Everywhere and Every Way(24)

Morgan studied his face. Those gunmetal eyes had grown a bit misty, as  if he was trapped in a memory that gave him pleasure. "So, it was a true  family business."

And just like that, the distance snapped back. "My father had a firm idea what he wanted, so we just had to follow the plan."

"Is your mother still involved in the company?"

"No. She's gone."

"I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"Not a problem, I just don't want to get all touchy-feely about it. You want a chip?"

He held out the bag like Satan tempting Eve, and her fingers grabbed it. "Yes. Thanks. Just one."

"How's the Hilton?"

The first crunch almost made her moan. Ah, dear God, they were sour  cream and onion! What did he say? "Nice. Luxurious. Of course, room  service and eating out gets old, but I'm used to it."         

     



 

He stretched out long jean-clad legs. "So, basically, you don't have any type of home base?"

"I thought about buying a condo or a studio in Manhattan, but it doesn't  make sense. I average six months in a place, sometimes less, and I  can't have a bunch of different properties scattered. Hotels are more  convenient, and I only stay in the penthouse. Not much to complain  about."

She felt his gaze on her, but she concentrated on the chips. "Do you miss having a home?"

The question was like a bowling ball demolishing all twelve pins in a  strike. Her insides took the hit, but she refused to let the emotions  show on her face. Her gut screamed the truth. Yes. She wanted a home of  her own, a sanctuary that was hers alone. A place no one else could tell  her what to do or how to do it. Someplace she could cook and watch TV  in flannel pajamas and crank the music really loud and dance like no one  watched, because no one could. But she didn't utter any of those words.  There was no point. Morgan loved her career and what she'd  accomplished, and certain things needed to be sacrificed. Her parents  had given her a solid home base she hoped she'd have for her own one  day, on her terms.

"How can I complain about never doing laundry, cleaning, or cooking? That would make me completely ungrateful and selfish."

"No," he said softly. "It would just make you human."

She stilled. His masculine presence pressed down around her like humid  air, wrapping her up in a tight hug. She realized his muscular leg was  pressed against hers as they sat. His arm brushed hers. His scent filled  her nostrils, musk and sweat and soap and skin. All male, all him, all  real and raw. Her stomach did a slow flip, and her fingers tightened  around the bag.

A dangerous hum of attraction hung between them. Afraid to look into his  eyes and be trapped there forever, Morgan drew in a shaky breath, but  the energy was too much, and she turned her head, ready to take the  tumble.

Suddenly the bag was ripped away from her.

"You ate all the chips."

She blinked, and just like that the spell was broken. Morgan didn't know  if she was relieved or annoyed. "I only ate a quarter," she pointed  out. "You owe me at least five more."

He peered into the bag and looked at her outstretched hand. "Hell no.  I'm bigger and need more salt content than you. Besides, I'm doing you a  favor."

She lifted a brow. "How?"

He stuffed a bunch in his mouth and chewed without remorse. "Don't women complain of bloating and stuff when they eat chips?"

Her mouth dropped open. Oh, hell no. He hadn't gone there. Had he? "Did  you just put the words women and bloating together in the same sentence  and expect to live?"

He paused, looking a tiny bit wary. "Stop trying to scare me. I'm trying to be nice."

She gave a cackle and jumped to her feet. "I'd hate to see what you're  like when you're mean, Charming. Oh, BTW, watch the love handles."

He spit out the chips and jerked his chin up. "What?"

Morgan slid her palms down to cup the famous part where the extra fat  settled. Not that he had any, but damned if she'd let him off the hook.  "Love handles. Right here. You know, that part a woman grabs when she's  having sex with-"

"I know what love handles are, dammit! Are you saying I have them?"

She tamped down on her amusement and relied on her brutal, cold,  businesslike efficiency to make her final jab. Her gaze fell upon Cal's  tight stomach and swept over lean hips that had a lot less flab than  hers. Oh well. She liked her body and her curves and rarely apologized.  If any man wasn't turned on by her form, she happily told them to keep  on trucking and find a skinny-assed model. Besides, he'd already seen  her practically naked and seemed to like what was on display. She  ignored the dip of her belly and how badly she wanted a rerun of that  night. "Ummm, no. Of course not." With perfect delivery, she landed the  knockout punch. "But I think you may be right. I'll skip the chips."

