She didn’t doubt it. She had seen his handiwork at the house, and there was no doubt as to the quality or his eye for detail. But that didn’t mean she wanted to work side by side with her ex-husband. “Do you know of any Denver firms who might be able to do the job?”
“In winter?” She propped her hands on her hips. “Missy, are you plannin’ to get this project of yours started before spring?”
She slid the delicious-looking sandwich and a pile of hot fries in front of Angie, then started work on the next order.
After enjoying the meal and a piece of pecan pie “on the house” and thanking Bridget, Angie returned to her car, passing Shane’s office on the way.
She didn’t stop, didn’t even peek in the window. She and Shane were in the past, and maybe their marriage shouldn’t have ever happened, anyway. Still, even after telling herself he didn’t matter to her, she wondered if he was as tired as Bridget said he was.
By the time Angie drove to her aunt’s Victorian, the sun had been swallowed by Eagle’s Peak. Snow drifted downward in huge flakes and clouds blocked the moon and stars. There were no sounds, and no one was out. For all she knew she could have been alone in the world.
She grabbed the blueprints and a pile of mail from the back seat of the car and trudged through the snow, then went inside the cold, dark house. Funny, it had never seemed this big or lonely before.
After lighting a fire and turning on the teakettle, she picked up the pile of mail and found the newspaper. She turned to Miss Starr’s column and read it, word for word.
When she reached the end, she sank into a high-back chair at the table, the newspaper falling to the side. Miss Starr wrote that Valentine’s Day was quickly approaching and wondered if love could be far behind. It could be, Angie knew, very, very far behind. She might have spent the weekend with him, but Shane had simply been fulfilling a duty. He’d have done the same for anyone.
A renegade part of her reminded her of the lovemaking. It had been incredible, she mentally conceded, but it didn’t mean anything to him. They were both adults, they’d both felt the flare of desire and they’d acted on it. People in confined places often behaved that way. It meant nothing.
Why, then, did her heart ache?
With determination, she threw herself into her work, seeking—and finding—solace there.
She read her e-mail, then called her office, checked on the details for the huge Valentine’s fund-raiser for Dreams and Wishes, asked her assistant to “overnight” the latest financial reports and confirmed the date she’d be back in Chicago.
Talking to Judy, Angie was in her element. When she hung up, she felt fulfilled and renewed, like she had during her meeting with Matt.
She had her work. That was all she needed, all she wanted.
The kettle shrilled and she turned off the burner, forgetting about brewing a pot of tea as she pored over the community center blueprints. It was an exciting project, a renovation the town desperately needed. Tomorrow, she’d find a contractor—someone other than her ex-husband—and get the bid process started.
That decision turned out to be easier said than done.
She spent the entire next morning on the telephone to Denver construction firms and found only one willing to place a bid. She had no better luck with firms in Durango or Breckenridge.
When the preliminary Denver bid was faxed over at noon, she shook her head in frustration. The rate was exorbitant and they wouldn’t be able to get a crew out for at least a month. If she hired them, she’d be over-budget and past her hoped-for deadline.
Angie was well and truly stuck.
Telling herself that she could be professional for the kids’ sake, that she could put aside her personal feelings for Shane, she dressed conservatively, even pinning up her hair, then packed up the blueprints and drove into town.
Her heart was thudding when she navigated through the snow and into a parking spot near his building. She squared her shoulders and headed for his office.
Courage and determination crumbled when she saw him.
He was standing with his back to her, a phone propped between his shoulder and ear, studying blueprints as he talked. He’d obviously had his hair cut, but it was still long enough that she itched to run her fingers through it. A flannel shirt was stretched across his broad shoulders. His jeans were tight and denim hugged his hips and muscular thighs.
She suddenly remembered being in his arms….
Feeling like a coward, she knew she couldn’t do this.
Mouth dry, she decided to leave before he saw her.
And then it was too late.
Eight
Turning, Shane saw her.
He crossed the room in a half-dozen steps and snagged her wrist, forgetting the five-year chasm. He stopped her from leaving, something he hadn’t been able to do when it really mattered. “What can I do for you?”
“I…er…”
Had it really only been less than a week since he’d seen her? It seemed like yesterday. It seemed like years.
Shane hadn’t wanted her leaving to matter to him, but it had. Everywhere he went in his home, he remembered her. He recalled the way she hummed when she was in the kitchen, the way her hair spread across his pillow, the way she curled beneath a Navajo blanket in front of the fire, the scent of her after a shower, the feel of her body pressed against his as she sought his warmth in sleep.
She’d only been at his house a few days, but she’d insinuated herself back into his life, the very place he didn’t want her. It had taken him years to forget her, but the lessons would linger forever.
Despite his resolve, he’d worried about her, wondering if she saw Dr. Johnson, wondering if she’d received a clean bill of health.
When he’d stopped in at the post office, the postmistress, Bernadette, had said Angie had been in to pick up the mail. She looked fine, Bernadette had said, not that he’d asked.
