Going All In (3 page)

Clearing her throat, she said, “Those will help with the nausea. I assume you already took Tylenol?”

Along with learning animals could sense fear, she’d also been told to never look them directly in the eye. However, standing this close and able to see through his sunglasses, the risk seemed worth the reward.

He blinked a couple of times, like she’d spoken a foreign language he didn’t understand. After several heartbeats, he gave another of those barely perceptible nods and said, “Yeah, I took some as soon as I got home this morning.”

As soon as I got home this morning.

Meaning he’d spent the night away from home.

A flush of unease, more commonly known as jealousy, settled in the pit of her stomach. She’d once overheard Marianne, Kevin’s sister and Mazze Builders’ office manager, and Kevin’s wife, Sam, talking about Wade. Callie had been right in her assumption about Wade being badly hurt, and according to Marianne and Sam, he handled the pain by “burying himself”—their words, not hers—in an endless string of willing women.

So who was last night’s lucky woman?
she wondered while chewing on a hangnail.

Good grief, what was wrong with her? She’d gone from being afraid of working with him to wondering about intimate details of his personal life? All because he smelled good—okay, great—and his warmth drew her in like a blanket straight out of the dryer, tempting her to curl up on this cold, rainy day and get comfy?

No, she needed to be honest, at least with herself, and admit there was more at work than just his cologne. She often found herself watching him prowl around his job sites, drawn to and completely captivated by his dangerous, bad-boy vibe.

And darn if that magnetic pull didn’t strengthen ten-fold as he twisted off the bottle cap and started drinking. She parted her lips and drew in slow, even breaths as Wade tossed the tablets into his mouth, closed his eyes, and tilted his head back, swallowing in long, healthy gulps. The way his throat muscles worked up and down, flexing and relaxing, mesmerized her.

Sex.

That’s the way he’d look in the throes of sex… wild and unbridled. Carnal longing, unlike anything she’d ever felt, unfurled in her lower belly and pulsed between her thighs.

As the last of the red liquid drained into his mouth, she shook off the trance she’d fallen into and busied herself with an already-buttoned button on the sleeve of her blouse.

“Thanks, I appreciate that.”

The sharp edge of his tone had been replaced by soft gratitude, and she looked up, encouraged this might be the opening she needed to approach him about their last time together. But as he took off his sunglasses and rubbed at his eyes, she chickened out again.

His eyelashes were a shade darker than his dirty-blond hair, and his brown eyes, which were much prettier when not surrounded by bloodshot whites, reminded her of soft, rich suede.

“Did Kevin call and forewarn you, or are you always armed with a hangover care pack?”

She briefly considered lying but decided the truth might be a tiny thread of commonality she could work with toward making amends. She grinned and shook her head. “Kevin didn’t call me.”

His eyebrow kicked up a notch and he chewed on the inside of his cheek while studying her like she was a puzzle he couldn’t quite piece together. “Interesting.”

She wished her hangover was the result of a wild and crazy night, but unlike him, she hadn’t used a bevy of men to deal with her humiliating and devastating loss of a man who’d never been hers to begin with. Fighting the urge to squirm under Wade’s close scrutiny, she tossed the Dramamine back into her purse and said, “No, not interesting at all.” Feeling awkward and somehow less-than because of her boring and chaste existence, she crossed her arms before turning back to face him. “Movie night with my friends Jen and Tiffany usually includes popcorn, margaritas, and sometimes a movie. If we can find something we all agree on.” Which lately hadn’t been much.

“I see.”

The situation had been unusual and awkward, to say the least, the first time they worked together, and since then, she hadn’t had a lot of up-close-and-personal time with him. Watching his broad chest move side to side as he worked his coat sleeves down his long arms might become her new favorite pastime. Standing in front of her in a white T-shirt, a blue-and-black flannel shirt, relaxed-fit jeans, and work boots, rugged virility rolled off him, and she practically bit her tongue in half, holding back her appreciative sigh.

And that was before he tossed his coat off to the side, then rolled up the sleeves of his flannel shirt, exposing thick forearms roped with veins and the bottom edge of a tattoo.

Lord have mercy, try as she might—and there was tremendous effort going into the task—she couldn’t locate an ounce of fat anywhere.

“Okay,” he said, finishing the final roll of his sleeves, “where do you want me to start?”

She unglued her tongue from the roof of her mouth and worked it around, trying to gather enough moisture to speak. If she were Jen, an incorrigible flirt, she’d say something like,
We can start anywhere you want, just as long as we finish.
But she wasn’t Jen, and even though Wade had her mind traversing all kinds of unfamiliar terrain, she wasn’t brave enough to venture into the dark forest with the Beast.

She also wanted to make sure this working arrangement went better than the last, so she cleared her throat and said, “Those go into the back corner office. Let’s start there and work our way out.”

*

Wade stared at Callie’s slender, delicate fingers with mangled nails as she pushed against the top of a crate to tilt it away from her, then slid the metal hand truck under the front edge. They’d spent the past three hours repeating this routine over and over—she’d load the crates onto the truck, then reluctantly step aside and allow him to move it into position.

Even after three hours, he was having a hard time adapting to the drastic differences between Callie of a year ago and the Callie of today. Everything, from the way she acted and treated him to the way he responded to her, was different.

Last year, she’d been cold and aloof and behaved like a self-serving brat. She hadn’t made small talk, which was fine with him, but she’d barely even looked at him—not even when ordering him to move this or place that. Today, she was friendly and polite, and he was struggling to keep up with her ever-changing facets.

