by Robin Wells
“Where’s your mother now?” Ali asked.
“In Florida. She met a terrific guy and remarried when I was in college. They just retired and moved to the beach a couple of years ago.”
“So she’s happy?”
“Yeah. Fred is the exact opposite of my dad.”
Ali regarded him pensively. “And so are you.”
“I sure hope so. That’s always been my intention.” Ali’s hand still rested on top of his. He turned his hand over and grasped her palm, feeling a connectedness that ran deeper than the skin-to-skin contact. He squeezed her hand and gave a wry smile. “And you’re the opposite of your mother. What a pair we make.”
Did Matt really think of them as a pair? Ali’s heart skipped at the thought. He probably hadn’t meant the remark romantically, she reasoned— and yet, something had just shifted between them. Talking about their childhoods had forged an intimate connection that hadn’t been there before.
His need to stay in control, his affinity for order, his desire to plan things out and follow the plan—they all sprang from the broken heart of that disappointed little boy. The realization made him more understandable, more emotionally available, more… desirable.
She was suddenly aware that she was sitting in a dimly lit restaurant in the middle of the day, holding hands with a virile, attractive man— a man who made her stomach flutter and her pulse race.
A waitress approached the table, and Ali felt a sense of both loss and relief when Matt withdrew his hand.
“Do you need some time to look at the menu?” Matt asked.
Ali shook her head. “I’ll take the enchilada plate and an iced tea. And if you have any hotter salsa, I’d like some, please.”
“I’ll have the same thing,” Matt said.
“Two enchilada platters and a bowl of Diablo salsa coming up,” the waitress replied as she took the menus from them.
Matt took a sip of water and glanced at Ali. This outing was not going at all as he’d planned. He’d intended to address the changes she was making at the company, and instead, the conversation had taken a distinctly personal turn. He’d just told her things he hadn’t even told her brother. The exchange somehow put their relationship on a different footing.
Maybe he should just drop the whole topic of the changes she’d made at the office. Now that he thought about it, they really weren’t such a big deal. Besides, he didn’t like the fact that she evidently shared Hattie’s perception of him as rigid and inflexible.
“What do you think about the changes I’ve made at the office?” Ali asked.
The woman had radar for trouble. Matt shifted uneasily in his chair.
“There, uh, have been a few,” he said noncommittally.
Ali nodded. “I probably should have consulted you, but you seemed so busy I hated to disturb you. I saw a few little things that I thought would make the office environment a little more pleasant, so I just went ahead and did them. You don’t mind, do you?”
Matt had been studying her face distractedly as she talked, taking in her delicate cheekbones, her pert nose, her large, beautiful, sincere gray eyes. He lowered his gaze to her mouth, to the full, ripe voluptuousness of her lips.
He shook his head. “No,” he murmured. “I don’t mind.”
And at the moment, he truly didn’t. Not at all.
The thought alarmed him, and he was glad when the waitress appeared with their order. He dug his fork into the guacamole salad and decided to broach a new topic.
“How are your interior designs coming?” Matt asked, lifting a bite to his mouth.
“Great,” Ali said, spooning a huge helping of hot sauce onto a soft tortilla. “I’m nearly done with the boards for the first house.”
“Boards?”
“Large cardboard sheets showing the design elements for each room—paint chips, wallpaper samples, photos of lighting fixtures, et cetera. I want to get them finished before I show them to you so you can see the full picture. I’m waiting on a set of wallpaper samples, but they should be in next week. You’ll be happy to know that the estimates are coming in under budget.”
“Glad to hear it,” Matt said.
“Speaking of interiors—I’m ready to start painting my living room this weekend. Do you still want to volunteer?”
Matt swallowed a bite of Spanish rice as an alarm bell went off in his mind. Don’t get personally involved, it warned. You can easily assign one of your workmen.
But really, what could it hurt if he helped her?
