Designed for Love (Texas Nights) (9 page)

“Once lot sales and home building start, I should be a shoo-in for the interior design jobs. Until then, I’ll make do with smaller design jobs. Besides, something of Lily Lake’s scale will only bump up my credibility.”

Did either she or her grandmother have a friggin’ clue just how out of her element Ashton was with something the size of this project? “So back to those deadlines.”

“Number one, I hire a general contractor.”

So she was saying that if he didn’t agree to work with her, she might never get the project off the ground. He didn’t need this kind of pressure, but he flicked two fingers, asking her to continue.

“Then I need a detailed phase-one plan on paper. The three stages I define within phase one have to come in on time and on budget. Last, I have to host a community-wide event on the property.”

“And if you miss one of the deadlines?”

She suddenly became entranced in tracing the lines of her own sketch. “I miss one, and it’s over. Because she won’t release the next draw.”

“You’re telling me your grandmother is such a hard-ass that you miss a deadline and she’ll kill the whole thing?”

“She doesn’t really believe in wiggle room.”

“It’s a nice concept, I’ll give you that.” He rubbed a hand over his mouth. They could use cedar for the beams and trim. A metal roof could be both practical and beautiful. “But I’m slammed between the jobs I’ve picked up and my mom’s shop.”

“Couldn’t you just—”

“Ashton, we don’t all have an unlimited bank account. I need the money from those jobs to fund the renovations on the shop.” And to pay off his old subs in Dallas since she’d wiped out his reserves.

“If you say yes today and we hit the next deadline, then I would be able to pay at least a portion of what I owe you. Plus, I’ll match whatever you’re making at your other jobs and add...twenty-five percent.”

“I can’t just walk out on my commitments.”

“How long until you wrap up your current jobs?”

“Couple of weeks.” Which meant he needed to start beating the bushes again soon. “You got a timeline on this?”

She winced but covered it with one of her smiles. “All I need from you today is a commitment, written of course, that you’ll take over as GC for the Lily Lake project. I give that to my grandmother and we’re clear until the next deadline.”

“Besides hiring a GC, what kind of deadlines are you talking about?”

“Nothing crazy. One when the concrete is poured. That’s easy enough, right? Then when the pavilion is finished. And another when the deck is done. After that, all I have to do is host an event. And throwing a party? I’m an expert.”

“What about after that?”

“I’ll be working on the new home site plat, utilities, and the plans for other community amenities while we’re completing phase one. But I’m not asking you to stay on past phase one unless you want to. If you commit now, you’re only agreeing to help me get to the event.”

“I don’t know. This kind of project can go down the drain before you can blink an eye.”

She moved closer to him, softly ran a manicured finger over the lines of the drawing as though she was touching flesh and muscle.
His
flesh and muscle. Everything inside Mac tightened in response. And that in itself was one more reason to say no. “Don’t you think it’s beautiful though, Mac? There’s nothing else like it in Shelbyville. Nothing else in the state.”

He stared at the curve of her neck, followed the line down until it dipped between her breasts. “That’s the damned truth.”

“Sure, Pearson Park is nice for some events, but this? This is intimate and earthy all at the same time.”

And didn’t that bring up all kinds of images of Ashton and him not just picnicking there, but also doing lots of intimate and earthy things? But Ashton, her ideas, and problems were the last things he should even contemplate getting involved with.

Hell, he was already involved. This woman—with her excitement, drive and vision—was much more than he’d ever imagined when he first met her. Sure, she still looked like a rich girl, even in clunky boots instead of her fantasy-inspiring high heels, but what he would’ve once sworn was a hollow shell was filled to the brim with a real woman.

A real woman he wanted under him. But if he was even thinking of working with her, he had to shove that aside. Aside? Hell, he needed to smother it under a king-size pillow.

“This is the kind of project that could make your reputation, Mac. The publicity alone could be amazing. I already have a photo shoot scheduled with a statewide magazine, and—”

“Okay,” he said. She was right. This could catapult him back into the Dallas building community. And he didn’t have to commit long-term, just long enough for her to meet the first set of deadlines.

Her blond brows drawn together, she turned toward him. “Okay, what?”

“Okay, I’ll do it, but only if—”

His words were cut off as she body-slammed him, and he stumbled back against the fridge. She grabbed his hair and pulled his head down. And when her lips hit his, Mac knew exactly what he’d missed the other night at Dirty Harry’s.

Sweet heat. The tart taste of green apples. And enough enthusiasm to disintegrate a man’s bones. God, this woman knew how to communicate with her mouth. Her message was a jumble of excitement, gratitude and, if the thump of her heart was any indication, straight-up attraction.

