Moments later, he stops swimming. As
he twists and turns, shaking the excess water from his hair, I step behind the
draperies so he won’t catch me lusting over him. My so-called client. Should I be
caught, I’d be embarrassed at how I’d explain myself.
I snap out of my daze, leave him
alone and head upstairs to continue work on the two guest suites. Leo will be
coming by later to help. Since Morgan told me the news about Abby, I decide to
tweak the design of one of the suites a bit, perhaps a little less adult. I
hope I don’t overstep my boundaries, but he gave me free reign so I do what I
think is in his best interest. I’ve planned a special treatment on the feature
wall in the room so I plug in my headphones, slip my iPod in my jeans pocket
and get to work.
Less than an hour later, the door opens
and Morgan pokes his head through.
“Hello, Zoë,” he says with a dazzling
smile. “How long have you been here? I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I rang the doorbell, but you didn’t
hear me. You looked like you were training for the Olympics, and I didn’t want
to disturb you.”
He steps into the room, giving me a
clear view of his wet body. A navy and white striped Ralph Lauren Signature towel
hugs his hips. His ankles and the top half of his body is completely bare.
“Come on, Zoë. You know you could
never disturb me.”
I stifle my blush that is fighting
hard to make an appearance. “You looked so intense, I didn’t want to
interrupt.”
“Just how long were you there
looking
?”
I try to be nonchalant and not
choke on my answer, “Not long. I have a lot of work to do so I came right up.”
“Can I help?” he asks, seemingly
genuine.
“Well, Leo, my assistant, will be
here later so that won’t be necessary.”
“Please. I insist,” he smiles. “You
can teach me something new. I like using my hands, I like getting dirty, and I’ll
help you get the job done in half the time.”
“That’s yet to be seen. It really
depends on how
good
you are with those hands of yours.”
Shoot.
“I
have a feeling that came out the wrong way.”
“I’ll be more than happy to show
you just how
good
I can be with my hands. Just let me change. I’ll be
right back.”
I sigh after he leaves the room. Just
what I need… sexual innuendo and the Morgan Drake distraction. I quickly run to
the bathroom and check my hair and clothes in the mirror just to be sure that I
look decent. I touch up my lip-gloss and apply just a tad of blush. Then I decide
it might be better if I wear my hair up, and I slip it into a ponytail.
Hearing Morgan’s approach, I run
back into the room and scribble some nonsense in my notebook, pretending to
look busy.
“Did you do something different to your
hair?” he asks as he enters.
I look up to see him wearing faded
blue jeans and a grey T-shirt. When packing his closet, I realized his only
colors were grey, black, navy and white.
“Oh
no, not really. I just
put it up because we’re going to paint.”
“Okay, great. I’m here,” he says. “Just
tell me what to do.”
“Just what every teacher wants. An
eager and motivated student. So, pay attention. I’ve marked off stripes on the
wall with blue tape. Every alternating section will be painted a different
shade of cream. Pay attention and be careful, because the paint colors are very
close. The big difference is the finish. When it’s dry, there will be a very
subtle stripe on the wall. Understand?”
“Seems simple enough.”
“Good. To avoid confusion, I’ll let
you do the matte finish stripes, and I’ll do the gloss.” I show him some
supplies I’ve laid out.
“Perfect.”
“Have you ever painted or used a
roller before?”
Cocking his head, he looks at me as
if I’ve asked a crazy question. “Of course.”
“Don’t look at me like that. Assumption
is the mother of all—” I hesitate as I realize what I am about to say, “screw-ups.
Assumption is the mother of all screw-ups.”
He laughs heartily at my comment. “Trying
to keep your responses
tamed
, Miss Jenkins?”
I smile and fight the urge to
respond with some snarky comment. Ignoring his response, I hand him his roller,
a paint tray, and his can of matte finish paint.
“By my calculations, the top stripe
will be a matte finish. So why don’t you start from the left end from the top.
You can use the ladder, and to stay out of your way, I’ll be on the bottom…I
mean start at the bottom… on the right.”
