One Hot Second
Page 9
“Water, mostly. There’s also sunscreen and a six-pack of berry-flavored sports drink.” He made a furtive move toward the door. “So, if that’s all...”
“Right. Thanks so much.” As soon as the kid made his escape, Parker pounced on the bags while an inexplicable ache welled in her chest, an ache so sweet it was hard to breathe. In addition to the liquids and sunscreen, she discovered some bananas—no doubt for potassium—and salty snack foods like dry roasted peanuts, trail mix and potato chips. To her delight, she also found a package of mini chocolate bars, which she dived into right away.
No matter how she looked at it, Chandler was the most remarkable man she’d ever had as a client. She’d been on countless work sites, worked in just about every weather condition imaginable, but no one had ever thought to supply her with exactly what she needed to survive. She knew he’d made noises about needing to take care of her so she could be on top of her game. But no client had ever taken such a personal interest in her well-being before. It was almost as if he was genuinely worried about her. As if he needed to know she was well taken care of, even when they were apart.
Maybe this was just the way he conducted business, she thought, trying hard not to get all girly and make a romantic fuss over water, bananas and sunscreen. But this delivery didn’t feel like business. It didn’t feel like business because it came from a man who knew how to kiss her into a glazed-eyed stupor, a man who’d had nothing else in his mind but her needs when he’d placed the order. He’d thought about her. And that meant everything.
The sudden familiar buzz of the smartphone brought her back down to earth, and with a smile still playing at the edges of her lips, she dragged it out of her pocket. “Hiya, Sharon. What’s up?”
“Boss, we’ve got a bit of a thing going on.” Her assistant’s voice seemed more stressed than usual, and it made Parker’s buoyant mood nosedive. “Remember the Loire job you’ve got lined up in August?”
“Let me guess—it fell through?” The note of hope in her tone shocked the daylights out of her. But for some reason the idea of traveling all that way was about as appealing as eating a bug.
Sharon’s bewildered tone carried as clear as a bell over the phone. “Uh, no. Quite the opposite, actually. I’ve just been contacted by the marquis’s personal assistant. It seems they would like to step things up and get things going a few weeks earlier. Mid-July seemed to be their new target date.”
Mid-July in the rustic, grapevine-covered hills of the Loire Valley. Rich French food. The rarified atmosphere of the European countryside. Warm summer days and cool, gentle nights.
Or, she could choose the blast-furnace hell of a homespun wide spot in the road called Bitterthorn, Texas. It was a no-brainer.
“Did the assistant say what the rush is?” No one was more surprised than Parker to hear her hesitation.
“No, just that the family is anxious to get the chateau rebuilt and back to its former glory.”
“It’s been falling into ruin since the Second World War. Unless there’s an urgent reason for them to have me physically there, I’m going to have to stick with the schedule. If they need me to, I can email the blueprints I’ve created off the measurements they originally sent to us, and they can go with another conservation architect from there. We’ll simply charge them for my time, blueprint fees and the customary breach of contract.”
“That Texas job must be trickier than I thought,” Sharon said absently, while the faint sound of a keyboard clicking in the background reached Parker. “I know you don’t like to be rushed, but I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t also pass along an offer of a bonus for the schedule change. A bonus, I might add, that made my hair curl. Does that make a difference?”
“Nope. I’m...” She searched for the right words and realized she had no clue how to describe her current state of mind. Fucked up was as accurate as she could get, but it wasn’t very professional. “You’re right. I don’t like to be rushed. If they can’t accept the original schedule, they can always find someone else.”
“I doubt they’ll want to jump ship, but even if they do it’s not like you’re going hungry for clients. If the France job does fall through, do you want me to move the San Francisco painted-lady job up on the calendar?”
“I guess.” Again her notable lack of enthusiasm made her pause. The prospect of new projects had always filled her with all kinds of energy, yet everything felt flatter than a deflated balloon. Then her gaze caught on the bags of groceries on the counter, and she found herself smiling like an idiot all over again.
There was a beat of silence. “Are you okay?”
Now there was a good question. “Do you know where I live, Sharon?”
“Uh...here, right? Alexandria, Virginia?”
“Alexandria’s just the last place my dad was stationed, so that’s where I set up shop and went to college. But it’s not where I live. I live out of my suitcase, I always have. If a suitcase could be a legal place of residence, that would be mine.”
“Well...since a suitcase can be anywhere, it could be said that you’re home wherever you go, right?”
“Home.” Parker reached for a chocolate piece and tried to unwrap it with one hand. “I’m curious. When you think of the word home, what’s the first thing that comes to mind?”
“My mom’s homemade chicken potpie, and praline French toast for the kids on Christmas morning,” came the immediate answer. “Lazy mornings reading the Sunday funnies and doing the crossword with my husband out on the sun porch. Homework duty at the kitchen table, and yelling up the stairs at my teen to turn the music down before the neighbors call the cops.”
“Yeah?” A vague hollowness yawned in the center of Parker’s chest as she pictured these snapshots, and she popped the chocolate into her mouth in the hopes of filling it. “That sounds nice.”
