The Seduction Request. Michelle Celmer
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male construction types in varying degrees of undress gave the site an interesting atmosphere, but she didn’t see anyone resembling Matt. Aware that more than a dozen pairs of eyes were suddenly riveted in her direction, she held her head high, prayed she wouldn’t stumble over her own feet, and walked through the open door of the restaurant. It took her eyes a minute to adjust in the dim light, then she scanned the interior and—
No one was there.
Any apprehension she’d been feeling was instantly replaced by a ripple of irritation. Granted, her time wasn’t as valuable as his, but he could at least have the courtesy to show up when he made an appointment.
“Emily?” someone said from behind her. “Emily Douglas, is that you?”
She froze in place and her heart started doing a crazy dance in her chest. She knew that voice. Its deep baritone rumbled through her, awakening a long-dead awareness.
You’re over him, she reminded herself.
She forced herself to turn and face him, confused for a second by the man standing there. Missing was the thousand-dollar suit she’d expected. He was dressed similarly to the other workers, in faded carpenter jeans and a sweat-soaked muscle shirt that clung to his tanned, muscular chest. The nails she’d expected to be manicured were uneven and work-worn and she had the feeling his hands were probably calloused as well. Dirt and sweat streaked down his face, a red bandana covered his hair, and dark sunglasses masked his eyes. But that grin was unmistakable. Riding somewhere in between a smirk and a smile, it was burned permanently into her memory. Matt the millionaire was one of the sweaty construction people.
He slipped the glasses off and staring back at her were eyes the deepest, richest shade of brown. She would never forget those eyes—the way they’d looked at her that night. The tenderness they’d held. And the regret she’d seen there the next morning.
“Emily Douglas.” He looked her up and down, as if awed by the sight of her. “I barely recognized you.”
And he looked exactly the same. The charming, boyish good looks of his youth had matured right along with the rest of him. In photos and television interviews he always seemed larger than life. An icon. In person, standing here in front of her, he looked like the same old Matt.
A dull ache wrapped itself around her heart and wouldn’t let her breathe.
This is business, Emily reminded herself. Just do your job.
“You called for an estimate?” she asked.
An estimate?
Matt stood there, robbed of his voice, completely mesmerized by the woman standing before him. When she’d climbed out of the truck, her legs a mile long, her backside curved under snug khaki shorts, he’d just about forgotten his own name. Oh, man, why hadn’t Ty warned him? The rough-and-tumble tomboy was now one-hundred-percent, heart-stopping female.
Unable to do little more than gape, he took it all in, from the pale-blond hair he’d once feathered his fingers through, down the column of her throat to the softly rounded breasts that had fit so perfectly in his palms. His gaze traveled lower, to the toned stomach he’d pressed kisses to, and her legs…damn. They were long and trim and looked as smooth as the finest Italian silk. And if memory served, they were. He could still distinctly recall how they’d felt wrapped around him.
When she’d first emerged from the truck, he’d been sure they’d sent the wrong person. It had been Ty’s idea to call the nursery where Emily worked, under the guise of needing plants—which Matt really did need. He’d made it clear he would not, under any circumstances, lie to Emily or mislead her in any way.
Emily’s expression turned wary. “You did call for an estimate.”
“An estimate,” he repeated, wondering where his brain had wandered off to. This wasn’t going at all as planned. He could barely string a coherent sentence together. He hadn’t expected to feel this way. Of course, Emily always did have a way of making him feel things he shouldn’t.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m just a little surprised to see you. You look…different.”
Her eyebrow quirked slightly. “Different? Gosh, Conway. I’m…flattered.”
“I didn’t mean it like—”
“Look. I realize this is uncomfortable for both of us, but I have a job to do. Let’s try to make the best of an inconvenient situation. Okay? I’ll get you your estimate and get out of your life.”
Damn. This was going to be a little harder than he’d expected. But he had never been one to back down from a challenge. Especially when the stakes were so high. All he needed to do was figure out an angle. Every woman had a weakness. Jewelry, furs, whatever.
Once he determined Emily’s, he’d have her eating from his hand.
Two
Matt took a step toward Emily. Close enough to catch a light, flowery scent drifting off her skin. The last time he’d been this close to her, they’d both smelled of the bonfire her father had built on the beach, the fire they sat by long after Ty and Emily’s parents had gone to bed.
Back then he’d never imagined Emily wearing perfume. It had always been too girly, too feminine for someone like her. Now it was perfect. She was perfect. Just the right height, the ideal combination of lean muscle and female softness. Expressive blue eyes deep enough to drown in.
Or freeze him solid, as they were doing now.
“Well?” Emily tapped her booted foot in the dirt.
“Whatever you want,” he said.
“Great.” She plucked a pen from her shirt pocket and jotted something down on the form attached to her clipboard. “What were you thinking about for the interior? Ferns? Philodendrons? Real or silk? Is there a particular theme you follow in all the restaurants?”
“I have a binder with all the specs.” He gestured to the door and she started toward it, distinctly aware of his presence behind her. Too close behind her, she realized as he reached past her to open the door and his sweat-slicked arm brushed hers. No expensive cologne for him today. He smelled like a man who was no stranger to physical labor.
He smelled good.
She squinted against the sudden shaft of sunlight slanting across her face as she stepped outside.
“Hey, boss!” One of the workers waved Matt over. “The inspector is here. We got a problem.”
“Give me a minute,” he called and turned to Emily. “I’ve got the stuff in my car.”
She followed him to a dusty black SUV parked next to the construction trailer. Honestly, she’d expected something convertible and red with an anorexic blonde permanently fixed in the front seat for that special touch.
He opened the passenger’s-side door and grabbed a binder off the front seat. “This has photos of the other restaurants and all the information you’ll need. The inside plants should all be live. No silk or plastic. Does your company handle maintenance?”
“No, but we can recommend someone.” She flipped through the binder, surprised by what she saw. While a few of the older members of the city council had been openly opposed to building yet another unsightly bar in town—and others had protested out of what she was sure was jealousy—Emily had to admit, Touchdown wasn’t a bad-looking place. Classy in fact, but casual enough to stop in for a beer and a bite after work. It might even bring in business when her flower shop went up on the vacant lot next door.
“We like to keep the landscaping consistent,” he said.
She flipped past a photo that was obviously Southern-based. “I hate to disappoint you, but you’ll be hard-pressed to find a palm tree that will grow in Michigan.”
The edge of his mouth quirked up slightly. “As consistent as the climate will allow. Now, if you’ll excuse me