She licked her lower lip and he dropped her wrist, feeling as though he’d been punched in the gut. Just the sight of the tip of her tongue, moist and pink, made him ravenous.
After she left, he’d thrown himself back into his business, working sixteen-hour days. Must have been exhaustion that was torturing him now.
“I have blueprints,” she said.
“For?”
“The new community center.”
He nodded, trying to focus on her words, not her mouth. “The town’s excited about the project. Matt stopped by yesterday and said you’d been out to tour the site yourself. You even made Miss Starr’s column.”
“You saw it.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t kiss you or rip your clothes off while we’re in plain view of the street.”
“I wasn’t worried about that,” she said primly.
“I figured we’d do it in the back room.”
She flushed and her hand tightened on the blueprints. He didn’t know what made him say that. He’d planned to avoid her completely, not taunt her, and himself, with thoughts of their lovemaking.
“I’m here to see you on business.”
She tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. The wayward wisp had escaped from the unappealing knot of hair fastened with a plain black band.
That, combined with the light makeup, stiffly ironed blouse, woolen blazer fastened with a big brass button and slim-fitting skirt, was chosen to make her look professional and aloof rather than attractive. In order not to see through the disguise to the beautiful woman beneath, he’d have to be blind. And Shane Masters had perfect vision.
Even dressed like this, with a hands-off warning flashing in the blue of her eyes, he remembered her smiles, her laugh and the way she seemed to care. She tempted him.
“Are you interested in discussing business, Shane?”
He folded his arms and propped his hips against a drafting table. “What have you got in mind?”
“I’d like you to bid on the community center job.”
“You want me to work fo
r you?”
“I don’t have any other options.”
“You tried.”
“Denver, Durango and Breckenridge,” she said.
She squared her shoulders, like the businesswoman she wanted to be. Underneath, though, he knew her skin was silky and soft, her responses feminine and honest. Why did he want that exposed?
“I only found one firm in Denver that was interested in submitting a bid.”
“And I’m your last resort?”
“I understand you do great work.”
“Glad you checked my references.”
She squirmed. The rolled blueprints bent in half beneath the pressure she exerted. “Shane, don’t…”
“Don’t what?” he asked silkily. “Don’t be honest? Don’t pretend you’re my ex-wife? Don’t pretend that I can see you’d still rather be anywhere else but in my office, my life, my bed?”
She paled.
“Is that it, Angie? You want to waltz in here, hoping I’ll forget the past happened?” He unfolded his arms and curled his hands into fists at his sides. “Let’s be mature businesspeople coming together for the good of the town. It’s not supposed to matter that you tried three towns and dozens of contractors, even asking around town for any other option before coming to me, is it?
“Is it, Angie?”
She tipped her chin. “I was hoping…”
“What?”
“Like you said, that we could be mature businesspeople, coming together for the good of the town. I thought that’s what you’d want.”
He shook his head. In four strides, he’d devoured the distance between them. “I want your honesty, for once. No acts, no pretensions.” Reaching behind her, he tugged the band from her hair, freeing the silky strands and watching them float around her shoulders. He grabbed her shoulders, holding her tightly. Something tangible swept over him, and she must have felt it, too, because she shivered. “I want you to tell me what you want.”
“This is what I want,” she protested.
“Tell me,” he insisted, backing off a step before he gave into the impulse of burying his hands in her hair.
She’d always had this effect on him, from the second he’d seen her five years ago at the coffee shop to the moment she’d pitched herself in his arms a week ago. No other woman made him lose control, no other woman made him feel this raw.
“I came here as a businesswoman, not as Angie. I want you to work up a bid, to help me on this project.”
“So tell me about Angie.”
“I’ll admit it, I came to you last, out of desperation.” Beneath her death grip, the blueprints were bent in half, but he saw the change in her, from the woman who’d walked in, to the woman he knew she was.
“I wish there was someone else. I’d rather work with another company, anyone else, someone who doesn’t…” She took a breath and he waited.
When she spoke again, she backtracked. “Someone I haven’t made love with, someone who doesn’t know my darkest secrets.” She blinked, admitting, “Someone who doesn’t hate me.”
“I don’t hate you, Angie,” he said softly, recognizing the truth and not knowing how he felt about that. Might be easier if he did hate her.
“You don’t trust me.”
“Don’t trust any woman,” he corrected her. “I don’t need to trust you.”
“So, we can work together?”
The sane part of him told him to send her away. The more primal part that had never been able to deny her anything responded, “Show me the blueprints.”
She did and he was amazed by her contagious enthusiasm. He’d never intended to refuse to help her, but he hadn’t planned to see the renovation as anything more than another project. He was getting caught up in her plans and didn’t want to stop it. Maybe he’d have been better off dealing with the aloof businesswoman rather than the softer, more accessible Angie.
“Why don’t we go to the schoolhouse,” she suggested finally, “so I can show you exactly what I want.”
He nodded, then turned on the answering machine and grabbed a jacket.
