“Probably not until the spring,” she returned, swatting away the guilt that accompanied the lie. She knew Jamal was on a strict timetable. According to Mya, the bed-and-breakfast was already booked for the entire Christmas in Gauthier celebration, which meant he had three months to finish the house.
“That won’t work,” he said, his mouth tilting in a grimace. “Damn, I guess I’m on my own.”
“Guess so,” Phil said with false sympathy. She ran another fleeting glance down his body and was once again struck dumb by the picture he created. For a man who had supposedly spent most of his days behind a desk before coming to Gauthier, he had the well-honed body of an athlete. He walked toward her on long, sinewy legs, and the sweat-drenched shirt that clung to his chest and back outlined their chiseled perfection.
Phil had firsthand knowledge of what was hidden underneath the cotton. She recalled how the solid muscles had felt as she held on to him during several dances they’d shared at Mya and Corey’s wedding reception.
She shook her head, clearing away the untoward thoughts that had no business taking up residence in her head. Hadn’t she learned from last year’s debacle what a fine-ass man with a pretty smile and nice muscles could lead to? A trip to the poorhouse.
“Good luck on the restoration,” Phil said. “It is a restoration that you’re performing, right?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.”
“No, you said you wererenovatingthe house, not restoring it.”
“Same thing.” He shrugged.
“It absolutely isnot,” Phil stressed. “One means that you’re trying to bring it to its former glory; the other often means that you’re tearing up the insides and overhauling it with a bunch of modern crap that doesn’t belong in there. I just want to know which one you’re doing, a restoration or renovation.”
And wasn’t she just the epitome of smooth and detached? It wouldn’t take much for him to figure out that when it came to the Victorian, she wasn’t just an interested bystander.
His curious stare indicated he was halfway to figuring out the puzzle already.
“For the most part, it’s a restoration,” he said.
“Good.” She nodded.
“I do plan to make the house eco-friendly, but I need to get the basics done first.”
A splotch of red flashed across Phil’s visual field. She should have known this was coming. From the moment she’d walked into the Georgian he’d renovated and seen all of those beautiful cypress floorboards tossed into a pile like so much rubbish, she had known this man would wreck any piece of property he got his hands on.
“I need to get back to work,” she said through barely clenched teeth.
“So do I. Sorry you can’t help. I could really use your expertise.”
Phil couldn’t form the words to respond. She knew if she opened her mouth, she would regret it. Instead, she nodded and closed the door behind him. Moments later, she heard an engine start and his truck drive away.
On shaky legs she walked back to the buffet she’d been restoring. She placed the safety shield back over her eyes and picked up the sander. She didn’t even try to wipe away the tears that trailed down her cheeks.
Chapter 2
Jamal tossed apack of screw anchors into his shopping basket and headed for the lighting aisle. He’d accidentally cracked the bulb in his hanging work lamp, which had forced him to stop working once the sun went down. He couldn’t afford to work only during daylight hours anymore, not if Belle Maison was going to open as scheduled.
Maybe he could run a special promotion, get half off your stay if you were willing to pick up a hammer.
“Get a grip,” Jamal said under his breath.
He had contractors lined up to do most of the big-ticket items—to paint the exterior and strip and refinish the home’s original hardwood flooring. What he needed was someone with expertise in restoring some of the home’s unique elements that he wanted to preserve.
Jamal was having a hard time deciding whether he was upset or relieved that Phylicia was too busy to help. He could use her skill with a detailing chisel, but he sure as hell had not been looking forward to the cold showers that were undoubtedly in his future if he had to spend any significant time working alongside her.
It didn’t matter now, did it?
Corey had warned him that Phylicia’s skills were a hot commodity. He should have known her calendar was booked months in advance.
Jamal grabbed a replacement halogen lamp and frowned at the rows of pear-shaped incandescent bulbs stacked on the shelves. He shook his head. Were people really still using those things?
He made his way to the hardware store’s single checkout counter, where a group of older men were loitering. After several trips here, Jamal had discovered that the three men who lingered around the counter were not customers but retirees who spent much of their day shooting the breeze with Nathan Robottom.
