Good with His Hands(3)

Most of the time, Sean told himself it was natural for siblings to grow  apart, no big deal. But his last girlfriend had accused him of being  jealous of his successful, intelligent brother. "He has the prestigious  degree, the loft condo and the class. You're a glorified handyman. No  wonder you resent him."

Was Sean here in part to prove her wrong? To try to recapture some of  the old camaraderie? Knock off the introspective crap. You're here to  hang some balloons and heckle him about being old.

It was only fair, considering how often Bryce had lorded his  nine-minute head start on life over his "little brother" when they were  kids. Sean also had a gift to leave on his brother's desk. He'd scanned a  section of one of Bryce's first blueprints and paid a friend with  graphics art talent to turn it into a one-of-a-kind multicolored  kaleidoscope print. Sean had framed the resulting artwork and wrapped it  in black "over the hill" paper. He hoped Bryce would hang the print in  his office.                       
       
           



       

Or was the customized art too funky for the uptight man Bryce had  become? Although Bryce was a decent architect, his main role in the  company was getting permits passed. He was the person who crossed the  t's and dotted the i's. As if his occupational habits were taking over  his personal life, with each passing year, Bryce grew more rigid. His  DVD collection of pretentious, independent films was probably  alphabetized. Most of Sean's DVDs weren't even in their proper cases.

Unlike his brother, Sean lived in the moment, enjoying spontaneity. Why  overplan the journey? In his experience, life offered many interesting  detours.

* * *

OF ALL THE ways Dani could have spent Saturday afternoon, hiding in an  empty office so that concerned friends couldn't call her home line or  drop by to check on her was definitely in the pathetic top five.

Granted, she'd spent the past few hours putting herself in a strategic  position to reach her goal-the youngest top seller to graduate to a flat  desk fee instead of splitting commission with the brokerage-but was it  really healthy to be so practical? She was a scorned bride. Shouldn't  she be finding catharsis in some kind of outrageous behavior? In her  career, following the rules and setting goals worked well. In her love  life? Not so much. Tate was the one who'd cheated, yet he was happily  married while she was alone.

When Meg had announced she was moving in with Nolan, a pharmaceutical  sales rep six years her senior, after dating him only a couple of  months, Dani had cautioned her exuberant friend that it was too soon.  But Meg had defied conventional wisdom and seemed perfectly happy with  her choice. Meanwhile, Dani had tried to do everything right with  Tate-spending a year and a half getting to know him before they got  engaged, being completely supportive of his needing to work out of the  country-and she'd gotten screwed.

If this were a movie, she would have taken her canceled honeymoon to  Maui all by herself and fallen in love with one of Hollywood's leading  men amid a learning-to-surf montage and funny luau scene. Well, it's not  a movie. So she could either stay here and continue her downward spiral  into feeling sorry for herself or she could call Meg. Maybe last  night's invitation for drinks still stood. Or maybe Dani should look  around the area for paintball places with evening hours. She sort of  liked the idea of wearing her pristine white wedding dress to a  paintball battle. If nothing else, the sight would unnerve her  opponents.

She heaved a sigh. It wasn't the bridal gown's fault that Tate was too  insecure to spend his life with a strong woman. She shouldn't take out  her rage on a seven-hundred-dollar dress. But she could totally take it  out on a pitcher's worth of margaritas.

Resolved, she shut down her computer. There was one nice thing about  her abysmal little apartment; it was only two adjoining parking lots  away from a neighborhood bar. She could easily walk home after a few  drinks. The bar was a nice place with pool tables and a Saturday happy  hour she might still make if she left now. Maybe Meg could meet her  there.

Dani would call her from the car, once her cell phone was plugged in to  the charger. She'd "accidentally" forgotten to charge it this morning.  At least, that was the story she planned to give anyone who'd been  unable to reach her. Her father had called three times alone that  morning. Lord knew how many voice messages awaited her.

When Dani had arrived at the office, she'd been wearing a three-quarter  sleeved semitransparent blouse over a lace-edged red camisole and white  denim skirt. But the air-conditioning didn't run on the weekends and  the day had turned into one of those humid summer previews when Mother  Nature demonstrated what Atlanta had to look forward to in June, so  she'd shrugged out of the blouse. Now she scooped up the discarded  garment and her briefcase, suddenly eager to escape the barren office  and the loneliness it represented. She could imagine how Tate would  gloat if he knew she'd spent the day here alone.

But it turned out the building wasn't entirely deserted. As she juggled  her belongings in her arms to lock the brokerage door, she heard  footsteps in the hall behind her. She glanced back immediately; her dad,  who'd been far more comfortable teaching her self-defense than taking  her bra shopping, had coached her to be aware of her surroundings.

Her eyes widened. Hot Architect! It was like a sign. Or fate, if she believed in such nonsense. For today, be a believer. "Hi."

"Hi," he echoed. "I didn't think anyone else was cooped up in the  building on such a gorgeous day." His lips quirked in a lazy half smile,  his gaze dropping in a brief but appreciative once-over before  returning to meet hers. "Never been so happy to be wrong."                       
       
           



       

He was flirting with her? His unexpectedly playful tone was like diving  into cold water on a scorching summer day-an initial shock to the  system, but damn it felt good.

Although he still hadn't given her a full smile, humor danced in his  eyes. "I hope your presence here on a Saturday afternoon doesn't mean  you're a stuffy workaholic," he teased. "That would be tragic. But I'm  willing to give you the benefit of the doubt."

"You're here, too. Workaholic tendencies?"

She could almost believe the man she normally saw in well-tailored  suits was a workaholic. But now? Lord have mercy. His dark hair was  rumpled. With no trace of styling product, it looked shaggier yet sexy.  He filled out a pair of jeans in a way that could make a grown woman  weep, and his T-shirt... She tried not to gape, scarcely believing how  he'd hid those biceps under his suit jackets.

He crossed his arms over his chest, giving her a great view of corded  forearms. "I wouldn't describe myself as a workaholic." This time,  instead of the half smile, he flashed a wicked grin. "But I don't stop  until the job's done to everyone's mutual satisfaction."

Her mind raced, full of suggestions on how such satisfaction could be  reached. Hadn't she promised herself that when he finally smiled at her,  she'd make a move?

"Are you on your way to the elevators?" he asked.

"Stairwell, actually. I prefer physical activity."

His grin widened. There was a bracketed indentation to the right of his  mouth, not deep enough or boyish enough to be called a dimple, but  close. "Sounds like you and I have a lot in common."

Two days ago, she'd offered the innocuous suggestion of buying him a  pastry. Now she wanted to offer a whole lot more than that. Dinner,  maybe. And dessert, back at her place. Slow your roll, Yates. The guy  doesn't even know your name yet. "I'm Danica, by the way. My friends  call me Dani."

"Mine call me Grayson. Or just Gray." He reached out to shake her hand,  his fingers calloused and warm against her skin. She suddenly wanted to  know what that touch would feel like along the rest of her body.

"Do you have anywhere you have to be?" She blurted the question before  she could change her mind. "Because, personally, I'm dying to let off  some steam."

Heat flared in his eyes, his smile fading into something more intense. "What did you have in mind?"

"For starters, a drink at a bar I know." The delicious way he was  looking at her made her reckless and lightheaded. "After that...well, I  guess we'll see."

He stepped closer. They weren't touching, but the proximity was  intimate. Her body prickled in heightened awareness and if her hands  weren't full, she'd be fanning herself. "Consider my evening cleared."

Wow. She was really doing this. Exhilaration and desire were a potent mix, an electric buzz along her nerves.