Worth the Risk (11 page)

She pulled her hand back and reached for the last piece of bacon. “Yes, I am,” she said with a firmness that erased the unhappiness and apprehension.

A smile settled over his lips as he watched her take a deep breath, like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. He didn’t think it possible to admire her more than he already did, but at the moment he held no one in higher regard.

“So how about we go shopping today? A buddy of mine just opened a new outdoor mall,” he said.

For a split second, discomfort flashed over her face again.

“You okay?”

“Never better.” She held out the last bite of bacon. Dean leaned forward and took it from her with his mouth, his lips grazing her fingers.

“So what do you say?”

“I didn’t think guys liked shopping. You mean for clothes? Or, I know. You want to buy a jet ski or a canoe or something.”

“Actually, I need to buy a pair of nice pants and a shirt. It’s my mom’s birthday today, and I forgot to bring something to wear to dinner tonight.”

“Oh…sure.”

“Don’t sound too excited. Maybe I’ll buy you something, too.”

“That’s not necessary.” She lifted her orange juice, took an unsteady sip.

He reached out to touch her arm, needing to feel her skin. “I know it’s not. I want to. Something to remember me by.”

…

Dean pulled into the parking lot of a very attractive outside promenade with shops and restaurants. A giant fountain stood in the middle, water dancing at different heights, and plenty of people milled about. Samantha wished she’d been strong enough to turn down Dean’s invitation. She didn’t want him to buy her anything; the last thing she needed was something tangible to remember him by. But once again, her heart won out over her head.

As they exited the car and made their way to the storefronts, she pushed away feelings of unease and tried to enjoy the cobblestone walkways and overgrown planters of ivy and brightly colored flowers. Tingles shot through her when Dean took her hand, wrapping his fingers comfortably around hers.

Window-shopping eventually led to the perfect shopping place.

“What do you think of this?” Dean asked a few minutes later in the dressing room area of Tommy Bahama.

“I think you could wear a paper bag and still look good.” Samantha eased forward and adjusted the collar on the light blue button-down shirt. For a split second the scent of citrus mixed with something more musky flooded her senses. She bent her head into the spot between Dean’s shoulder and jaw and sniffed. The seductive aroma had her picturing the two of them on a deserted tropical island.

“The store’s signature scent,” he said. “I put some on as I was coming back here. Like it?”

Samantha lifted her face to mere inches from his. “I’d like to be stranded on an island with you, drinking fruity cocktails and holding your hand.”

“How about Maui?”

“I’ve never been.” But she could picture it. With him.

“It’s a date, then. We’ll meet there sometime and conquer the sea. Snorkeling, scuba diving, whale watching. It’s an incredible place.”

Sometime? What the hell did that mean? How about right now? Throw caution to the wind, forget about Route 66, and just head to paradise.

She wanted to say regardless of who got the contract, they should get out a calendar and pen it in. Pen
.
It. In. But she didn’t. She bit the inside of her cheek and stifled the urge to ask for an explanation, a rundown on the thoughts going through his mind. His nonchalance ate her up inside. She gave a silent curse.

He didn’t owe her anything. And she had no right to ask anything more of him. They’d agreed to the weekend. But the pull on her heartstrings, the incurable desire to kiss him, the need to love him, pestered her every thought. The risk had been there from the beginning and she’d taken it. She had no one to blame but herself.

“So what’s next”—her cell phone rang, momentarily interrupting her question—“to try on?” She backed away from Dean with a smile plastered on her face, hoping the expression would ease her anxiety. She pulled out the phone, then put up a finger and said, “I need to get this.”

Her heart raced at the name on the caller ID.

“Hello. This is Sam.”

“Sam. Bill Malloy. How are you?”

Confident she’d distanced herself enough from Dean, she said, “I’m good, Mr. Malloy. How are you?”

“Well, thank you. And please, call me Bill.” His voice carried so much warmth over the phone line that Samantha relaxed her shoulders before sitting down on a bench just outside the clothing store.

“Okay. Bill.”

“Listen. I’ve read over your proposal, and I need clarification on something.”

“Sure.” She crossed then quickly uncrossed her legs. Sat up taller, took a slow and silent deep breath. She watched the inside of the store for any indication Dean was on his way out.

“I like that you and Global Site have paid special attention to the architecture and amusements along the Route and that you see 66 as resurrecting the American road trip. Your site interpretations are cleverly detailed and you’ve done your research on local preservation organizations willing to lend a hand to such a large project.”

“Like you, Global Site has personal relationships with community groups and government agencies across the country,” Samantha said. “Our personal manpower only goes so far, given we have commitments to other sites across the world.”

Bill chortled. “I’ve known Ben Thompson a long time. I think he’s the only man busier than I am.”

Samantha had met the head of Global Site only once. He ran the company from all over the world, preferring a mobile office to anything stationary. “Despite his assiduousness, I can assure you he’s one hundred percent behind working with you on Route 66.”

“I’ve no doubt. We’ve talked about partnering up in the past when the right project came along.”

“I hope I don’t sound too forward when I say this is the right project.” Samantha closed her eyes. Spending time with Dean hadn’t quelled her desire to get the partnership for her employer. In fact, reconnecting with him had made her more confident than ever. While she might not know where she stood with him personally, his compliments to her professionally sent her self-esteem soaring.

