“Well, she came in here and demanded to know…where I’d been hiding you while we worked on the last two houses we’ve done for her.” With his hand on his hip and the outraged expression on his face, Dale’s flamboyant personality was switched on along with his anger. “She actually called me a moron.”
Wow. “I’m sorry she insulted you. You’re an excellent designer and she knows it. Otherwise she wouldn’t keep coming back every time she buys a house.”
“If she weren’t so freaking rich, I’d tell her to take her business elsewhere. Don’t let her woo you into lowering your guard. That’s when she’ll turn on you and eat your face off.”
A laugh burst out and she quickly covered her mouth with her hand.
Dale dropped into his seat behind his desk and gave a dramatic sigh.
“I kept wondering why she was being so nice to me. I kept expecting her to go all rehabzilla on me. But she was very agreeable.”
“She’s very impressed with your design. I am too.” He seemed to be calming down, but the moron comment clearly stung, and Rylie suspected it would continue to bug him for some time.
She kept the conversation focused on the project. “I’m on the hunt for traditional furnishings for the remodel. I’ve found a wonderful traditional eighteenth-century Spanish bed frame and a secretary that I bet she’d love to use as a desk in her office, but they won’t come cheap.”
“Don’t trust her, Rylie. You’ll go the extra mile and she’ll kick it back at you. If anything falls outside the purview of the renovation, run it by her before you buy it. Otherwise, you’ll end up eating the cost.”
“I’m just doing the normal things for the project. But I had to look and see what was out there and get a sense of the price tags. The final say will be up to her. I promise.”
They spent some time going over other projects, some partially finished and some in the planning stages. She usually worked on three projects at a time, as did most of the designers.
“The Russell project is nearly finished. Another week, week and a half will probably do it. Then we’ll start rehab for The Contessa’s house.” She used the nickname someone had given Melissa Bryant during one of the other rehabs.
She glanced at her watch. “I have a meeting with the Grahams in half an hour. I need to go.”
After that she’d go home and change for her date with Eric and her first-ever motorcycle ride.
On the way to the Grahams’ house, excitement hit her, not for the first time over the course of the day. Every time she thought about seeing Eric again, she felt breathless and a little dizzy.
Had the garage started repairs on his motorcycle? She hoped so.
She decided to ignore the fact that he was a Navy SEAL. He was a sexy, gorgeous guy. With control of his temper and a sense of humor. And later today she’d cuddle up to him on the back of a motorcycle.
The Grahams bought a two-million-dollar house for one million, six hundred thousand dollars, and they would have to spend at least four hundred thousand getting it back in shape. There were plumbing, electrical, and roof issues. The bathrooms, of which there were six, would cost at least sixty thousand to redo. But the kitchen was a dream. And with a little tender loving care, the rest of the house would be a dream as well.
A lot of the repairs were cosmetic, but there were some high-ticket items that would come with a hefty price tag. They needed to hear the good news and the bad and make their decisions.
The couple, Celeste and Chase, were well matched. Both were tall, athletic, and savvy. Both had high-pressure jobs and wanted the house to be their entertainment space for family, but also their haven. She knew she could turn it into everything they wanted for the right price.
The house stretched its four thousand square feet across a vista that looked out on the ocean, but the view inside was blocked by several walls. “Here’s what I think we can do.” She turned the computer screen so the couple could see her vision for the house.
While they studied the first image, she said, “Frank Lloyd Wright used the land as part of the house and sometimes invited the environment into the structure. We can’t do that, but we can open the back of the house so the sun and water seem a part of it, and use color and design to reflect what’s out there. And if we install folding doors at the back of the house, every room can open out to the backyard, the pergola, and the deck behind the house to invite the view inside.
“The pool needs a new liner, but the pump is fine, so we’re not looking at a fortune to repair it. And we’ll want to add some hassle-free landscaping.”
She’d taken the theme of water and used wallpapers, tiles, and paint to reflect the mood of the water and the view in all their incarnations. Every light fixture and use of texture in the fabrics was chosen to bring the environment inside the house.
“This is stunning, Ms. Stewart,” Celeste breathed.
“Thank you, I’m glad you’re pleased. And please, call me Rylie.”
“What kind of price tag is attached to all this?” Chase rotated his finger in a circle, taking in the entire house.
“The roof, the deck, the pool, the electrical system, the plumbing, flooring, landscaping—everything—is four hundred and twenty thousand, but that last twenty thousand is a contingency fund, just in case we run into something unexpected.”
“That’s amazing!” Celeste exclaimed.
“What’s the timeline?” Chase asked.
“Eight weeks.”
They grinned at each other. “Perfect,” Celeste said.
Rylie resisted dancing in her seat.
“When can you start?” Chase asked.
“We have to apply for plumbing and electrical permits first. But as soon as I get those, we’ll start.”
“I may be able to help with that,” Chase said.
Surprised, Rylie looked at him.
“I know someone on the Planning Board. Go ahead and file them, and let me know when you send them in.”
