You Can Leave Your Hard Hat On Read online

  He looked at her as if he were disappointed in her, and her defenses rose like a tide. Who was he to be questioning her? “You don’t like my office?”

  He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter whether I like it, does it?”

  “No.” She pushed to her feet and walked over to the artist’s rendition of the Carlyle Library. “But I would like to know what you think about my building design.”

  He moved to stand next to her to study the watercolor. At nearly a head taller than her, even with her wearing heels, he emanated male heat like a kiln.

  “This project is really important to you, isn’t it?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I expect the Carlyle Library to set the stage for my career.”

  “Do you?” he asked, his eyes dark and unreadable.

  Sudden sexual energy crackled in the air between them, catching her off guard. Her breath caught in her chest as she tried to remember what they’d been talking about. A muscle worked in his jaw and she couldn’t tear her gaze away. Whatever was happening here, he felt it, too.

  When he clasped her arms and lowered his mouth to hers, it seemed perfectly natural to respond. She opened her mouth, welcoming the warm tip of his tongue as his lips claimed hers in a powerful, hungry kiss. Her body pulsed with surprise and awe that he could make her feel so many things with just one kiss—anticipation, exhilaration, lust, and—

  Her office door burst open and she wrenched her mouth from Teague’s, appalled at her behavior. Worse still, her father stood at the door, his expression thunderous.

  “That boy Friday of yours wouldn’t let me in—”

  “I’m sorry, Samantha,” Price said. “I—”

  Both men looked from Samantha to Teague. Her father gaped and Price gave her the thumbs-up.

  Samantha’s stomach bottomed out with shame. She wiped her hand over her mouth to see how much of her lipstick had gone astray and cleared her throat. “It’s all right, Price.” She conjured up a smile. “Hi, Daddy. I’m a little busy right now.”

  “I can see that,” her father said, his mouth flat with disapproval.

  Her gaze flew to Teague, who had turned away and was already moving toward the desk. “If you’ll just finish signing those forms, I’ll get out of your way.”

  She moved awkwardly to the desk, scanned the remaining forms and signed where necessary.

  The fact that Teague still hadn’t made eye contact with her father was not lost on her. He was reluctant to meet her powerful father, someone Teague probably had heard stories about for most of his life, especially after being caught kissing his daughter. Her father had a way of intimidating people, she conceded, despite his five-foot, ten-inch stature.

  Price mouthed “Sorry,” before slipping away, his eyes twinkling. Samantha felt sick to her stomach. What had she been thinking to let Teague kiss her like that?

  Teague’s body language was rigid, his eyes wary as he watched Packard Stone walk toward the picture of the library. Sam knew just how he felt.

  “This close to the end of the job, I thought you’d be on the library site, Samantha, so I went there first,” her father said, his tone sarcastic. “I forgot that architects spend all their time behind a desk.”

  Her heart blipped with added apprehension. “I needed to spend the day here, catching up on phone calls and e-mail,” she stammered, feeling like a schoolgirl.

  “Uh-huh,” her father said, obviously unconvinced.

  She gave herself a mental kick. It was her own guilty conscience that made her feel as if she had to explain herself to her father. She glanced up at Teague, whose expression was unreadable. If the kiss had affected him, he wasn’t letting on.

  “And how was the job site, Dad?” she asked, to smooth over the awkward moments while she finished signing the papers.

  “I saw those crazy retaining wall footers,” her father said, and she suddenly realized the purpose for his visit. “They’re simply not going to work,” he announced flatly.

  Her father had never had a problem with belittling her in front of other people, but to be chastised in front of Teague made her feel undermined—and humiliated. Her cheeks flamed as she handed Teague the folder of signed forms. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  He didn’t respond, just nodded curtly and headed for the door. She watched him leave and when the door closed behind him, she was dismayed to feel a little less…strong. The sensation perplexed her because she was pretty sure that Teague agreed with her father.

  When the door closed behind him, she turned to her father and crossed her arms. “Daddy, you can’t simply barge into my office whenever you please.”

