On the other hand, Black Jack deserved it. But this guy didn’t deserve the trouble Black Jack was sure to send his way.
She studied Eric’s rugged, handsome face and sighed inwardly. He seemed nice enough. And that deep voice appealed to her. In fact, the whole package appealed to her. “I don’t normally go to bars alone. I just went in to find you and report the wreck.”
“You look like you’ve been crying. Boyfriend?” he asked.
She shook her head and wiped beneath her eyes. “No. I got an eyelash in my eye and my eyes watered.”
She could tell he wasn’t completely convinced.
“Come join us. Drink a glass of wine, eat a few wings, relax. At least until you’ve shaken this off.” He offered his hand. His smile held enough warmth and charm that her heart did a jig.
Once inside she said, “I need to freshen up. You’re outside with your friends?”
“Yeah.”
“Go ahead and order your food. I’ll join you.” She slipped away to freshen her makeup and half toyed with the idea of sneaking away instead. But it seemed cowardly after he’d been so nice.
As she went to join them outside, the sun had set and the lights strung overhead were already on, though the night was stalled between daylight and dusk. The air felt moist, and the breeze carried the scents of food and flowers.
Eric beckoned to her, and she headed in that direction.
“Hey, guys. This is Rylie.” Eric grabbed an empty chair and placed it at the table, then introduced his friends. Tucker and his date Jodi, and Evan and his date Presley. Nick and Eric were flying solo. At least Eric had been before inviting her to join them.
“So how long have you known Eric?” Nick asked.
Rylie checked her watch. “About half an hour.”
Everyone at the table laughed.
Nick nudged Eric in the ribs with an elbow. “A new record, Viking?” Nick’s green eyes shone with amusement.
The nickname Viking certainly suited Eric, with his blond hair and sky-blue eyes. And with a last name like Anderson he probably had the genes to back it up.
Eric grinned. “She dives. It’s a match made in heaven.”
“How long have you been diving, Rylie?” Nick asked, his eyes alight with amusement.
“Twelve years. My dad’s a dive enthusiast.” No way was she admitting to this crowd who her father was. They’d shut down and lock her out in a New York minute.
With a momentary flash of surprise, he said, “She may be better than you, Viking.”
Eric shrugged. “Dive dates aren’t a competition.”
“So, you’re going on a dive date with Viking?” Tuck asked.
Eric frowned at him. “You don’t have to make it sound like she’d be putting her life at risk.”
Everyone in the group laughed.
Rylie bit her lip to keep from smiling. “I’m just a hobbyist. Eric’s the professional. I’m sure I’d be safe with him underwater.”
“Or anywhere else,” Eric said with another of those heart-jolting grins.
A waitress and two helpers appeared with several plates. Chicken wings, strips, and the steaks Eric promised. The wait staff spaced them out down the length of the table and took more drink orders. Rylie ordered water.
Eric filled two plates with everything at hand and slid one over to her. Rylie leaned close. “I can’t stay long, Eric. I have some work I have to complete tonight.”
“Eat your food, and I’ll walk you to your car so we can discuss our dive date.”
She shook her head in exasperation. She knew what these guys were about. They thrived on the adrenaline rush of battle, and the chase, something they never gave up. But when things got emotional, they weren’t as steadfast. Like her father.
The hurt Black Jack had dealt her was still fresh, like a cut that gaped open every time she moved.
Her phone rang and she glanced at the screen. She stared for a moment at her father’s number, once again rejected the call, then opened the settings and blocked his number so he couldn’t reach her at all.
She needed a break from him and his manipulation. She’d worked hard and earned scholarships to pay for her education. She worked full time—more than full time—and paid her own bills. She always tried to make him proud. He had no right to sit in judgement on her for anything she’d ever done. And she wasn’t about to allow him or anyone else to call her a whore.
She closed out the settings and stuck the phone back in her bag. She saw Eric watching her and forced a laugh. “Everything a lady needs.”
“Not everything,” Eric said, his resonant voice intimately close to her ear.
That sexy rumble tightened things down low and brought a burst of heat to her checks. She reached for her water to cover her reaction and, out of the corner of her eye, caught the flash of Eric’s smile.
When he rested a hand against the small of her back earlier, she had trouble catching her breath. Now he casually propped an arm along the back of her chair, much like Tuck was doing with Jodi. The scent of soap and Eric came to her even as the heat from his body warmed her from arm to thigh.
She couldn’t afford to be this attracted to him. It wasn’t a good move for her or him, because her father wouldn’t approve, and he could tank Eric’s career on a whim.
Eric’s attention ricocheted back to Rylie’s profile for the tenth time since she sat beside him. All that long, thick, dark hair and those dark eyes, almost violet. And he’d been brought up short by their bruised look. If the accident happened because she got something in her eye, he’d eat his baby’s carburetor. Something upset her, and she’d been crying.
But she seemed to calm while she nibbled at the food on her plate.
She had class. Probably more class than any other woman he attempted to put the move on. But this wasn’t a pickup.
