Yes, sir, that was what he needed to clear his thoughts and take the edge off his sexual appetite. A good, blood-pumping, heart-pounding workout.
Drawing a lungful of air, he grabbed hold of the bar over his head.
One…two…three…
Damn if that didn’t feel good. He wasn’t thinking about Abby at all. Or black satin garter belts.
Four…five…six…
Were her panties black satin, too? he wondered. His arms shook on count seven and eight, but he finished the set easily enough.
Breathing heavily, he waited, clenched his jaw and grabbed the bar again.
One…two…three…
And then, if her panties were black satin, her bra probably would be, too.
Four…five…six…
He ground his teeth together on a groan, imagined the feel of satin, how perfectly her soft, firm breasts fit his hands.
With another oath he dropped the bar back into its hook. His chest heaved, and the muscles in his arms burned. Dammit, anyway! He refused to let Abigail Thomas put an end to his workout.
Sucking in a deep breath, he wrapped his hands around the bar, pretended it was Jack Palmer’s throat. His grip tightened.
One…two…
The edge of his vision turned white, the center blurred green. Green eyes. Deep, smoky seductive green.
“Hey, Bro, you need us to spot you?”
Lucian’s voice broke through Callan’s haze of pain and concentration. He blinked the sweat out of his eyes and saw Gabe standing on one side of him, Lucian the other.
Damn. They were the last thing he needed right now.
“No, dammit,” he ground out between clenched teeth, and managed to heave the bar up again on the count of four.
“You sure?” Gabe asked. “You look a little shaky, there.”
“I said no, didn’t I?” He grunted each word loudly.
“We’ll just watch, then, since you don’t want our help,” Lucian said with good humor, and both his brothers stood back, arms folded.
Five…I can do this…six…
No. He couldn’t.
The bar came down on his chest, all three-hundred fifty pounds, trapping him.
The ultimate embarrassment.
Gabe and Lucian stood by, grinning, while Callan struggled to breathe.
“Get this damn thing off me,” he gasped.
“We don’t want to butt in or anything,” Lucian said, scratching his neck. “Do we, Gabe?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Gabe returned.
“You’re both going to die, you know that, don’t you?” Callan said weakly.
Laughing, his brothers each took an end of the bar and lifted it back into its holder. Callan lay there, gasping for breath. He’d have to kill them later. Right now he just needed to breathe.
“Pushing yourself a little hard, aren’t you?” Gabe asked. “Something tweak your pin?”
“Go to hell,” Callan managed between gasps.
His brothers looked at each other and smiled.
“Abby,” they both said at the same time.
He scowled at them.
“Did you see her today?” Gabe said to Lucian as if Callan were no longer there. “Man, I tell you she was hot.”
Lucian shook his head. “Couldn’t be any hotter than yesterday. She had on this great black skirt that made her legs look—”
Callan lunged at Lucian, and they went down in a flurry of arms and legs. Gabe laughed at the two of them while they flailed around on the floor without any serious blows being struck. Several people working out nearby paused to watch and wonder what had started the Sinclair brothers up this time.
When Callan collapsed on his back, his chest heaving, Lucian dragged a hand through his hair and grinned.
“I’m gonna rip out your heart,” Callan wheezed.
“Well now, then we’d be twins,” Lucian baited him. “Seeing’s how Abby already ripped yours out and stomped on it.”
Callan sat up slowly, it was all he had the strength to do. “Why couldn’t I have been an only child?” he groaned.
“And miss all this fun?” Gabe held out a hand to Callan. Reluctantly he took it. “Not to mention free beer.”
Feeling came back into Callan’s arms as he stood, and the mention of beer perked him up. “You buying?”
“Reese is. He told us to come find you and drag your sorry butt to the tavern. It’s Friday night, there’s a ball game on, and he’s got a cute new waitress he wants you to meet. To take your mind off Abby. We know you had a, uh, hard week.”
Callan frowned at his brother’s choice of words, knowing perfectly well what he meant by the remark. There were no secrets with the Sinclairs, he thought irritably. He thought of Cara’s visit—and certainly no privacy.
Oh, why the hell not? Callan heaved a sigh. He’d shower, have a beer or two with his brothers, maybe even flirt with that waitress. Maybe more. It was just the diversion he needed to keep his mind off Abby and Jack and their “date.” He didn’t want to think about her inviting the Armani man back to her house. If they’d be alone there…if she was wearing that damn garter belt and Jack would try to—
“So what d’ya say?” Gabe asked. “You gonna join us?”
Callan blinked, looked at Gabe, then Lucian, thought of Reese at the tavern. Four bachelors, nowhere to be, no one to answer to. That was the life.
“Damn straight, I am,” he said firmly. “Have a cold one ready for me in fifteen minutes.”
Jack Palmer had offered her a job.
Abby closed her front door behind her and flipped on the living room lamp. He didn’t even know that she’d quit Sinclair Construction, and he’d asked her to come work for him. And the offer he’d made her, good heavens! The salary and benefits had been more than generous. She would have to be insane to turn that kind of offer down.
She hadn’t given him an answer.
