Dirty Boy (42 page)

She frowned. She was beginning to sound as cynical as her estranged parents, something she couldn't allow. Not for any reason. Wasn't that part of the reason she'd decided not to call them ever again?  She couldn't abide their self-righteous, condescending attitude.

"I apologize for my behavior. I hope I haven't offended you.”               

He smiled at her, his teeth brilliant and perfect against his healthy complexion. His charm pushed away thoughts of her parents. Annoyed, she sniffed. “It's all right, Mister…?"

He smiled again, undeterred by her chilly tone, revealing the deepest dimples she'd ever seen.
God, he’s beautiful.

"Martin. Scott Martin.”  A brief silence passed between them before he cleared his throat. “Well, Miss Riley, I'll assume you haven't changed your mind about hiring me since you haven't sent me packing.”

In spite of herself, Jillian laughed at the affability in his voice. “No, Mr.  Martin, I haven't. Follow me to the kitchen, and I'll show you what needs to be done.”

Chapter Two

Scott followed Jillian Riley through the entrance hall to a large and eclectic sitting room. Great care and thought had gone into the planning of the Breakfast Nook. Antiques married well with modern furnishings. Two traditional sofas sat opposite each other with an antique rectangle table in the center, carved in magnificent detail. An English tea service stood in the corner in front of the huge window that looked out onto a beautiful garden courtyard, where a profusion of flowers grew. Other furniture from different periods of time was placed about the room.

Impressed by the diversity, Scott turned his gaze to her. She walked ahead of him with easy grace, oblivious to his interest. Her blonde ponytail, kept in place by a black scrunchie, bounced with each step she took. The tailored business suit she wore defined her beautifully formed back. He refused to look any further down. To do so would be less than gentlemanly, but with each step she took, a jolt of awareness hit him. He reminded himself he didn't wish to become involved with anyone. He had Timmy to consider and the business he was determined to make even more successful than it already was. Not only did he want to conquer the regional market, but he also wanted to take his company national. A relationship was a distraction he didn't need.

Uncomfortable, he flipped through his little notepad to double-check the time of his next appointment.

"Here we are, Mr.  Mart—"

Without warning, Jillian stopped just inside the next room. Scott walked right into her, nearly toppling them both. He reached his hand out to steady her, grabbing her. Through the linen material, her arm felt feminine and firm, as though she worked out. 

Her eyes, liquid pools of blue diamonds, met his.

"Are you all right? I'm sorry, Miss Riley. Please forgive my clumsiness," he said, wondering at her age. She had to be old enough to handle the responsibility of showing him what remodeling the owner wanted. “I didn't realize we had reached our destination.”

"I'm all right, Mr.  Martin." Annoyance laced her tone. “Accidents do happen.”

"Yes.”  She was an irascible creature, wasn't she? Scowling, Scott decided to get to the point of his visit. “Well, now that we're here, tell me what needs to be done.”

"The pine and brick walls need refurbishing. The floors need retiling, and the cabinets need replacing. Also, there's a large brass pot rack begging to be hung over the stove.”  Jillian folded her arms and looked at him. “I need an estimate of the cost for all of that from you.”

Ignoring her husky voice and the surly tone accompanying it, Scott gazed around the sturdy, medium-sized room.  Red brick-lined the bottom half of the walls while lusterless pinewood composed the top. Kitchen fixtures and bric-a-brac adorned the walls. A real country kitchen that needed a makeover, as if the cheapest material possible had been used to rebuild this place after Katrina.

"I assume you want the cabinets to match the walls?"

"Of course," Jillian bowed her head for a split second. Some of the firm control she had slipped away, replaced by worry. Then, she cleared her throat and said, "And if possible, I'd like the refrigerator and freezer doors to match also.”  

Scott wanted to ask her what was wrong, but it wasn't any of his business. He was there to bid on a job, not council a lonely girl. “I can enclose them in the wooden cabinets.”

"As long as they match," Jillian stressed.

Taking his pen from his pocket and opening his notepad to a blank page, Scott walked around the room writing down specifics. Finished, he placed the pad and pen on the table and took his tape measurer from his waistband, measuring the size of the floor and each wall, very aware of Jillian's gaze on him.

Pleased, he went back to his pad and pencil and jotted his findings down, whistling merrily.

Jillian stood to one side, watching Scott, appreciating his low-tech approach. When he could’ve easily used a smart phone or e-tablet to keep tabs with his appointments and plug in his measurements, he chose the old-fashioned pen and paper. Why she found that so impressive and refreshing she had no idea.

His denim gloved his rear-end and long legs. He wrote something else on his paper and smiled at her, his light brown eyes twinkling as if he guessed her thoughts. The ridiculous little ditty he whistled amused her despite the fluttery feeling she had from observing him.

This isn’t a big job so he won't be around too long. A good thing, considering my reaction to him.

Reality doused her lust.
For the most part, her heart ruled her emotions, instead of her head, and
that
wasn't a good thing.

Sure isn’t. Your heart has already misled you
.

She sighed and shifted her weight. Her movement made Scott look at her again. A thick lock of hair fell forward onto his forehead. Thinking he could be a model for an underwear company, she turned away and frowned.

Underwear and hair. Hmmm, what’s the connection again? Pubic hair, maybe? Especially if he manscaped. Oh my God! Jillian, really? Do you need to get laid? Is that it?

Douglas at his most charming had never affected her in such a way, and Doug had been very charming. At first. The only time in her life she hadn’t played it safe and she'd still gotten burned. So much for feminine instinct.

She and Doug had spent a lot of time and money on their dream of opening their own inn, and it was still
her
dream. She refused to let what Doug did turn it into a nightmare. Instead, she’d go on as if nothing had happened.

"Okay.”