“Sure. I’ll come by around nine.” He scooped up some salsa on a tortilla chip and popped it into his mouth.
Jumpin’ jalapeños! What had he just bitten into? His tongue burned like a six-alarm fire. His eyes watered and he groped blindly on the table for a glass.
“Are you all right, Matt?”
He struggled to form a word, his hands desperately roving the tabletop for something to extinguish the inferno in his mouth. “Wa- Wa- Water,” he gasped.
“Are you choking?”
His vision was so blurred that he could barely make out her face as she leaned across the table. Sweat beading on his brow, he shook his head and continued to search the table for a glass. His fingers closed around one and he jerked it to his mouth.
Empty. Oh, jeez, he was in agony. He grabbed another glass. Empty, too. How could both their water and iced tea glasses be dry as bones? Where was the waitress?
“Pl-please get wa-water,” he croaked.
Ali was out of her chair. Oh, thank heavens. She’s gone to get me a drink, he thought.
He was mentally calling her an angel of mercy when something slammed him hard in the gut, knocking the breath out of him.
“Ugh!” he grunted, doubling over and clutching his stomach.
“Are you better?” Ali’s voice came from behind his chair. He realized her arms were wrapped around him, one of them knotted into a fist and pressed against his belly.
Hell’s bells— She’s doing the Heimlich maneuver on me! And oh, críminy, she’ll do it again if I don’t stop her.
Matt grabbed both her wrists. “Not choking,” he croaked.
The waitress appeared, a water pitcher in her hands. She cracked her gum and stared down at them. “Can I help you?”
“Wa-water,” Matt managed.
She took a maddeningly long time to pour it, then stood with a hand on her hip and watched him drain the glass in a single gulp. She leaned over to refill it, still smacking her gum. “The raw cayenne and habañero peppers in that Diablo salsa give it quite a punch. Too hot for a lot of people.” Matt downed the glass, and she sloshed water into it again. “Never saw anyone have a reaction like you, though.”
Ali crouched beside him, her eyes dark with worry. “Are you okay?”
Matt drew a deep breath and wiped his brow. His mouth still felt like the inside of an incinerator, but he no longer thought he was in danger of exploding.
Except perhaps at Ali. He must have lost his mind—discussing his childhood, okaying the changes she’d made at the office, feeling so warm and comfortable and… and… intimate with her. For a while there, he’d forgotten she was the very essence of trouble.
Well, it hadn’t taken long before she’d reminded him. Matt turned and glared at her. “What the hell did you do that for?”
Ali backed away and put the table between them, lowering herself to her seat. “I thought you were choking.”
“I told you I wasn’t,” he snapped. “Why didn’t you just get me some water like I asked?”
Ali turned both palms up. “Sometimes people who’re choking don’t realize how serious the situation is until it’s too late. You got so red in the face I was worried.” She gave him an apologetic smile. “I figured it was better to be safe than sorry.”
How could he argue with that? The fact that he couldn’t find fault with her logic irritated him all the more.
“How in blazes do you manage to eat that stuff? That junk ought to be registere
d with a nuclear regulatory agency.”
Ali laughed. “I love spicy food. I eat it all the time, so I guess I’ve built up a tolerance to it.” She leaned forward and touched his hand. “I’m really sorry, Matt. Did I hurt you?”
Matt gingerly felt his stomach. She might have bruised a rib, but he’d be darned if he’d let her know it.
“Nah. I’m pretty tough.” At least, I used to be before you hit town.
Matt took another gulp of water, eyeing her warily over the rim. The woman was like a force of nature. He never knew when or where she was going to strike next. He ought to run for cover every time she got within twenty paces.
The odd part was, in spite of everything, he didn’t want to put distance between them. He wanted to get closer—a lot closer. He glanced down at her small hand on top of his and a surge of desire flashed through him. I never knew I had such a self-destructive bent, he thought derisively.
Matt sighed deeply. How the heck was he going to survive Tornado Ali?
