by Francis Ray
“Take that, Alec Dunlap. And that.”
He silently shook his head. Celeste wasn’t the type of woman to let a man throw her for long. She’d give as good as she got.
“Pour out my gumbo, shout at me. Well, this one is right between the eyes, this one farther south.”
“Ouch.”
Celeste whirled, almost toppling off the seat. Alec quickly crossed the room, but by the time he reached her she had righted herself. “Are you trying to get me killed?”
“Hardly,” he said. With her back to the window and the sun pouring over her, she looked magnificent and sensuously beautiful enough to make any man beg.
“You come to take another shot at me?”
He stopped inches from her, his gaze direct. “I wanted to see what was on the agenda for today.”
Celeste’s brow lifted in surprise. “Why?”
She didn’t take things at face value. He liked that. “You have a tendency to take chances without thinking of the consequences.”
She stared at him a long time, then gracefully came down from the window seat. “Which incidents are you referring to?”
“You like to push, don’t you?” he asked.
She shrugged her elegant shoulders. “Sometimes.”
What do you do with a woman who refuses to back down? Alec didn’t have a clue and he was afraid Celeste knew it when a smile spread across her enchanting face. Today she wore a pink T-shirt that cupped her high, firm breasts and tempted him to do the same. He slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
“We both have deadlines,” he said reasonably. “Maureen said you were in high demand. You probably have another job already scheduled. If you’re injured, you won’t be able to work.”
“So why should that concern you?”
“I don’t want you hurt if I could prevent it,” he rasped.
The smile left her face instantly. She touched his shoulder briefly before lowering her hand. “You’d never allow that to happen.”
He stiffened, knowing she was no longer talking about her. He saw the concern in her eyes and looked away. He wasn’t sure he deserved it, but at least it wasn’t pity.
“I’m padding the walls over the window seat, then faux painting the walls in the bathroom. I’ll be perfectly safe,” she said. “Thank you for watching out for me.”
“This doesn’t mean anything. I’d do it for anyone,” he told her, as much for his benefit as hers.
“I never doubted it,” Celeste said, smiling up at him.
He didn’t want to admit how much the smile, the caring that came with it, meant to him. “I’ll be going.”
“Thanks for checking on me, Alec.”
“Yeah.” Turning, he left the room before he did something stupid like brushing a loose curl from her forehead, kissing her trembling lips. He had made sure she was safe, but he wasn’t sure about himself any longer where she was concerned.
EIGHT
Max came out of the front door of Journey’s End as soon as Gina pulled onto the driveway even with the house. Her heart thumped. She honestly couldn’t have said if it was from fear or excitement.
What was she doing here? She wasn’t a decorator. She wasn’t much of anything. But wasn’t that just what I wanted to change? a small voice whispered. Grabbing her shoulder bag, she opened the door of her seven-year-old Ford sedan.
“Good morning, Gina. Welcome again to Journey’s End.” Curling his fingers around the door frame, he reached out to give her a hand to help her out. It struck her again how courteous he was.
“Thank you.” She stood, drawing her hand back and looking around. “It’s so beautiful and peaceful here.”
“I was lucky enough that the house sat on two acres, and able to pay the hefty asking price,” Max told her. “I know that it was worth it. Journey’s End can be what we envisioned.”
Another moment of unease slithered down her spine. “I’m not a professional decorator.”
His dark gaze settled gently on her face. “But you have the vision of what I want to accomplish. You can help me make this work. Come on, and let’s go inside.”
Gina allowed him to lead her into the house. Strangely, once she was inside, her fears began to recede. Her steps slowed. Max paused and glanced down at her. She flushed and tucked her head. “I’m sorry. I was just thinking that if we took the large armoire out of the first bedroom it could go against the wall facing the entry as a focal point.”
He stared at her so long she became nervous. “You’re amazing.”
Gina blinked. First “fantastic,” then “amazing,” and all compliments from the same man.
“You’ve been here once and you can already visualize what to do,” he said, awe in his voice.
“I wanted to live in an older home, so I pored over a lot of magazines,” she explained. “I probably saw the idea there.”
“I still think it’s amazing that you can remember the room.” He started walking again. “Let’s eat first and then get started. By the way, the clock started ticking the moment you pulled up in the driveway.”
She paused. She didn’t like taking money to help someone.
“What is it?” His hold on her arm gentled. “I don’t think it’s furnishings this time.”
Her hand clenched on the strap of her handbag. “It’s just that— I don’t like taking money to help someone.”
His other hand lifted to take her arm. He stared down at her. “You’re offering a service just as you do to your other clients. You’re going to help those who come here enjoy it all the more. For that you deserve to be paid.”
“Thank you.” She could do this.
“You’re helping me.” He entered the dining room. His aunt held a pitcher of tea in her hand. “Gina, you remember my aunt Sophia, don’t you?”
“Yes. Hello, Ms. Durand.”
“Hello, Gina, and please call me Sophia. I try to forget my age and single status,” she said, filling the last glass on the table.
Gina didn’t know if she meant it or was joking. Max still wore his jovial expression.