At the sound of Scott Martin's rugged voice, she looked askance. Minutes passed, but he didn't say anything else. Her patience ended at his continued silence.  "Well?"

"In a minute, Miss Riley," he said and went on writing. He looked up for a second and pointed to a door next to the freezer. “Where does that door lead?  A closet?"

"No." Jillian searched for any signs of a wedding ring on his long fingers. Not that she was interested. Still, when she didn't see a ring, she sighed in relief. “That’s my living quarters.”

“Oh, so the owner allows you to live here while you help out?” Scott blurted, glancing at his notepad.

“You’re rather presumptuous, Mr.  Martin.” 

“In what way, Miss Riley?”

“For assuming the
owner
allows me to live here while I help out. In a way, your statement is accurate. I
am
the owner, I
do
live here, and I
do
work here.”

“No way!” Scott exclaimed. “You look like you’re an eighteen or nineteen-year-old kid!  Quite an attractive kid, I might add.”

His words jack-knifed through her annoyance. “I’m twenty-five. Far from being a kid. But thanks for the compliment.”

Folding his arms across his chest, he gave her the once over.  “You
are
quite lovely,” he said with a grin. “And I’ve made a total tool of myself since the moment I met you. May we start over, so I can prove it to you?”

Laughing, Jillian nodded. “Would you like a cup of coffee, Mr.  Martin?”

“Scott. And the answer is yes.”

“All right.”  She cleared her throat. “Scott.”

Jillian went about her task with precise swiftness, a practice borne of the countless times she’d brewed coffee for her many guests. Trying to appear nonchalant, she felt anything but relaxed. In spite of just having met him, Scott had a charismatic pull on her.

Now wasn’t the time to allow your heart to get in the way of your common sense.

Right.

So why are you all a-pitter over this stranger?  You aren’t interested in a relationship. Not ever. The relationship you’d been involved in ended without your permission.

Yes, and it played havoc on my self-esteem.

Suppose Scott was the type of man who did the same thing?

Placing two mugs on the table, she took the glass pot from its base and poured the just-brewed coffee. She smiled at Scott, and he answered with a smile of his own.  God, those dimples!  She didn’t need to be in a relationship to
admire
a hunk like Scott.

Plastering a smile on her face, Jillian pretended coffee was the only thing on her mind. “Do you take sugar and cream?”

“I take it black.”

“I do, too, but I’m on the run,” a very masculine, very amused voice said.

Jillian’s grin deepened as her neighbor strolled into the kitchen. A platinum wig hung past his shoulders, the curls loose and full; the pink sequined evening gown and silver shoes he wore clung to his muscular figure. “Hi, Rave. How are you?”

“Fine, honey.” 

Rave walked up to her and kissed her cheek. The lashes around his light green eyes were thick with mascara. His dark beard was neatly trimmed, but his legs, even with his white stockings, were in desperate need of a shave.

“I need to borrow some lipstick.”

“You know where to find the tubes.” 

Scott’s eyes widened as he took a good look at Rave. He gulped a swallow of coffee and scowled. The brew was still piping hot.              

“Your wife’s all out again?” she asked Rave, choking back laughter as Scott stuck out his tongue and fanned it.

“No, she just doesn’t have my color. Her colors are too dark. I need something a little paler since I’m going blond tonight.”

“Of course.”  Jillian joined Scott at the table. “Another birthday party?”

“Nah. A roast of some school board official.”

“I see.”

“You an actor?” Scott asked casually.

“An impersonator,” Rave corrected. “My wife’s the actress.”

“Oh, where are my manners. Scott Martin, this is Rave Mondel. Scott’s going to be doing my kitchen work,” Jillian explained as Rave looked at Scott.

“Phew!”  Rave wiped his brow, displacing his wig. With an irritated curse, he readjusted it. “For a moment, I was wondering where your head had gone to, girl. I just couldn’t believe so soon after that pond snake slithered away, you were involved with somebody else.”

“Raveno Territo Mondel!” Jillian muttered crossly.

“You are just
too
cruel,” Rave said, just as crossly. “About as cruel as my momma when she gave me that name.”

“Out!”

“Fine, Jilly.”  Rave started off. “I’m going to get the lipstick. I’ll return it tomorrow. I almost forgot. I have two more customers for you. These are some good friends of mine, who just got married.”

Hardly able to wait to meet these latest friends of Rave, Jillian smiled. Two weeks ago, he’d recommended the Breakfast Nook to a heavy metal guitarist and his acrobat girlfriend, who decided to use the bed as a trampoline. At checkout, they were quite helpful about the entire incident, agreeing to buy a new mattress and box spring because they’d damaged the set already on the bed. A month before the guitarist came, Rave sent the snake charmer. Jillian didn’t even care to think about
her
or ponder what she was in store for this time.

“Thanks. I’ll take care of them.”

Rave sauntered off, leaving both Scott and Jillian to stare after him. She looked at Scott, hoping he wouldn’t comment on anything Rave had revealed.

“Interesting fellow.”

“Yes, he’s quite a character,” Jillian agreed, not wanting to elaborate for fear he might question her about who the ‘pond snake’ was. “Well…um…will you have to report to
your
boss before you can give me a quote?”

Scott grinned and took a cautious sip of his coffee. “Now
you're
presumptuous,” he said. “I own the T & C Construction Company.”

“T & C?”

“Town and Country,” Scott clarified. “So now we’re even in assumptions, Jillian. May I call you Jillian?”

“You just did,” Jillian responded. She wondered about his exact age because he looked no older than thirty.

Scott smiled. “So I did.”

As she sipped her coffee, Jillian realized how good it felt having someone around. Rave visited when he could, although his wife didn’t seem to care for her too much. And Howie and Marley had their own lives, but helped her on weekends, giving their jilted friend as much time as their busy schedules allowed.