“Okay. I’ll do that. And I’ll let you know the minute we intend to start.” She rummaged through her leather portfolio. “I have some paperwork for you to sign, and then we’re good to go.”
The Grahams beamed while they signed on every single dotted line. When she waltzed out ten minutes later, she did a little happy dance as she got into the car.
Two big accounts in one day! Dale was going to have a heart attack.
She’d break the news tomorrow. Otherwise she’d be late, and she wanted to celebrate with some tacos, a handsome guy, and possibly a glass of wine later.
CHAPTER 6
Eric pulled into the parking lot and rocked the motorcycle up on its stand. He scanned the area for Rylie’s car and smiled when she pulled into the lot and parked three spaces over from him. He pulled his helmet free and dismounted.
She was already smiling before she reached him. “I called my insurance company this morning.”
“I know. They’ve already contacted me. And they’re not arguing about where I want to get my bike fixed.”
“Good.” She eyed the motorcycle behind him. “What color will this one be once it’s painted?”
“I don’t know. Right now, it’s just primer gray, but whatever color Todd decides on, she’ll be a beauty.”
“Would you like to come in while I change?”
“Sure.”
They strolled to the apartment building. “I had a really good day at work today.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I signed two contracts to renovate two million-dollar-plus houses today.”
“Wow!”
“Yeah. I hope I don’t crash and burn. Every contract you take on like this, you’re one building permit away from being fired. You have to hope the people you work with are pleased enough with your design, and believe in it enough, that when there are delays they’ll stick with you.”
“That sounds like a lot of pressure.”
“It is.”
“How many houses have you redesign
ed since you started?”
“These two will be my tenth and eleventh.”
He gave her hand on his bicep a squeeze. “You’ve found your sweet spot. You’ll do fine.”
Her smile was something special.
Rylie’s apartment was a surprise. He expected something very professional and low-key, but the red wall and bright yellow and blue painting hanging at the center grabbed his attention as soon as he walked into the room. The white leather sofa toned it down a little, though, and everywhere he looked he saw color, textures, and interesting knickknacks.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“I’m good. Okay if I look around?”
“Sure.”
She disappeared down the hall and he wandered to a bookcase. Books about design, architectural history, different cultures were there as expected, but others about self-defense, scuba and weapons were more of a surprise. He either needed to be very afraid or they were a perfect match.
Not that he was looking for anything permanent. But he had a long dry spell before his last deployment with training exercises and the usual equipment overhauls.
He moved to another shelf, this one with a collection of knickknacks. He recognized bakhoor and agarwood chips, burned in Arab countries to make the house smell good, plus a decorative fan from Japan, a beer stein from Germany, worry beads from Greece, and a hand drum and whistle from Ireland decorated with a Celtic design. He picked up a small box and raised the lid. The tinkling notes of an Irish ballad played.
Rylie walked into the room wearing dark jeans that hugged her hips and long legs. He ran an appreciative gaze down over the sweater outlining her slender curves. She tossed a jacket across the back of a leather chair that looked like it had seen better days but also looked like it would be comfortable as hell.
“Have you traveled to all these places?” he asked to distract himself from his physical reaction to her. She had a way of moving that had every nerve in his body shooting to high alert.
“Some of them. I’ve never been to Saudi Arabia, but I have to most of the others. Some of them were gifts because I’m very interested in different cultures, different countries, their architecture and building practices. And some I bought while on trips with my father. The one you’re holding came from Ireland. My best friend and I went to Ireland and Scotland for two weeks after we graduated from college.”
He closed the music box lid. “Have you traced your family tree? With a name like Stewart, it could lead you right to the door of the British throne.”
“I have a family crest in my office. We did come from Scotland, and I even have a wool Royal Stewart tartan cape in my closet I bought while in Scotland. For all it means here in the states. But I don’t think our branch of the Stewart clan has much blue blood in it. If you met my dad, you’d think our family had to be descended from pirates.”
He chuckled. “So, he’s a corporate headhunter? A mob boss? What?”
She nodded with a wry smile. “Both of those, backed up by an army of people to see that everything he wants done happens. We’re giving each other some space for a while.”
It had to be her father who made her cry the night before. Family relationships were way more complex than anything he ever experienced. In fact, sometimes being alone didn’t seem so bad. Then others….
“I did one of those genetic tests to learn more about my origins,” he said.
“What did you find out?”
“I’m mainly Norwegian, British, and Irish with a couple of other nationalities sprinkled in for good measure. They thought my surname would have been spelled with an e instead of an o, but must have been changed when my ancestors migrated here.”
“What did your family say about all that?”
Shit! He didn’t want her to pity him since he had no family. But he had his team. “They started calling me Viking, and it stuck.”
She smiled. “Well, you fit the part. I can see you with a battle-ax in one hand and a shield in the other. You’d just have to let your beard and hair grow a little.”
Instead he carried a Glock 19, his MP 5, and wore a flak jacket packed with weapons and gear. Once a warrior… “They say the Vikings sailed from Norway to America five hundred years before Christopher Columbus discovered it. So I suppose being a sailor is probably in my blood.”
