“Sure thing. They know what they’re doing. Her crew works harder than any of the others.” The approval in his voice meant a lot to Claire and reminded her how much she had to lose if she got caught running around with the client.
Luke thanked the older man and disconnected. “Done,” he said, sounding too smug for Claire’s comfort.
“You always get your way, don’t you?”
“Yes, about the important things I do.”
“Do you have any idea how much your fucking Officer and a Gentleman stunt could have cost me?” She couldn’t stand the idea of her guys seeing the client carrying off the jobsite like she was just another girl.
“Do you have any idea what would have happened if I’d been a minute later?” he snapped back.
She did, and the thought closed her mouth around whatever else she’d been about to say. She sat in silence, willing the trembling to stop until he pulled the car into a basement parking garage.
“You don’t have to do this,” she said as he slid into a slot marked reserved and turned off the car.
“Yes, I do.” From the set of his jaw, it didn’t look like the drive had done much to cool his temper. He jumped from the car and was at her door before she could do more than unfasten her seatbelt. “Here,” he said, offering her his hand.
She took it rather than risk another argument or him tossing her over his shoulder and hauling her off. He led her to a private elevator and used his key fob to call the car. The doors slid open and keeping hold of her hand, he steered her into the mirror lined box. She saw their reflections and any thought she may have had about him trying to get her alone to take advantage of the situation evaporated.
He was male perfection – strong jaw with just the right amount of sexy stubble, dark hair long enough to curl over his collar and fall in a careless tousle over his forehead making him look like sin itself. His charcoal pants hung low on his hips showing off a tight ass and the white dress shirt covering his broad back still looked fresh and pressed even though he’d carried her halfway across his job site. But it was his eyes that stole her breath. Dark brown pools that flashed when she frustrated him or softened to melted chocolate when he was concerned. Eyes that were watching her now like she was some kind of wounded bird that needed protection.
The idea wasn’t that far from the reality. Next to him she looked like a homeless waif. Somewhere along the way she’d lost her hardhat, and it bothered her that she couldn’t remember where. Her ponytail was twisted to the side and barely holding on to her wild auburn hair. She wore dirty work boots, faded jeans and a lavender T-shirt that matched the color of the dark smudges under her eyes. She was a wreck. No wonder he thought she couldn’t take care of herself. She sure as hell was a far cry from the women he usually had on his arm.
She glanced at their linked hands and dropped her gaze feeling grubby and foolish. She’d made such a mess of things. If she’d just asked for help when she needed it, she’d still be on the job, and the despair wouldn’t be settling in the pit of her stomach. She’d never finish on time now and looking at the set of his jaw, it wouldn’t matter if she did. In the mood he was in, there was no way he’d agree to adjusting the draws.
That left his three-day proposal her only option, and as angry as he seemed, she wouldn’t be at all surprised if he rescinded the offer. Not that she had any intention of accepting, but still, her choices had quickly dwindled to nothing.
The elevator dinged, and she sighed, grateful to get out of the box of mirrors. The doors slid open to a small entryway and another door. Luke fobbed it open and led her into his penthouse.
Claire hadn’t grown up with money. Her family had been comfortable, but her dad worked hard for everything they had and her mother worked hard to take care of it. But she’d been on enough of her dad’s jobs and more recently jobs of her own to see how the other half lived.
Nothing compared to the space in front of her. It was an expanse of dark ebony floors and ten-foot ceilings. Two of the walls were filled floor to ceiling with windows looking out over the Triad skyline. The furniture was oversized and upholstered in cool gray and taupe with aqua and coral accents. Murano glass pendants hung over the entrance and kitchen, and recessed fixtures washed the space in bright warm light. The effect was rich and comfortable, clean but not sterile.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, slightly awestruck.
“What? Oh thanks.”
He was already moving towards the open kitchen, tugging her to a seat at the eat-in bar. He left her perched on a stool so high she had to swing her legs. Fuck. The last thing she wanted to feel in this capable man’s private space was any more like a child. She watched the muscles of his back move under the polished cotton of his shirt while he dug around in the refrigerator. After he’d hauled her halfway across the jobsite, she knew exactly how strong those muscles were. Her mouth watered, and she tried to convince herself it was because she was hungry and not because he looked so good.
“I’ve got chicken parm or leftover porterhouse. Or,” he said, poking his head around the door. “I could call for takeout if you’d rather.”
She debated telling him not to bother but at the thought of food, her stomach woke with a vengeance. For the past couple of days, she’d been living on black coffee and not much else. Which come to think of it might have something to do with the ladder incident.
“Chicken parm would be great. Thanks.”
He pulled two take out containers from the fridge and started piling food on plates. He popped them in the microwave for a minute and then set a steamy plate of pasta and breaded chicken breast covered with marinara and gooey cheese in front of her. The rich tomatoey scent made her mouth water and her eyes drift shut in anticipated pleasure.
“Eat the food, Claire,” he said, and his voice held some of the strain it had when they were at Comme Ci.
She picked up her fork and went to work on the chicken while Luke sat next to her eating leftover steak. Neither of them said a word, and before she realized, her plate was almost empty and her stomach felt comfortably full. While she was figuring out how to thank him and let him know she was ready to go back to the job without pissing him off again, he cleared their plates and stacked them in the dishwasher.
“Come on,” he said, nudging her off the stool. But instead of heading to the front door he caught her hand and led her towards the hallway.
“Wait,” she said, tugging against him. “Where are you taking me? I’m ready to go back.”
“The hell you are,” he said, putting a firm hand on the small of her back and steering her to a door. “I’ll be damned if you’re going back there to work yourself to death. Get some rest and maybe you can go back tomorrow.”
“What the fuck, Luke? Who the hell do you think you are? You don’t get to decide that.” Any warmth she’d been feeling towards him for feeding her burned up in a flash of anger. God damn, caveman.
