Oh God. It wasn't Phil. It was her ocean god.
Her ocean god? How could that be? Still, it was the first thing that came to mind-she saw him erupting from the water as clearly as if it had really happened. She shook her head, then lowered it slightly~ear Lord, what if she were blushing? "I'm sorry, I .. ."
He wore painter's whites, smudged with the obligatory array of color splotches, but the clothing did nothing to diminish his masculine beauty. Dark hair, longish and messy, hung from the back of the red bandanna around his head, and charcoal eyes pinned her in place like a butterfly in some-one's collection. He hadn't shaved, leaving the olive skin on the bottom half of his face rough with dark stubble. He stood at least six-foot three, his tanned muscles swelling beneath the short sleeves of his T-shirt, and he veritably dripped with a sensuality that pooled between her thighs.
"Lauren Ash?" "Urn, yes."
"Nick Armstrong. I'm the painter."
She raised her gaze and forced herself to meet those dark, arresting eyes. Any darker and they'd be black. "The clothes tipped me off."
She'd meant it as a joke, but Nick Armstrong didn't smile. Well, who cared? Beneath the painter's suit, he was just another man seething with arrogance and sexuality, the type she intended to avoid at all costs from now on.
"I ... was expecting someone else." Despite herself, she supposed she was stabbing at some sort of an apology. "Sorry to disappoint you."
She sighed, lost in the awkward moment. "I just meant I was sorry for the way I answered the door. I didn't realize you were coming today. I must've marked it wrong in my planner."
Still no trace of a smile found his face, so she decided she was done being nice-although she lowered her eyes, unnerved by looking into his. Didn't he ever blink?
"Perhaps we should talk about the job," she suggested.
"Sure."
She stepped out onto the stoop, pulling the door shut behind her. It was bad enough she wasn't clad in much more than her silky robe, but she'd suddenly felt a little disarmed standing there holding her door open in such apparel, as if it implied some unspoken invitation.
Nick Armstrong lifted the clipboard she' d not noticed him holding. "Ivory seashell for the whole house, creamed coffee for the trim. Right?" He didn't look at her now, his eyes on his papers.
"Right," she said, unduly proud to be making a switch from the sea foam pink her father had chosen when he'd built the house for her. "The wall, too. Both sides."
Lowering the clipboard, Nick Armstrong took a long look around, clearly noting that the wall spanned three sides of the large yard. "It's a big wall. It's gonna be a bitch to paint the other side with those trees so close."
She gave him an incredulous blink, thinking, So? "Don't get me wrong-I don't have a problem with it."
She could swear he did.
"But the rest of my crew is tied up for the next few weeks, so I won't have any help. I didn't know about the wall, which is gonna mean more time and more cost. And I don't work cheap."
She glanced to his van in the driveway, his company's name-HORIZON PAINTERS--emblazoned in rainbow colors across the side. Below it in bold black lettering: NICK ARMSTRONG, OWNER. "I know you don't I've seen your invoices." ''Then money is no object?" She gave a short. precise nod.
He leaned his head back slightly, mumbling, "That's what I figured," beneath his breath.
What was that supposed to mean? Well, she wasn't asking. In fact, she intended to go back inside now and get on with her day. She'd had enough of this smartaleck, muscle-bound painter. She reached for the doorknob without looking up at him. "If you want me, I'll be in the shower." Oh, no-say something else, quick. "I mean, if you have any questions, I'll be inside." Unable to stop herself, she risked one last glance at him as she stepped in the door. And now-damn it-the hint of a smug smile graced his expression. "Good to know."
She shut the door in his face and pressed. her back against it, her heart beating palpably against her chest Reaching around herself, she flipped. the lock. Was she afraid of him? Or did she just think: he was the most unnerving man she'd ever met in her life? She didn't know what she felt, only that something about him had put her completely off-balance. She had half a mind to call Sadie at the main office and ask her to find some other subcontractor for the job. Yet that would seem ridiculous, and realistically, she'd probably have little contact with Nick Armstrong from this point forward-he'd be outside doing his job, and she'd be inside doing hers. Still, at least fifty painting companies worked for Ash Builders, and out of all of them, her father's receptionist had picked this guy?
Lauren gave her head a slight shake, wondering at the odds involved. Then she headed back upstairs to the shower-but before shedding her clothes, she made sure every blind was drawn tight.
Nick hadn't seen Lauren Ash since he was twelve years old. He remembered someone saying at the time she was seven. Funny, the little details you hung on to from certain days of your life. She'd come to his mother's funeral in a frilly black satin dress, her long, sunny blond hair falling in waves down her back. She'd held Henry's hand as they'd approached the casket. He recalled watching Henry lift her into his arms so she could look down and see-another of the details burned into his mind for no particular reason except that it had been easier to focus on anything that day besides himself.
