Read Turnagain Love (Sisters of Spirit #1) Online
Authors: Nancy Radke
Zack glowed with pleasure at her words, unduly touched by her simple words of praise. “I’ll express mail these back to Van Chattan and ask him to get together with his wife immediately so we can get this settled. If you’ll do some elevations, I’ll send them along, too. If they want the first plan I’ll have to run it past the building inspector for an okay on the changes. The second won’t require any structural changes at all.”
Jennel eyed him thoughtfully as he sat with his injured leg stretched out, looking relaxed and at peace with the world.
Would he still try to get rid of her, even if the Van Chattan’s wanted her work? Probably. Men didn’t like women taking over their territory. This was his turf. He was here first. Would he “pay her off” and demand that she leave? What if she refused? After all, she was working for Mrs. Van Chattan.
But would she still be working after Zack sent the changes? If Mr. Van Chattan knew nothing of his wife’s hiring Jennel, would he—could he—refuse to pay her?
Bother, bother, bother! It was terrible when your livelihood depended upon the whim of a person you’d never met! She’d like to try to call them this morning, but didn’t want to talk about things with Zack hanging over her shoulder.
Worrying never helped anything, so Jennel shelved the unpleasant thoughts and sat down at the main table to design the new rooms. The nagging fear hovered in the back of her mind until she became immersed in ideas.
It took her longer than usual to get into her work. Zack was moving about, feeding Brutus and radioing his crews. Jennel usually could achieve total concentration in the middle of a riot, but found it hard to block him out. She wanted to watch his every move, to memorize him, so when she was forced to leave, she’d have total recall.
The way he moved, with the supple grace of confidence. The way he stood, relaxed, yet balanced, as if prepared for a sudden change in course. And the musical rhythm of his low voice...when he wasn’t yelling at her.
She was still doodling when he turned again to his drawing board, but as he began to turn his sketches into complete floor plans, she stole one last look at him and got down to work. Doggedly, she sketched several ideas for each room, putting in the display cases, a workbench and some storage areas for the many doll parts.
Concentration finally came, and she sketched rapidly, ideas flowing from her fingers as she tried to keep up with each new thought. The papers piled up in haphazard fashion, some even gliding onto the floor.
“Hey! Hey, Boston!” The voice was low, amused but insistent, and she jerked back, startled at the intrusion, her surroundings bursting back in on her.
“Oh! What?”
Zack regarded her with good-natured amusement. “You really submerge. How about coming up for lunch?”
“Lunch? Surely it can’t be...?” But it was, as a glance at her watch revealed. Actually, it was well past the lunch hour. Glancing around dazedly, she let out a long sigh and laid down her pencil.
Carefully he picked up her sketches and tried to put them in some sort of order, studying each one with genuine interest. “You’re a very prolific worker, Boston. Now I see how my plans got shuffled. It’s a wonder you kept them as orderly as you did.”
“Umm...yes.” Jennel tried to stretch but couldn’t. She was stiff as an ink eraser. Again. Her back was locked into a bent position.
Zack regarded her quizzically, as if taking stock of some new thing, a wry smile flickering over his ruggedly handsome features. “I’ve been watching you for the past five minutes, and you were completely oblivious. You have pen streaks on your face,” he commented amusedly.
That was normal. “Where?”
“Here.” His gentle touch to her lip was almost a shock. The jolt she received was a physical reality she felt all the way down her spine. “And here.” He brushed across the tip of her nose. Another shock, but not so great.
The charge of sensual electricity caught her off balance, unprepared. She was never mentally braced when she came out of her working “trance.” The touch hadn’t seemed to affect him. Did he know what he had done to her unguarded senses? His smiling gaze revealed nothing more than genial interest.
Resting her elbows on the tabletop, Jennel gave her lips and nose a rough rub, successfully erasing the unsettling sensations. Since she couldn’t lift her arms, she ducked her head to meet her hands. It gave her time to catch her breath, as well as dull that powerful sparking of electricity generated by the casual contact.
She’d heard it said, and now recognized the warnings as proper: living closely together could create problems. Zack would be easy to fall for, and she’d end up with a broken heart, for she refused to get involved with someone who didn’t accept her and encourage her abilities. Her school counselor had belittled her artistic talents, saying she was wasting her time and should train for a computer job. Until Zack allowed her to remain on the island and do the work she’d been hired to do, she would not feel totally accepted by him.
She had to keep her distance, but it was hard. The boat projected a close, secure atmosphere, a secret meeting place for lovers, safe from prying eyes. With its soft lighting, continual rocking motion and sleeping area enclosed like a giant cocoon, it had an aura of romance. Like framing a picture, the boat’s atmosphere encased them in a scene keyed toward love and tenderness. A scene that would probably not last when the frame was changed.
With stiff, jerky movements, she managed to tilt forward off the seat, but couldn’t stand straight, frozen into the sitting position. She didn’t really want Zack to touch her again—not until she’d had a long talk with herself about self-control and the power of emotions—but knew she wasn’t even going to duck-waddle very far in this ridiculous position!
At that thought her imagination took off, and she chuckled to herself. It was time for another rubdown.
“Zack...?” she pleaded.
No explanations were needed. He’d been watching her, trying not to laugh out loud, the roguish grin she’d come to watch for kicking up at the corners of his mouth as he saw her laughing at herself.
“Lie down.” He was enjoying himself. She could hear it in his voice, vibrant with dry humor, and see it in the slow shake of his head. He was lighthearted today, quite likable in fact.
Waggling her hands in agreement since her shoulders wouldn’t shrug, she flopped, willingly, face down on the seat cushions. With a flourish he whisked up her T-shirt, unhooked her bra and layered on the penetrating liniment. His hands felt steady, impersonal...and Jennel relaxed. No shocks this time, just pain.