As soon as he walked in the door, she picked up on his headache—not the actions of a self-centered individual—and sprang into action to help. Cutting off the lights had been kind but hadn’t really cost her anything. Sacrificing her drink, one he suspected she needed herself, had been a strong right hook that caused him to drop his guard and stumble, and he had yet to regain his balance.

When she handed him the drink and said she didn’t have cooties, she revealed a rare, endearing innocence he never saw in the women with which he associated. But then she took hold of his hand, and thoughts of innocence evaporated. When she leaned forward and drew in a deep breath, his body turned traitor. Heat swept through his system and cognitive reasoning dissipated. His anger and contempt for her was replaced by something basal, a primal need and instinct that has been controlling men since the beginning of time.

He’d been around the block enough times to recognize an aroused woman, and she’d been as affected as him. She’d also seemed equally shocked and confused.

Unfortunately for him, things had continued to go downhill.

The only explanation he could come up with for his strong reaction to her was the moonshine. There must’ve been one hell of a powerful aphrodisiac added to that shit, because nothing else made sense.

This was the woman who treated him like a work horse the last time they were together. She’d been rude and uptight, and the way she’d held her chin up while looking down her nose made it clear he was below her station in life. She drove a Mercedes SUV, a woman he assumed was her mom picked her up in a Jag, and friends driving a Beamer dropped her off one morning.

In addition to her obvious wealth—which meant he had nothing to offer her but a good time—she so closely resembled his lying, cheating ex, her effect on him should’ve been similar to a snakebite.

So why did he keep finding himself tongue-tied and flat-footed with his body simmering with the slow burn of arousal?

Her long hair was a thick profusion of curls that lay around her head in a just-out-of-bed sexy mess. Her bangs were long enough to pull to one side and tuck behind her ears, but trying to get it to stay that way was futile. Every time the thick chunks fell back into her face, his fingers twitched with the compulsion to re-tuck it, just to find out for himself how silky soft the corkscrew locks really were.

She wore a black button-down and a pink pull-on sweater, nothing-fancy black slacks, and plain flat shoes. Her fingernails weren’t polished and filed to the point they could be considered deadly weapons—she hardly had any nails left—and she didn’t wear a ton of makeup.

She reminded him of the girl next door… Except none of the girls in his neighborhood drove fancy cars.

Most shocking, however, was how hard she worked and how freely she smiled while doing it, like she truly enjoyed her job. Last time, she’d pointed and directed and did very little of the heavy lifting herself. This time, he couldn’t slow her down and had to keep fussing at her to not overdo and hurt herself.

Like now.

“Dammit, Callie. Stop.”

As he wrapped his hand over the top of her shoulder to stop her forward progress, he took particular notice of her petite frame—something that was easy to do since his palm was curved over the hard ridge of her shoulder, but his fingers fell dangerously low on her chest. He hardened and tightened as his fingers brushed the curving swell of her breast, and an electrical charge shot up his arm, down his chest, straight to his cock.

“I thought we had a deal.” The raw rasp in his voice had him clearing his throat before starting again. “You could load the furniture, but you’d let me move it.”

A cute little dimple popped out in her cheek as she flashed him a broad grin. “I waited for you to come and get it”—his body burned and his brain sizzled at all the ways he’d love to come and get—“but you’d zoned out and didn’t notice. I can get it by myself. It’s no big deal.”

She shrugged nonchalantly, which brought his attention back to her shoulder… and breast.
Christ.
“Wrong.”

And wasn’t that a friggin’ understatement? It was wrong for him to think anything about her was cute, let alone a dimple. It was wrong for him to lose focus. And it was all kinds of wrong for him to lose focus because he was thinking about her like a man thinks about a woman he’s interested in getting to know better.

A whole hell of a lot better.

“Give me that,” he said gruffly, letting go of her shoulder to grab the cold, hard handle.

Her eyes widened, the grin slipped from her face, and she let go of the handle like it was on fire. He hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, but this bizarre, out-of-control attraction had him pissed off and edgy.

She inched away and watched him from the corner of her eye while angling her body toward the door, ready to run for her life. But then she stopped, straightened her spine, and lifted her chin.

Seeing her fight against the fear flickering in her eyes to stand her ground sent a wave of pride through him and puffed out his chest, nudging out the guilt he felt for alarming her in the first place.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

He shook his head and rubbed his eyes in frustration. Pickled. His brain was pickled. That was the only explanation that made sense as his lips parted and he said, “I need food. Let’s grab some lunch, then come back and finish this up.”

What about his plan to finish
before
lunch?

What about his nap?

His vision swirled as his mind conjured an image of Callie curled into his side, her head propped up on his shoulder as they slept—

With a hard shake of his head, he cut the bullshit thought, quick, and forced his gaze to stay on her face, not her killer body. “So… lunch?”

She cut her eyes to a brown bag—the kind he used to carry his lunch to school in. “I brought mine with me.” She licked her lips and smiled nervously, like she feared setting him off again by declining. “I appreciate the offer, but you go ahead.” As an afterthought, she added, “If you want to take the rest of the day off, I can finish by myself. Really. There’s not that much left.”

The first time she made that offer, he declined because Kevin would’ve kicked his ass for not following orders. This time, he declined because his conscience wouldn’t let him bail on Callie and because he wasn’t ready to call it a day yet. Which was also what prompted him to check out her lunch bag, in the hopes of persuading her she was better off with him than on her own.

His lip curled and a fresh wave of nausea hit as he pulled out an apple, a banana, and a package of ramen noodles. “What the hell is this? Some kind of weird new diet?”