“It’s not much, but it’s my idea of home.”
“So...home can be represented in food and events, right? Food and events happen wherever I go, so I guess it is possible to make a home wherever you are.”
“The food would be just food if it didn’t make me think about the people it’s connected to,” Sharon said, and the warmth in the other woman’s tone made the odd ache in Parker’s chest deepen. “Same with the events. Christmas, lazy Sundays...they would all just be ordinary days if I didn’t have someone I love to share them with, if that makes any sense.”
“So...you’re saying that people are your home?”
“I guess that might not make sense to an architect.” Sharon chuckled. “After all, your education and training makes you think physical structures that can last several lifetimes are what’s important. But in the end, no matter how beautiful and solid a building is, it’s just a building until you add people. That’s when a house becomes a home.”
Parker sighed and tried to recall what her own house looked like, then gave up when she couldn’t even remember when she’d last been there for more than a couple of days. “That sounds like a great place, Sharon.”
“I’m not complaining.” There was a brief pause. “Was there anything else?”
“No, thanks. Do me a favor and let me know what the client wants to do on the Loire Valley project as soon as you hear back—”
A brief knock on the office’s door had her head snapping in its direction as one of the workers appeared in the doorway, his expression animated.
“You’re going to want to see this. I think we found a hidden cornerstone.”
Chapter Eight
“Weird.” Once again circling the section of partially caved-in bricks and decorative limestone, Parker took photo after photo with her tablet. She’d been studying the strange discovery long enough for the workers to hit their lunch hour and return en masse, but she still wasn’t ready to get on with things. “It’s a second wall, an edifice, built ar
ound the original cornerstone.” She eyeballed the gap critically. “There are...maybe two inches of space that separate the original structure from this outer wall that was built around it. What purpose does that outer edifice serve?”
Frowning, Parker looked at the various faces of the workers around her before she realized no one had the answer. They were all looking to her, the expert on every oddity imaginable when it came to old structures. But this one had her stumped.
“Let’s get everyone back to work on the demolition, with the exception of this corner,” she told the foreman, who was closest to her. She had to raise her voice to be heard over the heavy-duty loader scooping up debris left in a pile near the street, and when the front scoop scraped the ground with a metallic nails-on-a-chalkboard sound, she glanced that way. “I want to take this bit apart myself since I’m not sure what I’m dealing with.”
With a quick whistle and a barked order, work resumed while Parker racked her brains for a reason as to why a second wall would be there. “None of the other corners of the building were built like this, were they?”
“No, this is the only one with a double wall.”
“And it surrounds the only cornerstone. A secondary wall, covering the cornerstone.” Then she shook her head. “It used to be customary to put some sort of a time capsule within a building’s cornerstone, so I wonder...if...um.” She faded away into silence when she saw Chandler heading straight for them, before absently dismissing the foreman. Not because she wanted privacy with Chandler; she just didn’t want anyone to witness how the mere sight of him made her forget her native language. Good grief. How was she going to stay sane for the next few weeks if she lost the ability to speak whenever her latest client showed up?
“I just got a call.” He couldn’t seem to look away from her, a reaction for which she was extremely grateful, since she was having a similar issue. “During his lunch break, Oliver overheard that something unusual was discovered here at the site. What’s he talking about?”
“This.” Grateful she had an excuse to look away from those deeply set cognac-colored eyes, Parker gestured toward the unimpressive pile of bricks and stone. “A hidden cornerstone. I thought it was out of character for your ancestor to not insist for there to be some sort of mark of when Thorne Mansion had been completed, and I was right. It was covered up by an outer wall, an edifice, which was made to blend in with the rest of the building.”
“What was its purpose?”
“It doesn’t seem to have one, except to act as a façade. If I’m to get this project historically accurate, I have to figure out why this outer wall is here so I can incorporate it into the blueprints. But in all honesty, I can’t figure out its purpose other than to cover up the cornerstone.” For good measure she took a few more pictures and prayed she didn’t look as flustered around him as she felt. “By the way, thanks for the supplies. I’ve already downed a sports drink and a handful of chocolate today.”
“Good.” Once again his attention slid to her, and he smiled. “I like taking care of you.”
Her throat snapped shut. Holy crap. It was so insane, how her system went haywire whenever he was near. Her mouth turned into a desert and her palms became marshland. Of course she could always attribute her reaction to the crippling Texas heat, but she couldn’t attribute the sudden marathon-like racing of her heart to the sweltering temperature. Nor could she blame the heat on the tightening on her nipples, thankfully covered by the orange safety vest she wore over a plain white T-shirt. And of course, there was also the sudden fluttery sensation in her chest that told her if she tried to speak complex sentences, she’d wind up stuttering like Porky Pig.
For his part, Chandler seemed to be oblivious that his nearness was dissolving her down to the very last nerve. The bastard. As if he didn’t have a care in the world, he circled the mess of bricks that had once been the back section of Thorne Mansion, before finally coming to stand by her side—close enough for her to soak up the heat radiating from his body as if she hungered for it. “I’ve passed by this corner a thousand times and never noticed that it was any different from the rest of the building, but it obviously is. Do me a favor and send me the pictures you’ve taken, okay? I want a closer look at this when I’ve got more time to study it.”
