say. Why would you ask?”

  Without meeting his gaze, she shook her head. “Testing. I need to know that you are you,” she said in a low voice.

  He nodded slowly. “The same as you are you. Always testing, never trusting. You’re my friend, Lonny. You always will be. You don’t need to lure me with sex.”

  “I know.” She turned her fork end over end and straightened. “So, how’s the set doing? Who’s helping you build this one?”

  He took a moment to deal with the swift change of subject before answering. “Trent took time off to help me, and Steve recently finished another job, so he’s with me until a few weeks after Christmas. Kell has a kitchen to finish, but he’ll help later. Why do you ask?”

  She pushed the remains of her food around her plate with her fork. “I might want some new partitions built in the salon. Will you let me have one of your trusty team for the job?”

  “We’re pushed for time as it is. I might be able to free up Trent, but I think you should ask Kell. He could knock up partitions for you in his workshop and fit them in a day.”

  “In a day?”

  “Straight-out partitions? He might even paint them as well if you ask nicely.”

  “I’ve been known to ask nicely, on occasion.” She rose to her feet and took the plates to the kitchen area.

  He followed. Together they washed and dried the dishes while she discussed her rebuilding plans with him. The whole time they talked, he wondered what she had to regret and why she had tried to sidetrack him with the old sex debate. Even years ago, when he had been young and randy, he hadn’t accepted any of her offers. She thought she had to buy love with sex. He wanted her to see herself as worthy of friendship.

  Finally he put two mugs of coffee onto the low table in front of the couch. She chose another CD, which she played loud enough to vibrate his eardrums. He softened the volume. She jutted out her lower lip, crossed her arms, and sat there, staring at him. Her eyes looked over-bright.

  “C’mon.” He reached out to her and took her into his arms, pressing her head to his shoulder. “Tell me your problem. I’m here for you, as always.”

  One of her hands reached to the hair on the nape of his neck. She pulled her fingers through as if soothing herself, but still she didn’t say a word. He touched his lips to her forehead.

  “Let it out,” he said, holding her as he had so many times before, against his chest with one hand stroking lightly over her upper arm.

  She took a breath, which she released in a long sigh while she snuggled closer to him. “Do you see me as a woman or a friend?” She folded a pleat into the front of his shirt.

  “I see you as a woman friend.”

  She hid her face in his shirt. “I’ve never had a proposal of marriage. I’m twenty-nine. I don’t want to be single forever.”

  “If that’s all you want, no problem. Steve would propose any time you hint you might listen.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t listen. I wouldn’t marry a loser who barely knows how to keep himself off the dole.”

  “He makes a very good living now.”

  Her fingers tightened into the shirt fabric over his chest. “Not good enough. I want someone who makes more money than I do. You understand the need for security,” she said, staring into his eyes.

  “I do. I make my own—and I wouldn’t marry for money.”

  “A real man wouldn’t.” She pushed away from him. “You’re a real man. That’s what I want.”

  “There are plenty out there waiting for a woman like you.”

  “I’ve been out there and I can’t find one.”

  “You’re looking in the wrong places.”

  “When you want rich, you move in those circles.”

  He hauled in a breath. “Perhaps you ought to have stayed with Timothy Nolan. From what you’re saying, he’s the man for you.”

  “He didn’t want marriage.” Her face hardened. “He wanted sex.”

  “He had a wife.” He lifted his eyebrows.

  “She wouldn’t let him touch her.”

  “If a man can’t get sex from his woman, she doesn’t want him, which it seems his wife proved by divorcing him.”

  “He divorced her and she took just about everything he owned including the house,” she said with contempt. “Leaving him with not quite as much money as I expected. Maybe her greed put him off marriage, who knows? I don’t care. He was hell in bed.”

  His neck stiffened. “He was violent?”

  “Inadequate. He needed to be turned on. I don’t want to talk about him anymore.” Her expression a challenge, she slipped her fingers past the buttons of his shirt and began caressing his skin.

  He put his hand over hers, stopping her. “Cut that out. I might be more susceptible than you think.”

  “Let’s find out.”

  He shook his head. “Neither of us needs to prove a thing.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “You bastard. I need to prove I’m attractive. Can’t you see that?”

  “Can’t you see you are? You’re good looking and smart. It’s time you stopped selling yourself short.”

  “I’m bad. Look what I did to you.” Her gaze focused on his scar. “You got that because of me.”

  “I’m not into victim blaming. I got that because your ex-boyfriend was jealous. He thought I was his competition. I don’t think for a minute he expected to mark me like this and if he hadn’t been wearing that signet ring, I would only have been bruised.”

  “You should have hit him back.”

  “In hindsight, yes. I didn’t know he would use the buddy system to get my scholarship withdrawn.”

  “And if he hadn’t thought you were his competition, you’d have a guaranteed job at Tremain’s next year.”

  He sat, his hand on her hair, recalling the night he’d spent in custody thinking he’d been a white knight, only to discover that witnesses said otherwise, as did the court. His scholarship, his only means of support, had been revoked and his need for a job had lost him his place at the university, which he had taken back part-time the next year. “Strangely, I don’t regret a thing. I’m almost there
now, despite the detour, and I’ve learned a lot along the way. It’s no disadvantage to know a little about construction before getting an architectural degree.”

  “I’m sick of making other people look beautiful. Could you use me in your set-making team?”

  His mouth dried. He didn’t want her around, not with Vix. Lonny was hell on other women, and he doubted Vix could handle Lonny’s brand of competition. “Not unless you’re good with a miter-box.”

  “I can manage a paint brush.”

  “No you can’t, Lonny. You do a couple of strokes and then you want someone to clean your brush, or set up a roller. You’re in the business that suits you best and you know it.”

  She heaved a sigh. “What are you doing on Saturday?”

  “I’m helping someone paint a room.”

  “I meant on Saturday night.”

  He wiped his palms down his jeans. “Same thing.”

  “Can I stay over, tonight? I just don’t want to be alone.”

  Almost relieved, he said, “Sure. Your bedroom is still the way you left it.”

  “You won’t let me sleep with you?” She looked at him from under her lashes. “I want comfort.”

  “It’s not a good idea.”

  “You’re afraid to share a bed with me.” She stood, hands on her hips, chin defiant. “You think you’ll want me if you do.”

  He inclined his head to the side and stared at the stunning blonde. “I think it’s more important to you and to me that I don’t use you. If you can’t see that, you don’t understand our relationship.”

  “You’re right. I don’t.” She threw down her wine as if he’d challenged her. “But you don’t either. I could make you want me, you know.”

  Chapter 6

  In the morning, Vix pulled up her Mercedes in the concrete car park outside the warehouse. Luke’s scruffy white pickup sat beside Steve’s flashy white four-wheel drive, which transported the rest of the team to work in the mornings.