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"Good morning." Retrieving the file folder she was carrying under her arm, she waved it before he reached her, like a sword keeping him outside her personal space. "I have a favor to ask before we get started, if you don't mind. It'll only take a minute."
It was a legitimate request, but she'd brought it to reinforce the message that she didn't want this to move too far from a professional relationship. Should she have come at all?
Why did she always second guess herself like this? Every fucking time she found herself edging toward a relationship with a guy, all the confidence she possessed to excel in every other aspect of her life deserted her like rats from a sinking ship.
"Sure," he said, appearing far more casual about it than she felt.
She sidled to his left side, opening the file to let him see. Thank goodness her head was dipped, so when she closed her eyes briefly to inhale his scent, he didn't notice. But he touched her back between her shoulder blades and slid down, a reassuring stroke. Opening her eyes, she glanced up at him. He was looking at her, not the folder, and his brown eyes were thoughtful.
"You okay?" he asked. "You seem a little tense. I promise this will be fun. No stress. Unless you have a flower phobia."
She forced a laugh. "I'm fine. I guess I'm stuck in work mode. These past few weeks have been crazy."
"Okay. Let's take care of it, and then put it away for the next couple hours. All right?"
There it was, that tone of voice, the direct look, a subtle, enticing taking-of-control that put a nervous twitch in her hand. It made the folder shudder like a trapped butterfly. His gaze shifted to it and she forced herself to stillness.
"Yeah, okay." She looked down at the folder contents as if she'd just affably agreed to something far more innocent. His hand remained on her back as he pressed closer to her to share her view. The heat of the full palm contact penetrated her thin, silky blouse, a jewel blue color. She'd kept her hair up in a ponytail, though she'd taken more care with it, arranging short wisps around her face. The thick tail had an abundance of curls that wouldn't turn to frizz until the day gained more humidity, so for now it was looking good. She'd refused to shellac it with hairspray. He might want to touch her hair, bury his fingers in it, tip her head back to put his mouth on her throat...
So much for the pretense that this was an arm's length, friendly exchange of information. For one thing, she was standing well within his arm span.
His fingers played with the end of the ponytail, making her think he was wrapping short curls over his knuckles as she showed him what she'd brought. She'd never let anyone touch her so intimately, so casually, so fast. She needed to tell him to stop, to reinforce what she'd told him on the phone. She hated being one of those women who said one thing but acted just the opposite, whose words were a smokescreen to cover what she really wanted.
Long and short of it, she didn't want to get hurt one more time. She was done with the slide along the rainbow that always dumped her into a pot of ice cold sludge.
That reminder recalled her to sanity. She sidled away from him, breaking the contact, and thrust the folder at him so he had to take it from her. There. If she had to get more direct about it, she would. Hands off. Her mind approved of her self-control even as her skin registered severe annoyance at the loss of his touch.
"I know New York prices. I don't know Charlotte's," she said. "These bids I collected for Madison on other work seem low to me, but would you mind taking a look before I turn them over to her? I don't want to waste her investors' money."
Des slid the small pack he was carrying on his shoulder to the ground and handed her his coffee. He paged through the folder, skimming the data on the thin sheets of yellow and pink paper, tear-offs from estimate pads. She curved both hands around the cup.
He closed the folder, took his coffee back and handed her the paperwork. "All of those are good, with the exception of Bolton. That bid is way over the top. Derrick does great work, but for that price, Jesus and Joseph better be your carpenters. It should be about thirty percent cheaper. My guess is he heard your Yankee accent and figured he could squeeze more out of you because he's from Jersey himself. He knows how high prices are there. I'll give him hell for that next time I see him."
"Oh no. Don't you dare deprive me of the pleasure." She wrote down the percentage, tucked the pen into the folder and walked with him back to her car as she spoke. "I've negotiated at Hell's Kitchen flea market. When I'm done, he'll be paying me for the work."
Desmond's eyes warmed in appreciation. "I believe it. Now put the work away. The world can spare you for a couple hours."
"Okay, but if the zombie apocalypse breaks loose by lunchtime, it will be your fault for distracting me."
"I'll accept full responsibility for that. And fight at your side against the undead to the very end."
"What if one of them bites me, turns me into a zombie?"
"I will pick up your parts as they fall off and duct tape them onto your sexy, rotting torso."
She chuckled and put the folder in the car. His teasing helped reduce the uneasy sense that she was giving up her armor before entering a battlefield. Locking the vehicle, she pivoted toward him. "Okay, I'm ready. Let's go look at pretty flowers."
"All right." As they walked companionably side by side toward the entrance again, he cocked a brow at her. "I don't usually use this as a lead-in, but I'm guessing it's why you're so jumpy. You said no relationships. Care to explain that?"
She couldn't claim he was being too personal, since she'd brought up the subject, right? "I know I said that, and I hate it when people bring up something that's an obvious discussion point and then say they don't
want to talk about it, but I'd prefer not to go into it. I just don't want to give you the wrong idea about why I'm here today. You're interesting and fun, and I wanted to spend more time with you and learn about the rope part. Is it okay to leave it at that?"
"Absolutely. But I'm going to hold your hand, because you look like you need it."
She should object, but his grip was strong, and she didn't feel caught. She felt like a bird who'd been cupped in his very safe palm.
He released her to toss his coffee in the trash and hold open the front door. Inside the lobby, he approached a large horseshoe reception desk and handed the lady a ticket he must have bought before Julie had arrived. When she offered to pay her fair share, he shook his head. "I have a season pass here, and I get guest tickets at a discount. I'll treat."
