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I tweak a tree, trying not to enjoy our wrong friction and how much she doesn’t give a shit.
When I look back up, her focus is on the model. Not on me—on the model. “You said it would look different if you got your way. If it wasn’t so far into the pipeline. How would it be different?”
The question surprises me. She’s serious. She really wants to know. “Have you ever noticed how a lot of new buildings create a dead zone around them? Hunks of metal and stone that stop everything?”
“Well, that’s the point, right?”
“It shouldn’t be,” I say, bending a tree. “I want buildings that aren’t a one-sided conversation. Buildings should never feel like walls. They should feel soft instead of hard.”
I look up, expecting her eyes to be glazed over, but instead, they sparkle with curiosity. This little scammer in her librarian getup turns out to be the one woman interested in my shit. “I don’t get it. How can you make a building like that?”
Of course, she’s a maker just like I am. Making her ridiculous dog collars between grifts.
But suddenly I’m telling her. And suddenly she’s asking for pictures.
I have my phone out. I show her my favorite building, the Pimlicon in Melbourne. “Look at how porous it is. It doesn’t block anything, it doesn’t impose its will.” I show her the curved greenery transitions. “See how it invites and engages?”
She takes the phone, studies the Pimlicon. “Like a dance.”
I go next to her. My skin hums with electricity. “Exactly. Something like this would create a sense of place that draws people. The Ten is good for what it is. Locke is going to deliver better than anyone else, but if I had total control I’d do something vastly superior. Look at the way these structural elements invite…” I pause, because the way she’s staring at my face is unnerving.
She looks back down. “Why design it in the inferior way?”
“It’s a Kaleb project, and he’s protecting our profit. He has a minimum profit-per-square-foot dollar figure that…keeps things boring.”
I feel her gaze trail across my chest, my hands, like a hot caress. Damn if it doesn’t get me hard.
“And you want to make something cool,” she says. “Screw the profit.”
“Nah. I’m not running a charity. We can make more money my way.”
Her gaze burns into mine. “Your vastly superior way.”
Teasing words tinged with affection. Suddenly I’m seeing her for the first time—this beautiful, impossible woman who makes a dog throne to mess with me.
She’s supposed to hate me, but she wants me.
And hell if I don’t want her.
“Vastly superior.” My voice sounds husky. “Were I to have total control.” Gently, I close my fingers over hers and unwrap them from the phone. She seems mesmerized by my movements. Her breath hitches.
I slip it into my front pocket and slide my finger along her jawline. I can practically see the shivers sparking along her skin.
I press my knuckle under her chin, tip her face up to mine. Her gaze is incandescent, her breath shallow, like a caught animal.
The kiss lingers in the air between us.
I lower my face and take her lips in mine. I devour her sweet, hot mouth. I don’t know anything anymore. Warning bells are clanging and I couldn’t give a shit.
“Henry,” she breathes into the kiss. “Oh my god,” she breathes. She makes it all one husky, hot-as-hell word. Omigod. The word heats my lips. She hates that she wants me. I hate that I want her.
I pull back and cup her cheeks, ribbon smooth. “You want to walk away?” I kiss her vulnerable neck, keeping her bared to me.
She gasps as I kiss her again. I nip the edge of her mouth where her tongue sometimes appears.
My IQ has taken a high-speed elevator to the lower level parking garage where cavemen chisel away at their square wheels.
“You want to walk away?” I repeat. “You do it now.” I kiss the little bump on her jawline just below her ear. I press my lips to the pulse below her jawline.