“Please have a seat.” He pulled out a chair. “Aunt Sophia, please sit down. I’ll finish everything else.”
Gina had started to sit, straightened. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Max chuckled and winked at his aunt, who smiled back. “Since we’re both lost in the kitchen, I ordered our lunch. I just have to put it in serving dishes.”
Gina barely kept the shock from her face. She’d been cooking since she was a little girl. Even Celeste, who usually ate out, was a fantastic cook. “Then who cooks?”
“Max was smart enough to buy a freezer and a microwave,” Sophia quipped. “We get by.”
“Why don’t I help you with everything?” Gina said. “I want to see your kitchen again.”
“Why?” Max asked with a frown.
She looked between the two. “Because one of my suggestions to make Journey’s End stand out is a signature dish and drink made from products grown in Charleston.”
. . .
His instincts were right. It did Max good to know that contacting Gina Rawlings had been on target. She had a grasp of what he was trying to do, and a shy way about her that was endearing. She was also a hard worker. They’d finished lunch two hours ago and they were still coming up with ideas to enhance Journey’s End.
“A friend of mine, Maureen Gilmore-Dunlap, owns an antique shop, Forever Yours. She might be able to take two of the bedroom sets. She is on her honeymoon in Europe, but her assistant should have a way of reaching her,” Gina said, inspecting the chest on chest in a brown cherry finish.
“She’s going to take time for business on her honeymoon?” Sophia asked incredulously.
Gina threw an embarrassed glance at Max and tucked her head. But Max had seen the flush that stained her cheeks. He hadn’t seen a woman blush in years.
“The second part of her honeymoon is a buying trip,” Gina explained, finally lifting her head.
“I should be able to contact her after next week.”
“That leaves the other two crowded rooms,” Max said. Looking at it with new eyes, he could see what Gina meant.
Gina’s fingers trailed along the dresser; then she looked up and smiled. For some odd reason, Max felt a ripple of response in a place that had no business responding. “We can put this chest in the living room, the armoire in the hallway. Is there any room on the third floor for furniture pieces?”
“The halls are wide. Besides our bedrooms, the other two are empty,” Max answered.
“Good. I’d like to move out the dresser and put in a chair and a small writing table. The armoire can stay. In the next bedroom, I think the bench in the living room would look great under the window. The seat padded, of course, with the same fabric on the window above. It would allow your guests to have a great view of the river,” she said.
“You certainly can pick ’em, Max,” Sophia said with jubilance.
Max didn’t know how to respond. He wondered if his aunt recalled she’d said the same thing about Sharon.
Gina glanced at her watch. “I’m afraid I have to leave. I need to pick the children up from school. Ashton has soccer practice immediately afterward.”
“We understand. Thank you, Gina,” Sophia said. “I’m going to my room. Max can show you out.”
“Of course,” Max said, taking Gina’s arm.
“I hope I didn’t tire her out,” Gina said as they walked into the hall and watched his aunt head for the stairs.
“Hardly,” he said truthfully. “She does calisthenics for an hour each day.” He checked to make sure the coast was clear and leaned over. “She’s hooked on soap operas. The two things she insisted we have were cable and a minimum thirty-two-inch flat screen in her room.”
Gina laughed. Max smiled down at her. “You should do that more often.”
She flushed and continued down the hallway. “There haven’t been too many things to laugh about lately.”
“Hopefully that’s going to change now,” he said.
She regarded him solemnly but said nothing. Max’s brow furrowed. Had that been a come-on or was he simply being compassionate? He honestly didn’t know; all he knew was that she looked as if she hadn’t had it easy, yet she went out of her way to help others. A compassionate woman like that deserved to be happy. He didn’t think she was.
He’d studied her Web site, checked the dismal stats. He doubted she’d gotten very much business from the site. If he didn’t miss his guess, her business wasn’t doing well, yet she had taken time to help him and was a bit embarrassed about taking the check he’d given her after they finished lunch. He’d paid for ten hours up front to ensure that she returned. If they went over that time, they’d look at paying her by the job.
He opened the front door for her. She walked past him and turned. “I think we’re off to a good start.”
“So do I,” Max said, meaning it. “Can you come by tomorrow?”
He thought he saw something flicker in her eyes but couldn’t be sure. “Why don’t I come around the same time? This time I’ll bring lunch.”
“I probably should protest about lunch, but thanks.”
She smiled. “I like to cook, and after lunch we can walk over the grounds.”
“To see where the wisteria arbor will go,” he said.
“Yes, it will be a focal point, but there’s more,” she said. “If you’re agreeable to a cottage garden, you can place stone pavers on the sloping backyard leading to the pier.”
“I don’t—” He stopped and smiled. “I suppose you’re thinking of a pier?”
“It would be wonderful for your guests to be able to meander through the flowers, then down to the pier to fish or just relax,” she said wistfully.
“Did you grow up near the water?”
She looked startled. “Yes.”
“And you were happy,” he said, already knowing the answer.
“Yes,” she repeated softly. Turning abruptly, she went to her Ford and got in. “Good-bye, Max. Thanks for the check.”