She nodded, hoping she looked unruffled when all she could think was that he was close enough for her to brush against. It would be so easy to simply reach out, slide her hand down the small of his back, over the denim back pocket and squeeze the butt cheek that her palm was just itching to feel...
Valiantly she tried to curb her thoughts by taking a stab at professionalism. “I can tell by looking at it that the outer bricks and stone used to cover the cornerstone are from a different source than the original part of the building. Also, look at how it encases the corner of the building. At first I thought it might be there for added structural support, but the outer brick layer isn’t actually touching the original cornerstone. It’s just...there.” Baffled, she looked to him. “I’ve never seen anything like this. Are there any family stories that might have to do with this extra bit of construction?”
“Not that I can think of. I’ll ask Daisy if she remembers anything, but I doubt she’d know something I don’t.”
Parker offered an absent nod, before her gaze sharpened. “Hold on.” Handing the tablet to Chandler, she tried reaching into the crevice between the layers of bricks. “There’s something wedged in there...damn, I can’t get it.” With a quick glance around she spied a sledgehammer near an equipment shed, but before she could take one step toward it Chandler pushed the tablet back into her hands.
“My weird cornerstone, my prerogative.”
Parker stood back as he began slugging away at the bricks and mortar, and tried not to drool when he opened up his shirt after only a few hits. It was unheard of for a client to do part of his own demolition, but the woman in her couldn’t get enough of the eye candy Chandler proved himself to be as he worked in the glaring Texas sun. While he might be the editor of the weekly newspaper, it was clear from the hair-dusted chest that the man knew what hard physical work was all about. The skin stretched with drum-like tautness over a lean abdomen she was sure she could bounce quarters off of, and the power of the hammer’s impact sent a shock wave up his arms to reverberate in his defined pectorals. His flesh bore the kiss of the sun, a healthy golden glow that made her chalk-white complexion seem corpse-like in comparison. He’d only been out in the heat a few minutes, but already a faint sheen of sweat had appeared to make all the fascinating curves and plains of his anatomy sexier than a cover model’s. Since he was otherwise occupied, she ogled him to her heart’s content while her brain tormented her with the thought of gliding her tongue over that sweat-salty skin. Damn, he looked good enough to tempt her to do it right then and there, if only to alleviate the pounding need to know what he tasted like...
“There we go.” With a grunt, he pried the crumbling bricks away with the end of the hammer’s handle and reached for what had caught her attention. But even as he pulled out a dirty, shallow tin that had a faded picture of a man smoking a pipe, something caught her eye. It was the only thing in the universe that could have possibly snagged her attention away from glimpses of Chandler’s chest for any length of time, and she pulled at the mashed brick façade with her bare hands to gain a better look.
Chandler moved out of the way before a falling brick could nail his foot. “Parker? What is it?”
“The cornerstone. I don’t believe it.” Almost breathless with the magnitude of the discovery, she yanked at the bricks until she broke a nail. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that she could now view what hadn’t seen the light of day for heaven-only-knew how long. “It’s the name of the architect—Carl Junker, the royal engineer and architect. But that doesn’t make any sense. What the hell would he be doing here, of all places?”
* * *
“Hotels, yeah. In conference rooms and lobbies. The hotel bar, even. In places like the Nooner? Not so much.” Chandler couldn’t decide whether it was a dream or a nightmare to be back in the Honeymoon Suite with Parker. Though only a day had passed since he’d walked away calling himself three kinds of an idiot for giving her a chance to kick him out, it seemed like an eternity had passed. Which made sense. Every minute had been a quiet, awful torture filled with the memory of her mouth on his, her body alive with eagerness...
And his unbelievable stupidity for giving her a chance to hit the eject button on him.
He still couldn’t figure out what the hell had possessed him to play it that way with Parker. No, that wasn’t completely true. He knew why. He’d learned a hard lesson thanks to his broken engagement—the lesson of not getting in too deep with a woman who had no interest in small-town life, and small-town people like him. Why he had done this with Parker—when he’d never done it with any other woman since—was simple. She’d gotten under his skin in a way that had him so turned around he didn’t know which way was up. It was almost embarrassing, how easily she got to him. All he had to do was look at her, and whammo—instantaneous loss of sanity. If he took her to bed...dear God. As much as that thought stole his breath and made him harder than a titanium rod, he knew he’d drown in her for sure.
But walking away from her had almost killed him in another way, and that scared the shit out of him. It was okay to feel desire. It was okay to want to spend time with the woman who inspired that desire.
But the tangled mess she’d made of his head was not okay.
He wanted her, yes. No question about that. But he also wanted to engulf her. To capture her attention until she dreamed about him. He wanted to be the thought in her head when she touched herself, and when she came he wanted it to be his name on her lips. He wanted to become the maddening kind of obsession she was somehow becoming to him.