  He jerked his thumb toward the door. “Who the hell was that guy you were kissing?”

  She squirmed. “No one.”

  “He looked familiar—and he had papers for you to sign.”

  She sighed. “He’s the foreman on the library job site.”

  He looked incredulous, then his mouth tightened. “Well, that’s one way to get the job done in thirty days.”

  She pinched the bridge of her nose, wishing she could hit the rewind button on her life. “It’s not like that, Dad. What you saw just happened, it was a mistake.” She didn’t want to admit that the man she’d been kissing was one of the Gypsum Brownlees and they were only picking up where they’d left off in her father’s own guesthouse. She sighed. “Let’s just forget it, okay?”

  “Okay,” he said in the tone that indicated he’d bring it up later at the worst time possible. Then he opened his arms. “How about a hug for your old man?”

  She smiled and went into his arms, inhaling the minty scent of his antique aftershave and closed her eyes. Despite his flaws, she loved him.

  He broke the hug first and stepped back. “Do you have time for lunch? Dinner’s out because I need to go to Houston tonight for some shindig with the governor.”

  “Of course,” she said, and claimed her purse, trying not to be disappointed that he’d made other plans for dinner. The governor, after all, was more important.

  They made small talk on the short walk to a restaurant around the corner and even though she was waiting for the other shoe to drop, she gave her father credit for waiting until they’d ordered before bringing up the subject again. “Sam, you have to rethink those retaining walls before it’s too late.”

  She set her jaw, angry that he would be so vocal about something that wasn’t any of his business. “Daddy, I’m twenty-one days into a thirty-day project. I’m not going to argue with you about my design.”

  A challenging light came into his eyes. “If you were working for me, I’d have you change them.”

  Doubts plagued her. Everyone questioned her design even though she’d spent years perfecting the engineering of the custom-made sheets of synthetic reinforced material to be used in place of standard reinforced concrete. Weary of defending herself, especially to her father, she spoke through clenched teeth. “But I don’t work for you, Daddy.”

  His mouth twitched in suppressed anger. She remembered all the times he’d offered her a job and she’d declined because she knew she’d always be working in the shadow of his accomplishments, both in her father’s mind and in the minds of the army of people who worked for him.

  “And the executive committee must have thought that my design was promising—” she said, her voice stronger “—or they wouldn’t have given me this chance to prove myself.” She swallowed. “Stay out of this, Dad. This is my project, my career.”

  Her father’s face reddened slightly, then he tossed down his napkin and stood.

  “You’d better hope this excavation comes together, Samantha, because if you fail, I might be the only person around who’ll hire you.”

  Her heart twisted as she watched him stride out of the restaurant. Why couldn’t he just be proud of her? Why did he always have to be right?

  Her mind went to Teague, and she was flooded with relief and gratitude that he had come back into her life at this critical juncture. Hi
s lack of ambition might not make him a great catch, but it had put him in the right place at the right time to rescue her project.

  She touched her mouth where his lips had seared hers during their moment of recklessness. In her chest, her business sense warred with her guilt. If the kiss he’d given her was any indication of how he felt about his boss, he wouldn’t let her down.

  And although she had no intention of falling for Teague Brownlee, she needed him on her side for a while.

  Samantha wet her lips. His hot, illicit kisses would simply be a bonus.

  * * *

  TEAGUE DROVE BACK to the job site, his chest tight with irritation over Samantha’s father barging into her office. He wasn’t sure what annoyed him the most—the fact that Packard Stone had intruded on his daughter’s professional space only to criticize her design or that the man had interrupted a very promising kiss.

  A kiss that Samantha hadn’t shied away from, and in those few seconds, he’d gotten a glimpse of the passion he remembered when she’d lain in his arms all those years ago.

  A little smile played on his mouth. His plan was working. Soon he would have Samantha Stone right where he wanted her—naked and underneath him, crying out his name. He’d seduce her, then dump her like she’d dumped him.