All his warnings to himself about getting involved with this woman got trampled underfoot as he grabbed himself a handful of Ashton’s ass, pulled her between his spread legs, and took over. The kiss exploded from happy to super-heated. Their tongues dancing around each other was the best thing he’d felt in...so long he didn’t even know how long. Colors—blue, red, yellow—spiraled behind his eyes.

He shuffled her back and lifted her to the kitchen table, the sound of paper crumpling loud in the small space. Fuck the plans. He had completely different plans right now. Not exactly seduction over the water, but neither of them would be complaining about that once he was through with her. She bracketed his hips with her legs. The squeeze of her inner thighs had all the blood in his body doing a hairpin turn and speeding toward the intersection of Hell Yeah Street and Thank God Avenue.

Ashton’s hands grasped at his back, pulling him closer, her nails teasing him through the flannel. He went to work on the tiny-ass buttons on her shirt, opened his eyes just enough to get a glimpse of a brain-frying purple bra. “Panties match?” he asked against her mouth.

“Huh?”

“Do your fucking panties match the bra?”

Her eyes went wide and amused. “You mean some women’s don’t?”

Jesus Christ.

Ashton slid her hand down his back to palm one of his butt cheeks, making his glutes contract under her touch.

He was about dive back into the sin of her mouth when something sharp clamped down on the other side of his ass. “Damn, not so hard.” But Ashton’s painful grip on him didn’t ease, so Mac twisted to look over his shoulder. “Shit.”

“Mac?”

“Please tell me your dog is up-to-date on his rabies shots.”

“Why would you—” Ashton pushed back and peered around his body, “—oh, no. Napoleon, drop!” She shoved under Mac’s arm and grabbed Napoleon, relieving a little of the downward pull on Mac’s posterior. “Drop, now!”

Finally, the sharp pain in his ass eased, and a snuffling sound came from behind him. He whirled around to find Ashton laughing into her dog’s fur.

“I’m...really...sorry—” snort, chuckle, breath, “—but he must’ve thought you were attacking me.”

Even though Mac’s ass would likely be one big bruise in the morning, he should probably thank the damned dog. He’d kept Mac from screwing the woman who was now his
boss.
On his kitchen table of all places.

That was when Mac spotted what the dog had dropped to the floor before attacking him. A masticated piece of wide elastic and a shredded pouch.

Ashton followed his gaze. Those chuckles turned into all-out belly laughs. “What can I say? He also has a thing for lingerie.”

Motherfucking dog had gotten into Mac’s gym bag and chewed up his only jockstrap.

Chapter Eight

A week later, Mac stood on a piece of property a quarter of the way around the lake from his trailer waiting on people to show up for a damned groundbreaking. Ashton had insisted on a ceremony and photo shoot before they started the site grading. Said it would invest the community in the project and impress her grandmother.

She’d also made his presence mandatory. Give that woman an inch...

Mac shifted his shoulders inside his suit jacket. Getting all suited up was something a guy like attorney Jamie Wright did. Even as a company owner, Mac had only needed one—his wedding, funeral, and important-meeting black. Otherwise, he got away with jeans and an occasional pair of khakis.

As he approached the area where they would build the pavilion, he tugged at the noose around his neck. Ties were pretty much against his religion. But damned if she hadn’t insisted on that too.

Ashton had the pavilion site all fancied up with a canvas canopy, white folding chairs and an oversized drawing of the first stage of the project. Her back to him, she bent over, draping a piece of fabric over something. In that blue dress hugging all the curves he’d had his hands on, damned if she didn’t look like the million bucks she apparently no longer had in the bank.

At the memory of their kiss, he rubbed his right butt cheek. The bruise had gone from dark blue to sickly green to baby-puke yellow. He only knew because it was impossible not to see his own ass in the full-length mirror in his sardine-sized bathroom.

For a dog the size of a rabbit, that Napoleon had some jaws on him.

“Are you sure I need to wear a suit for this thing?” he asked.

She spun around, a hand on her chest. Shit, and he’d thought that dress looked good from the caboose side? The engine side, with its low square neckline baring the tempting curve of her headlights, was prime. Mac tried to concentrate on her right shoulder. Shoulders covered in fabric weren’t all that sexy.

Yeah, who was he trying to bullshit? Every part of this woman’s body—covered or not—lit him up.

“Most of them already know Mac McLaughlin, the laid-back carpenter, but you’re a key part in people embracing this project.” Her words shifted Mac out of his obsession with her dress. “I want people to see you as the businessman you really are.”

God help them all if people in Shelbyville found out why he’d lost that final job in Dallas to his competitor. “This isn’t even my hometown.”

“But you’re, you know, down-to-earth. Relatable.”

“Blue-collar, you mean?”

She curled her fingers into a fist and popped him on the shoulder hard enough to make his collarbone sing.

“What the hell?”

When she tilted her head and gave him a flirty girl smile, her blond hair came almost to her waist. “Just trying to knock it off.”

