Build Me Up (9 page)

“Sorry?”

“It’s nice of you to offer, but I’ll take my chances with Breezer & Co.”

“Stop being ridiculous, Kristen,” he said and locked up the tractor. “It’s just a wash. I’m not going to maul you when you step through the door.”

He pocketed the keys and walked over to the car park without giving her a second glance. She’d follow, he knew she would. For all the huffing and puffing and sulking she could do, he knew she wouldn’t be walking back to Mrs. Breezer’s house with mud caking her legs and hands. Even Kristen wouldn’t be that stubbornly foolish.

Kristen huffed and puffed all the way over to Ford’s truck. She didn’t want to be sitting down anywhere, but his truck would need a hose down in any case, so why not add to his workload? It was only fair seeing how he’d dragged her into the mud in the first place.

The heeled boots had been her mistake, obviously, and so had putting on her favorite pair of jeans. When she’d jumped the last foot from the tractor, she didn’t realize the ground would sink under the impact of her heels. She’d managed to free one of them, but apparently the other caught on a root or rock or something.

Then Ford came along to help. Typical male behavior – acting all chivalrous and making everything worse in the process.

Ford had left the passenger door open for her – as if he’d known perfectly well that she would decide against walking over to the
Breeze Inn
. Stupid jerk. She climbed in and made sure she smeared mud in a few more places than strictly necessary. Childish? Yes. Satisfying? Totally.

“Comfy?” he said, looking over at her with a crooked smile.

Damn him for looking all rugged and mischievous. The muddy splatters on his checkered shirt only contributed to the dirty and rugged look, and… was that an oil streak? Kristen tore her eyes away and used one mucky finger to draw a sad smiley face on his window.

She thought she could hear him chuckling, but when she looked over he had his standard stony face on. She leaned over and turned the radio on, making sure it too got a little smudged. Ford didn’t even blink.

It wasn’t a long drive over to Ford’s house, and when the engine and consequently the radio turned off, Kristen remembered she was expected to get naked in Ford’s house. Not with him watching, of course, but the thought of it was enough to make her stomach clench and goose bumps break out in the most improper places.

“You coming?” Ford said casually as he heaved himself out of the driver’s seat. Kristen took a deep breath before opening her own door.

“Shower’s upstairs,” he said as he kicked off his shoes just outside the door. “There are extra towels on the shelf. Just throw your clothes in the hamper in there and put it outside the door. I’ll throw yours in with mine while you shower.”

“And while my clothes are being washed, what am I supposed to do? Hide out in the bathroom?”

“I plan on taking a shower myself when you’re done. If you want to stay for the show, that’s your prerogative,” he shrugged and walked into what she presumed was the laundry room. “If not,” he said as he stepped back out with a small pile of clothes, “you can put these on.”

Kristen wiped her hands on the front of her jeans and took the pile from him. “Thanks.”

“Up the stairs to your right,” he said and pointed to the staircase. “Call out when you’ve put the hamper outside and I’ll come collect.”

Kristen gave him a curt nod and headed up the stairs. The door to the bathroom had been left slightly ajar, so she found it instantly. Inside, she spotted the hamper Ford had been talking about – an ugly plastic container with an even uglier lid. She closed the door behind her and quickly stripped down to her underwear. They weren’t in need of a wash, and she was about to put the hamper out when Sassy Kristen poked her head out and said that messing with Ford would be the best revenge. So she unclasped her bra and slipped her panties off and stuck them in the hamper, put the lid on and pushed it outside the door.

“Ready for pickup!” she called out and closed the door again, her pulse racing. She turned the lock and turned on the shower.

He didn’t have any floral scented shampoo, conditioner or shower gel, just a 2-in-1 concoction that was said to take care of both body and hair. Yeah, right. Her hair would be frizzy after that kind of treatment. Then again, Ford didn’t exactly need shampoo, now did he? No soft waves curling into his face and making him look all boyish. Nope. Ford was all man. Hard and rough and… the water was way too hot.

Kristen scrubbed herself clean, forcing her mind to stay off Ford and his limbs.

