Give It Up Page 10

  Lila stood and paced toward the windows, her hands raised palms forward as if taking in her own vision for the space—maybe reimaging what she’d expected and hoped for. “Yes. It’s the energy. The energy I saw in each of your bedroom designs was so strong and clear. The yin and yang. But it’s not joining in these plans. It’s not flowing in harmony.”

  “You know,” I ventured. “It’s possible that’s something that will happen as the room is put together, Lila.”

  “I agree,” Beck said. “Especially considering all the feng shui elements that we’ll be including. Those will change the whole flow of energy.”

  “I’m sorry but this is too big of a project to wait and see if you’re right.” She shook her head. “No, I need to be able to feel the yin and yang working together. Blending and harmonizing the male and female energies.”

  I knew how to design with feng shui principles, but I hadn’t ever actually felt a flow of energy from it. I’d never had a client complain about not feeling it either.

  “Did you two work together on every room?” Lila asked.

  Beck stepped forward and took point on this horrible quicksand we were sliding into. “Honestly, no. But it’s a big job with a lot of rooms, and in order to get this finished on your timeline, we had to divide the work between us.”

  “Here’s what I need from you.…” Lila closed her eyes and breathed in small pants before she said. “I need you to work together. I need my design, my space, to feel unified and harmonized. I once spent a week in an ashram in India, and the intensity of emotion and creative force was life-changing.”

  “Um… We don’t have time to go to India.” Not that I wouldn’t mind a trip to an ashram in India, especially if I could write it off on my taxes as a work expense, but Lila was playing peek-a-boo with crazy.

  “Of course you don’t.” She laughed, her good mood suddenly restored. “You’ll recreate it right here. I would like the two of you to spend the upcoming weekend in the house together. Around each other 24/7. It’s amazing what happens to the ebb and flow of energy and ideas.”

  “It sounds like a lock-in,” Beckett said, sounding completely normal as if this was a totally sane idea. But that scar on his chin had turned white again, so I knew he was not okay with this either.

  “Exactly!”

  Chapter 13

  Beckett

  Of all the kooky ideas Lila King had come up with—this had to be the kookiest. I felt like a damn idiot having to go through this. A lock-in. Oh, my brothers busted a gut when I told them. I should have kept my mouth shut or told them I was going away to Vegas for the weekend.

  You can believe I’d tried to get out of it. There are no appliances, Lila. Now there was a mini fridge on the floor full of bottled water and a receipt for three days of food delivery service. Three days? It was only supposed to be two. Lila, there’s nowhere to sleep. Lila called to let me know she had a new mattress delivered and set up in one of the extra bedrooms untouched by this phase of the renovation. One mattress, Lila? One mattress for two people? If you can’t handle sharing, she’d said, one of us can sleep on the couch in the sunroom. The ancient lumpy couch now covered in a fine coat of drywall dust.

  No thanks. Lila was trying to force this male and female energy thing a bit too far if you asked me. Not cool, considering the effort I’d expended keeping focused on Sam the businesswoman all this time. I’d damn well brought an air mattress.

  “So this is crazy, right?” Sam stood in the doorway with an overnight bag in one hand and an overloaded grocery bag in the other. “But it’s only forty-eight hours. If we get right to working on the designs, this will be over before we know it. Plus I brought wine and junk food.”

  “Sure it will.” I didn’t believe that for one minute. Not after getting a good look at Sam’s long, bare legs in one of those floaty little summer dresses she wore to combat the heat. Not with her firm thighs and red-tipped toenails. Or her bright smile and soft pink lips. No. It was going to feel endless. “I’m going to check the air conditioner. I know it was skirting close to one hundred degrees outside today, but it should be cooler than this in here.”

  I escaped toward the garage where the thermostat for the first floor read eighty-five degrees. You could grow fucking orchids in here. I cranked it down ten degrees and hoped the ancient air conditioning unit didn’t die.

  I didn’t like not being in control.

