Crossing Lines (2 page)

He hadn’t intended to be funny, but she found something about his apology hilarious. Her braid swung side to side when she tossed her head back and laughed from deep in her chest, making him wonder if her hair was as soft as it looked.

He also found himself oddly curious about the color of her eyes and wanted to demand she take those damned shades off so he could see. Based on her fair skin and nearly white hair, he figured blue.

A sweet baby blue.

While he stared like a dumbstruck moron, she said, “I’m the last person you need to apologize to for cursing. You know how when someone quits smoking, they’ll gravitate to other smokers so they can inhale the secondhand toxic waste? Well, that’s me with cussing.” She waved off her copious explanation. “Never mind. Have a safe trip.”

Caught in the moment of seeing her as a beautiful woman, not the building inspector shitting on his parade, it took a while for him to realize his phone was ringing. Again.

He unclipped it from his belt and wrestled with the urge to toss the thing in the retention pond. Instead, he hit the silence button, then stuck his hand out as a peace offering. “I’m sorry for being an ass. Can we…?” When she placed her palm in his, heat from the contact washed over him, causing him to slip and nearly ask her to dinner. Fortunately, his brain reengaged and overrode the impulse. “Can we meet first thing Monday morning? I have to work this out.”

Her soft, sympathetic smile conveyed her thoughts.
You poor, dumb son of a bitch. You just don’t get it, do you?
But her mouth said, “Sure. Here or my office?”

“Here. I’ll bring breakfast.”

As he turned to leave, Wade asked, “Will you be back tomorrow?”

“Yep,” he yelled over his shoulder. “I told Marianne I’d keep Spencer so she can have the day to herself.”

“Enjoy your night, boss.”

Yeah, right.
Kevin waved to acknowledge Wade’s comment, but didn’t turn around. Instead, he pounded the pavement to his truck and recited his new mantra.

Two more weeks. Just two more weeks…

M
irrored shades served several functions. They looked cool. They protected the eyes. And they provided the perfect cover for sizing up a man’s ass.

Sam Wallace always found work boots sexy, and as Kevin Mazze stormed across the parking lot, he screamed sex with a capital
S
. His powerful strides were like those of a lion as he moved with authorial grace through the concrete jungle he ruled, commanding attention and respect.

A sigh slipped from her lips as she followed the roll of his shoulders under his light-blue button-down shirt and the sway of the soft, well-worn denim.

He was the man her mama warned her about.

The one her friend, Cheri, begged her to find.

When angry, his eyes were cold and hard and his lips compressed into a sharp, thin line. But when he smiled, those steely eyes turned soft and gooey, like rich, dark chocolate, and his bottom lip grew thick and plump, perfect for nibbling.

The whole package reminded her of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies, and her mouth watered for a bite.

She hadn’t been with a man since her piece-of-shit ex walked out. And even though Cheri encouraged her to find one, Sam steadfastly refused. She didn’t need a man… At least, that’s what she claimed.

Kevin Mazze, however, put a little purr in her motor and made her want to take a test drive.

He wasn’t wearing a ring—not that she’d been looking. She just happened to notice his finger was bare as he silenced his phone… Right before she saw the dark, curling chest hair peeking over the open top button of his shirt… Which she noticed when she snapped her gaze upward in an attempt to not get caught staring at his crotch… Which definitely snagged her attention.

Oh hell, who was she kidding? Everything about Mazze called to her on a deeply feminine level, guaranteeing him a starring role in all future fantasies.

“You’ll have to overlook his irritability,” Wade said, interrupting her thoughts. “He’s on edge because of the wedding.”

Her heart sank with the sound of screeching tires, signaling an end to her dreams before they even got started. “Oh, yeah? Who’s the lucky girl?” Realizing that might come across more forward than she intended, she turned to Wade to clarify.

Before she could formulate her defense as nothing more than a figure of speech, Wade said, “Oh, no. I doubt Wildman will ever marry.” He laughed nervously. “He’s planning
my
wedding.”