"You remember John's wife, Donna, sweet pea?"
Henry had asked her. "From the company picnic? She pushed you on the swing and helped Mommy with the food." Little Lauren had nodded blankly.
"She's in Heaven now." Henry sounded strong and sure and comforting all at once, and for a split second, Nick had wished Henry were his father.
The little girl looked confused-understandably, he thought. because he remained pretty confused on that particular point, too. She peered back at her daddy in his dark sports coat, the tips of his hair curling about the collar of a bright white shirt. "But she's right here," she said in a chirpy little voice.
"Her spirit is in Heaven," Henry started to explain. Yet Nick stopped listening then; his aunt Erma had come up to yank him
into an overpowering hug, shoving his cheek down against her enormous breasts and embarrassing the hell out of him. She started rambling about tragic losses and how his dad would need him to be strong. maybe need him to be the man of the house for a while, but he didn't really listen to that, either. He'd heard more than enough of that shit and didn't want to think about it anymore, didn't want to think about coping after they put his mother in the ground, or about how life would change now-who would cook for them, or help them with their homework. He didn't want to wonder how much longer their dad would ignore them like he had the last few days since the accident.
A light, fluttering noise from somewhere above made him flinch and realize he was staring dumbly at Lauren Ash's soon-tobe-beige front door-that is, if he ever got to work. Still, as his gaze drifted upward to see the blinds shudder in a second-floor window, a warm, wicked satisfaction ran through him. Either she'd been looking out at him, or she'd wanted to make sure he couldn't look in.
Damn, she'd really grown up. Which he'd known, of course, but there was growing up, and then there was growing up. Lauren Ash had done it right. He'd come here expecting some stiff prima donna, which is pretty much what he'd gotten, but he hadn't imagined she'd be so impossibly gorgeous. Oh sure, heád figured she'd be attractive-rich girls had a way of managing that-but he hadn't expected it to affect him.
When she'd ripped the door open, exasperation flashing in her velvet blue eyes, he'd been stunned. Long, unruly blond curls had framed her soft features, undeniably pretty even in anger. Her slinky Victoria's Secret robe had clung to her breasts, outlining her nipples, even through whatever else she'd had on underneath, which had peeked from the robe in a hint of green, edging her cleavage.
Eyes still on the window, he imagined her shedding that robe, shedding whatever scrap of dark green hugged her beneath it, all of it pooling at her feet. He knew instinctively she would be silken and curvy and creamy, every schoolboy's dream. But he'd stood around long enough, gazing up at her window like a lovesick schoolboy, so he figured he'd better get to work on the hellacious job ahead of him. Besides, he'd get plenty more chances to see the Princess of Ash Builders. She was beautiful-but he didn't like her. Maybe he'd harbored some secret hope that he would find her a surprisingly nice woman and be able to let the resentment swirling around the back of his brain die a quick death. But that hadn't happened. And despite the bitterness, now that he'd taken a tiny glimpse inside her world, he couldn't deny wanting more. Of her world? Or of her? He wasn't certain. His chest tightened as desire and lost wishes mingled strangely inside him. Desire-damn. God knew he hadn't come here with that in mind. Yet here it was, slapping him squarely in the face, and the hand belonged to the last person on earth for whom he'd expected to feel anything pleasurable.
He stole one last look at the second-story window before turning to head to his van for supplies, knowing this i definitely wasn't going to be just another job.
Chapter 2
Nick sat in the back booth of 0' Hanlon's, a dark pub catering to the Dunedin locals. He plucked a few fries from the greasy paper cradling what remained of his fish and chips, then washed them down with the last swallow
_ of draft in his mug. Signaling to old Grady O'Hanlon for another, he returned his attention to the paperwork spread on the table. One of these days, he was gonna get into the twenty-first century and get the business computerized, but for now, it was all paper and ink, usually done in the evenings. Horizon Painters stayed too busy for him to waste sunny days on something that could be taken care of after dark.
Just before he'd left home, Elaine had called to invite him to supper.
"Is Dad coming?" he'd asked.
Her hesitation had been slight, but evident. "Yeah, Nicky, he's coming."
"Sorry, Lainey, but I'm just not up to it tonight."
Elaine made a great pot roast, but fish and chips minus the hassle sounded better.
Her ensuing silence made him feel like a bad brother, but he was tired of shouldering the responsibility for Elaine's choice to make their father so much a part of their lives.
"I'll come by and see Davy later," he finally said. Elaine had responded in the mothering tone she always used for their brother. "He'll be glad."
Hanging up the phone, he realized it'd been almost a week since he'd been over, and something in his chest had squeezed tight. Davy missed him when he wasn't there.
Grady plunked a frosty mug of beer on the table, sloshing a little onto the payroll blotter.
