The Honeymoon House

“Paul, I’m sorry,” she said, feeling that she was starting their working relationship on a terrible note.

Paul wiped off the skins. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Besides, I enjoyed taking a tomato bath with you.”

He said it with a smile, but his voice was deep and sexy. She felt a sizzle between her legs.

She quickly grabbed her shopping cart. “I’d better pay for these items.”

He eyed the food in her cart. “Some lucky guy is going to have a great dinner tonight.”

“Oh, no, I’m single,” she instantly replied, then frowned. Why had she told him that? Was she trying to let him know she was available? “I mean, I’m cooking dinner for my sister tonight. If it hadn’t been for Lisa, I would’ve never had the interview with Mr. Harrington.”

Paul’s gaze was steady on her. “Thank her for me, too.”

He turned to his shopping cart. “Well, I’d better get my Italian dinner into the microwave before it melts in the cart.”

“Why don’t you stick that frozen dinner into your freezer and come over and eat with us?” she heard herself ask before she knew what she was saying.

His eyes lit up. “Really? I don’t want to cause more work for you.”

“I owe it to you for the tomato mess,” she immediately added. “Besides, I always cook way too much Italian food for me and Lisa to eat.”

“When should I come over?”

Her pulse was racing. “Dinner’s at seven-thirty. Here’s my address.” She searched for a piece of paper in her bag.

“Tell me the number. I won’t forget.”

“Twelve-oh-four Beethoven Street in Santa Monica,” she replied, flattered and totally taken with him. “Apartment 2A.”

“I’ll be there.”

Mesmerized, she watched Paul walk out of the supermarket toward his van, when she suddenly realized that she’d just invited the man she was going to work with to a dinner date at her apartment!

What am I doing? she thought. She had vowed to maintain a professional-only relationship with general contractor Paul Richards. Why was she giving him a personal invitation into her heart?

With a bag of groceries in her hand, she ran out to the parking lot after Paul, hoping she could make an excuse to cancel. But she caught the red taillights of his van disappearing out of the lot.

Two

In the shower at his cottage, Paul washed the tomatoes out of his hair. He wondered if Danielle was soaping the red juice from her skin.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her lying on top of him on the supermarket floor. The turquoise of her eyes. The sweet smell of her hair. Her firm breasts against his chest. Her soft body pressed against his manhood.

His loins ached.

What a glutton for punishment you are, he thought. He turned off the shower. Can’t you remember what your relationship to Danielle Ford really is?

He dried his aching, naked body with the bath towel. Danielle was the architect who stood between his success or failure with Mr. Harrington. If she made one mistake on the honeymoon house that he didn’t catch, goodbye partnership.

He hurried into his bedroom, zipped up his jeans and put on a clean white shirt. He glanced at the clock.

Who am I kidding? he thought. He couldn’t wait to be with Danielle again. That’s what scared him. He knew he wasn’t destined to have a permanent relationship with her. A female friend, sure. But how could he be platonic friends with a woman as sensitive and sensual as Danielle Ford?

The doorbell rang. He buttoned his shirt and opened the door to his construction supervisor.

“Butch, you have lousy timing,” he said with a grin as he shook his hand.

“I try to,” Butch replied as he sauntered inside. He wore a gold earring and black motorcycle jacket and carried a helmet. He was divorced twice, with no kids and no responsibilities except to himself, and was an old-timer at building houses.

“Man, I just heard the horrendous news,” Butch began. “Danielle Ford’s gonna be the architect on Harrington’s honeymoon house. Remember the Tilden house catastrophe? She’s major bad luck for us, man.”

To his surprise, Paul felt a jolt of protectiveness toward Danielle. A feeling he’d never had for a woman before.

“Don’t sweat it, Butch. The honeymoon house will go up smooth as velvet.”

Butch leaned on one leg and stared at him. “What’s with the change in attitude toward Danielle Ford?”

Paul avoided his gaze. “What change?”

“After the Tilden mess, didn’t you say you’d quit contracting before ever working with the woman’s plans again?”

Paul hedged. “Yeah.”

“I don’t get it,” Butch said, confused. “Are you glad she’ll be working with us?”

“I didn’t hire her,” Paul quickly replied. “Mr. Harrington did, and I’ve got to make it work.”

Butch shook his head. “I still don’t like the idea.”

Paul glanced at his watch. Seeing that it was getting late, he grabbed the bottle of Chianti off the counter, which he’d picked up on his way home.

“Hey, man, who’s the hot date?” Butch asked, taking in the red wine.

Paul reached for his keys from the coffee table. “You never met her.” He wasn’t lying. Butch never had met Danielle.

“Falling in love, are we?” Butch added with a teasing twinkle in his eyes. “I recognize that gushy feeling when a special woman turns you on.”

Paul opened the cottage door. “She’s just a friend.”

“Cow dung.”

Paul nudged Butch out of the cottage. “Finish up the last-minute stuff on the Barry house. Then start the grading on Mr. Harrington’s property and get the site prepared for construction.”

Paul locked the door with an unsteady hand. Butch had hit a sensitive chord. He did have a gushy feeling about Danielle. He’d better curb it fast if he was planning on a platonic relationship with her.

In the kitchen of her apartment, Danielle tasted the tomato sauce in the pot, wanting it to be perfectly spiced. Would Paul Richards like it with more oregano or garlic?

She cut her thoughts short. What was she doing? She was making an Italian dinner for Lisa, not Paul. Yet he’d permeated her mind ever since she’d met him in Mr. Harrington’s office.