Chapter Eight
Ali stood in the middle of her living room, her hands on her hips, and gazed around at her handiwork. All of the furniture had been dragged into the center of the room and covered with sheets. Heavy plastic covered the floor, tape edged the windows, the walls were bare of pictures and surface compound filled every nail hole.
“Looks like we’re ready for the painting party to begin,” Ali told Flipper. The little dog wagged his tail in response from his perch on the back of the sheet-draped sofa.
Ali glanced at her watch; she still had ten minutes before Matt was due to arrive—enough time to put in her contact lenses, check her hair and maybe even put on some lipstick. Not that she really cared about her appearance, she told herself as she headed for her bedroom, Flipper at her heels. She just wanted to look presentable, that was all.
Sure, Ali, sure, another part of her mind mocked. She’d already changed clothes three times this morning before deciding she was not going to make any concessions to this insane attraction she felt for Matt Jordan. After all, she was dressing to paint her living room wall, not stroll down a fashion show runway.
Besides, it was pointless. A relationship with Matt would do nothing but complicate her life.
Ali put in her contacts, then rummaged through the drawer of her vanity table for her lipstick. There was no denying that she was attracted to the man—and he’d never seemed more attractive than when he’d opened up to her yesterday. For a few minutes there, he’d been approachable and warm and emotionally available. Knowing why he had such a need to maintain order and control made him a lot less intimidating and whole a lot more appealing.
Not that he needed to be any more appealing—especially when he wore that sexy combination of casual and business attire like he had yesterday. Who would have thought that a starched button down shirt, faded jeans and a leather jacket could look so devastating? And when she’d put her arms around him to perform the Heimlich maneuver, his hard, taut stomach had had plenty of appeal, too.
Thinking of the Heimlich maneuver episode made her scrunch her face into a scowl. Matt must think I’m a nut case, she thought ruefully.
“Well, he did look like he was choking,” Ali muttered defensively. “Anyone could have made the same mistake.”
But it hadn’t been anyone; it had been her. She winced as she tallied up the number of offenses she’d committed against him.
“He probably regards me as the human equivalent of a black cat,” she told Flipper remorsefully.
Flipper lifted his head from her bed and whined.
Ali frowned at her reflection. She’d long ago accepted that chaos was just a part of her life. She seemed to attract it, like other people attracted good luck or stray animals. Her private theory was that it all had to do with personal electromagnetic fields.
But Matt wasn’t the sort of man who wanted random forces of the universe tampering with his carefully laid-out plans. And after hearing how his father’s lack of responsibility had tainted his childhood, she couldn’t blame him. He’d been disappointed so many times when he was young that it was easy to understand why he hated surprises now.
Ali replaced the lid on her lipstick and firmly closed the drawer. Why was she so concerned about what Matt thought about her, anyway? Regardless of how understandable his reasons were, the fact remained that Matt was rigid and domineering, and she’d sworn to never get involved with that type of man.
She did have to work with him, however, and she would be at a definite disadvantage if he believed she was an airhead. She needed to keep in mind that he had veto power over everything she proposed.
The thought sent a shiver of apprehension through her. He’d said he wouldn’t approve anything he considered farfetched or out of line, and there was no telling how conservative he was going to be. After all, his idea of interior decor was white walls and tan carpet. If he didn’t have confidence in her, he wasn’t likely to have any confidence in her work.
Well, there was nothing she could do about the gaffes she’d already committed, but from now on, she’d try extra hard to make her encounters with Matt as trouble-free as possible. She’d try her darnedest to make sure no accidents occurred today.
The doorbell interrupted her thoughts. Flipper barked sharply and hurled himself off the bed in a backward somersault, then trotted after her down the hall.
Matt’s gaze traveled over her as she opened the door. He’d never thought of sweatpants as particularly alluring, but Ali sure made them look that way. The gray fabric molded to her slim hips and full breasts in a way that made his pulse pound. Her soft, intoxicating scent wafted toward him, and he wondered where she applied her perfume. He’d sure like to find out.
