Destiny by Design (6 page)

“No Val, it wasn’t like that,” Ellis explained. “We had a contract for the interior of a brand-new home owned by a wealthy bioengineer. He wanted it completely environmentally friendly. A ‘green’ house, so to speak. Cynthia couldn’t be bothered so she handed it over to me. Gave me
complete
control. I did months of research on everything—paint, fabric, wood furniture. I worked with the architect on window direction, use of skylights and solar panels. Val, my life was consumed with the project for six months. I ate, slept and breathed environmentalism.

“When it was complete, the bioengineer gave Afflairs a huge bonus, not one measly dime of which I saw but I let it go. Chalk it up to experience. But Val, when the house won an award from a major environmental agency and Cynthia didn’t so much as mention my name when interviewed for
Designers Weekly
, that’s when I’d had it. She had the nerve to take full credit! She talked about the sense of ‘environmental responsibility’ she’d felt when
she
chose each element of the overall design and then refused to give any specifics to the interviewer, saying that they were industry secrets.”

Val shook her head in disbelief.

“I know!” Ellis agreed. “That’s why I gave her my letter of resignation. That’s why I left Afflairs and that’s why Cynthia hates me. She lost control of me.”

“But Cynthia tells anyone who asks that she fired you because you tried to take credit for one of her designs.”

“Ah, so you
have
heard her version. Damage control,” Ellis confirmed. “Cynthia would never admit that someone actually left her firm. I dare anyone to ask Cynthia about the specifics of that house and she wouldn’t know where to begin. Thankfully, the architect I worked with was brilliant and has given me loads of recommendations, so my business hasn’t suffered because of her lies. But what gets my ass is that Cynthia is such a good designer, she doesn’t
need
to take credit for other people’s work. Why couldn’t she share the limelight? Why wouldn’t she give one of her own employees a pat on the back? That makes no sense to me.”

“Well good for you for not sticking around and taking Cynthia’s crap. Personally, I love your work and have enjoyed our little project together.”

Ellis smiled as her friend left the room. At least she had one ally besides Remi in this house.

Chapter Five

Tired from another long day racing between the show house, her office and various suppliers, Ellis decided that hanging the prints was her last job of the day. She centered the landscapes on the wall beside the hearth and stepped back to admire the effect. She—and Simon—had chosen well. Ellis was sure that even RGK herself would approve.

The mosaic, complete but for grout sealer, turned out even better than she’d envisioned. It could be a sunset or a sunrise, she supposed, depending on who was admiring it. Maybe the frequent and distracting fantasies of Simon were actually enhancing her creativity.

It was after five and she hadn’t seen him all day. Not that she’d been looking for him. Not really. But when a movement in the doorway caught her eye, her heart beat a little two-step before she realized it wasn’t Simon but Jeb, ladder in one hand, roller in the other, standing in her doorway.

“Hey Miss Strathmore, okay if I get in here now?”

“Jeb! Thank you so much for finding the time to squeeze me in.” Her delight at getting the paint job redone quickly melted to guilt when she saw how tired he looked. “Are you sure? It’s so late and you’ve been at it all day.”

“It only needs one coat and I’d just as soon git it done now,” he said, consulting his watch. “But I’ll leave the cutting ’til the morn, when the sun’s on it.”

“Thanks Jeb,” Ellis said. “You’re a sweetheart for putting up with me.”

“Yes ma’am, I am,” he said, giving her a flirtatious wink as he dropped his tools.

“I’ll just get out of your way then,” Ellis said, smiling at the old man’s verve.

* * * * *

Sandwiched between him and the couch, Ellis ran the pad of her thumb across Simon’s lower lip. It was full and oh-so sensual. She reached up around the back of his neck, slid her hand under his dark wavy hair and pulled his mouth toward hers. Her tongue swept across his partially open lips, following the trail her thumb had made. He tasted like apples, the kind baked in the oven with a sprinkle of cinnamon—warm, delicious and spicy-sweet. She tugged on his lower lip with her teeth, lightly, playfully teasing him.

She squirmed under the weight of his body, his naked flesh against hers. He took one of her hands and guided it between their bodies so she could feel his solid arousal. He was bigger than she’d anticipated, than she’d hoped, but in perfect proportion with his large, muscular physique. His hand lingered over hers as she slid her fingers along the length of his thick shaft, gently kneading until he groaned with pleasure against her mouth.

He let go of her to do his own exploring, caressing her inner thigh, trailing his fingers down to the sensitive hollow behind her knee and back up her satiny flesh until his fingers rested at her apex. She pressed her sex into his palm, encouraging him. Simon slipped two fingers inside her and her hips bucked, silently begging him for more. He explored her slick wet folds, torpidly moving his fingers up and down as she writhed under him.

The couch was too narrow to do this, she realized. She needed to get them onto the floor where there was room for a night of sexual gymnastics. She wiggled and shifted under him so he could roll beside her but something went wrong. They lost their grip on one another and Ellis watched in dismay as Simon tumbled to the floor, out of sight. Ellis felt a flash of cold air hit her naked skin like a pail of ice water. She looked over the edge of the sofa but instead of seeing Simon in his naked glory, she found Jeb, eyes open in a dead stare and lying in a pool of blood. Only it wasn’t blood, it was red paint, and in one of his outstretched hands he held a red-tipped brush in a death grip…

Ellis’ eyes flew open as she jerked awake. She was aroused, disturbed, disoriented. Dressed only in a T-shirt and panties, she shivered and reached for the worn, multi-hued afghan that had fallen to the floor. Her senses struggled into full consciousness. In the dim emptiness of her own home, Ellis felt a blush of awareness wash over her. Her panties were soaking wet. She’d never had a dream so deliciously erotic or so frightening. How would she be able to face Simon in the light of day without picturing him naked on her sofa? Could she find the strength not to look at his long, tapered fingers and not imagine them pressed deeply into her sex?