He hadn’t pushed, though, and when she told him she would think about it, he’d moved the conversation from business to social, talked about his travels, his interest in nineteenth-century art and his collection of antique cars. He’d been a gentleman, funny and charming and handsome and very, very smooth.
But he wasn’t Callan.
It was extremely difficult to be out with one man when another one was constantly popping into your mind. All night, when she hadn’t been talking about Callan, in a professional capacity, she’d been thinking about him. Sometimes those thoughts had made her cheeks turn warm and her skin hot.
Peeling off the matching jacket to her new black velvet slip-dress, she wondered why she’d even worn it tonight. She certainly hadn’t been interested in impressing, or encouraging, Jack. With a sigh she folded the jacket and laid it over the back of an armchair, ran her fingers over the soft, rich fabric.
Oh, who was she kidding? Somewhere in the back of her mind, she’d been hoping that Callan would turn up at the restaurant. That he would find some excuse to be there, and he’d see her with Jack and realize that he didn’t want her to be with anyone else.
What an imagination she had.
What an idiot she was.
Her last day at work was Monday. Her replacement would be there, and when five o’clock came around, Abby would leave. This time for good.
Not a minute had passed that she hadn’t wanted to change her mind. To simply settle for what she could get. But how could she look at herself in the mirror if she did that? If she couldn’t respect herself, Callan certainly never would, either.
He wasn’t a man to settle down, especially with a woman like her. She might have changed her clothes and hair, but underneath she was still Abigail Thomas. A little boring, a little dull maybe, but that was who she was, who she’d always been. Her parents and her aunts had wanted her to be something she wasn’t, and she’d tried, but she’d never been happy. She knew in her heart that even though she loved Callan, she couldn’t be someone she wasn’t.
Cara had meant well, and Abby had
appreciated her wanting to help, but changing who she was on the outside didn’t change who she was on the inside. She might not want to go back to the frumpy suits and starched blouses, but she wasn’t a femme fatale, either.
Deciding that she needed a nice hot cup of tea to settle her nerves, she headed for the kitchen. Jack had suggested drinks back at his hotel, but Abby wasn’t naı¨ve enough to think that he wanted to talk about her coming to work for his father’s company, so she’d turned him down. If she went to work for the Palmers, she would have to make Jack understand that she was only interested in the job, not him.
She’d already made that mistake and had no intention of ever taking that road again. She was also determined not to sit around and feel sorry for herself for the rest of the evening. Determined not to think about Callan every minute, every second. To wonder what he’d done tonight. If he’d given her a second thought. Or even a first thought.
She was halfway to the kitchen when she heard the quiet knock at her front door. She prayed that it wasn’t Jack. Even though she’d met him at the restaurant, her address and phone number were listed, and she would be easy to find if he thought that he might want to try to change her mind about the job…or anything else.
But if it wasn’t Jack…
Her heart pounding, she glanced through her peephole and saw Callan standing in the yellow glow of her porch light.
He knocked again. Louder.
Don’t answer it, said the voice of reason.
Breath held, she touched the door.
Just say hello, her heart said.
She spread her palm on the door.
Invite him in, her body screamed.
The door vibrated with his next heavy knock, and she jerked her hand away.
“Abby, dammit, are you in there?” he called out.
Well, that certainly was curt, she thought. If he’d come here to yell or fuss at her, or be a bully, then he could just leave. And she’d tell him so right to his face.
Straightening her shoulders, she opened the door.
He opened his mouth to say something, but then he simply stood there, mute, and stared at her. When his gaze turned dark and hot, then scorched her from head to toe, she realized how little her dress covered.
“Callan.” She felt her knees weaken at the fierce expression on his face. To keep her legs from buckling under her, she held on tightly to the doorknob with one hand and the doorjamb with the other. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes, dammit,” he said tightly. “Something sure as hell is wrong.”
And then he moved so quickly, grabbed her and had his mouth on hers with such lightning speed that all she could do was hold on.
Eleven
This was definitely not what he’d intended.
He’d just wanted to talk to her, he’d told himself all the way here from the tavern. Reason with her. Discuss the situation logically.
See if Jack Palmer had come back to her place.
So when she’d opened the door, when he’d realized that Jack wasn’t there, he’d taken one look at her and just lost it.
Now here he stood, practically devouring her.
Shocked by his own lack of control, Callan yanked his mouth from Abby’s and stared down at her. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips still moist from his kiss. All week long she’d driven him crazy with her new style, her perfume, her hair, her clothes. But tonight, good God, tonight she absolutely destroyed him.
The slim velvet dress she wore screamed, “Take me,” and her hair, gathered up on top of her head in a fountain of curls, begged to be loosened so it could tumble around her smooth, ivory shoulders. And her scent, the same scent that had invaded his senses, his very soul, for the past four days, now drew him to her like a bear to honey.
He tightened his hands on her shoulders, clenched his jaw so tightly he’d probably have to see a dentist for a cracked tooth.
When her lashes fluttered open, he saw a mixture of surprise and desire and confusion in the deep-dark-green of her eyes.
God, she tasted sweet. Smooth and silky, with a subtle hint of mint and chocolate that reminded him of the wrapped candy restaurants sometimes gave with the checks. Abby was like one of those candies, he thought dimly, and he wanted desperately to unwrap and taste her again.