Stop it, Jordan, he reprimanded himself. He was here to help her paint and nothing else.
He raised two fingers to his forehead in a mock salute and gave her a grin. “Handy Dandy Painters at your service, ma’am.”
She smiled, her gray eyes shining like sunshine on a lake. “It’s really nice of you to help with this, Matt.”
“No problem.” He gestured toward his truck. “I brought some equipment. Why don’t I bring it in?”
She stepped back from the door. “Great. While you’re doing that, I’ll give Flipper some toys to keep him out of our way.”
Matt gathered a collection of brushes, rollers and plastic sheeting from the bed of his truck and lugged them to the living room. He set them down, straightened and looked around in surprise.
Wow—Ali seemed to have thought of everything. He’d fully expected to have to prepare the room from scratch and make two or three runs to the store for things they lacked. Instead, it looked like the room had been outfitted by a professional paint contractor.
Matt took it all in, then crossed the room to study the assorted equipment Ali had neatly laid out in the corner. He was staring at an odd piece of equipment he didn’t recognize when Ali came into the room.
“Ready to get started?” Ali asked.
“Sure,” Matt replied. “But what’s this?” He pointed to a long plastic strip attached to a handle.
“That?” Ali hesitated a heartbeat. “It’s a paint slinger.”
“A what?”
“A paint slinger.” She turned innocent eyes on him. “If you get tired of painting with a roller, you can use it to hurl globs of paint at the wall.”
All Matt could do was stare.
Ali laughed. “Just kidding. Actually, I use it to keep paint off the ceiling.” She picked it up by the handle, raised it over her head and pressed it against the ceiling where it met the wall. “See? It acts as a shield.”
“Oh,” Matt said, a little taken aback. He hadn’t expected Ali to be so well organized or farsighted. “That’s clever.”
Ali shrugged. “It’s usually used to smooth wallpaper, but I’ve found it has lots of uses.”
Matt glanced at her with renewed respect as he knelt to open a can of paint. There was more to Ali than he’d initi
ally figured.
A lot more, Matt thought by the time noon arrived. Ali had supervised their activities with the precision of a field sergeant, but with none of the accompanying bossiness. Her directions had been so tactfully issued that if he hadn’t been consciously evaluating her every move, he would have thought he was running the show.
“Ready for lunch?” Ali asked from her perch on the stepladder.
“That depends.” Matt stood under her, holding the ceiling gizmo, enjoying the view of her feminine assets from this unusual angle. He gave her a teasing grin. “Are you planning to perform the Heimlich maneuver on me?”
Ali turned slightly on the ladder, her lips curved in amusement. “I don’t know yet. Are you going to act like you’re choking?”
“Only if you’re serving hot sauce.”
Ali laughed as she climbed down, and Matt placed his hands on her waist to help her with the last two steps. She gave a sharp intake of breath as his fingers touched her and faltered slightly as she hit the ground, pressing the length of her body against him.
Attraction shot through him like an arrow. He didn’t take the socially correct step backward that would have put them a polite distance from each other—but then, neither did she.
Matt’s heart sledgehammered against his chest. Her breath was soft and warm on his face, her eyes dark and heavy-lidded, her lips a sweet, irresistible temptation. He was about to give in to it when something hit him upside the head.
Matt jerked back, his hand on the injury. “What the devil was that?”
“Flipper.”
Matt stared down at the dog, who was chasing a small blue ball across the plastic-covered carpet. The little beast grabbed it in his tiny teeth, turned his head and hurled it. This time, Matt caught it in midair. Flipper barked and performed a back flip.
Ali laughed. “He wants to play catch. He throws and you catch.”
“With normal dogs, it’s the other way around.”
“There’s nothing normal about Flipper,” she said proudly.
Matt rolled his eyes. “You can say that again.”