  Dump her and the Carlyle Library project. In his wildest dreams, he hadn’t imagined being able to exact such perfect revenge. He could show the Stone family that they couldn’t simply use people, then discard them when they were through and expect to get away with it.

  He reached over to pat the head of Dixon, who seemed grateful for the unexpected attention. The dog, who wasn’t easily won over, constantly played with the chew toy that Samantha had given him, carried it around like it was some kind of special gift.

  “Don’t get too attached to her,” Teague warned his pet…. Or was he telling himself?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “SO WHAT’S NEW?” Carley asked.

  Samantha was glad to be on the phone—if they were face to face, her friend would be able to see that something was bothering her. “Not much.” I can’t stop thinking about a ditch-digger.

  “How’s the library project?”

  “So far, so good,” she said cheerfully. Except for the fact that my foreman kisses me as though I was paying him for it.

  “Are you avoiding all those unsuitable guys we talked about?”

  “I don’t have time for any guy,” Samantha said wryly and, she hoped, convincingly. Then she bit her lip. “Although there is this attorney in my building.”

  “Ooh, do tell.”

  “We’ve just had a couple of conversations in the hallway. And the last time he saw me, I was covered in mud from head to toe.”

  “How on earth did that happen?”

  “I, uh, fell on the job site.” Into the arms of a man who’s gotten under my skin like a drug. “How about you? Any promising prospects?”

  Before Carley could answer, Samantha’s doorbell rang.

  “Hang on, Carley. Someone’s at the door.”

  She walked to the door and looked through the peephole to see Stewart Estes’s angular, boyish face smiling back at her.

  “Who is it?” Carley asked.

  “My neighbor,” Samantha murmured in surprise. “The one I was telling you about.”

  “He’s making his move,” Carley said with a squeal. “Successful and suitable—see, Samantha, I told you that if we held out, we’d meet someone worth investing our time in. Set down the phone. I want to hear his voice.”

  “What?”

  “Indulge me. I’m living vicariously through you.”

  Sam sighed. “Okay.” She set down the phone and thought about Carley’s words. Successful. Suitable. Stewart Estes would be a welcome distraction from the inappropriate feelings she had for Teague Brownlee.

  Pleased, she swung open the door. Stewart stood there, dressed in dark slacks and a thin, dressy T-shirt that skimmed his lean shoulders and arms. His hair was shiny with gel, and his tiny glasses were Versace. His skin shone with the glow of a recent facial—these days men with money took good care of themselves.

  “Stewart. Hi.”

  “Hi, Samantha.” He smiled and held up an empty measuring cup. “This might sound corny, but I was wondering if I could borrow some sugar.”

  A flimsy excuse, but flattering nonetheless. “Sure. Come on in.”

  He stepped inside and hummed in approval. “Nice place. I like your decorating style.”

  “Thank you.”

  He took in her casual black velour sweat suit and appreciation flared in his eyes. “And you look…different than the last time I saw you.”

  She flushed and gave a little laugh. “That was a bad day at the office.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Where do you work?”

  She told him the name of the firm. “But the day you saw me, I had been on a job site and I’d…had an accident.”

  “Ah.” He nodded, but his eyes looked wary. “Does that happen often?”

  “No,” she assured him, then they lapsed into a tense silence of smiling and shifting. She wracked her brain for something to say. Had it been so long since she’d talked to a man about something other than retaining walls and site specifications?

  “Well, I’ll get that sugar for you,” she said cheerfully. “How much do you need?”

  “Oh, about a half cup should be fine.”

  She dipped sugar from a stainless steel container. “What are you making?”

  “Uh…cookies.”

  She smiled. “An attorney who bakes? I’m impressed.”

  He blushed and stabbed at his glasses.

  The doorbell rang again, and Sam frowned. “Excuse me. I don’t know who that could be.”

  She handed the measuring cup to Stewart and walked to the door, then looked through the peephole. When she saw Teague’s bottle-green eyes looking back at her, her heart skipped a beat. She straightened and glanced at Stewart. This could be awkward.