A ridiculous image of Mazze in a yellow sundress, wearing a matching hat and white gloves, directing the flower girl and bridesmaid from the back of a church, flashed through her mind. The scene was straight out of a bad horror movie and completely incongruous with the real-life, testosterone-driven flesh and blood.

The closest Mazze probably ever came to a dress was while removing one. Patience didn’t seem his strong suit, so rather than dealing with delicate buttons or sticky zippers, she imagined he would just rip and strip.

Kinda makes a girl want to go out and buy a dress.

She removed her sunglasses and used her shirtsleeve to wipe the sweat from her eyes. “The heat must be getting to me. Did you say he was a wedding planner?”

Wade laughed and took off his ball cap. “Unfortunately, that’s what’s happened.” He scratched the back of his head, then repositioned the cap a half dozen times before settling on a spot.

Looking at his boss with a combination of brotherly affection and hero worship, he said, “My fiancée wanted an outdoor wedding. Kevin’s house in Riverside overlooks the Pamlico River… the perfect setting.” He said the last in a singsongy voice as he made quotation marks with his fingers. “Kevin offered his house and now he’s dealing with Lizilla—my fiancée’s sister. She’s an event planner and this is a great opportunity for her to do her thing. But she’s driving everyone crazy. We’ll be lucky if he and Lizbeth are still speaking when this is over.” He kicked the curb. “We should’ve made life easy on everyone and eloped.”

“I’d advise skipping the wedding altogether.”

Wade grinned. “Bad first marriage?”

“Yeah, apparently.”

Switching her attention to more important matters, she chewed the inside of her cheek and inspected the area surrounding the clubhouse, restaurant, and office. She pointed to a fresh-poured concrete slab in the back corner of the grouping. “Is that the dumpster pad?”

Wade nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

She pivoted on the heel of her boot and studied the parking lot and long, winding driveway. Working from memory of the site plan, she tried to envision where the waterline fed into the property.

Dread and regret for Mazze constricted her chest. Once open, this fly-in golf community along the Intracoastal Waterway would be spectacular. Until then, it was an expensive piece of property, racking up massive construction loan interest. Mazze needed, at bare minimum, to get the office operational so he could start selling lots and memberships.

This hiccup would set him back weeks, if not months, and cost a fortune. Not only in the additional fees required to solve the problem, but also in lost income.

She’d been in Mazze’s shoes, taking chances that landed her in this exact square on the builder’s chessboard. He wasn’t facing checkmate, but certainly a significant setback.

Only in Myrtle Beach a few months, she’d gained a reputation for being a bitch. She didn’t like the moniker, but if her refusal to play by the good-ol’-boys’ rules of overlooking code violations earned her the nasty name, she’d learn to live with it.

However, while she may be a bitch, she wasn’t heartless.

She couldn’t get him the Certificate of Occupancy if he didn’t have operational sprinklers, but she might be able to help speed up the process. Not by a lot, but opening in two weeks rather than four could mean the difference in an annual profit or sinking into the red.

“I can’t make any promises,” she said, turning to Wade. “But I’ll go back to the office, make some calls, and see what I can do.”

His breath left in a whoosh as he extended his hand for a shake. “Thank you.” He released his grip and reached into his back pocket for a cream-colored business card with black-and-gold lettering. “This has mine and Kevin’s cell numbers. Call if you have any questions or need anything. Day or night, doesn’t matter.”

Well now, that certainly left a wide-open door to a room full of endless possibilities. No telling what she might need from Mazze in the deep of night.

She ran her thumb over his number and smiled. “I’ll be in touch.”

* * *

Kevin climbed into his truck, cranked the motor, and turned the A/C on full tilt. Myrtle Beach in September should be mid-eighties with reasonable humidity. Not hinges-of-hell hot with a humidity level so high it felt like the ocean packed up and moved inland.

