A Small-Town Homecoming. Terry Mclaughlin

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ will be.”

      She angled her face in his direction, waiting for him to comment, but he simply met and held her stare.

      God, she was a looker. He’d mostly seen her in passing, striding down Main Street as if she owned the strip, or crossing those long legs on a tall stool at one of the waterfront bars. And he’d noticed the way men’s gazes followed her, tracked her, undressed her, coveted her. A real heartbreaker. A real ball-buster, too. The kind of woman who enjoyed the attention, as long as it was on her terms.

      He’d never had the chance to study her like this, up close. Right now, with the sun sinking over her shoulder and setting the highlights in her hair aflame, with her sculpted chin tipped up in challenge and those thick, sooty lashes drifting low over her wide-set eyes, she was even more of a looker than he’d realized.

      Her gaze settled on the six-pack nestled in a rope coil on the truck bed behind him, and her glossy red lips thinned in disapproval.

      Beer for the crew, a small celebration for the big job ahead. She needn’t worry—he had no intention of joining them in the drinking part of the festivities. Not that it was any of her business. “Something bothering you?” he asked.

      “Yeah.” She shifted her stance and narrowed her eyes. “Plenty.”

      “Same goes.”

      “Oh, I doubt that.” Her mouth turned up at the corners in a catlike smile. “I don’t think it’s the same kind of bother at all.”

      He slid to the ground and moved in close, close enough to note the slight flutter of her lashes and hear the sharp and sudden intake of her breath. His blood heated with something more than the basic tension between them. In her heels, she was nearly eye to eye with him, and he wondered how she’d fit alongside him if he snaked an arm around her narrow waist and hauled her to him. “No harm in a little creative thinking,” he said.

      “Is that so?”

      He dropped his gaze to her mouth, testing her. Testing himself. He wanted this job, damn it. He’d just signed a contract saying he’d take it on. He wanted to earn a chunk of money so he wouldn’t have to worry about his ex’s first legal maneuver in the inevitable custody war. He wanted his daughter to be proud of the work he was doing, even if that work was going to mean long hours away from home, away from her. The last thing he needed was another battle on his hands with another woman who could pile on the guilt of his past failures.

      A woman who could give him one more thing to crave.

      He looked Tess straight in the eye. “Yeah.”

      “All right, then.” She turned to go, tossing a wicked smile over her shoulder. “See you around, Quinn.”

      He dropped the cigarette and crushed it into the ground. “I’ll be here.”

      LATER THAT EVENING, after she’d changed into her most comfortable jeans, her softest designer loafers and dined on a frisée salad with her special raspberry vinaigrette dressing, Tess drove toward Driftwood. The residential area south of the town center offered a certain rustic charm, particularly where the streetlights thinned and the pavement faded to crunchy gravel roads, where lacy-branched redwoods crowded the shoreline and cast their long shadows over wave-splashed rocks. The neighborhoods she passed wore a jumble of styles, and the houses perching in the open spaces among the trees often reflected the personalities of their owners rather than the period of their construction.

      Normally Tess enjoyed a trip through Driftwood at this time of night, when the amber glow of early-evening lamplight provided glimpses of prairie-style mantelpieces, paneled doors, arching doorways and coved ceilings before the home owners drew their curtains to shut out the dark. She might have enjoyed restoring one of the vintage houses in this part of town, but she’d found a place that suited her along the river, a more practical house that wouldn’t require messy repairs or put a dent in her budget making them.

      Tonight she wasn’t in the mood to notice much more than the widening pothole on Daylily Lane and her own negative attitude. Her chat with Quinn had siphoned most of the joy from what was supposed to be the first triumph of her professional career.

      All she’d wanted was some time alone on the site to look at the place and to know—to truly believe—that what was in her imagination was actually, finally going to appear. A few minutes to let her imagination loose, to fill that space with all the possibilities she held inside. Her very own creation, her very own miracle—hers and hers alone, for the first and last time.

      Only it hadn’t been hers, because she hadn’t been alone. She’d been forced to share it with Quinn. Just as she would be forced to share every step of its creation with him for the next nine months, to maintain her vision through his interpretation and consult with him on its progress. To share the end result, too: her design, his construction.

      Quinn Construction. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel. He had a lot riding on this project, too. He was rehabbing his professional reputation as well as his personal life. If he pulled off this job—the largest in the Cove at the moment—without a hitch, he’d be well on his way to establishing himself as a competent builder, not to mention banking a sizable profit.

      And in order to maximize that profit, he’d want to complete the job as quickly and as cheaply as possible. Which meant they’d argue over the specs. Contractors always tried to shave their costs by changing the specs—after they’d used those same specs to draw up their bids for the project in the first place. She wanted Tidewaters to be spectacular; he’d want it to be finished.

      If only he weren’t so … so … so damned attractive. Those craggy, lived-in looks, that haunted, stoic air. Thick black hair layered in unruly waves, sensuous lips above a dented chin. Yum. Even the intense gaze he aimed at her with those shockingly blue, deep-set eyes could send tiny shivers skittering up her spine at the same time it ratcheted up her annoyance. She’d always been a sucker for a bad boy, and Quinn was as bad as they came.

      Beyond bad. A disaster, considering his problem with drinking and her problem with drinkers.

      Besides, lusting after a business partner couldn’t be good for a working relationship, especially one that was so important to them both. Especially when that relationship threatened to be antagonistic. Although she didn’t intend to be antagonistic … not at first, anyway. She’d be generous and let him make the first wrong move.

      Smiling grimly in anticipation of the coming battles, she pulled into the narrow gravel drive beside Charlie Keene’s tiny bungalow and plucked a dog biscuit from the box tucked behind her seat. Then she climbed from her car, lifting a pink bakery bag high above her head.

      “Down,” she ordered the black Labrador retriever streaking across the shadowy yard. “Stay down, or you won’t get your bribe, you fur-faced shakedown artist.”

      Charlie’s obnoxious pet rammed its wide black nose into her crotch before she could toss the biscuit across the yard. “Good riddance,” she muttered as the dog raced after it, and then she glanced at the muddy paw prints on her shoes with a sigh. At least the monster hadn’t left a matching set on her jeans and jacket. Charlie’s fiancé, Jack Maguire, must have been making some progress with the obedience training.

      He’d certainly made some progress with Charlie’s house. As Tess strode up the narrow path toward her friend’s freshly painted forest-green front door, she noted the neatly clipped lawn and the new willow tree staked СКАЧАТЬ