Ford, having chucked his dirty clothes and pulled on sweats, went upstairs to collect Kristen’s clothes. As he picked up the hamper, he could hear the shower running. Imagining Kristen under the spray didn’t take much effort –
not
imagining it took all his concentrated energy. What had he been thinking, insisting she come over to shower and wash her clothes?

Ford shook his head all the way back down to the laundry room. As he pulled out her dirty jeans, T-shirt and sweater, stuffing them into the cylinder, something fell onto the floor. He bent down to pick the items up and felt silk under his fingertips. Damn. She’d put her underwear in the hamper.

The panties were pale pink and trimmed with lace, matching the bra. Realizing he would be pretty creepy to be studying any of the items, he quickly stuffed the panties into the washing machine along with the rest of her clothes. He pretended not to notice that the bra cups fit perfectly in his hands before he tucked them inside, as well. He definitely didn’t check the tag.

Ford was just getting the coffee ready when he heard footsteps on the staircase. He turned his head as Kristen walked into the kitchen and spilled hot water on the floor. Her wet hair was leaving dark spots on his gray T-shirt and the sweat pants were pulled as tight as they would go and still hung on her hips. One little tug and she’d only be wearing his T-shirt.

“Uh… coffee?” he offered lamely.

“Thanks. It’s pretty cold in here,” she said and hugged herself. He tried to not look at the spot where his T-shirt met her flesh and where it was evident that she wasn’t wearing a bra – and that she was indeed cold.

“I’ll get the furnace going,” he said and put the kettle down on the counter. “Help yourself to coffee.”

“Thanks,” she said and he avoided eye contact as he passed her. Yup, inviting Kristen Barnes over had been a definite mistake.

EIGHT

Kristen smiled to herself as she poured her coffee. She’d shocked him with the underwear, and then again with her almost-wet T-shirt. Needling him was the best way she knew how not to think too much about their relationship. They weren’t friends, and they certainly weren’t lovers, so to keep things casual she knew she had to treat him like she would any other guy she came across – with just the right amount of flirtation and brazenness.

The technique had served her well in the past. She’d always managed to keep feelings out of the mix whenever she’d interacted with men. Some were business connections and just needed that smidgen of flirtation to keep them hanging around; others were appealing distractions that welcomed her brazenness with open arms and didn’t bother calling her the next day.

Flirting with Ford was bad, but building a friendship with him was worse. Friendships led to feelings and feelings led to disappointment and regret. Those were things she could do without.

When she’d filled her cup, she wandered out of the kitchen and over to the living room. She always felt like living rooms were warmer than any other room in a house – maybe because of the rugs and fabrics. Ford’s living room, however, didn’t have carpets and there weren’t any fluffy pillows or throw blankets warming the couch.

Nevertheless, Kristen decided the warmest spot in the house – unless she wanted to get back in the shower or crawl under a comforter in the bedroom – was a corner of the couch. She tucked her feet under her and held the coffee cup with both hands.

“Here,” Ford suddenly appeared with a sweater in his hand, “it should warm you up until the house heats up.”

“Thanks,” Kristen said and set down the cup on the table before pulling the sweater over her head. It was large and warm, and she looked at the print on the front. “BU Terriers?”

“I played some hockey in college,” he shrugged and sat down on the couch with his own cup of coffee, leaving as much space between them as possible.

Oh, yeah, she could definitely picture him as a hockey player. “Got any scars?”

“A few. They’ve all faded, though.”

“Can I see?” Kristen blurted before thinking things through. She really shouldn’t be checking out any part of him that wasn’t on display in his everyday clothes.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” he shook his head. “It’s pretty cold in here still.”

“You’re right,” Kristen said quickly, happy for the get out of jail free card, and turned her attention fully on her hot beverage again. “How long do you think it’ll take before the clothes are done?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have any fancy equipment, so we’re looking at at least a couple of hours. “Do you want me to drive you to Mrs. Breezer’s house and I can bring the clothes to the building site?”