He stared out the windshield as Samantha Wallace took off her sunglasses and wiped the sweat from her eyes. Dammit, why hadn’t she done that earlier when he could steal a glimpse?

He leaned to the side so cold air from the vent blasted him in the face and gnawed on his lip while chewing his thoughts. Maybe the building inspector, not the weather, was the reason for his temperature spike.

Numerous rumors about her abounded, but she wasn’t the ball-busting giant he expected. Hell, she wasn’t any bigger than a minute.

He laughed and shook his head. His ass had been shut down by a
folletta.

A feisty pixie wearing relaxed-fit jeans and a Horry County shirt that showed a lot of creamy cleavage when she threw her shoulders back and the buttons pulled tight.

She pivoted on her heel, which pulled his gaze to her beat-to-shit work boots. His boots were five years old and in rough shape. Hers were older and worse. She hadn’t bought them specifically for this job, and he was intrigued by her work history.

Comfortable tromping through the mud without high stepping like most women, she’d obviously spent a lot of time on construction sites. And while standing her ground against him, she hadn’t flinched.

The way she came at him with equal attitude was more of a turn-on than a high-dollar strip show. And when she bowed up and questioned his hearing, it took every ounce of self-restraint not to laugh.

Or kiss the shit out of her.

Make-up sex with her could become his favorite pastime.

As the daydream spiraled out of control, his overheated body drew taut and hardened, preparing for action, but his ringing phone broke the spell like an ice-cold bath would a fever. Without masking his anger or frustration, he answered. “What?”

“Bad day, darling?”

Lizbeth’s sultry voice used to soothe him, but lately, especially on days like this, her slow drawl rankled his nerves and tightened the muscles in his neck and shoulders like a wrench. “Yeah, Lizbeth, not the best. You’ve called me fifteen times in the past hour. Someone better be on life support.”

The sniff coming through the line painted a picture of her crimson lips pooched into a pout. He supposed he should feel bad and apologize for snapping, but his give-a-damn was busted, and he couldn’t dredge up the energy to care.

“I haven’t talked to you at all today and hardly any yesterday. I wanted to make sure you remembered tonight’s party.”

He exhaled in a slow, steady stream while willing his blood pressure to drop back into the safety zone. Fifteen calls to ask about a party? Good thing he hadn’t interrupted his meeting to answer or he’d really need to apologize for a few foul, anger-laden words. Even in Italian, his intent would’ve broadcasted loud and clear.

He knew this would be the case, though, which was why he didn’t even consider taking her earlier calls. Lizbeth was the girl who cried wolf. Everything was an emergency, assuring dire consequences if he didn’t come to the rescue. Immediately.

In the beginning, the Mr. Fix-it in him liked being needed and enjoyed helping. After nearly two years of being on the job twenty-four-seven, Mr. Fix-it was tired and needed a break. He’d come to the conclusion it was time for a permanent leave of absence.

He just needed to figure out the right time to talk to Lizbeth… which wasn’t two weeks before her sister’s wedding.

“First off,” he said, locking his jaw to temper his response. “The fundraiser is at my house. It’d be a little odd if I didn’t show, don’t ya think? Secondly, you and Kat have put a lot of effort into this fundraiser; it means a lot to you. Of course I’ll be there.”

His dedication to making an appearance had more to do with his loyalty to Kat than Lizbeth, but for once in his life, the filter responsible for keeping those kinds of comments unsaid actually worked.

“Thank you. I knew you wouldn’t let me down. I… well, I wanted to hear your voice. Is that so bad?”

The weight of fatigue carried his head back until it landed with a thud against the headrest. He stared at the sun visor, then squinted, trying to read the scribbled, barely legible notes jammed everywhere.
Jesus, what a mess.
He really needed to clean his truck.

“No,” he said, getting back online with the conversation. “Just bad timing. I have a serious problem with the new Vanguard development—”