Hot-Wired / Coming on Strong. Tawny Weber
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opened. Scooter, wearing an unrepentant grin, stuck his head in. “We’re outta here.” He nodded toward Nightmare Natalie. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Bridges.”
“It was a pleasure, Mr. Lewis.”
Ha. All three knew Scooter had set her up to walk in on him in the shower.
Scooter laughed. “Yes, ma’am. See ya in the morning, boss.”
Scooter closed the door, once again shutting out the track noise and leaving them alone. She shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other, and he realized it was all the more awkward because she was missing the heel on one shoe.
“Have a seat, Miss Bridges. Or is it Mrs. Bridges?”
“Thank you,” she said, perching primly on the edge of the couch. “And it’s Miss. I’m not married.”
“Here, let me help you out.” He squatted in front of her and grasped the back of her left calf in his hand. She gasped and her muscle flexed against his palm. Her skin was warm and soft and he quelled the urge to stroke his hand along that tantalizing expanse from knee to ankle. Instead, lifting her leg in one hand, he plucked her shoe, the one with the heel still attached, off her foot. Her toenails were painted a similar shade of pink as her lips. Sexy.
“What are you doing?”
He stood. He placed the long, narrow heel on the counter with the rest of the shoe facing down. Beau slammed his hand down on the back, rendering her former stiletto a ballet slipper. He handed it back to her. “Now they match.”
She quickly leaned forward and slipped the shoe back on, as if to preclude him from doing it. “Thank you…I think.”
“You’re welcome…I’m sure.” He dropped to the sofa, more the size of a love seat, beside her, angling toward her and stretching out his legs. Deliberately invading her space and crowding her should definitely up his asshole quota.
“So, you’re a wedding planner who’s never been married? It seems it might limit your qualifications.” He stretched his arm out along the back of the love seat. He was invading her space and conversely she was invading his. He was intensely aware those luscious lips of hers were ever so close, and all he had to do to release those hair pins was lean a bit to the right, raise his hand and pluck them out.
“Some professions don’t require firsthand experience, Mr. Stillwell.” He gave her points for standing her ground and not squirming closer to the kitchen counter. “Morticians. Brain surgeons. You know, that kind of thing. They manage just fine and so do I.” She pulled a day planner out of her purse and opened it. It was a schedule and a neat script had pretty much every space filled in. She was a busy woman. “Now if we can just nail down some dates, I’ll be more than happy to get out of your hair, Mr. Stillwell.”
She obviously wanted to be anywhere other than in his company. That she wanted to leave, in and of itself, was something of a novel experience, except he had gone out of his way to be a jerk. Most of the time women were eager for his company. And while he’d been looking forward to watching some test and tune runs of the other drivers, he was actually having a damn good time needling the unorthodox and intriguingly unpredictable Ms. Bridges.
“Why don’t we discuss it over dinner?”
“As appealing as that may be—” yet another kiss my ass “—I’m not particularly dressed for the occasion and as you so gallantly pointed out, I need a shower.”
“The offer still stands to use my towel.”
“Ever the gentleman, but I’ll wait until I get home.”
He’d been turned down. By Nightmare Natalie, no less.
“I JUST NEED a date when you’ll have the remodel complete.”
For God’s sake, just give me a date so I can get the hell out of here. She was desperate, or maybe all the stress was getting to her and Beau Stillwell had just pushed her over the edge because he was arrogant and infuriating and the reason that a several-hundred-dollar outfit, shoes included, was now ruined, but some crazy, totally irrational part of her had wanted to accept his dinner invitation.
She had the oddest sense he was deliberately goading her. It was possible he was just an obnoxious jerk who went around calling women “sweet thing” and then insulting them in the next breath. There were plenty of sexist men who operated that way, but there’d been a flash of something in his blue eyes…And Natalie’s foster-sister Shelby and Caitlyn Stillwell had roomed together in college. In all the time Natalie had known Caitlyn, which had been casually for almost five years, the younger woman might’ve been occasionally exasperated with her big brother, but there’d never been any doubt she respected him. It was difficult to imagine strong-minded Caitlyn respecting a jerk.
“How about a guesstimate,” she prompted.
He shrugged those impossibly broad shoulders. “I can’t give you a finish date until I get out to Belle Terre and see what has to be done.”
“That makes sense.” She nodded in agreement, trying to get along. “When are you available to do that?”
His eyes captured hers. Natalie found herself drowning in those blue depths. “When do you want to do it?”
A lazy, sensual spark in his eyes issued an invitation to wicked pleasure. A single, singeing look that tightened her nipples and dampened her panties.
She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. Every thump of her heart seemed to echo do it, do it, do it. “Do it?”
“Yeah. When are you available?” His dark lashes formed a spiky frame for his eyes. She couldn’t look away, couldn’t think, could barely breathe.
“Available for what?”
Mocking amusement replaced sensual promise. “Try to keep up here, honey. When do you want to go out to Belle Terre with me to go over the remodel?”
Embarrassment flooded her. She’d prefer a hot poker in her eye. Actually, she’d prefer a hot poker up his ass. “I don’t want to go out to Belle Terre with you. I don’t need to be there. I just need to know a date you’ll have it done.”
“It’ll go much faster if I have you there to explain exactly what Caitlyn wants done. And you can take notes for me.”
“I know you have a secretary, Mr. Stillwell. I’ve spoken to her so often she’s now on my Christmas-card list.”
“Ah, but I need her in the office…to answer the phone.”
Did he have any idea how busy she was? It was spring—high wedding season. Actually, the real question was did he care? And that answer was obviously no. “Fine. I’ll make myself available to accommodate your busy schedule.” Hopefully he wasn’t impervious to sarcasm.
“How about Sunday, after the race?”
“No problem. As it happens, I don’t have a wedding on schedule for Sunday. What time?”
“Probably around four. Just show up here and we’ll go when I get through.”
She managed not to gape at his total arrogance and disregard for her schedule. As if she had time to stand around cooling her heels at a racetrack while he indulged his testosterone-laden hobby. “I’ll give you my cell number and you can just call me and I’ll meet you out there.”
“I’ll try not to forget.”
“I’ll phone you to remind you.”
“Sure. You’ve got my number.” He all but smirked. They both knew how successful she’d been with him and the phone.
She gritted her teeth and mustered up a smile. If he was on some power trip and she had to kowtow to his schedule, then so be it. “I’ll just come here. That way you won’t forget.”
“It’s a date, then.”
She