  Swallowing hard, she opened the door. Teague stood there in dusty jeans and mud-caked work boots, his T-shirt sweat-stained and torn, a blue bandana tied around his head. His yellow hard hat hung from a loop on his belt.

  “Hi, there,” he said, oblivious to the fact that he looked so devastatingly sexy.

  “Teague,” she managed to say. “What are you doing here?”

  “Sorry to bother you,” he said. “We hit a snag on the site, a shelf of limestone that we weren’t expecting. I think I know a way around it, but I wanted to run it by you tonight so we could get on it first thing in the morning.” He jerked his thumb toward the elevator. “The guy in the monkey suit in the lobby tried to call, but your line was busy, so he told me to come on up.”

  “Come in,” she said, repressing the urge to tell him to take off his muddy work boots.

  He stepped inside, having left a trail of mud, she noticed, cringing, from the elevator to her door. She closed the door and suddenly remembered Stewart, who was still standing in the door of her kitchen holding the measuring cup of sugar.

  “You should have said you had company,” Teague said, eyeing the slender, well-dressed man.

  “Uh, Stewart is a neighbor,” she said quickly, then gestured toward Teague. “And Teague is a…a…”

  “Employee,” Teague supplied, bouncing the rolled-up plans against his palm.

  “I was just getting some sugar,” Stewart said, holding up the cup.

  Teague gave him a flat smile. “You can never have enough sugar.”

  Samantha glared at Teague, then remembered the phone. Good grief, Carley had probably heard every word. “Excuse me.” She picked up the phone. “Are you still there?”

  “Are you kidding me? You have two guys there, and you think I’m hanging up? Who’s Teague? He sounds hot.”

  “I’ll call you back.”

  “But—”

  Samantha disconnected the call, then ushered Stewart to the door apologetically. “I’m sorry. This might tak
e a while.”

  “No problem,” he said, looking Teague up and down, then he leaned in. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to leave? He looks…unsavory.”

  One glance at Teague’s rolled eyes told her that he’d heard every word. “No, it’s okay,” she whispered.

  “I’ll call you,” Stewart said.

  “Yes, do,” she said, then closed the door behind him.

  “Boyfriend?” Teague asked mildly, his voice full of amusement.

  “No,” she said, irritated. Then she lifted her chin. “Not yet.”

  He smirked, then walked over to the kitchen bar, leaving a trail of mud on the white carpet. Oblivious to the havoc his boots were wreaking on her floor, he spread the blueprints on the stainless steel surface and set four of her collectible (and pricey) crystal miniatures on each corner to keep the sheets flat. “He looks like your type,” he muttered.

  She followed, frowning at his audacity. “What’s that supposed to mean—my type?”

  “You know. Pristine.”

  She blinked. “Pristine?”

  “You like complete order in your life,” he said, then gestured to the stark white decor. “You want everything clean and in its place. It makes you feel as if you’re in control.”

  She crossed her arms. “What’s wrong with wanting to be in control?”

  “It’s boring. And it’s unrealistic. You’ll live longer if you learn to appreciate spontaneity.” He gave her a look that said he was remembering their kiss.

  Flustered, she willed away the heat that climbed her face. “You had no right to kiss me today.”

  He laughed. “You weren’t exactly fighting me off.”

  “You…took me by surprise,” she said, toying with the zipper pull on her velour top.

  “And that makes you crazy, doesn’t it?” His eyes mocked her.

  She hugged herself harder. “Teague, I can’t…we can’t become involved—we work together.”

  “No. I work for you,” he corrected.

  She shrugged. “Whatever. I have a lot at stake here. We both need to stay focused on the job.” Samantha was glad that her voice sounded stronger than she felt. And it was doubly hard to concentrate considering the hard hat that hung from his belt—the one she’d fantasized about in the shower. Having him and his hard hat mere steps away from her shower was a strain on her willpower.