His blistering curse was the perfect backdrop.

She got back to work.





chapter nine







Cal stood in the middle of Blossom & Company, one of the customized  lighting and accent stores in Harrington, known for its uniqueness,  quality, and of course, price.

After a brutal workday, they'd taken an hour to change and regroup  before heading into town. Cal wasn't a complainer, but shopping for home  decor was so much more Tristan, who actually gave a shit if a lamp was  placed in a certain room for atmosphere, style, and correct shadowing.  Him? A lamp gave light, and that was good enough.         

     



 

Still, after Morgan had gone and put in a longer day than one of his  guys, he was keeping his mouth shut. They'd stopped for a lobster roll,  and he'd followed her obediently into the home warehouse, planning to be  helpful and polite and home in time to put the baseball game on.

That was two hours ago, and his original intention had gone AWOL.

Now? Yeah, he was just cranky and bored out of his mind.

"What do you think of this?" she asked. He wished the damn store served  alcohol rather than sparkling froufrou water. He took in the beaded,  fringy thing that looked like it should be from the seventies.

"What is it?"

She sighed. "A lamp."

He crinkled his brow and poked at it. "Where does the bulb go?"

"You hang it upside down and it gives the impression of a chandelier.  See, I'd like to get it for the bathroom but wanted to get your take. Is  it possible to make it work?"

Cal blinked. "We usually install the fan in the bathroom. Won't this  fabric part get moldy from the steam? And why would anyone want a weird  green thing hanging in front of the toilet?"

Maybe that was the wrong thing to say. Seemed like she didn't want his  advice on how the thing looked, just how it could be installed. "It's  vintage. I'm going with an antique-looking type of bathroom. Claw-foot  tub. Tapestry. This would be perfect, and no, I don't want a fan in the  bathroom."

"Huh? What if it gets stinky in there?"

She gave a long-suffering groan. "It won't. It's a bathroom to look at, not really use."

Cal scratched his head. "Yeah, like that makes tons of sense. Will there be a toilet?"

"Of course! Why are you asking ridiculous questions?"

"Why are you forcing me to look at ridiculous shit?"

She glared and tapped her foot. Her comfortable clothes consisted of  white linen shorts, a yellow tank top, and white sandals with little  silver chains on them. Her hair was back to its perfect condition, the  silvery strands swishing past her cheeks at a sharp angle. He bet she'd  paid a fortune for that cut. She'd be even more pissed if he told her  the truth.

She looked hotter with the strands sweaty, tousled, and pulled back in a clip.

It had been getting harder to resist the attraction. When she was  banging away with that hammer, her clothes mussed and dirty, muttering  mild Southern curses under her breath when something went wrong, Cal  couldn't deny he wanted her.

In fact, it was getting more difficult the more time they spent together.

Even now, when she was aggravating him, he kept gazing at that pink,  lush mouth and wondered what she'd do if he shut her up by kissing her.  Again. This time without stopping. Of course, it was impossible. She'd  already dissed him, and pushing her would be sexual harassment and a  whole bunch of mess. Still didn't make the thought go away.

"Let's rehash the ground rules, okay? I pick the materials and  furnishing and accessories and hardware. You tell me if you can make it  work."

"Fine. The answer is yes. I can make the ugly green lamp work in the bathroom that will never be used."

She seethed with frustration, her teeth snapping together. "See? Was that so hard?"

"Yes, this is painful. I'm doing you a favor. I'm bored. I hate this  shit. Can you buy the ugly lamp, contact Tristan in the morning, and get  me the hell out of here?"

Cal prepped for a female temper tantrum, but she switched gears.  Suddenly she let out a laugh filled with such genuine joy, he couldn't  help but smile back. She was so damn pretty. Standing in the middle of  the store with that atrocity in her hands, dressed in her flawless white  clothes, with her perfect hair and nails, able to laugh at his  grumbling.