You Can Leave Your Hard Hat On

by Stephanie Bond

  From the driver’s side, Dixon bounded up into the space in the middle. Teague swung inside, set his hard hat on the dashboard and started the vehicle, seemingly oblivious to his passenger. Sam fastened her seatbelt and took advantage of the opportunity to study him, like she used to in biology class. His dark hair was shorter than he used to wear it and shot through with silver. His strong profile was much the same, except leaner, his cheekbones sharper, with a few lines around his eyes. She had the overwhelming urge to ask about his life, about what experiences had put those lines on his face, but resisted.

  “That man Griggs,” she said. “I saw him at the bar last night. Is he a friend of yours?”

  “Yeah.”

  She bit her lip. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you in front of him.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I just need for this job to be done on time and on budget.”

  “I said you didn’t embarrass me.” He glanced over at her as if he wished he hadn’t asked her to ride along. “You were going to talk to me about these super-duper retaining walls?”

  A flush climbed her neck, but she gathered her thoughts and began to explain the construction and materials details and why the new design was perfect—and necessary—for the steep grade and soil type of the site. He asked a few questions, all of them on-point, and in the end she sat waiting with nervous apprehension and realized with a start that she wanted him to understand, to see the potential in her design.

  After a few moments of silence, he pursed his mouth and nodded. “Interesting. Have you tried it before?”

  She swallowed. “No.”

  “Well, for your sake, I hope it works.”

  She averted her gaze—it wasn’t exactly the ringing endorsement she’d hoped for, but at least he seemed amenable to giving her idea a try…not that she’d given him a chance to refuse. Her cell phone rang and she removed it from her pocket.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, sweetheart.”

  She winced. “Hi…Dad.” She felt Teague’s gaze cut to her.

  “I called you yesterday.”

  How did he always manage to make her feel like a child again? “I’m sorry I didn’t call you back. I just returned from New York and had to get started on the Carlyle project.”

  “I know. I’m coming to Dallas in a couple of weeks on business and I wanted to drop by to see how things are going.”

  She choked out a little laugh. “That’s not necessary, Dad. But we can have dinner.”

  “And not see the site where my little girl is building her first landmark?”

  Sam squirmed. “I’ll call you later, Dad. I’m in the middle of something right now.”

  “Okay, sweetheart. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  “Bye.” Sam disconnected the call, feeling the curious vibe that emanated from Teague.

  “I’ll bet your old man is proud of you,” he said finally.

  She busied herself putting away her phone. “So, I heard rain is in the forecast for the day after tomorrow. Do you think the footers will be dug for the retaining walls by then?”

  He looked over at her, his expression unreadable. “We’ll try.”

  She had the sinking feeling that he’d just offered her an olive branch by asking her about her father, but she didn’t want to discuss it. She looked out the window until the silence between them stretched taut. “How do you like Dallas?” she asked, to break the tension.

  “Fine,” he said, noncommittally.

  One step forward, two steps back. “Have you lived here for a while?”

  “Yeah.”

  So much for small talk. “Do you ever get back to Gypsum?”

  “Not really.”

  “Me neither,” she offered.

  “Bad memories?” he asked mildly.

  “Something like that,” she admitted. Now that she was an architect, she understood how a house could affect a person’s personality, could even contribute to a happy family life…or not. The palatial home she’d grown up in represented loneliness—she hated it, felt the despair squeezing her lungs every time she walked through the front door into the cavernous foyer. Only the guesthouse held good memories….

  “Do you have family here?” she asked, trying to change the subject.

  “Are you asking if I’m married?”

  She squirmed. “I…was just making conversation.”

  “No—no wife, no kids. It’s just me and Dixon.”

  At the sound of his name, the dog lifted his head and gave a low woof.

  Sam patted his head, oddly pleased to know that Teague was still single. Odd because it wasn’t as if they were going to pick up where they’d left off.

  “How about you?” Teague asked, breaking into her troubling thoughts.

  She blinked. “Me? I’m not married.”

  He gave a little laugh, a surprisingly pleasant noise. “You say that as if you have no intention of settling down.”

  Instead of answering, she continued to pat Dixon’s head. The dog shifted and settled his head on her thigh.

  “Careful,” Teague warned. “He likes to be rubbed. You’ll have to run him off to get rid of him.”

  His words vibrated in the air between them, and she had the strangest feeling he wasn’t talking about the dog.

  Teague wheeled the vehicle into the parking lot of city hall and cut the engine. “I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Sam said, climbing out. She didn’t want to admit that she was unfamiliar with all the permits that needed to be applied for.

  “Okay,” Teague said, then lowered the windows enough to give Dixon plenty of air while they were gone.

  She followed him into the building, surprised when he held open the doors for her. He seemed to know his way around, taking the stairs to an office on the second floor. The cute brunette standing behind the counter dimpled when he walked in.

  “Hi, Teague. What can I do for you today?”

  “Hi, Julie.” He grinned and leaned into the counter, his body language easy and flirtatious. “I need to file paperwork for a new project site.”