The team was discussing their plan to charter a fishing boat in a few weeks. “I heard Dawson’s is pretty reasonable,” Tuck said. “Some of the other guys used them last year.”
“Check it out for us, Tuck, and we’ll go from there,” Nick said.
“What do you do for a living, Rylie?” Jodi asked during a lull in the conversation.
“I’m an interior designer.”
“Like the people on HGTV with the computer simulations and all that?”
“Yes. I design the interiors of corporate and family spaces—houses, office buildings, apartments. A little of everything.”
“Who do you work for?”
“Adams, Shaker and Frost. Downtown.”
“That’s big time.”
“Yes, it’s my dream job.” Her face glowed when she said it. “I did an internship with them while I was in school.”
“Wow. You must be good.”
“I work at it. In fact, I have to go home and do some work that’s due tomorrow.”
She took some money out of her wallet.
“I invited you.” Eric covered her hand with his.
“It can be part of the tip. Besides I owe you a meal at the very least.” She gathered her purse. “Thank you for letting me join you. I’m glad to have met you all.” He liked that she made sure it wasn’t just lip service with a smile for each one of them.
Eric got to his feet. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
At least she didn’t turn him down, but he found it hard not to reach out and touch her.
They strolled down the street to where she was parked. “Thanks for being so…understanding about the accident. And not the asshole I was expecting.”
He laughed. “To be honest, it was touch and go there for a few minutes. What really happened to affect your eyesight?”
She looked away. “A run-in with an asshole. Not a boyfriend, but someone in my family.”
He nodded. “If the guys piss me off, we settle it with a few punches and a trip here for a beer.”
“The punches would have been satisfying but aren’t really an option for me.”
“What about a meal
together without the rest of the team? Just the two of us.”
When she started to reply he knew she was going to turn him down, and was surprised when she said, “I’d like that.”
They stopped next to her car, and she unlocked the Camry’s door.
“How about tomorrow night? Name the place, and we’ll go.”
She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I love Mexican food. And it doesn’t have to be fancy.”
“I know just the place.”
“Text me and I’ll meet you there. I work until 6:00.”
“I can pick you up.”
“No, you can’t. Your bike will be in the shop. And how are you going to get home?”
“I’ll catch a ride with one of the guys, and Todd’s going to bring me a ride in the morning. She won’t be mine, but she’ll do.”
“Are all motorcycles female?”
“Yeah. Unpredictable, mysterious, and they’ll only be good to you as long as you treat them right.”
Rylie laughed.
God, he loved that sound.
“I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle, but it’s been on my bucket list for ages.”
“You’re too young for a bucket list.”
“You’re never too young.”
He found that an odd, fatalistic outlook. It sounded like something one of the guys might say.
She offered her hand.
Eric held it in both of his. “Since I already have your address, I’ll be there at 6:30 to pick you up. Wear something casual, and I’ll take you on your first motorcycle ride.”
“I hope you’re a better driver than I am.”
He laughed. “I’ll wear goggles. Keep the bugs out of my eyes.”
“Ewww.”
He laughed. And kissed the back of her hand before releasing it.
She was smiling when she got in the car, a big change from the anxious woman he first met.
Her taillights disappeared down the street as he walked back to the restaurant.
Rylie Stewart. Where had he heard that name before? The answer hovered just out of reach.
CHAPTER 5
Rylie scanned the design one last time. It was as perfect as she could make it. The phone rang and she reached for it.
“She’s here,” Tanya, the receptionist, announced.
“Oh, God.” Did I say that out loud?
“Take a deep breath. She may love you.”
God forbid.
Melissa Bryant was the talk of the office. She was the rehab client from hell. The first house they did for her nearly broke two associates. And now Dale Rutherford, her boss, assigned Rylie the Bryant account. Alone.
Rylie hung up and turned back to the design on the computer screen. Nerves fluttered in the pit of her stomach.
Rutherford would owe her for this. And one day she’d remind him.
She walked over to open the door and greeted Melissa with a smile. “Welcome, Ms. Bryant.”
Melissa sailed past her while murmuring, “Thank you.” Attired in white linen slacks, a flowered silk blouse, and white, open-toed pumps, she looked cool and timelessly fashionable. Her hair, a caramel-colored blonde, suited her flawless skin. Since she was in her fifties, plastic surgery must have been partly responsible—or she’d discovered the fountain of youth.
Instead of a desk, Rylie used a large maple table, which gave her the space she needed to spread out and work. At the moment it held her computer and the amended plans of the house Melissa purchased on Coronado Island and the historic background of the structure.
“Please, have a seat. Can I get you something to drink before we look over your project?”
“A bottle of water, please.”
Rylie went to her small refrigerator, removed two bottles of water, placed coasters on the table and a bottle on each. “Would you prefer a glass?”
“No, this will be fine.” Melissa twisted the lid off the bottle and drank from it.
Rylie settled in the chair next to her and opened her computer. “We talked about the style you want inside the house and the theme you want to follow in the decor. I’ve brainstormed a design using those ideas and worked it up.