“Thanks, but if you don’t mind, I think I’ll hang out here until I can leave in my own clothes. I have the feeling Mrs. Breezer is a gossip.”

“Does that matter to you? What people think?”

“Image is everything in my line of business.” Kristen sipped her coffee, thankful she was starting to warm up.

“So you’ve never done the walk of shame, then?”

Kristen was grateful she’d managed to swallow her last sip of coffee, because if she hadn’t, she would have sprayed him with it.

“Sorry. None of my business,” Ford said, holding his hands up in a gesture of backing off while remaining immobile.

“Have you?” she countered.

“Not really my style,” he shrugged.

“What? One night stands or being ashamed of them?”

“Neither.”

“Hm.” Kristen put her cup down and curled up further on the couch, hugging her legs to her chest.

“What?” Ford frowned.

“I’m just thinking about that expression. Doing the walk of shame? You think it’s mostly men or women who do that kind of thing?”

“Do I sense a discussion coming on?” Ford asked, sounding amused.

“Just making conversation,” Kristen shrugged. “And for the record… yeah, I have. In college. Does that shock you?”

“Why would it?”

“Does it feed your prejudices about California girls?”

“How do you know I have any preconceived ideas about Californian women?”

“Uh… I’ve talked to you for more than five minutes since I got here?”

Ford smiled. “Guilty as charged. But I’m not the only one with prejudices here, am I?”

“Okay. Fine. Subject dropped.”

“Ah. Interesting.” Ford smiled and shifted in his seat, facing her more fully.

“What?”

“You don’t like to talk about yourself – not when it’s something you feel insecure about.”

“I’m not insecure,” Kristen objected.

“Okay, insecure might be the wrong word. But you definitely come on less strong when you’re not a hundred percent sure of your standpoint. You don’t like to admit when you’re wrong.”

“Does anyone?”

“Good point.”

“Where’s your daughter?” Kristen asked, looking around.

“Sorry?”

“You told me you had a daughter. But I didn’t see any feminine products in the shower, nothing to make ones hair soft and shiny. I’ve never met a woman who didn’t care about her hair to at least some extent.”

“She lives with her mother.”

“I figured that. How often does she visit?”

“Every summer. Sometimes over the holidays, too.”

“But she doesn’t leave her stuff here?”

“Nope.”

“You don’t like to talk about her, do you?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Family usually is.”

“Tell me about yours, then.”

“You already know about my family.”

“I know the basic facts. Not how you really feel about them.”

“What is this? Oprah? Do you get points for making me cry?”

“Does talking about your family make you cry?”

“No. Does talking about your daughter make
you
cry?” she fired back.

“I don’t cry.”

“So manly…” Kristen scoffed. “Man… I’m surprised you don’t choke on all the testosterone floating around here.”

“I handle myself fine,” he smiled.

“So… anything good on TV?” Kristen asked, tired of exhausting one topic after another with nothing to show for it.

“Let’s see,” Ford said and leaned over to grab the remote control off the coffee table. “You’re a fan of bad reality TV, aren’t you?”

“You’re not?”

“All this testosterone makes me veer solely towards the sports channels, I’m afraid,” he grinned. “But I can sit through an episode of
The Bachelor
if I must.”

“The fact that you even know that’s a reality show just gave you away,” Kristen said smugly.

“I watch commercials.”

“Right.”

“Let’s see what’s on
Bravo
– that’s the channel to go for bad reality TV, right?”

“You
so
follow those shows,” Kristen laughed.

He ignored her and flipped through channels. “Ah.
Bored
Housewives of Beverly Hills
. Should make you feel right at home.”

“Or make me homesick,” Kristen pointed out.

“Do you miss it? California, I mean.”

“On a day like this? Yeah, I miss being warm and feeling the sun on my skin. I miss getting dressed up and going out, doing my hair and nails, getting massages…”

“Well, this isn’t exactly a spa, but I do give a great foot rub.”

“Seriously? You wanna massage my feet?” Kristen raised her eyebrows at him. “Why?”

“I might feel a tiny bit guilty for getting you all muddy,” he shrugged.

