“That sounds like Rachel.” I take the plates and serve them up. I try not to stare as she brushes her hair behind her ear and crosses her legs. That simple movement of her hand is thesexiest thing I’ve seen a woman do in ages. There’s something about the way her finger glides over her ear that makes me wish she'd do that to me. “Anyway, you ready to go over some rough numbers?”
“Yep, lay it on me.”
Fuck me. I’ll lay it on you all right.My mind heads south once again and my cock is starting to hurt.
Dammit all to hell.
All I want to do is reach out and touch her—lightly brush my fingers along her jawline, down her neck, and between the swell of her breasts. Having these thoughts about a classy woman like Camille makes me feel like an asshole. It’s been ages—almost a year—since I’ve gotten laid, but that’s no excuse for my wicked thoughts. This woman deserves my respect, and it’s not her fault my body has a mind of its own.
I give my head a light shake and hand her a copy of the estimate in exchange for a cup of coffee. “I’ve broken down the estimate by room, with the exception of refinishing the floors. I calculated that as two numbers, downstairs and upstairs. If you prefer, I can break it out by room or area, but that would cost more in the long run. I recommend doing them in one shot for each level.” I take a sip of my coffee and groan inwardly. Damn, her coffee’s good.
With my own copy of the estimate in hand, I walk her through it. “You’ll see a range for some of the items in the kitchen and bathroom. The final cost will depend on the customizations you choose, but I wanted to at least give you an idea so you could manage your expectations. And, of course, Ricky will refine the electrical and furnace estimates after he finishes today. But this should give you a ballpark.”
She flips through pages, studying each sheet. To my surprise, she doesn’t balk at the numbers. “Okay, I can work with this.I want to get the kitchen underway as soon as possible. How quickly can we get started?”
I stare at her, my mouth wide open. I don’t look away. I don’t hide my expression. She sees every ounce of my surprise. Her acceptance and eagerness catch me off guard. “Any questions about my estimate first?”
Everyone always has questions and tries to negotiate lower rates. It’s human nature to pay as little for something as possible no matter the level of luxury. Why pay full price when you can haggle a discount out of a custom job? That’s been the story of my career. But Camille looks at me and shakes her head no. “I’ve been down this road before. Your numbers are good.”
She scoots away from the table and leaves the room before I have a chance to rein in my shock and respond. When she returns, she’s carrying a stack of books with dozens of flagged pages. “I wanted to have these ready for you on our first meeting, but my plans got derailed. I’ve marked things in these books that I like to help with style and color selection. I’ve even made comments on things that I hate. Based on what I like, I imagine we’ll end up on the high end of your budget. I also looked at the projects you have on your website, and they’re impressive. I’d love for you to take these and create your own design influenced by my preferences.”
“Really? You’re trusting me to design it for you?” Now my mouth isn’t just open. My jaw is practically on the floor.
“Yeah,” she chuckles. “Why do you look so surprised?”
“I don’t know. You strike me as someone who knows what she wants.” I wave at the stack of design books she laid before me. “Clearly, you’re a planner. In all honesty, I was expecting you to hand me a predesigned layout with half my job already done.”
“You’re not wrong.” She sighs, and her smile fades. I immediately regret what I said, hating that I hit a nerve. “The oldme definitely would’ve done that.” There’s a sadness, or maybe disappointment, in her eyes, and I feel a strong urge to reach out and hug her.
“I apologize if that came out harsh. I didn’t mean to insult you.”
She waves my apology off and smiles. “No apology necessary. You’re right to make that assessment. I did just give you an impressive stack of marked-up design books.” She laughs. “But I’ve got too much work on my plate right now. I’m so behind on a project, and if I delay it again, my agent and editor are going to kill me. I’m trying to relinquish control on things like this to make my life easier. Plus, like I said, I think you’ll do an amazing job.”
I nod and smile, pleased she trusts me. “I appreciate that, and I hope I can deliver.”
Her focus shifts back to my proposal, and her confident air returns. “So, youcando this?”
“Absolutely. I’m looking forward to it.” Those just might be the truest words I’ve ever spoken. I file my copies back in my folder and relax. Opening my planner, I flip it to the current week. “My week is light. I think I can have a kitchen and bathroom design ready for you pretty quick. Can you meet me at my office next Tuesday morning to go over the initial draft?”
“Yep, I’m as free as a bird.” The unsettling look in her eyes vanishes and is replaced with a sparkle that takes my breath away. “Can we also discuss a temporary kitchen arrangement during construction?”
“Yes.” I focus my attention on my notebook, hoping she can’t see my reaction to her. “I’ll include that in my designs. We’ll need to utilize the dining room for that until the kitchen is complete. Is that okay?”
“Yes, as long as I can still cook, we’re good.” She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand like we’re old friends.She does it with such ease and comfort it comes across as a completely normal action. My heart rate kicks up several notches and my entire body heats. As if she can feel the rapid change in my body, she quickly pulls away and sits back in her chair with her coffee mug at her lips.
“Not a problem.” I clear my throat and rub my hands on my thighs before standing. “I just need to take a few measurements.”And do something to distract me from how amazing your hand felt in mine.
I unclip my tape measure from my belt and measure each wall, sensing Camille’s eyes watching me while I work. Does she feel this thing between us too?God, I hope so.Because I’m not imagining my body’s response to her. I couldn’t mistake this feeling even if I wanted to.
The sudden urge to know everything about her overwhelms me. And not just who she is as a person. I want to know how she likes to be touched and kissed and held and—God help me—fucked. I want her. Desperately. It’s a craving I don’t know how to process.
In the hopes of distracting myself, I ask, “Where did you move here from?”
“Savannah, Georgia.”
“That explains the accent I hear.” I toss her a smile which she returns. “This has to be a huge change for you.”
“It is, but I always wanted to live in the mountains, and the timing was finally right.” Her eyes glaze over, and she looks like there’s more on her mind, but she remains silent. I can’t quite make sense of the continuous shifts in her expressions. On occasion, her eyes hold a darkness that pushes far beyond sadness. I hate it, and I want to hold her until that look vanishes and her jovial smile returns.
