“You are too much. Why the hell do I put up with you?”
“I could say the same to you,” she tossed back.
“Same,” he said and wiggled his eyebrows.
“You are such a goof. You’re never serious,” she said.
He rearranged his features in a dour look. “Better?”
“Maybe,” she said, but she was smiling, so he tugged her in closer. “So how’s the construction going? Are you almost done?”
He shrugged. “Soon, I hope. I’ve been getting calls to do other jobs, and would love to take them on too. But I’d have to hire some men before I do that.”
“So hire some men to help you,” she said as if the answer were that simple. And sure, it was that simple to her, and he got that. They were close friends, but he rarely shared the inside details of his business with anyone, even her. He kept certain things to himself. A man’s work was a man’s work.
“That comes with its own damn set of problems,” he said, a note of annoyance creeping into his voice, though he wasn’t annoyed with her for asking. He’d been wanting to expand his business and take on some new jobs, but the last time he’d hired new employees, one of them had stolen some jewelry on a job. Since then, he’d handled every job solo. Better to do it himself. The last thing he wanted to talk about was work, and problems, and the things beyond his control. He wanted to stay 100 percent focused on this moment and nothing more—the present was what mattered. “Besides, I’m all about avoiding problems. I don’t care for them,” he said, shooting her a lopsided grin. “Let’s talk about something not involving work.”
“Fair enough,” she said. “No more work talk.”
They danced silently for a moment, and she pressed her hands lightly against his shoulders, as if she were nervous to hold him.
“It’s okay,” he said, eager to take the teasing to another level. Jamie was always so buttoned-up and proper in how she spoke, never uttering a swear word, and he would love to see her loosen up. With him. “Your hands aren’t weighing my shoulders down.”
“I was terrified they were,” she joked.
“Or were you trying to cop a feel?”
“You wish,” she said with a pouty curve to her lips.
“Maybe I do,” he countered, stripping away the sarcasm as they moved slowly in the dark corner to the sexy beat of the music, their shadows casting doubles of them across the exposed wood of the wall. His fingers wrapped around her hips, his thumb gently stroking her hipbone once, twice. Damn, she felt good.
She stiffened for a moment. “You do?”
“Maybe,” he said, with a shrug.
Why was it so hard to just tell her what he wanted? Because he knew that if anything were to happen physically, she’d push him away. Especially once she heard the things that would come out of his mouth. He knew this woman and what made her tick—how fiercely she loved their small town and all the people in it, to how close she was with her sister, and most of all how she had a thing for poetry. He might not be a fan himself, but sometimes he’d peek at whatever book of poems she had her nose in at the time. He’d seen her reading once in the town square, and could tell by her contented sigh and the dazed look in her eyes that she liked the words.
“And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love’s refrain,” he’d read out loud, over her shoulder. “Got a naughty little book there, Jamie?”
She’d promptly snapped the book shut and given him a sharp glare. “Wouldn’t you like to know what I think is naughty.”
Oh, yes he would. He would absolutely like to know what she thought in that department, because he wanted to know what she thought about nearly everything. He’d never gotten along so easily with a woman who was so very different from him. Besides, Jamie came from the perfect family, white picket fence and all, while he’d grown up an only child with two parents who cheated on each other and then divorced in a flurry of anger. He’d tried like hell to get them to stay together to no avail. He half-wondered if that was part of what drew him to Jamie—she had all the things he’d longed for. She had a fierce devotion to her parents and her sister. But though he might admire her connection to her family, to this town, to her job, and even to her books, did that mean they were right for each other? He was a shoot-from-the-hip kind of guy, rough-hewn from the tougher circumstances of his childhood.
They might get along just fine, but deep down they were so different. That didn’t stop him from wanting her, though, and he hadn’t been able to get her out from under his skin since he’d met her. He found himself tugging her closer. He gently fingered a strand of her hair, touching the soft waves.
“Smith,” she said in a low voice, half a warning, half an invitation.
“Yes?”
“You’re touching my hair,” she whispered.
“I know. And I want to touch more of you,” he said, and his heart beat harder.
“You do?”
“I would love to have my hands all over you.”
Her eyes widened and she pressed her hands against his chest, giving herself room to look him square in the eyes. “Is there something going on with Lisa?”
He was taken aback. “The photographer? Hell no. Why?”
“Because she was all over you out there,” she said, tipping her forehead toward the party.