"Why are we the only ones here?" he yelled up at him.
Jason dragged his forearm across his brow. "Dude, the crew went out to Harry's last night for dinner. I think they got blasted."
Temper bit him like a rattlesnake. "I don't give a shit what they do on their time, but with this deadline, I can't lose four of my guys. We have to finish framing."
Jason shrugged. "I went home to get laid. Don't take it out on me."
He cursed again and grabbed his cell, punching in the numbers for Sam, his foreman. Son of a bitch. Morgan was due here soon, and his workers decide to tie one on and sleep in. It was nine o'clock and already hot as Hades. This was gonna be a bitch of a day.
"Why is your ass not here?" he growled into the phone when Sam picked up.
His usual dependable worker groaned. "I think I ate something bad, boss. I'm sick."
Caleb ground his teeth in tempo to the music. His dentist was gonna strangle him. "It's called a hangover. Morgan's coming this morning, framing is supposed to be done, and I only have Jason out here. Take some Midol and get your ass over here with the other bozos."
"Isn't that for PMS?"
Caleb hung up. He shoved the hat back on his head, maneuvered his way through the multiple beams, and dragged in a deep breath. With such a tight schedule, he'd left little room for error. It had been a miracle they hadn't hit major issues with the first stage. Sure, they'd gotten a shitload of rain, but he'd pulled in every favor in his arsenal and bought himself a huge team for site prep, pouring the foundation and dealing with the usual horror of setting up the sewer and drain lines.
The usual bitch of such a large job was depending on so many other people to get the work done. Tristan and Dalton had been key in moving this along, though they grumbled most of the time they were using their talent to grease wheels rather than do any hands-on building. Plenty of time for that later, though. Without his electricians, plumbers, excavator, and suppliers happy, work would ground to a halt.
Why the hell did he get involved in this business again?
It sure wasn't for the glory. Or the money. No, this was high-stress, ass-kissing, physically draining work not meant for the weak of heart.
Yeah. He loved every fucking second.
Caleb thought of calling his brothers for backup, then remembered Dalton had another job and Tristan was in New York to meet with the textile supplier Morgan was hot for. He liked his guy right in town, but that had been another go-around he wasn't up for, so he stuck it on his brothers to solve. She reminded him of Dalton when he got crazed for a specific type of wood grain and refused to back down. Impossible to argue with. She was rising to the rank of the most annoying, frustrating woman he'd ever met. Too bad he couldn't stop thinking about kissing her again.
On cue, she climbed out of the car.
Yeah, he was in trouble. Lately all his spare thoughts had been focused on making her happy in ways that didn't concern work. It was getting harder not to get hard on a regular basis around her. Every time he tried to figure out what it was about her that fascinated him, he only got more pissed.
Because she had completely ignored the kiss.
Cal had a healthy ego, but the way she'd dismissed him both amused and outraged him. She hadn't even wanted to talk about it. After he'd followed her back through the woods to her car, she gave him a dismissive wave and drove away. That was two weeks ago, and they still never mentioned the encounter.
How'd he get to be the girl in this weird relationship? His father would've died. He actually wanted to talk about what the kiss meant. Which he knew the answer to, anyway.
Nothing. At least to her.
She strode over to him without a pause in her step. Who the hell wore those outfits on the job and got away with it?
Today's white shorts had a scroll-like design on the sides in pale pink. She wasn't working the site today, so low-heeled white sandals clad her feet. A white scooped-neck top that managed to look conservative and businesslike was tucked neatly in her waistband, which emphasized her curvy hips and butt. She walked with a graceful purpose and razor-sharp focus that turned him on. Hell, everything about the woman turned him on. She was bossy, nosy, opinionated, and cool as a cucumber. Her Southern drawl nearly brought him to his knees with its rich honeyed texture.
But he refused to surrender to his aching dick.