With a will of iron, he slowly loosened his fierce hold on her and stepped away. “I’m sorry,” he said tightly, though he wasn’t certain he meant it. “I swear to you, I didn’t come here to do that.”
Touching her lips, she drew in a slow, shaky breath. “Am I supposed to be relieved by that or disappointed?”
He frowned at her. “Dammit, Abby, I said I was sorry. What more do you want from me?”
“I don’t want anything from you, Callan,” she said coolly. “If you recall, you came here, pounded on my door and then grabbed me.”
Of course he did, like some kind of maniac, he thought. What the hell was the matter with him? He’d come here to talk to her, not argue. And certainly not to kiss her.
Cursing himself, he dragged a hand through his hair and let out a long breath. “I’m sorry,” he said again, this time without the edge of anger or need. “I just came here to talk to you, and then you opened the door…”
…looking like a goddess, and all I could think was “Mine…”
She tilted her head, waited for him to continue.
“…and I just sort of forgot myself,” he finished, carefully keeping his attention on her face. He didn’t dare look anywhere else or, God help him, he’d probably grab her again.
“I promise not to do that again,” he said with tremendous effort. “But I’ll leave if you want me to.”
He felt his heart drop when she moved toward the door, but when she closed it and turned back around to face him, he felt as if he had a hammer swinging in his chest.
“I was going to make some herbal tea. Would you like some?”
“Sure.” He would drink radiator fluid as long as she let him stay. He followed her to the kitchen, only letting his gaze drop to the sway of her hips once before yanking it back up again. If he could just keep his eyes on her face and his mind on business, then he could do this.
He could, dammit.
He stared at a picture of a flower-filled wheelbarrow on the wall, realized that it was the same kind of fine-point, needle-and-yarn work that he’d seen his sister do. With fingers as slender and graceful as Abby had, he wasn’t surprised at her skill with a needle. But when his thoughts wandered to how those fingers had touched him, where she’d touched him and what she could do to him, his throat went dry, and he forced his attention elsewhere.
And saw the vase of red roses on the counter.
While she filled a kettle with water, he eased his way over and glanced at the card. “Thinking of you.”
Dammit. They had to be from Jack. And from the look of the flowers, he’d sent them a couple of days ago, before that bouquet he’d brought today. Damn smooth son-of-a-gun.
I should have sent flowers, he thought. Hell, he would have sent over a damn truckload if he’d thought it would help his case. But how could it? If he’d sent flowers, she would think he was putting the move on her, which was exactly the reason she was leaving.
He didn’t know what the hell to do, and it was driving him nuts. She was driving him nuts.
She flipped on the gas burner, and the blue flame leaped under the kettle. When she turned around, she folded her arms and leveled her gaze with his. “What did you want to talk about?”
He could hardly say that he’d come over to tell her that they could work together, that they could have a professional relationship that was strictly business. After that kiss, he’d pretty well destroyed that strategy. He would simply have to find a new tactic to keep her from leaving Sinclair Construction. As soon as he figured one out, he’d do just that.
So he had to talk to her about something. Had to have some reason he’d come over here. He stared at the flowers again. “Jack Palmer.”
“Jack?” She narrowed her gaze. “What about him?”
“Did he offer you a job?” Did he try to get you in bed?
“As a matter of fact, he did.”
Callan felt a muscle jump in his jaw, tried to remember which question he’d voiced out loud and which one he’d thought. “What did you say?”
“I haven’t given him an answer.”
The knot in his gut eased a bit. Thank God. “Abby—”
“I’m not staying at Sinclair Construction, either. Monday is my last day. Mrs. Green, the woman replacing me, is a widow whose husband owned a large construction company in Philadelphia. She ran the company for thirty years. She’ll be perfect for the job.”
You’re perfect, he wanted to say, but could see that stubborn tilt to her chin and knew it would get him nowhere.
He started to turn, thinking it best to leave before he made matters worse, but then he stopped.
What the hell. If she’d absolutely made up her mind not to come back, then how could he make matters worse?
He spun back around. “Listen to me, and listen carefully.” He watched her eyes widen as he moved slowly toward her. “I want you.”
How those words thrilled Abby. And excited. There was a sharp, primal glint in his eyes, and when he reached out and touched her face, her heart skipped, then started to race.
“I don’t want anybody else,” Callan said, his voice quiet and strained. “Not just in the office, but all the time. And right now, at this moment, I want you so bad it hurts.”
Torn between leaning into him or stepping away, she held still, breath held, and waited. Waited for him to say how much he cared for her, not just in bed, and not just the Abby with a new hairstyle wearing sexy clothes, but the real Abigail Thomas.
Only she wasn’t even sure who that was anymore. Somewhere the line between who she had been before they made love and who she was now had become fuzzy.
But the words she wanted, that she needed, didn’t come, and standing here with the man she loved so deeply, hearing him say he wanted her, every good drop of sense she had flew out the window, every bit of logic and reason vanished like smoke. She’d told herself she wouldn’t settle for less than love, but for this moment only, she knew she would.
Callan's Proposition Page 13