  As he rattled off the form names, Sam wryly observed him interacting with the young woman as if they were old friends—no, lovers. An unpleasant feeling spread through her chest. Jealousy? Impossible, she decided. More like incredulity that the brooding, surly man could be so…likable.

  Sam ignored the wary glances from Julie while Teague filled out miscellaneous forms. She recognized the look on the woman’s face—she’d seen many girls in high school gaze at Teague Brownlee with similar adoration and longing. If Teague was still single, it was because he wanted to be.

  She made a mental note of the forms he filled out, sober with the comprehension of just how much she was trusting him to manage and execute the job that could make or break her career. The thought had barely slipped through her head when he turned to lock gazes with her, his eyes dark and unfathomable…and oh, so sexy.

  The realization hit her like a thunderbolt as incredulity swelled in her chest—she wanted him. Just yesterday she was talking with her friends about not getting involved with men who were beneath them in terms of respectability and earning power, yet here she was less than twenty-four hours later, lusting over…a ditch-digger.

  Teague’s lips parted and his expression grew wary. Sam averted her gaze and swallowed to regain her composure. Because the only thing more stupid than having a crush on Teague Brownlee was acting on it. She had fought too hard and now had too much at stake to let a man get the upper hand.

  Especially this man.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “EVERYTHING LOOKS GOOD,” Sam said to Teague, her chest expanding with satisfaction at the progress on the job site in only ten days. “Great job.”

  He nodded, which was, she’d learned over the past two weeks, the man’s primary mode of communication. He didn’t speak unless he needed to, and when he did he didn’t waste words.

  Dixon came bounding over to her and
from her pocket she removed a chew toy that she’d bought for the dog on a whim. “Is it okay if I give this to him?” she asked Teague.

  He shrugged. “Go ahead, but he’s not much on toys.”

  She leaned over and offered the plaything to the dog. Dixon took it in his mouth without hesitation, then settled down at her feet to play with it.

  Teague frowned and looked back to his clipboard.

  Samantha glanced at Teague out of the corner of her eye, admitting that her respect for him had grown as she had observed him on the site. He didn’t mind rolling up his sleeves (or, God help her, taking off his shirt) and pitching in to help when necessary, and it was clear that the men and women who worked for him held him in high regard.

  Luckily, the weather had cooperated. In fact, it was the above-normal warm, dry temperatures that Samantha blamed on her constant state of restlessness and discomfort. Every day for over a week now, she’d awakened in the early hours of the morning, the sheets twisted around her overheated body. She’d attributed her insomnia to the pressure of the library site deadline, but standing next to Teague, she conceded that he dominated her thoughts—conscious and unconscious—more and more every day.

  At the most inconvenient moments, snatches of the one night they’d spent together came back to her in vivid, sensory detail—the rough texture of his hands sliding over her skin, the naughty, adult words he murmured in her ear while he prepared her body to accept his, the erotic shock of seeing his work-tanned body melded with her pale one. At times the memories were so intense they made her gasp, at other times she had to cross her legs against the recollection of the pleasure he had shown her. And last night, in the shower, she had succumbed to the onslaught of erotic memories by gratifying herself with a soapy washcloth while fantasizing that Teague was with her, in his hard hat, no less, helping her to achieve release from his slow torment.

  “Samantha?”

  His voice yanked her back to the moment. “Yes?”

  “Maybe you’d better find some shade,” Teague said, peering at her. “You look sunburned.”

  She touched her flushed cheek and used a clipboard to fan herself. “I’m okay—it’s just the heat.”

  “You know you don’t have to come here every day. I’ll let you know if there’s a problem.”

  She bristled. “I have a lot riding on this project—I prefer to keep an eye on it myself.” And an eye on Teague, her mind whispered, for reasons that had nothing to do with the job.

  “Suit yourself,” he said, then strode away. “Come on, Dixon.”

  The dog looked at her and whined but picked up his chew toy and loped after his master.

  She cursed inwardly, regretting that she couldn’t seem to be civil to Teague when in truth she was immensely grateful for his expertise on the job. She knew she wasn’t a particularly easy person to work with—a woman had to be a little bitchy to make it in a man’s world—but Teague left her confused and confounded. They could be having an innocent conversation and then wham!, suddenly everything that came out of his mouth seemed sexually charged. At times she couldn’t tell if he was flirting with her or if her hormones were making her misinterpret entire conversations. As a result, their interaction was a confusing collage of short sentences, ambiguous innuendo and defensive body language.

  It was, she acknowledged, a good thing that Teague was working for her. There was no way she’d jeopardize the project by becoming involved with him.

  And then there was the fact that the man was a natural leader yet seemed perfectly content to dig ditches. And what was it that Gerald Langtry had said? That Teague worked only when he wanted to. No matter how hot they would be between the sheets (and history told her that they could start a five-alarm fire), his intellectual malaise would eventually wear on her, she knew.

  Which was exactly what she and Abby and Carley had discussed—looking past sexual chemistry to the traits of true long-term compatibility.