"Careful," Nick cautioned, grabbing a handful of napkins from a chrome dispenser to soak up the beer.
"Sorry, Nick," Grady said absently.
Nick gave an equally insincere nod as Grady turned and padded back behind the bar.
He wrote out the last few payroll checks, slipping them into a worn leather satchel, but left the blotter out to dry .. He then started filling out the week's invoices, most of which would go to Ash Builders for work on the newest condo development down on Sand Key, and a few more for the pricey new homes up in Palm Harbor. He always did the Ash invoices first, not only because they were the biggest batch, but also because Ash paid quickly.
He stopped to take a drink after completing the first invoice. He hadn't even thought about his invoices-his name-passing in front of Lauren Ash's eyes until she'd mentioned it, but of course they did. Every single week. Despite what he'd thought, their lives remained connected, even if only in a small way.
He hadn't wanted to sign on as a subcontractor with Henry, but over time, business had demanded it. When he'd started out on his own seven years ago, he'd avoided working for Ash as a matter of pride and principle, but he' d soon found himself taking an occasional Ash job here and there. Now most of his business went to Ash, because they were the largest, most prominent construction conglomerate along the Sun Coast. Ironic, he thought, taking another swig before lowering his mug. He hated the man and his money, but somehow it had worked out that Henry paid all Nick's bills.
Clearly, the princess didn't know who he was, though-didn't recognize his name. You'd think it might ring a bell, considering that their fathers had once been business partners.
She'd been a little girl at the time, but Nick had a feeling that didn't make any difference. He suspected Lauren Ash only paid attention to herself, her life, her luxuries. He'd noticed the textured satin of her sexy robe-the sort of thing Elaine probably coveted when she passed by store windows but had never owned. He'd seen the Italian tile beneath her bare feet in the foyer and the crystal chandelier sparkling above her pretty head. He'd seen all the excess Henry hadn't wanted to share, and thinking about it now made old wounds begin bleeding fresh inside him. This was just what he'd been afraid of; maybe it'd been a mistake taking the job at her house, a mistake to look inside her world.
But no. He'd spent his whole lifeá resenting Lauren Ash, and getting up close and personal with her wasn't the problem. The problem ran much deeper, and pushing it down did nothing to make it go away. He was glad he'd gone today, glad he'd seen. Despite himself, he was glad he was going back in the morning. Hell if he knew why.
The clothes tipped me off. Her smug words still crackled through his veins and left him feeling subservient to her. Without even knowing who he was, she thought she was better than him.
"Well, shit on a tin roof! If it ain't Nick Armstrong!" Nick raised his gaze to the laughter of Lucky McClaine, a good old boy from up Georgia way who laid bricks for Ash Builders. He noted with little surprise that Lucky still swapped his hard hat for a cowboy hat at the end of the day, and he hadn't even begun to lose his accent despite living in Florida for at least five years now.
"What are you doing in this part of town, Lucky?"
Nick offered an easy grin. "It isn't even the weekend." Lucky lived in an apartment in Island Estates off Clearwater Beach. and if he wanted a beer, there were plenty of watering holes closer to home.
Lucky slid into the seat across from him. lowering a longneck to the table. "Meetin' some buddies from up in -I Tarpon, and this seemed about the halfway mark." He stopped to take a drink from his bottle. "Barely recognized ya, man. Ya need a haircut."
"Better things to do." Nick said, running a hand back through his hair. He knew it hung long and gangly compared to Lucky's, which was short and sand-colored in the few spots where it peeked from beneath his tan hat, but he didn't pay much attention to things like that. When it got too long, he shoved it into a ponytail. When that got too long, he finally took the time to get some of it cut off.
"'S that so? Well, I'd like to know what those better things are. Haven't seen you around a'tall lately. Where the hell ya been?" A few years back, they'd shown up at a lot of the same parties, but these days, Nick only ran into him occasionally-usually if they happened to be working the same job. Lucky added a wink. "Ain't settlin' down on me, are ya?" "Not by choice," Nick said with a regretful smile.
"But work's keeping me busy." He motioned at the papers still covering most of the table,
"Shit, man"-Lucky laughed-"ya gotta make some time for fun, or what's the point?"
"Don't worry about me, Lucky, When I want fun, I know where to get it."
"Hey, you doin' any work out on Sand Key at Dolphin Bay? I'll be brickin' there the next month or so."
Nick shook his head. "Some of my crew's working in that first building they just finished, but I'm tied up with a job just a few blocks from here in Clearwater for the next couple weeks."
Lucky looked perplexed. "Ain't no new construction there, man."
Nick kept his expression blank as he said, 'Tm putting a new coat of paint on Henry Ash's daughter's house." "Damn." A wolflike grin unfurled across Lucky's thin face. "You're paintin' Lauren Ash's place?"