“Global Site’s reputation and commitment to stem the loss of historic structures is hard to beat, but in your proposal you hold fast to the ideals the company has maintained for the past two decades. Do you see yourselves breaking tradition and exploring new and different preservation strategies in the near future?”

Dean popped into Samantha’s line of vision. He looked around the store, and when he caught sight of her, the corners of his mouth lifted before he stepped out of sight.

Samantha hesitated, trying to decipher if Mr. Malloy was hoping she’d answer “yes.” “Not likely,” she finally said, deciding to hold true to her—and Global Site’s—ideals. “To date we’ve helped save over a hundred endangered architectural and cultural sites with tried-and-true methods. Mr. Thompson likes to say if it isn’t broken, don’t fix it. When left to our own way of doing things, there’s no one better, Mr.—Bill.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” he said, his tone unreadable.

She couldn’t decide if that meant she’d won the contract or if something else was going on that she didn’t understand. Her newness to the industry suddenly had her shaking with uneasy tension.

“Thanks, Sam. And I’m sorry to bother you on a Sunday. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“My pleasure,” she managed to squeak out before hearing the call disconnect.

A moment later an arm snaked around her waist. Lips grazed her neck. She quivered—whether from Dean’s touch or from nervous energy, she wasn’t sure.

“Hey, everything okay?” Dean asked, the sound of his voice signaling every synapse in her body to fire.

“Fine.” Her body relaxed against him as if her mind had no control over her movements. “Just my sister checking up on me again.” She had no intention of telling Dean who had been on the phone. It was her business, and she didn’t think Dean would be happy about it. Plus, she didn’t know if Mr. Malloy had given his son the same courtesy call, but she didn’t think so. At least he hadn’t in the last thirty hours she’d been with Dean.

Dean grabbed her hand and tugged her with him without another word.

Several stores and bags later, Dean had an outfit for dinner and plenty of other clothes for the Golden State, a place where he said he loved living. Samantha had a couple of bags, too, since Dean had insisted on buying her a few dresses he’d wanted to see her try on. Not wanting to hurt his feelings—and secretly thrilled that his eyes brightened with every dress she modeled—she’d agreed. But once she got home, she knew she’d hide them in the back of her closet so as not to be reminded of him.

Silence filled the first few minutes in the car on the drive back to her hotel, but the air crackled with enough electricity to muddle her thoughts. She’d grown so ultra aware of Dean that her body fed off his energy, sending pinpricks of desire scorching across every inch of her skin. She thought about going back to her hotel room. Forced herself
not
to think about going back to her hotel room. Wondered if Dean was thinking the same thing.

She took in a slow, deep breath to calm herself, and Dean’s scent filled her, spiraling her back out of control. She hated his effect on her. Hated that she’d let herself tumble into something with him again. His nearness alone made her feel the kind of want she’d never experienced with anyone else.

She told herself when they got back to the hotel she’d kiss him good-bye, wish him the best, and hightail it back to her room—alone. Any more physical contact would plunge her over the cliff she’d promised herself never to stand on again.

When out of the blue Dean mentioned work, nausea punched her in the stomach. She pressed the button to lower her window and tried to focus on the breeze hitting her face. They’d successfully avoided the subject of Route 66, and Sam wanted to keep it that way. How could they mix what they were doing with work when one of them would win and one would lose?

They couldn’t. And beyond what happened tomorrow morning, Dean’s future plans still concerned the environment and nothing more. He’d given her no indication of a “you and me” going past today. Never said this weekend could lead to something more. She’d accepted that because she couldn’t resist his invitation for one more fling. She couldn’t give up taking what she could get from him and dealing with the rejection later.

“Hey, are you paying attention?”

“Yes, sorry,” she answered, shaking away the thoughts ricocheting in her head. “You said the architect you’ve hired has an urge to combine lean places with benign suburban architecture.” She felt her face give way to a hopeful expression, the words obviously rolling off her tongue without much thought.

Dean fell into full-fledged laughter. “Did you hear what you just said?”

She winced. “Um, not really. I’m sorry. I guess I did kind of zone out there for a second.”

“You were close. I said he’s the best in merging design and environment in urban green spaces. But I kind of like the way you said it better.” He grinned, one more chuckle escaping his mouth. “We don’t have to talk about work if you don’t want to. I’m just curious to hear your thoughts on things, and I wanted to share my thoughts, too. I can’t believe we’re working in the same field. Still can’t believe we’ve met again like this.”

Samantha stared at Dean’s profile. When he turned and cast his blue eyes on her, eyes she felt no amount of competition could turn ugly or bitter, she wondered what her reflection showed. There was no one else in the world she’d rather talk business with, but she couldn’t remain indifferent when this contract meant everything to her. Dean’s job wasn’t at stake here. Hers was.

“Me neither.” No other words came to her.

“How many sites is Global working on right now?”

“A dozen or so. We’ve got teams in Austria, Portugal, the UK. I’m hoping to head to Indonesia at the end of the month.”

“Hoping?” He cast her a sideways look, his eyes gleaming like polished chrome. His confidence in her wiped away any misgivings she had about her upcoming job review.

“It all depends on when we start the Route 66 project.” And if her freelance position became permanent.

He chuckled. Not with disrespect or a low opinion of her comment, but with genuine camaraderie, like he didn’t discount her capabilities. Another admirable quality Samantha knew bettered her. Why did he seem to take their rivalry so lightly? Did he know something she didn’t?