  And how in the hell could I maintain control if I had to be around Sam 24/7? I clenched my jaw at the sudden image of Sam in a sexy, silky nightgown. Assuming she wore pajamas in bed. Crap. What if she slept naked? Shit—I slept naked. What the fuck was I doing thinking about me and Sam naked?

  I was losing it, and the lock-in had only just started. I felt unorganized and disconnected from the job when Sam the woman was in my thoughts. Out of control. Did I mention I didn’t like not being in control?

  Maybe if this damn heatwave would break, I’d have a minute to cool off and think straight. Yeah, it had to be the heat. It was getting to everyone. I’d even heard a story on the radio on the way over that the crime rate was up, and experts were blaming it on people having short fuses in the oppressive temperatures.

  I definitely felt like I had a short fuse around Sam. And it was attached to a stick of dynamite about to blow.

  Standing around stewing about it wasn’t going to help. Time to come up with a plan. I walked back into the kitchen where Sam was laying her food supply out onto the granite island.

  “I lowered the thermostat, but I think the heat is just too much for the old system.” I wiped a drop of sweat from my forehead with the bottom hem of my T-shirt. When I looked up, Sam stood frozen in place, wide-eyed and blinking at me. “Sorry, this heat’s brutal.”

  “Oh, you’re fine…fine. No need to apologize.” She turned abruptly and rearranged the food on the counter. “Maybe we can call Lila to send a few fans over.”

  “I don’t know. I’m beginning to think this is less about some kumbaya moment. I think she’s trying to break us into giving up and agreeing to anything. Lila may come off as some sweet flower child, but I think she’s got a streak of Marquis de Sade in her.”

  “I will say, Lila and I were acquaintances before I got this job, and I had no idea she was so…out there. She never gave off that vibe before.” Sam shook her head, looking confused over the puzzle that was Lila.

  “I guess she’ll be one of those ‘crazy clients’ we’ll be telling stories about for years,” I said. “Either way, we have seventy-two hours—”

  “Whoa, I thought this was for two days.” A deep furrow appeared on Sam’s forehead.

  “Yeah, me too. But the receipt right there on the counter is for three days of meal delivery. I think Lila pulled a fast one on us.”

  Sam shrugged. “What’s another twenty-four hours? This is fine. Hey, let’s think positive. Maybe Lila is right and this lock-in will help us break through the block we’ve run into, and then it’ll be smooth sailing from here.” She smiled across the island at me, sweetly optimistic.

  * * * *

  Five hours later, I was remembering Sam’s smile fondly. It was long gone. Now Sam was frowning. Fuming. Ticked off. Just generally not happy with me. Well, back at you, Sam Devine.

  “You are the most frustrating man in the world. I don’t understand why you won’t give a little. An inch even. What is so special about your minimalist style that you can’t see how my soft Zen can be layered in and look fabulous?” Her hands were on her hips, and her foot was tapping away with excess energy.

  “That can easily be turned around, you know. What’s so special about your traditional low-country style in the dining room that you can’t pull back on the color and the furnishings to have a minimalist feel? Some people find clutter unsettling.”

  “It isn’t clutter. Pillows, vases, beautiful antique frames aren’t clutter, B
eckett. They’re art and grace and add style and personality to a space. People pay me good money for this clutter.”

  “I apologize. That was a low-blow on my part. Gray has told me the same thing on many occasions. I’m just pointing out that the minimalist aesthetic is about as Zen as it gets,” I said. “Isn’t that what Lila is asking us for?”

  Sam’s shoulders stiffened, and she huffed out a breath. “She’s asking us to meet in some middle space to find that Zen. Yin and yang, remember? Okay, let’s move on to the next room.”

  Like taking our same stubborn heads and our same ideas into another room was going to help anything. But we were running out of things to try to find this happy marriage of our energies. “Lead on.”

  I followed Sam into the kitchen. Okay, probably a good choice because if any room could handle two merging styles, it was a kitchen. The unified finish on appliances already would ground the space, so I walked in with an open mind, ready to make this work.

  Two hours, a pile of crumpled sketch paper with ditched designs, and a sharp headache later, I just wanted to hit something with a sledge hammer. Looking at Sam, her mood didn’t appear to be any better.