“Yeah, yeah. Funny.”

She stepped into his personal space, and her signature ocean scent wrapped around him, gave him a little buzz. When she reached for his tie, straightened and tightened it, the buzz went viral, taking over every nerve ending in his body. “You look great, by the way. Who knew there was such polish under those work boots and plaid snap-up shirts?”

“What’s wrong with pearl-snap shirts?”

Her smile went secret and sly. “Nothing at all.”

“Bring the little butt-biter with you?” He reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a brown leather leash. “I bought him a present.”

“A leash. You bought my dog a leash.”

“Well, after that incident—” damned if Mac would rub his ass in front of her, “—I figured it would be safer for all involved.”

“That’s sweet, but you can take it back. I’m sure you’ve noticed Napoleon doesn’t wear a collar.”

He hadn’t, probably because the dog was always on the move. “That doesn’t seem safe.”

“No collar because it started chafing him a few months ago, but I keep his tags in my purse.” Ashton patted him on the shoulder and stepped back, leaving the space around him empty of energy. “And I know this will break your heart, but he’s not here. I splurged on doggie day care for him today.”

“Splurged?”

Turning her back on him, she adjusted the drape on what he now realized was a podium. “He’s...ah...getting the works. You know, bath, conditioning, pawdicure.”

“Did you say pawdicure?” And how much did something like that cost—enough to put another fifty bucks back in Mac’s pocket? Shit.

“Yes, nail care is important to a dog’s overall health.”

“Now I’m imagining him kicked back in one of those massage chairs reading a
Dogs Illustrated
while some poodle rubs his feet.”

“You really have a very vivid imagination.”

When it came to this woman, way, way too vivid. Enough sex, money and dog thoughts. Those things shouldn’t even go in the same sentence. He clapped his hands. “So what’s the plan?”

“People are due to show up in half an hour. I’ll explain the first phase of the project, get people excited. Then we’ll do the shovel-and-dirt thing. I’ve invited press from all over the state. Not sure who will show, but I did have confirmation from
Texas Trails and Byways
that we’ll be a feature story in the next issue. We’re lucky they had another article fall through at the last minute.”

“Just tell me what you need me to do. I can move chairs. Do you need that podium in another spot?”

She grabbed his arm before he could heft the thing. “No, sir. You will not sweat through your suit jacket. Because I’m pretty sure you don’t have another one stashed behind the seat of your truck. I want you to greet people. You know, shake hands and smile. Chat with them.”

Mac was an expert at communicating with subcontractors, which mainly consisted of creative cursing and grunts, but small-talk chitchatting appealed to him as much as buying another suit. “Isn’t that more in your wheelhouse? I could just move chairs and—”

She tapped the pointy toe of a high-heeled shoe that could probably kick a man’s balls into his throat if applied correctly. “Is there a reason you’re reluctant to be associated with this project? With me? Because you don’t run your own company without being able to play the game when needed. Well, guess what? It’s time to suit up and play the game. If you don’t stand front and center, showing the community and the press that you support this project, that you support me, they’ll never take me seriously.”

This woman underestimated her significant power. By talking him into working on the project, she’d already proven she was determined and persuasive. But Mac said, “Tell me where to start.”

Her brows lifted, and the sunshine returned to her face. She waggled her fingers toward the rutted path leading to the road. “Perfect. You’re in charge of meet and greet.”

What the hell had he gotten himself roped into?

* * *

When Mac turned and walked away, Ashton slumped into a folding chair. Her wobbly knees simply wouldn’t hold her for another second. What if this whole groundbreaking event was a disaster? What if everyone came and laughed at her ideas? At her?

If Mac didn’t believe she was confident in their ability to pull this off, he’d back out so fast, he would leave her head reeling. That was not an option. Because if he quit on her, there was no way she’d make the next deadline, and that was all it would take to tank the project.

To tank her. Yes, Gigi might love her, but that didn’t mean she would give Ashton a second chance. This wasn’t a three-strike game. It was simply single elimination.

Ashton filled her lungs with air, and that tight spot in her chest eased a little. Failure was not an option.

An hour later, at least two hundred people were milling around the tent she’d rented. The low-level conversation created a buzz that flowed through her like champagne. They’d come. Plenty of people from the community, including the mayor, several bank presidents, and Cameron Wright, the chair of the Shelbyville Economic Development committee. And enough press to ensure the project would get statewide coverage. A few people pushed their way through the thick water-loving plants at the shore to look out over the lake. To take in the view the event pavilion would highlight.

Even Mac was socializing, if standing near Gladys Phelps—who was wearing a pumpkin muumuu and matching beaded house slippers—listening to whatever the older lady was going on about, could be considered socializing. But it simply proved what Ashton had told him. He might not be a hometown boy, but these people liked him, accepted him as though he was one of their own. Ashton picked her way toward Mac and Gladys. She’d come within a half-dozen steps when Gladys spotted her.