“Good-bye, Gina.” He placed his hand on top of the car, then stepped back. “Drive carefully, and tell Ashton I said hello.”
“I will.”
Max stood in the yard as she backed up into the street, his eyes on the tires. They looked all right, but he planned to inspect them better the next time she came over. Getting to know her better was proving to be an unexpected pleasure.
If Alec had a wish at the moment, it would be that the cell phone had never been invented. He’d received five calls in the last hour. Three of his brothers had called, then an old girlfriend who wanted to hook up and a telemarketer. Alec hadn’t wanted to talk to any of them.
He ignored Patrick’s ring tone, an old Otis Redding tune, and pondered his present problem. He’d forgotten he’d had his brother’s help when he’d built the gazebo. He couldn’t hold the beam and nail it at the same time.
Alec wasn’t about to ask Patrick to help. He could only keep up the “everything is fine in my life” for so long before his nerves began to fray. He could hire someone, but that would take time, and besides, he didn’t want to bring anyone he didn’t completely trust to work here. Thieves often used jobs as covers to case the place.
Case in point, Maureen’s house had been burglarized by one of the workers who had been redoing her kitchen. Hands on his hips, Alec pondered his dilemma.
“Problem?”
He whirled around to see Celeste with a pitcher of iced tea. “You don’t listen, do you?”
“ ‘Why, thank you, Celeste, for thinking of me while I worked outside.’ ” She set the pitcher and a glass on a stack of lumber with a clunk. “How you could be related to a nice guy like Simon heaven only knows.”
Whirling, she stalked back down the path. Hell, Alec thought, and chased after her, catching her by the arm, then had to duck a right swing. His foot wasn’t so lucky.
“Ouch,” she said, grabbing the heel of her tennis shoe–shod foot.
Alec smiled despite the situation. “Steel-toed work shoes.”
“I know one thing that isn’t steel, so I suggest you release me,” she said sweetly—too sweetly.
With his arms around her, her back to him, he felt her alluring softness. He thought it might be worth it.
“Now.”
His arms loosened. He stepped back as she turned around and glared at him. “I’m usually a nice guy. People like me.”
“You could have fooled me.”
He couldn’t very well tell her he acted stupid because she tempted him more than he thought possible. “The past few days haven’t been my best.”
She folded her arms. “Tell me something I don’t already know.”
I wish I had met you months ago, he thought. “I’m not used to not being in control.”
Her face softened, her arms unfolded. “I’m a good listener.”
He shook his head, surprised he had confessed that much. His life was private. “I’ll work it out.”
“The invitation still stands.” She stepped around him. “It’s coming along. Who is coming to help you attach the beams to the posts?”
Quickly he went to her. “You know about construction?”
“In my business, it pays to know as much as possible.” She gave him one of those special smiles that twisted his insides. “Since you’re a policeman, you wouldn’t be surprised at how dishonest some people are. Shoddy work, inferior supplies, double billing. The list goes on and on.”
“I don’t suppose you’d have time to give me a hand?”
Her dark eyes twinkled. “I think you’ll need two.”
He stood there staring down at her, feeling himself being pulled into those mesmerizing eyes, the beguiling smile. “My gloves are too large for you, but they should protect your hands.”
She was slow in taking the gloves he handed her. “What about you?”
“I might be many things, but I’d never let you be hur
t while trying to protect myself,” he said.
“I never thought you would.” She slipped on the gloves, wiggled her fingers. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
Alec jerked the phone from his belt. It was either that or throw the thing as far as he could. “Yeah.”
“Who pulled your chain?”
“Patrick, I’m kind of busy,” Alec said, attaching another board at the base of the gazebo.
“You’re invited to dinner tonight at six P.M.”
“No can do, thanks. I’m too busy.” He hammered in a nail, wishing he had a nail gun. He always thought the same thing in the midst of a project, but after seeing the damage one could do to a person and the deep indentation in wood he’d decided to continue the old-fashioned way.
“No excuses. You need to eat. You’re going to hurt Brianna’s feelings if you don’t come.”
Damn. He came to his feet, wiping sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his shirt. He’d do anything for Brianna. Love had given Patrick all he wanted in life. Love. They’d understand that. “Can’t. I have a date.”
“The interior decorator you mentioned?” Patrick asked, then continued at Alec’s silence, “Like I said, you work fast.”
“Not at this rate. Bye, Patrick.” Alec disconnected the call, then went back to work, this time ignoring Patrick’s ring tone, “(Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay.”
Alec glanced at his watch. Five fifty-five. Celeste usually left around six. Adjusting the utility belt, he went inside. He didn’t think she’d tell him if her hands were sore, but he wanted to see for himself.
Celeste was something, caring and seductive, with an inner strength that called to him. On the terrace, he removed his boots. In his stocking feet, he continued through the living room. At the bottom of the stairs, the doorbell rang.
He glanced around and barely kept from cursing on seeing Patrick’s truck through the windows by the door. No wonder they’d nicknamed him Bloodhound at the station. Once he had something in his head, it stayed.
The chime came again.