  “Let’s take a break,” I said. I needed time to clear my head. It was a habit of mine to go off for a run or a workout when I needed to think, and usually came back with a clearer head and some clear-cut path out of whatever I’d been wrestling over. It was too hot outside for a run, so I’d do a functional workout right here. “I’m going up to the master bath to finish sledgehammering out the tile and tub.”

  “Fine.” Sam dabbed at the light layer of perspiration at her temples. “I’m going for a swim. I’ll meet you back here in an hour with a cooler head and better attitude.”

  She went up the back staircase tucked behind the walk-in pantry. I made my way up one of the front staircases, giving her a wide berth. I also hoped to avoid seeing Sam in her swimsuit. I didn’t need to add that to the vibrating tension already turning my body into a human tuning fork.

  Of course, the master bath overlooked the backyard, thus it had a clear sight line to the swimming pool. That didn’t mean I had to look out at it. Nope. I grabbed up the sledgehammer from where someone had set it against the wall, slipped on the safety glasses, and got to work.

  It was hard, sweaty, dirty work but a great way to work off stress. Slamming the hammer into crappy tile was work, but it was satisfying. I might have been a bit too aggressive as little sharp pieces of tile shot back at me, hitting my arms, chest, and legs like bee stings, but I kept on pounding until the last tile lay in shattered pieces at my feet.

  I was winded, covered in dust, but I felt better. Resting the hammer head on the floor, I leaned against the wooden handle, pausing a minute to catch my breath. My eyes gravitated to the pool down below where Sam was swimming freestyle laps across the length. Looked like she was going all out too. I got it. Finding a way to work together was piling on the tension.

  And then Sam swam over to the edge of the pool and boosted herself up, rising out of the water like some water goddess. Damn. She wore a black bikini. She dazzled as the sun reflected and shimmered over her wet curves. I went instantly hard. My palms burned with a need to touch her. I wanted to run my hands over her hips. The memory of her nipples against my tongue was clear and vivid. I had a sudden urge to kiss my way down her soft belly and lower.

  “Fuck.” Maybe it was time to admit to myself that I was letting the sexual tension between us interfere. I’d been thinking this was more Sam’s fault with her clinging to her art, but standing here now, my dick as hard as the sledgehammer in my hand, it was time to face facts.

  I had it bad for Sam. And it was part of what was making this drag on. I was equally responsible for this road block in the creative process. But the worst thing I could do was give in to that. That would make things spiral even more out of control and that wasn’t a situation I could handle right now. I already had the loan pressing down on me, along with Wyatt’s penetrating stare each day I didn’t call a family meeting. Feeling like we were falling behind on Lila’s job was making my skin feel too tight for my bones. I couldn’t risk adding anything else to that mix.

  So I did the only smart thing I could. I picked up the hammer and smashed the tub into smithereens. When I was done fifteen minutes later, I pulled off my T-shirt and wiped the sweat and dust from my face and chest. I’d love to dive into the pool, but one glance out the window showed Sam in her itty-bitty bikini now floating around on a raft looking like a hot temptation.

  I decided I’d hit the pool much later and walked down the hall to one of the guest room baths for a cool shower and to take care of my unwanted and inconvenient hard-on, dammit.

  Taking my time, I let the cold water beat down on my head while I leaned one hand against the baby blue tile. In order to push the image of Sam in her bikini from my brain, I let myself mentally redesign the bath while I lathered up with soap and washed off the dust and sweat.

  Once I’d taken care of everything—yes, everything—I turned off the shower, wrapped a towel around my hips, and exited the bathroom to grab clean clothes out of my overnight bag. And bumped right into Sam.

  “Ouch!”

  I grabbed Sam by her shoulders to keep her upright and my hands touched bare, silky skin. Her honey-brown hair now looked like silky, dark sable, wet and combed back from her face. She was wrapped in one of the big, fluffy bath towels and smelled fresh like bright summer flowers. Diamonds of water drops sprinkled along her face and shoulders, along her delicate collarbones, and I had the strongest urge to lean down and lick them off.