She got up, stretched the kinks out of her long legs and shivered again. The glow from the tiny muted television set across the room offered just enough light for her to clear the remnants of her dinner—microwaved leftovers and an apple-cinnamon granola bar. She took a swig from the can of warm soda to clear her mouth and checked her watch. She must have fallen asleep during
Jeopardy
and now, nearly midnight, Ellis was wide awake and shaken.

Guilt. The perfect sex dream ended horribly because she felt bad about poor old Jeb having to repaint. Again. She should have done it herself. Ellis decided to go back to the show house and do the tedious cutting to save Jeb the trouble in the morning. With any luck, she’d be home in a couple hours to get some guilt-free sleep. Maybe her dream would pick up where it left off. Wishful thinking.

She took a quick shower, colder than usual, threw on an old Black Sabbath T-shirt and a pair of jeans. Trying desperately to get her mind away from lascivious visions of Simon, Ellis tried to remember where in the house she’d seen the portable construction spotlights. She would need extra lighting to do a decent paint job around the window frames, ceiling and other tight spots.

“Damn,” she said to no one as she pulled out of the driveway. “I don’t know who won Final Jeopardy.”

* * * * *

Instead of parking in the driveway of the show house like she usually did, Ellis drove around the western side of the house and positioned her car so it faced the office windows. If she didn’t find the portable lights, she could shine her headlights in.

She walked over the muddy un-landscaped yard to the front entrance, master key in hand, prepared to dash in and punch the alarm code. Ellis did so much work after hours that Marco, tired of his pager going off after five o’clock, finally gave in and told her the system code. He’d also given her the key to open the padlocked chain meant to warn off trespassers at the entrance to the Oak Ridges Development.

She made her way down the darkened hallway to the office, hoping that Jeb left the paint, drop cloths and brushes. The enormous house was isolated on acres and acres of empty land, but Ellis wasn’t spooked. She loved being alone with the creaks and groans of the structure settling on its foundation, the smell of wood shavings and fresh paint, and the play of light and shadows created by the moonlight that streamed in through untreated windows.

She switched on the office lights, both the pots and sconces, and confirmed her suspicion. The insufficient lighting would make her task difficult. She definitely needed the portable spots.

Ellis scanned the common areas, looking for the bright yellow cage-headed poles, but suspected that the crew had probably put them outside under the tent where most of their equipment was moved when not in use. She made her way to the backyard via the kitchen, stopping only for a moment to admire the work in progress. The cabinets looked like hickory but it was hard to tell in the dark. Stainless steel appliances, still wrapped in protective plastic, lined the wall, waiting patiently for placement. The butcher-block topped island, complete with vegetable sink, was practically the size of Ellis’ entire kitchen…a chef’s dream.

Once past the covered back porch, she entered Callon Construction’s onsite work zone. It was covered in a colossal white canopy that practically engulfed the entire backyard. The transparent plastic sides of the canopy could be tied down and secured, making the structure water and windproof if needed. Tonight, some panels were rolled up and others were left down to flap and sway in the evening wind. Ellis ducked in and by the light of the moon, could make out several neat work tables, a pile of saw horses and a circular table saw, its vicious jagged teeth barely visible in the shadows.

Ellis froze. She heard a noise—a shuffle. Was someone there? A gust of warm breeze lifted her hair, causing a shiver to run down her spine.

“Hello?” she called, just above a whisper.

She strained to listen but could hear nothing but the wind through the forest of tall pines that surrounded the estate. She scanned the moon-washed grounds but could see only construction stuff—piles of lumber and brick, boxes of tile, large drums of who-knows-what, extension ladders and two trailers sitting end to end—one was the site office, the other full of supplies.

“Nobody here but me,” she said, dropping her shoulders. Here eyes darted back to the trailers.

“Lovely,” Ellis said. “I’ll bet the spotlights are in the trailer and it would be just my luck that it’s locked.”

Her nerves forgotten, Ellis crossed her fingers and headed for the trailers about thirty feet away from the tented area. The storage trailer was the farthest of the two. Ellis was crossing the gap between the trailers when she felt a hand clamp over her mouth and a vice-like arm encircle her body, pinning her arms to her side. Cold fear drenched her. She was dragged back, into the darkness between the trailers where the moonlight didn’t penetrate. She felt smothered. Ellis started to panic, her heartbeat thundered in her ears as she struggled for a deep breath. She tried to scream but it was nothing more than a muffled whimper against the rough hand.

“Shhh, it’s me!” a gravelly voice hissed in her ear.

She froze at the sound of the familiar voice. She knew his smell. She could feel his hot breath on her cheek. Simon Callon. Her terror dissolved into fury.

“What the hell are you doing?” came out as “Mm mm MMMM mm mm mm-mm?”

“Shhh! Do not make a sound. I’m going to move my hand but do not move and do not make a sound,” he said, emphasizing every word.

She felt his grip loosen but before he released her, he said quietly in her ear, “We’ve got company.”

Ellis, about to berate him for scaring the living daylights out of her, saw a vehicle swing into the backyard. She’d been so frightened that she hadn’t heard its approach. Windows open, headlights off, the dark-colored pickup swung around and reversed into position between the trailer and the tent. Simon, who still had his arm around Ellis’ middle, pulled her back deeper into the shadows.