“This would be the exterior of the house.” Rylie turned the computer screen toward Melissa. “You want to maintain the Spanish colonial style of the house, and the best way to do that is by keeping as many of the original design elements as possible. Of course we’ll have to replace some of the roof tiles immediately, and our engineer found some water damage here and there, but for the most part the house is in good shape.”
Rylie clicked on the next illustration. “I suggest traditional wooden shutters on either side of the windows. The kind that can actually be closed. It’s what would have been on the house when it was first built.
“And we’ll need to cut back quite a bit of the landscaping since it’s been allowed to grow wild, but I thought we’d keep the trellis just below the master suite window where your balcony will be built. The vines there are well established, and the blooms will give that side of the house a pop of color. Plus that particular Clematis puts out a wonderful fragrance.
“For the rest of the garden, we’ll put in regional plants and an irrigation system you can set on a timer and not have to worry with much.
“Now as for the porte cochere outside the kitchen and the portico across the front of the house… I feel adding wooden beams in a decorative design will highlight the ceilings and make a statement before anyone enters the house. There’s evidence that they were already there at one time and removed for some reason.”
The woman’s silence was unnerving.
“Is any of this what you had in mind?”
“Yes. It’s exactly what I had in mind.”
Rylie breathed a mental sigh of relief but kept her guard up. “Now for the interior.”
“I’ve made your front door more ornate. Why not make a statement from the beginning? I thought we’d change the single door to double doors with glass panels and insert an arched transom window above the doors to allow more light into the great room. There’s a company I’ve found that can cut a decorative design you can insert on both sides of a regular pane of glass that will add a creative touch to the window, and it will match the black trim on the exterior of the house. We wouldn’t want to go with anything too ornate, more like just a touch of whimsy.”
Melissa smiled. “That sounds delightful.”
Rylie went through every change, including putting in several sets of double doors to let in light, replacing the beams that had been ripped out of rooms, and adding a balcony outside the master suite. She’d spent the lion’s share of her time choosing the tilework for the bathrooms and fireplaces.
“Is all this within the budget?”
“Yes, it is. And I’ve set aside a twenty-thousand-dollar contingency fund in case we run into issues. The house was rewired in the past five years, and ductwork installed for heat and air, but the plumbing will all have to be updated for the kitchen and the bathrooms, which will be a major expense, as will the roof.”
“Can you print out all the material and labor costs you’ve built into the project?”
Was she going to shop around and see if she could save money using someone else’s crew? She’d paid for the design. It belonged to the customer. But Rylie’s firm made more money when their own crew did the work.
“Certainly.” She found the file and hit print, rose to get a file folder, slipped the thirty-page document inside, and handed it to Melissa.
“You’re very good. Organized, knowledgeable, creative. Dale has done well hiring you.”
“Thank you.”
“Why don’t you go out on your own and start your own business?”
“It’s very difficult to find dependable independent contractors to do the work, Ms. Bryant. Most have three or four projects in the works at the same time. They’ll work a week on your project, then a week on someone else’s. The cost in time and money is too steep. And the
n there’s the paperwork, filing permits for plumbing and electrical, or if you’re breaking ground or you’re building outbuildings, or a pool, not to mention the accounting that goes into making sure everyone gets paid. And a thousand other things.
“I’d rather work for a company that takes care of all of that than spend my every waking moment trying to keep track of everything. And I feel my strengths lie in the design elements of a project and the hunt for just the right furniture to finish off the spaces.”
“I can understand that. I’d like a day or two to think about everything before giving the go-ahead. Would you be willing to walk through the house with me once more?”
“Certainly. When would you like to do it?”
“Tuesday morning, 9:30.”
Rylie opened her calendar and checked the date. “I can do that.” She typed the meeting in.
Melissa rose and gathered the paperwork. “I’ll see you on Tuesday at 9:30, Ms. Stewart.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
As soon as Melissa was out of the door, Rylie collapsed in her work chair. She’d have to adapt to this much pressure when dealing with the woman. Damn her! She didn’t even have to say anything to be intimidating.
But she made it through the meeting, and Melissa seemed pleased with the design.
She’d go ahead and check out some of those period pieces she found. There was an auction in a couple of weeks where she might be able to pick up a beautiful Spanish-style bedstead she saw in an antique dealer’s catalogue. And since she was already there, she spent thirty minutes browsing some other pieces.
The intercom on her phone buzzed, and Dale’s voice said, “Rylie, I need to see you.”
His tone gave her just a smidge of concern. She pushed the button. “On my way.”
She loped down the hallway to Dale’s office and, at his secretary’s wave, tapped on his door. At the muffled sound of his voice, she opened the door and went in.
“What the hell did you say to Melissa Bryant?”
Dale’s aggressive tone had her brows rising. A sinking feeling hit her stomach. “Nothing. I showed her what I had planned for her house and she asked me to print it all off for her, so I did.”
Hot SEAL, Taking the Plunge Page 3