“Umm,” she purred in utter contentment. It felt so good, the tension and sore- ness slowly leaving.
Then it happened again.
To put liniment on her shoulders, he moved her hair aside, lifting it away from her neck. The whisper-light touch of his fingers in passing sent another lightening charge all the way down her spine and she tensed tight from head to toe.
“Relax,” he demanded tersely, but how could she? As his hands moved across her skin, the stroking changed into a caress, an invitation to love, and desire flared through her. Did he realize what he was doing? He must have.
The overwhelming man-woman attraction was as old as time. She’d been drawn to Zack from the start, but had successfully resisted her feelings. Or so she’d thought. He was being so chivalrous today, so cheerful and warm and thoughtful. It was impossible to resist his charm. How was she going to keep herself under control and him at a distance when he acted like this?
Then even as her foolish body began to yield, purring like a stroked cat, Zack began a stronger massage, hard enough to nullify the former sensations.
Proximity. Jennel sternly tried to convince herself that that was all it was. They were too close in this small cabin. Thrown together like this, they would end up either hating or loving each other; and all because of propinquity.
“I like your work,” he admitted as he worked his magic down each arm and out into her stiff fingers, stripping each one of tension. “You’ve a fine, delicate line and a good eye for detail. Your furniture and room stay in proportion. Best, your ideas are good. They’re workable and adaptable.”
“Thank you.” Wow! High praise from Zack the perfectionist. Maybe he wasn’t such a beast after all...or maybe the proximity was getting to him, too.
“I’ve never seen anyone produce so fast. Do you always work like a deadline has passed or was that just for my benefit?”
“Always. I can’t keep up with my ideas.” She wasn’t trying to impress him with her speed, just with her final work—and her own competence—so he’d let her stay.
“That’s a tiring way of working.”
“I relax afterward, although not usually with a massage. This is real service.”
“You haven’t heard what I charge.” He re-hooked her and helped her sit up, a crooked grin crossing his face so that she didn’t take his dry teasing too seriously.
“I thought it was free.”
“It is sometimes—and sometimes not,” he warned, his darkly gleaming eyes challenging her to make what she wanted to of that statement.
“How do I know...which time is which?”
“You don’t. Feel better?”
“Yes, definitely.” Even her fingers felt relaxed and rested. The man was a marvel. She should hire him permanently.
“Then let’s eat.”
“Is it ready, already?”
“Yes.”
“I should be fixing some of the meals. I’m sorry.” She was. He shouldn’t be feeding her all the time. If she was going to prove how self-sufficient she was, she should at least be cooking half the meals for the two of them.
“I agree, your cooking shouldn’t be wasted. But a pan of soup is easy, and that’s all I made.”
“I’ll fix supper tonight,” she promised determinedly.
“Okay...if you’re still here.” He glanced out the window. “The fog seems to be clearing up.”
“Oh, no!”
“‘Oh, good,’ you mean. I’ve got to keep my crew busy. Once my foreman finishes his other job, he’s going to come here and wonder what I’ve been up to, dragging my feet. I can’t ask for speedy results from him and not do the same myself.”
“But I need to finish—” Her anguish was evident, she had never fully mastered the art of dissimulation.
“At the speed you work, you’ll make it. If not, mail them back. Better yet, send them directly to Mrs. Van Chattan and insist she take them to her husband.
“But what if she doesn’t?”
Zack shrugged. “Wait and see.”
That was hard to do. Still, with her muscles relaxed, Jennel felt like a new person. She cleared away her papers, then poured tea while Zack set the bowls, pan of chicken soup and sack of crackers in the center. They were both hungry and ate their first bowl in silence.
“More?”
“Yes, please.” She was eating more than normal, but was probably burning it up in nervous energy. “Just half,” she requested as he tipped the pan. Although hungry, she felt compelled to get back to work on her elevations. She wanted them complete and absolutely perfect to send back to the Van Chattans.
“What’s the name of your company?” he asked, finishing the soup. He sank back against the cushions, his rugged physique resting with a casual fluid movement that reminded Jennel of Brutus. Both moved with a deceptively easy and lazy-looking grace that masked the power within.
“Jennel’s Interiors. Not very original, but the people I’ve done homes for remember me by my first name and recommend me to people that way. It seemed important to maintain that link.”
He nodded agreement. “You’re right. It was too bad you couldn’t have avoided the mess here. Try to check out your next job more carefully.”
“Inside and out!” If she still
had
a business.
“Upstairs and down,” he added. “I have a lawyer do all that for me. In the building trade, there are so many people who renege on their promises, you have to be protected.”
“I’m finding that out.”
He shoved the few remaining crackers back into the wrapper and folded the end shut, then simply sat and stared at the crinkled paper. “This whole affair’s been a foul-up from the start. I’m sorry I tore into you like I did. I don’t usually go off the deep end like that.”
His unexpected apology threw her, and she stammered, “That’s okay. It upset us both.”
“Me, especially. My professional pride received a sharp blow when you rejected my interiors, and I overreacted. I figured my own designs were near perfect. Then you came along and challenged that.” He grinned ruefully.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Best thing ever happened to me. It still seems impossible that you can whip out ideas in a few hours that make mine look second rate; designs I need days to produce, sweating over them. It’s quite a blow.”
Slightly embarrassed from his praise, she said, “I did it for Mrs. Van Chattan.”
“I know...and so effortlessly too.”
He fiddled intently with the cracker paper, folding and refolding the end. “I was thinking, if you wanted to, we could, uh, you might consider, uh...”
“Yes?” It was the first time Jennel had seen him obviously uncomfortable. She leaned forward, bringing herself closer to him.