“How about a bell?” she asked as they walked side by side down the wooden boardwalk. “We could add a big bell at the top of the roof, like they used to have on the old schoolhouses. The building would be renovated to look more like an old-fashioned school, instead of a brand-new community center that might look out of place. We could undo the building’s ‘modern’ facade that the town added in the 1960s. What do you think?”
“Since it’s so near the church, I like it.”
Inside, she gave him the grand tour, stopping in the office Matt Sheffield and the center’s director shared. “She’s got a great plan,” Matt said. “Don’t you agree?”
“Yeah. I do.” Strangely it didn’t pain him to admit it.
“Are you going to do the work?” Matt asked.
“He is, if I can talk him into it,” Angie said. “We need his talent.”
After setting up a meeting with Angie for the next day, Matt excused himself, saying he needed to get back to the church.
“What’s Matt’s involvement?” Shane asked as she led him to the small office she’d staked out as her own.
“The church gives a lot of money to the current center, a community service type of thing. Matt feels strongly that all children should have someplace to go that they feel welcome, regardless of their income. I agree with him.
“Matt knows the town, knows its needs, so I want to work closely with him to make sure we get this community what it needs.”
The room she was using as an office was sparsely decorated. There was a table with files neatly stacked on the right side, a pencil holder on the left and a laptop computer in the middle. She’d also added a handful of blooming plants. Professional and feminine, the room suited her to a T, and he began to see her as more than just the woman who’d left him.
Within minutes, she’d taken off her blazer and draped it across a chair. She moved around the room, punctuating the air with her excited hand movements. Her hair floated freely around her shoulders, and she smiled. “So,” she asked breathlessly, “will you submit a bid?”
“Are you this energetic with your fund-raising efforts?”
“Better,” she said. “People like to open their checkbooks at my galas.”
“Remind me to stay home.” His attempted humor fell flat and served as a reminder that he’d always be at his home while she was at hers. “I’ll send you a bid,” he said. “In the next few days.”
She nodded, and he noted her excitement had slipped a notch. “Matt’ll be pleased.” She curved her hands around the back of a chair and quietly said, “I haven’t told you, and I should have, but I admire your work.”
“I’ve learned a lot over the years.”
“Even back then, I believed in you. I knew you were going to be the best.”
And that was one of the reasons she’d left, or so she’d said, so that he’d have the chance to develop his business.
He nodded and left, but her words haunted him the rest of the day. It wasn’t just her words, he realized, it was the way her light perfume lingered in his office—her innocent touch lingered on his arm. He couldn’t concentrate on the blueprints in front of him, or on the billing he was doing because his secretary was out with a cold.
As he shuffled through papers and thought about his empty cabin, he told himself he was better off without a woman who ran away from problems.
Why, then, couldn’t he get Angie’s smile out of his mind?
Working with Shane was going to be a piece of cake.
That morning, Angie had actually convinced herself of the fact. Now she laughed at the ridiculous thought. Her businesslike demeanor had lasted right up until the moment he’d pulled the band from her hair.
She sank into the chair behind her desk and stared at the blinking cursor on the laptop’s screen. Up until this point she’d managed to keep moving through the day. It was easier when there were a lot of people
around and she had phones to answer and concerns to deal with. But now the old schoolhouse was empty and her thoughts had time to catch up to her.
No one, not even Jack, had ever been able to see through the image she presented to the world. Shane saw through it—her—in less than a second.
Shane not only saw through her, he let her know it. He’d pulled the band from her hair, held her around the shoulders, and for a minute, time had fallen away. She’d wanted to touch him, give into the spark that raged, no matter how she tried to douse it.
What was it about him? What was it about her when she was with him…?
Shane spelled danger.
The sooner they got this job done, the better.
That thought spurring her into action, she went home and changed into blue jeans, tennis shoes and an old T-shirt, then turned around and headed back into town.
As she drove down Front Street, she noticed the light was still on in Shane’s office and his four-wheel-drive vehicle was parked out front, the windshield iced over. She wondered if he was going home, if he was going to eat dinner, then decided it was none of her business. She told herself she’d wonder the same about anyone. She was just feeling neighborly concern.
Her hurting heart knew otherwise.
Entering the schoolhouse, she flooded a few rooms with light, banishing the shadows, then called out for a pizza before going into a storage closet for paint supplies.
After dragging a ladder into a corner of an empty room, she slid in a Shania Twain CD, set it to “Any Man of Mine” and cranked up the volume. Then she climbed the ladder and began singing along to the music. She was reaching over her head, painting the ceiling with broad, long strokes, when she heard a shout. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Startled, she jumped, nearly losing her balance. Shane was there, grabbing her and lowering her to the wooden floor. Their bodies were pressed against each other’s, and a flood of longing gripped her womb.
Sensuality arced through her, pulsing in the room along with the music.
She wanted him with the same intensity she’d wanted him while they were snowbound.
Intentionally she blocked out the feeling. She was no longer a vulnerable woman, and she wouldn’t act as if she were. Stiffening her spine, she pulled away from him.
One Snowbound Weekend... Page 9