He raises his brow at me, opens his
mouth to say something then shuts it.
“Good idea.” I smile.
“What?” His face is painted with
guilt. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to. Enough with all
the chatter, we’re here to work not talk.”
“Yes, boss.”
We both start our individual jobs,
and it isn’t long before he breaks the silence.
“You know when I hired you, I didn’t
think you’d be actually doing any of this stuff yourself. I thought you’d
design and get others to do the manual labor.”
“That’s mostly true, but I try to
do a few projects myself at each home. I enjoy it. Of course I delegate all the
things I hate doing like hanging wallpaper, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do
it.”
“I see.”
“I also put all the finishing
details in place and accessorize just before I turn a home or room over to a
client.”
“I suspected that. You pay
attention. I really like the pyramids in the living room. Thank you.”
“Well, you didn’t give me any clues
so I had to try and figure out what you like from what you owned.”
“You know the possibility did exist
that the books on the pyramids could be gifts.”
“That is true but highly unlikely
when you own over fifteen of them.”
“You counted?”
“I just estimated,” I lie. “What’s
with the obsession anyway?”
“I’ve always been fascinated by
them. I did a project on them in middle school and the more I learned, the more
intrigued I got. Did you know that the blocks on the Pyramids are so tightly
and precisely fit, you can’t slip two sheets of paper between them?”
“I did not know that…”
“They also align perfectly with the
three belt stars in the constellation Orion.”
“Intriguing. Have you ever visited
them?”
“I haven’t yet. But it’s on my list
of things to do.”
We continue, working diligently. Soon
enough, we’re both on the opposite end of the room from where we started. Two stripes
down, four more to go.
“Are you the one responsible for
color coding my closet, folding my clothes neatly and stacking my scrubs,
T-shirts and sweaters the way they’d look in a Ralph Lauren Store?”
I can’t help but smile at his
analogy. “I suppose I would have to take responsibility for everything that
goes on under this roof.”
“I’ve never had a closet look the
way mine does now. When I first saw it, I was shocked. Organized all the way
down to my underwear drawer—thank you for that, by the way.
I nearly drop the roller at the
words
underwear drawer
. My palms immediately become damp with sweat. It takes
me a second, but I eventually come up with some response, “I’m glad you approve.”
The longer we work together in the
room, the more intense the atmosphere becomes between us. Images of us
together
run through my mind. I want them to stop, but they won’t. I find myself hoping
that Leo’s arrival will be my saving grace. Unfortunately, as I look at my
watch, he’s not due here for another few hours.
We’re now both painting the stripes
closer to the center of the wall. I take a step to the right to let him pass
through and at the same time so does he. We almost bump into each other. Morgan
looks into my eyes. Returning his gaze, I stare at his pink lips. I realize how
much I want him to kiss me. Like French-kiss-type-of-kiss. He leans into me,
and I tiptoe to reach his lips—
“Zoë?” Leo calls out. It sounds
like he is in the bedroom next to this one.
I’m quickly startled out of the
trance this man has me under and back away.
Morgan returns to his painting
duties, and I eventually answer, “We’re in here,” at the same time Leo opens
the door and walks into the room.
The first thing I see when he steps
in is his yellow and purple outfit.
“You’re nice and bright today.”
“You like?” he asks spinning around
like the fashionista that he is.
“Meet Doctor Morgan Drake,” I say.
Morgan’s back was to the door, but
as he steps down to shake hands, Leo is temporarily speechless.
“So good to meet you,” he
eventually responds.
“It’s a pleasure,” Morgan replies.
“I appreciate all your hard work. I think we can all use a drink?”
“Sure, thanks,” I reply. After what
almost happened, I need a moment to breathe.
As soon as Morgan exits the room,
Leo puts a hand to his chest in dramatic fashion. “Those photos did
not
do
the man justice. That man is on
fi-yah
…”
“Whatever you say, Leo. We’re here
to work, not lust after our client. And don’t forget, that’s what he is—our
client.”