  She watched Teague lift the tail of his T-shirt to wipe his face, her gaze riveted to the gleaming planes of his flat stomach. She moistened her lips and realized if she didn’t get control of her wayward fantasies, she was going to go completely mad. She turned and tromped back to the company car that she’d brought to the site, determined to drive the image of a naked, sexual Teague Brownlee out of her mind. In twenty days, they would be finished with the job, and with each other.

  * * *

  TEAGUE TURNED TO WATCH Samantha walk away, his gut clenching at the sight of her swinging rear, from her tight ass to the tempting swish of her blond ponytail. His body hardened just watching her move—it was getting harder to work with her and not act on his attraction. And he had the feeling that she wasn’t oblivious to the sexual sparks that flew between them even when they were discussing the most mundane of topics. Suddenly the routine subjects of contouring the land, tunneling channels and joining building materials made his cock throb. When the urge to touch her overwhelmed him, he picked up a shovel and joined his crew in an attempt to work his body to distraction.

  He pulled his hand down his face to rein in his libido. As much as he wanted to bed her, he had to keep the end goal in mind…. He’d have her, but all in good time. The fact that she found him desirable didn’t mean anything. She had found him desirable before—and unsuitable. Unlovable. This time would be no different, he reminded himself.

  Debutantes occasionally went slumming when the uptown boys couldn’t hack it in the bedroom. It didn’t mean anything, didn’t change how Samantha regarded him.

  Meanwhile, the job was two weeks in and moving at a carefully controlled pace to prevent them from meeting the deadline. It was a shame, too, because he truly believed that the haughty Samantha Stone was onto something with her funky retaining walls. Deep down, that made him feel better because he knew there would be other projects for her in the future.

  She turned back and looked at him, her lifted chin filling him with fiery resolve.

  Other projects, maybe, but not before he took her down a notch.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “AND I WANT a fifty percent raise.”

  “Okay.” Sam blinked, then jerked her head up to look at her assistant. “Wait a minute—what did you say?”

  Price sighed and adjusted his tiny glasses. “Just as I thought. You haven’t heard a word I’ve said.”

  She rubbed her temples and sat back in her desk chair. “I’m sorry, Price. I’m just preoccupied.”

  Price made a clicking noise and set a stack of folders in her in-box. “I don’t suppose it has anything to do with the yummy ex-boyfriend?”

  She glared. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Tall as a tree, shoulders like a linebacker, eyes the color of a perfectly cut Colombian emerald.”

  Sam frowned. “Not that this conversation has anything to do with Teague Brownlee, but how did you know that his eyes are green?”

  “Because he’s in the lobby waiting to see you.”

  She lurched forward in her chair. “Teague is here? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Price scoffed. “I couldn’t very well just usher him to your office. You’re much too busy to be so accessible. I told him you were on an international video conference, and that you’d be with him soon. By the way, you’re fluent in French.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him but couldn’t be angry. She gave in to the smile tugging at her mouth. “How long has he been waiting?”

  “Thirty minutes.”

  Sam arched an eyebrow. “I think that’s long enough to prove a point, don’t you?”

  He nodded and grinned, clasping his hands in barely controlled excitement. “I’ll go get him.”

  His behavior only scattered Sam’s nerves further. The first day in three weeks that she hadn’t gone to the site, and Teague shows up at her office? Something must be wrong—why else wouldn’t he just call? Before she could form another troublesome thought, he was standing in her doorway, dressed in dusty work clothes, l
ooking rugged and handsome, with Price a half step behind, beaming. “Ms. Stone, don’t forget your three o’clock appointment with the Carlyle board of directors.”

  He had already reminded her twice—as if he needed to at all—but she recognized that he was trying to make her look good in front of Teague. “Thank you, Price.” She stood and smiled at Teague. “This is a surprise. Is everything okay?”

  “Everything is on schedule,” he said, but wariness flashed in his eyes as he took in her posh office view. “I just came by to get your signature on a couple of forms.” He held up a file folder and handed it to her. “More permits.”

  She took the file and gestured to her guest chairs. “Have a seat.”

  “I’ve been sitting,” he said wryly. “If you don’t mind, I’ll stand.” Then he walked around her office, glancing at books on her shelves, picking up the crystal miniatures of famous buildings that she collected and setting them back down. He looked like a kid who’d been allowed into a room where he wasn’t supposed to touch anything, but couldn’t resist.

  His thick hair was squashed and imprinted with the ring of a hard hat. From beneath her lashes, she studied him, watching the way he moved, the intimate fit of his jeans, the way the soft cotton of his gray T-shirt clung to his arms. She tried to tamp down the shimmer of desire that rippled through her stomach, but her body would have none of it. Beneath her fitted navy suit, her breasts grew heavy and her thighs tingled in awareness. All this from looking at the man’s back, she realized in dismay. When he turned around, she dropped her gaze to the papers she was supposed to be signing.

  “Looks like you’ve done well for yourself, Samantha,” he said, gesturing to her office, her view.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  “Is it everything you thought it would be?”

  She looked up sharply—was he referring to the hopes and dreams she’d shared with him the night in the guesthouse? Her heartbeat picked up speed and heat flooded her face. “I guess so.”