The older woman patted Mac on the arm and said, “I think I see Charlie and Emmalee across the way. I should scoot over and say hello.”

Relief lightened Mac’s features, but Ashton’s heart tumbled. Gladys shuffled away, but Ashton continued toward Mac. “Why do people do that?”

“Do what?”

“Run away when they see me coming.”

He studied her, his gaze serious and considering. “She wanted to say hello to some friends.”

“No, that happens to me all the time around here.”

Rocking back a step, Mac slowly ran his gaze from the top of her head and over her face. Down, down, down her body until her skin tingled. He contemplated her feet for a good thirty seconds, then made the return trip. By the time he was looking into her eyes again, her muscles felt as though they might just pop right out of her skin. Everything else around them faded into a blur of sound and muted color. The memory of his big body wedged between her legs, those muscles under her palms, swept over Ashton. She shivered even though the sun was bright and warm.

“It’s pretty obvious why.”

“Not to me.”

He waved a hand in front of her as though he was erasing something. “The way you look, Ashton, the way you dress. That outfit you have on today probably cost more than what some of these people make in a week. Hell, maybe a month.”

She glanced down at the St. Ramberge dress, leaned closer to Mac to whisper, “But this is two seasons old.”

His laugh came out more of a snort. “You think people know that? All they know is that you look expensive. Unapproachable. And that intimidates them.”

A small piece of her was thrilled that people were slightly in awe of her. But that piece crashed and burned because that awe had nothing to do with what she could do and everything to do with the way she looked. And that was simply a function of excellent genetics and money. Okay, and the services of an excellent hair colorist. One she could no longer afford. “So what should I do?”

He rubbed at his forehead. “Hell, I don’t know. Maybe stop walking around like you’ve got one of those sparkly things sitting on top of your head.”

“A tiara?”

“Yeah, with the fake diamonds.”

Probably not the time to tell him she’d had one with real gems for her deb ball. “I can do that.”

“And maybe get your nose and chin out of the air.”

“Excuse me?”

“Why are we having this conversation, anyway?”

Tension simmered under her skin. “Because I need these people to like me, dammit. Get behind this project.”

“The way you walk. It’s like you think you’re better than everyone around you.”

“That’s called good posture.”

“You asked, and I’m just telling you what I see.”

Is that how Mac saw her? As some spoiled, up-on-her-high-horse rich girl? Probably. And what man wanted a stuck-up woman? Oh, plenty of tennis and golf boys in Houston. But those relationships were more mergers than marriages.

Heat flickered through her. What kind of woman normally attracted a man like Mac McLaughlin? He obviously liked something about her. After all, that kiss in his trailer hadn’t been a fake. Even if he’d been playacting the kiss, there was no way he’d shoved a pretend erection against her. And that bore some thinking about.

“Point taken. I’ll work on it,” she said. “But for now, it’s time to charm all these lovely folks with our ideas about the Lily Lake development.”

Mac led the way to the tent, and people fell in behind him as if he were the Pied Piper and they were his willing rats. Everyone filtered to their seats, and Mac found a landing spot off to the side.

Ashton stepped behind the tabletop podium and breathed, felt her chin angle up. With effort, she pulled it down a notch and smiled at the group. “Thank you to everyone for making the time to attend the Community at Lily Lake groundbreaking. We promise not to keep you long, but before we do the actual groundbreaking, I wanted to share a few details with you.” She glanced at Mac, and his lips lifted in encouragement. She could do this. “Many of you might be expecting a fast, slap-dash development out here. However, Adelaide Chappell has preserved the acreage around Lily Lake for years, just waiting for the right opportunity. The right idea to enhance not only the lake itself, but this community as a whole.”

“That mean you’re gonna build a bunch of mini-mansions out here?” a man sitting in the back row asked.

Chin down
,
chin down
,
chin down.
Ashton slipped on her we’re-all-on-the-same-side smile. “Future plans do include selling residential lots. But our goal for this lake community is to make it accessible to both the people who own property and Shelbyville residents.”

“Big talk, but money talks louder,” he grumbled.

Keep smiling.
“At this time, Lily Lake is a privately owned property. The current development plans will open up public lake access and facilities.”

“You think people are gonna let you do that once they’ve bought up all that pricey property?”

“I don’t think.” She forced herself to keep an even tone. “I know. Because we’re building several of the public facilities first.”

That created a stir, with people shifting and sitting up straighter in their chairs.

“I’m pleased to announce that Michael McLaughlin will serve as the general contractor on this portion of the project. And the first item on our agenda is the construction of an outdoor pavilion with a bridge extension that will be appropriate for all types of events—birthdays, family reunions—” Ashton glanced at Allie Shelby and Cameron Wright, “—and even weddings.”