“Sounds like someone is trying to
convince herself of that. Zoë, darling, you need to take that advice for
yourself because that man has an
ee-fect
on you. Do I need to remind you
of the mess Todd Hughes caused for you and your business?”
“No. Thank you. Now just be quiet
and get to work.”
“Evidently one of my biggest
projects for the day is complete, so I see I will need to find something else
to work on.”
At the same moment, Morgan enters
the room with a pitcher of lemonade, bottled water, beers and glasses. He
places them on some stacked boxes nearby.
“I wasn’t sure what you guys might
want, so I brought a little of everything.”
I’m tempted to take the beer, even
though I only drink them occasionally, but it would be the height of
unprofessionalism if I decided to drink on the job. I reach for the lemonade
and pour a glass.
“Thank you,” Leo says, picking bottled
water. “And since you two seem to have this room under control, I’ll be in the
other one prepping the walls for paint.”
I want to stop him, but I’m not sure
what viable excuse I’d have. Before I know it, the door shuts. When I turn,
Morgan is peering into my eyes.
“I think it’s time we stop tap
dancing around this attraction we have for each other and confront it head on,”
he says.
“Why? So you can do like everyone
else, trample over me and break my heart? No thank you. Now, thank you for the drink.
If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work.”
“You didn’t even deny it,” he says
with a smirk as I’m about to pick up the roller.
“Deny what?” I play dumb.
“You know what I’m talking about,”
he says, walking toward me with a smug look on his face. He looks down at me
and smiles. He leans over, kisses me gently on the corner of my mouth, and
walks away.
That kiss sends reverberations to
my core. For a split second, I’m flabbergasted, but I must have the last word…
“If you think I’m the type of girl
who would fu—” I stop when I realize what I’m about to say to my client. “Sleep
with a man just because he’s hot and has a fat bank account, you have another
thing coming.”
Staring down into my eyes he says, “Good,
because if you were, I’d be terribly disappointed. By the way, it’s nice to
finally meet you. I love your
untamed
response.” He leans down, and I’m
not sure what he’s about to do next. He picks up the roller, takes my hand and places
the roller in it. “Let’s get back to work now, shall we?”
We work in an awkward silence. I
still can’t get that almost kiss out of my head.
“May I ask you a question?” he interrupts
my thoughts.
“Sure.”
“Is it a general rule that you don’t
date any of your clients, or have you reserved that specifically for me?”
I almost laugh at the way he
phrases his question. “It’s an absolute rule. There is no need for you to take
it personally.”
“Why such stringent rules?”
“It just is what it is.”
“Have you ever dated a client?”
I pause, because I know where this
is going. Answering that question will only lead to more and more questions.
Looking over at him, I think about my response.
“You don’t have to answer,” he
says. “I know you have and it ended badly and that’s why you’re so adamant
about this. I don’t know what you’ve been through, but not everyone out there
is like
him
.”
I think to answer but draw my eyes
away. The truth is, from the moment I met Morgan Drake, I’ve thought about him
in a way I should
not
be thinking about a client. I’ve questioned my own
so-called rules many times, and whether I’ll admit it to anyone or not, I’ve
considered forgetting my own rules. I often wonder what it would be like to be
with him
.
“How can I convince you? What will
it take for you to go out with me?”
The air between us becomes tense once
more. I go for humor to avoid the conflict that festers within me. “Give me a
few days, and I’ll get back to you on that.”
“In a few days, I’ll no longer be
your client.”
That’s true… tomorrow, his divorce
will be final too…
I can’t deal with that thought
right now. I intentionally change the subject. I look at the wall he’s
finished. He actually did a pretty good job.
“Nice job, Doctor Drake.” I put his
paint and roller aside. “Thanks for helping me.”
“It sounds like you’re throwing me
out.”
“I am,” I say, gently directing him
out of the room.
He turns and looks down at me, with
a spark in his eyes, “I’ll leave you alone, Zoë Jenkins. You can deny how you
feel to me, but you can’t deny how you feel to yourself forever.”