“The load on this structure”—I pointed to the roof—“is causing extensive stresses and deformations on the internal supports. The walls, the pillars. And I’d bet anything the foundation has deteriorated beyond repair. A strong gust and this place is coming down. I want you fifty feet away, Miss Halsted.” I passed my fingers down the stone column for emphasis, a trail of sand and pebbles trickling to the ground.
“I’m only Miss Halsted inside the classroom. Call me Lauren.” Her smile was serene, yet wholly impatient. “Are you sure?”
“I make a point of knowing safe structures.” I wanted to drag her across the street, lock her in the car, and then…well, those interests weren’t part of a standard consult. “But let me take a closer look at the foundation. Stay right here.”
The property borders told the same story. The site needed a full rebuild, if not a straight teardown and that was no surprise after surveying the interior. I debated how we’d get a team in place to preserve the only thing worth saving: a round, eastern-facing stained glass window. The time and money would be huge, and wouldn’t help her project in the least.
Rounding the perimeter, my chest lurched when I noticed her staring at the structure, her plump, red lip trapped between her teeth. She looked frustrated and determined, and so fucking desirable, and even if it was a giant pain in my ass, I wanted to find a solution and make this right for her.
“I could run some more calculations at the office, see to a few variables. But,” I hedged as the sparkle returned to her eyes, “I can’t promise anything.”
“Thank you. I knew we’d find a way to make this work,” Lauren said.
She started down the church steps toward me but a worn patch of granite caught her heel and she shrieked, pitching forward. Her chin was headed for the sidewalk when my hand seized her elbow, and I jerked her against me. The adrenaline was pumping too fast, and my brain couldn’t focus on the slide of her silky hair against my chin, or her sweet scent engraving itself on my memory.
“I was going to stick that landing,” she said. Her expression was dead serious, but it wasn’t until a shy smirk pulled at her lips that I understood the humor.
“I bet you were,” I murmured. I kept my arm around her lower back, my hand cradling her waist. “Are you okay?”
Her palms laid flat against my chest and I didn’t want her pulling away yet. My fingers had plans of their own, and they flexed, kneading the flesh beneath her suit coat. There was strength under all that softness.
And those eyes, they couldn’t decide if they were green or gold.
She released a shaky laugh and looked up. “Quick reflexes. I knew you were the man for my project.”
I was close enough to kiss her. She was short, and I’d have to bend down to meet her, but then I’d determine whether she tasted as sweet as she looked.
“Oh yeah?” I didn’t know much about the correlation between reflexes and decent architects, but it seemed like something I wanted to hear. And if she noticed me rubbing her back or staring at her mouth, it didn’t show.
“You’re all over it and one step ahead, even when I knock myself down some stairs, which is not a new occurrence for me. Sadly.” She paused, realizing her hands were on my chest, and pulled them away to rake through her hair. “I need people who won’t give up on this project. I’m not stopping until I get a yes from you.”
I reminded myself we were still talking about this shithole property, and not the seventy-two other activities to which I’d eagerly agree. But that bossy tone was addictive. Mesmerizing. Sexy as fuck. “I’ll do my best.”
“I know you will.” Her arms wrapped around my shoulders and she folded me into a fierce hug. “Thank you,” she said, her breath whispering over my ear. It was gentle and light, and if she didn’t step back in the next three seconds, my hand was going to introduce itself to her ass.
Client, client, client.
“Okay, well, that’s wonderful,” I murmured.
Retreat. Disengage. Fall back.
Thirty was too old for midday erections on the sidewalk. A stiff pat to her shoulder, a giant step backward, and a notebook over my crotch kept my dignity intact.
For the moment.
Hugging clients wasn’t a standard part of my consults. Neither was caring. I was good at numbers, structures, and ratios. It was a pleasant coincidence that I usually liked my clients, and because I was good at getting shit done, and delivering on time and under budget, they liked me. Somehow, I managed to both hug Miss Halsted and care about her happiness inside an hour.
And let’s not forget the waking wet dream.
“I’ll run some numbers. Probably get back to you in a day or two.” I tried ignoring her smile—I could feel it piercing my skin, stabbing me like little pins of sweet, sinful joy—and gestured to the stone steps. “Watch out for stairs.”
Lauren nodded and accepted my card. “Thank you so much. For everything.” Her gaze swiveled between the steps and me, and she laughed. “I sent all of my information to your assistant last week, but if you need anything else…”
There was more, something she wanted to say, but it melted on her tongue and she presented her card instead. I felt only the brush of her fingertips against my palm, but it was enough to send electricity charging through my veins.
I didn’t know what the naughty schoolteacher was doing to me.
“Call me. Day or night. This project is my life. Really. Anytime.”