Nick nodded, then took a drink of beer.
"Have you seen her?" Lucky raised his eyebrows.
"That chick's one piece of prime Grade A ass."
Nick had never liked guys who categorized women as cuts of meat, but it seemed simplest to ignore the remark and move on. He made it a point to sound nonchalant. "Yeah, I met her this morning. Pretty hot."
Lucky gave another wink. "Play your cards right, bud, and you might get some of that."
"Not likely." Nick laughed softly. "We didn't exactly hit it off."
But Lucky shook his head and flashed a knowing look. "If she's anything like her friend, Carolyn, that probably won't matter." This caught Nick's attention, but he tried not to let it show. "What's the deal with her friend?"
"She's got this long red hair that nearly reaches her ass, and a mole on her cheek just like Marilyn Monroe. Little tits, but a nice body and-"
"Get to the point."
Lucky's eyes widened. "The girl is wild, man. I myself," he went on, sounding arrogant, "have been in her pants on more than one occasion, and so have a Lotta guys I know. She'll do pretty much anybody, and ... wherever Carolyn goes, Lauren seems to follow." Lucky winked yet again. "You do the math."
As Nick tossed his satchel in the passenger seat of his Jeep, then headed toward Elaine's a few miles farther inland, he pondered what Lucky had said about Lauren Ash. He reached down to push the CD PLAY button and ACDC's "Girls Got Rhythm" exploded through the speakers, seeming all too apropos.
Odd, though-girls like that were usually ... friendlier.
But he had come knocking on her door when she was probably asleep, and as he'd told Lucky, they hadn't exactly gotten off on the right foot. Hell, he probably hadn't wanted to get off on the right foot. So maybe he just hadn't encountered that side of her. Yet.
Lucky had gone on to tell him he'd seen Lauren Ash at more than one wild party, usually drinking, and always flirting with the nearest available guy. According to Lucky, she wore skimpy, sexy clothes designed to attract male attention. And now that he thought about it, she hadn't had any qualms about answering the door in something slinky, had she? So maybe Lucky was on the mark,
A few minutes later, he drove through his old neighborhood, rows of small, identical ranch houses that had seen better days. He pulled the red Wrangler into Elaine's short, narrow driveway, stopping only an inch or two from the bumper of her old Chevy Cavalier in order to get the Jeep far enough off the street. Getting out, he noticed a gutter falling down and realized the paint on the garage door was starting to peel. Damn, he'd have to put them on his list of things to do. Davy's bicycle lay in the overgrown grass near the cracked sidewalk.
He opened the door of the house where he'd grown up without knocking. "Davy," he said loudly, stepping inside, "you gotta learn to put your bike away, or it'll get rained on and rusty."
"Hmm-what?" His father flinched in sleep on
Elaine's sagging couch-Nick might not have noticed him otherwise. Over the years', something inside him had learned not to see his father when he passed out after dinner.
"Keep sleepin', old man," he muttered below his breath as Davy came rushing into the room, a Tampa Bay Devil Rays cap tilted sideways on his head.
"Nick!" Davy said, then looked back over his shoulder toward the kitchen. "Hey, Elaine, Nick's here!" At twenty-nine, he stood a couple of inches shorter than
Nick. wasn't as muscular, and Elaine kept his hair cut nearly as short as Lucky McClaine's, but other than those things, it was almost like looking in a mirror. Well, and Davy was usually smiling, too. Nick didn't smile nearly as much, except maybe when he was around Davy,
The light in his brother's eyes shone a little warmth
into his heart when he least expected it. But he should've expected it-that's how it always was when he hadn't seen Davy for a more than a few days. He crushed back ',. the emotion as he reached up to straighten Davy's cap. "Where'd you get this?" "Elaine got it for me last weekend. From a garage sale." He smiled as proudly as if it had come from Saks Fifth Avenue. "Now, Davy," Nick said, flashing a teasing grin, "I taught you better than that. The Devil Rays suck. Where's the Cincinnati Reds hat I got you last Christmas?" Back when the Reds had trained in Plant City, he'd taken Davy over to watch for a day or two each spring.
''Tell him your new hat matches your shirt." Elaine said, wiping her hands on a dish towel as she entered the room. Her jeans were worn, her dark, shoulder-length hair dirty-she looked older than her thirty-three years.
In response, Davy held out the bottom corners of his pullover, striped in horizontal streaks of green and black. "It's new, too," "Garage sale?" Nick asked. He didn't mean anything by it, but Elaine rolled her eyes.
Davy shook his head. "Wal-Mart,"
"It's a nice shirt," Nick said, then shifted his attention to the small fish tank across the room. "How're the fish?"
Davy smiled. "Napoleon's a lot happier now that we got him a new wife." Unfortunately, Josephine, half the pair of goldfish