“Then you’re in the perfect line of work.”
He picked up her jacket and held it for her. “The wind can get a little chilly. I thought we’d go to El Indio for dinner, then take a drive up the I-5 to Ocean Beach.”
“That sounds wonderful.” On their way to the elevator she said, “I like trying new things, short of mountain climbing.”
“I wouldn’t suggest mountain climbing on a first date. Maybe the third or fourth.”
She laughed. “What about sky diving?”
“At least the tenth. Jumping out of a plane isn’t high on my list. I’m sharing my favorite with you tonight.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
“Wait until we’ve taken our ride, then thank me.” The easy way she had of touching him, cuddling up to him, stirred feelings he was eager to embrace, but he needed to take things slow with this one.
She was a natural on the back of the bike, even in traffic. She knew just how to lean into the turns. She looped her arms around his waist lightly instead of with a death grip like a few dates had done in the past, but the imprint of her breasts against his back had him sweating beneath his jacket.
And when she said she liked tacos, she meant it. She ordered two with carne asada and ate every bite.
Dinner passed without any uncomfortable pauses, and he was amazed at how easy it was to talk to her. “Dessert?” he asked. “They have fried ice cream.”
“I better not. The road will be curvy, and if I get motion sickness…it would not be pretty.”
“Not going to happen. You’ll be fine.”
“I’ll try not to disgrace myself.”
He chuckled. “I think you’re probably tougher than you look.” Though she had on jeans and a waist-length leather jacket, she didn’t look tough. She looked feminine, classy, and beautiful. Her dark hair lay in waves over her shoulders to fall just below her shoulder blades.
She started to say something, then pulled back. He wished she’d said whatever just occurred to her.
They left the restaurant. Standing beside the bike, he helped her fasten the helmet strap beneath her chin, and when she looked up to smile at him, he brushed her lips with a light kiss and fought the urge to take it deeper. Slow and steady. He leapt before looking twice before and got burned. His teammates thought of him as a serial dater because he’d dated so many women. But there was safety in numbers when you were recovering from being dumped. Or cheated on. Something he never shared.
He got on the bike and offered her a hand. She swung her leg astride the seat and wiggled up close against his back. He tried not to think about his uncomfortably hard cock as he started the motor and wove his way out of the parking lot.
Rylie’s thoughts lingered on the soft brush of his kiss and the havoc he wreaked on her heartbeat and her hormones. It took several seconds before her pulse settled and her breathing returned to normal.
But as soon as he kissed her, she became hyper-aware of every move he made as he shifted his weight, and the firm feel of his muscular torso where she gripped his waist.
She needed to tell him who her father was. She was lying to him by omission. But as soon as she came clean, he’d back off, and that would be the end of it. Her father always seemed to ruin things. Like he did before dinner last night. Her heart was still bruised from the attack, and it would be some time before she’d be willing to see him again.
Her battered heart ached, so she cuddled close against Eric’s back and turned her attention to the crisp feel of the wind against her skin and scenery whipping by. Riding in the open air made her feel more a part of everything around her.
As the sun set and dusk
tipped over into night, the ocean took on a bluish-purple hue. Though the wind was chilly, Rylie found the power of the motorcycle beneath her seductive, but not as sexy as the man driving it.
Eric turned toward the Ocean Beach pier and wove his way through the streets to park. He pulled into a slot in the nearly empty parking lot beneath a street light and waited for her to dismount before hiking the motorcycle onto its stand.
Rylie tucked her helmet under her arm.
“Your nose is red,” Eric said.
“I’ll warm up once we start walking. I enjoyed the ride, but next time I’ll wear long johns and gloves.”
He chuckled and looped a long arm around her. “I’ll share my body heat.”
His body’s warmth was like a heating pad along her side, and she was tempted to slip her cold hands under his shirt just to see him jump. “Why aren’t you cold?”
“I think I must run hot.”
“I’m sure you do.” She shook her head at his quick grin and handed him her helmet to secure on the bike.
She took his arm as they walked down to the beach, and he folded his warm hand over her cold fingers and shot her one of those heart-stuttering smiles. Damn, she wished he wasn’t so charming.
They walked the long length of the pier. The wind coming off the ocean held a hint of rain, and distant flashes of light brightened the horizon miles away, turning the sky yellow, then a dense purple.
“Do you think we’ll get caught in the rain on our way home?”
“No. It’s still too far out. I’ll get you home before it starts.”
She leaned against the railing and focused on those distant flashes. “Is it scary to be out at sea when it’s storming like that?”
“I wouldn’t want to be on the deck of an aircraft carrier while lightning was dancing overhead, but only the really big storms kick up any kind of fuss with the big ships. I’ve been on some small craft where it’s gotten a little hairy.”
“How long have you been in?”
“Eight years, almost nine now. I signed my reenlistment package about six months ago.”
Hot SEAL, Taking the Plunge Page 4