  “Sorry! I was…just um…showering down the hall.” She gestured over her shoulder with her thumb while her gaze roamed all over my chest. Sam’s towel slipped, and her eyes went wide. She quickly pulled the towel tighter, taking a big step back. “Sorry. I’ll be downstairs and ready to get back to work in ten minutes.”

  “Fine.” I clenched my jaw, forcing my gaze to look only into her eyes, and used all my mental control to avoid a tented towel between us.

  She moved around me and down the hall, and I watched her go, her luscious ass swaying under the towel with every step. She closed herself into one of the bedrooms. I released the air from my lungs, turned around, and went back for five more minutes in the shower. Yes, I had a dirty mind to take care of.

  So went the pattern for the next twenty-four hours.

  We’d settle down to work. We’d attempt to find middle ground. We’d each make a case for what we envisioned. We’d clash. We’d butt heads. We’d growl at each other.

  Sam ate a lot of chocolate.

  I blasted a lot of George Thorogood on my iPod.

  Sam swam a lot of laps.

  I busted out a lot of tile and drywall.

  Sam swam even more laps in that damn bikini.

  I took a lot of cold showers.

  But there was no real place to go to escape. The house was barely cool, and the heat outside was oppressive and thick. Ninety-eight degrees. Ninety-nine degrees. When the mercury hit one hundred degrees by four p.m. on Sunday, not even the pool brought relief.

  Tempers were flaring, and clothes were falling off, looking for the slightest breeze or puff of air to cool our heated bodies. We were both out-of-sorts, hot, and holding on to our design ideals with sweaty palms. When we reached an impasse on one room, we’d take a break and start fresh with a different room. Boom. Lock horns. Snarl. Overheat. Break apart. It really was feeling like a cage match. Like two gladiators facing off in the dirt, sun beating us down until we were ready to break. Something needed to give. Soon.

  “The reason you can’t move the powder room from the foyer is because the plumbing is going through that wall.” I was using my calm, patient voice. Carefully.

  “I get that, but it can be run along here.” Sam drew a line on the paper along the opposite wall. “This wall can handle
it, and then we can move the powder room out of the foyer. Don’t think about the cost. Money is no object.”

  “I’m thinking about the structure. We’re already placing a beam across that space. You can’t stick a plumbing run there if you want to give her that elevated ceiling.”

  “Really? I’ve got somewhere you can stick it.”

  “Well, now you’re just being bratty.” Which I found sexy as hell, dammit.

  The doorbell rang, signaling our meal delivery for the evening. Thank hell. The food was the only thing saving us during this lock-in. Lila had arranged meals from some of the best local Raleigh restaurants. Breaking for food was often the only thing keeping us from strangling each other or giving in to the pull of down and dirty sex. Well, at least at my end. Who knew with Sam? If I could figure her out, we maybe could have found some harmonic convergence by now.

  I accepted the food delivery, tipped the driver, and returned to the kitchen.

  “Dinner is served. Smells like garlic and shrimp.” I pulled out one to-go container and passed it over to Sam.

  “Oh, God, yes!” In less than ten seconds, Sam tore the lid off, dug her fork in, twirled up a bite of cheesy pasta and shrimp, and popped it into her mouth with a soft moan. “Sorry, I’m starving. Plus, I’m a stress eater, so you know.…”

  I didn’t know. But I was frozen in place, watching the process. There was something sexy about a woman enjoying her food. Something off-the-charts sexy about Sam enjoying her food. She tilted her head back, opened her butter-glossed lips, and bit into a succulent shrimp, making it look like soft porn.

  Tearing my gaze away from her, I grabbed two waters from the mini fridge, placed one on the counter near Sam, before sitting on the floor with my back propped against a wall. I kept my head down and ate steadily. I was hungry but I was pretty sure, delicious as this shrimp was, it wasn’t going to satisfy the hunger clawing at my gut. That was an altogether different beast—one I was going to keep on ignoring.