Yes, he'd liked the kiss. Hell, he'd loved the kiss. But after she dissed him, Cal decided it was a blessing in disguise. Just because she'd taken his dare and gone skinny-dipping didn't mean she wasn't a tight-ass conservative in every other part of her life. As tempting as a steamy affair with her would be, she'd probably kill him with minutiae, and after the orgasm, she'd drive him crazy.
Not gonna happen on his watch.
She wasn't the right book for him, and she sure as hell would never be the proper wood.
She reached him. Her gaze flicked over the site, which clearly showed a single man banging away at the roof to gritty music. Usually there was a full team with staggered breaks for lunch, especially when the end of framing was in sight. The little frown creasing her brow told him what was coming.
"Why is Jason the only one working on my house?"
He was used to the clipped, polite tone. "They were delayed. Sam is on his way with everyone now."
"I'm not man enough for you, Morgan?" a voice called down.
Caleb stiffened, used to Jason's humor but hating the flirtatious tone in his voice. Morgan gave him a wave and a sunny smile. "Don't flatter yourself, darlin'."
Jason hooted with laughter, then went back to hammering. Caleb had originally wondered how she handled herself with a bunch of testosterone-fueled, rough men, and now he had his answer. She walked the perfect balance of businesslike command and biting humor. She also had thick skin and no trouble giving a tongue blistering if she felt like anyone was out of line. Basically, Morgan Raines gave as good as she got.
He wondered if she took that same kind of attitude in bed.
Aggravated with his thoughts, he chugged some water and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Need anything from me today, or can I get back to work?"
Those wide eyes chilled to Arctic blue. "We're supposed to be done with framing. We're behind."
"It will be finished."
"I need to confirm inspection."
"Already done."
Frustration clung to her aura. Caleb hid a smile. He found giving her the answers she wanted with no backup explanation drove her nuts. She liked to know who had scheduled it and when but was too annoyed now to ask. Her clipboard was so much a part of her, he wondered if she took it to bed at night. "You're missing five guys. I cleared Rich's schedule so those pipes can be run and we can get the HVAC system going."
He bit back a groan. "You called Rich again? For God's sake, leave the man alone. He knows what he needs to do."
She gave a haughty sniff. "Rich overbooks clients, and you know it. I refuse to let him try to sneak in a smaller job and throw us off. Oh, I need you to meet me at Blossom and Company tonight."
He held up a hand and shook his head. "Hell no. Take Tristan."
"I can't. He's in New York dealing with textiles, remember? You're the closest I got."
"It's not my job to look at lighting and pick out froufrou chandeliers. Take Dalton."
"He's busy; I already checked. Stop complaining. If I do it now, we won't have to deal with it later when things are even more complicated. You're coming." She hesitated, and he watched the flickering emotions in her blue eyes. Almost like she wasn't sure if she should utter her next words. "I'll buy you dinner."
He paused. The thought of having more alone time with her was intriguing. And pathetic. "You're paying?"
She let out a husky laugh, and his heart did a weird tumble. This was like opening the cage a few inches, tempting the beast to escape. He searched her face for any indication that her invitation meant something bigger, but he couldn't gauge her calm expression. Not that he'd take her up on the offer. "Yeah, I'm paying. Consider it your fee for the torture."
"Fine." Two trucks pulled in and kicked up a burst of gravel. "Here they are."
She turned, and they watched as five giant guys made their way toward them. "About time you ladies rolled out of bed," Caleb barked. "What the hell happened last . . ." He trailed off. Damn, they must've been drinking shots of one hundred proof. They walked with slow, tentative steps, sunglasses shielding their eyes and a green tinge staining their skin. Tiny, pitiful groans escaped their lips, as if each step was pure pain.
"You look awful," Caleb said.
Sam stopped in front of him. His throat worked as if trying to speak. His voice was a threadbare sound. "We're real sick, boss. All of us."
His team swayed on their feet. "I think we ate a batch of bad oysters," Mike said. "We all ordered them last night."