“Okay… I have to warn you, though. I only had your 2-in-1 shower gel slash shampoo to clean myself up with, so I’m not exactly smelling of roses.” Kristen put her feet up on the couch and let Ford pull them into his lap. She could feel his thigh muscles moving underneath and she tensed.

“Relax,” he said and started stroking the balls of her feet with his thumbs, “watch your show and pretend you’re in some fancy L.A. spa getting your feet pampered.”

“Yeah, like that’s…” Kristen started, and then he hit a pressure point and she liquefied, sinking into the couch and closing her eyes with pleasure. “Mmm. Don’t stop.”

Ford focused on the clinical aspect of massaging a person’s feet – finding pressure points and tense sections to alleviate pain – and blocked out the little moans of contentment coming from Kristen. Well, he did his damndest to try to, anyway.

He’d given Suzy foot rubs back when they were married, and even though it had been tied into the more sensuous part of their marriage at first, once Annabelle came along it had been a way of pain relief for Suzy’s feet and an act of appreciation on his part. Then she didn’t need him to rub her feet anymore.

He hadn’t realized until now that he’d missed this –being close to someone and taking care of them with minimum effort. Not that he was close to Kristen – or taking care of her in any way. It just felt natural to offer as she was obviously cold and a little blue. Mood wise, not color wise.

The more he worked her feet, stroking a few inches up her legs, the more he became aware of the fact that she smelled like his shower, and that she was wearing his clothes… and that she wasn’t wearing anything
underneath
his clothes.

That last part had him drop her feet like hot potatoes straight off the grill. “All done.”

She looked as if she was about to object, maybe even pout, but nothing came out. Instead, she thanked him and curled back up in her corner of the couch.

They spent a couple of excruciating hours on the couch before the laundry was done and dried and she could change back into her own clothes.

“I feel like I should offer you dinner or something,” he blurted as they walked to his car. “I mean, for keeping you locked up over here without so much as a Pop-Tart to offer in way of sustenance.”

“You’ve gone well and beyond the call of duty, Ford,” she said and climbed into the truck. “I think I’d better just head to bed before I get in any more trouble.”

“Probably wise,” he nodded and closed the door behind her. Yeah, she was the wise one out of the two of them, he told himself as he walked over to the driver’s side.

The next month practically flew by, and before Kristen knew it, it was Thanksgiving weekend. She was just packing up her stuff in the office trailer when Ford walked in.

“Hey, you on your way out?” he asked, taking off his hard hat and running his hand over his head.

“Um… yeah.”

“Are you flying home for the weekend?”

“Uh… no. I thought about it, but… I should probably hang around here. You know, in case something happens on the site.”

“And let’s say a storm blows through and rips off a piece of cardboard – what are you going to do about it?” he frowned, clearly not believing her.

“I could… call for help.”

“Yes, you could. So could anyone else who happens to pass by. Come on, Kristen, go see your parents.”

“It’s fine.” She shook her head and fumbled with her bag. She needed to get out of here before he started asking any more questions.

“Kristen,” he said, almost sternly, in a voice that demanded she look at him. Exactly what she
didn’t
want to do. “Kristen, look at me.”

With a deep sigh, she obliged.

“Why aren’t you going to California?”

“It’s a long flight to make just for a few days, and…”

“The actual reason, please,” he cut her off.

“I was getting to it,” she snapped. “
And
… my parents won’t be around anyway.”

“Where are they?”

“Mom’s on a cruise or something with her husband. Dad’s got a business dinner and his new wife is playing hostess for the first time. I’m not allowed to upstage her in her debut.”

“So what are you going to do this weekend?”

“Well, Mrs. Breezer is going to her grandchildren’s house or something, so I’m in charge of feeding the cats. I might dress them up like little turkeys. Or, even worse in Mrs. Breezer’s eyes – try
feeding
them turkey. It should be a blast.”

“You hate cats.”

“I tolerate them fine.”

“You think they’re plotting to kill you.”

“Ah, but see, if I’m the only one in the house, I control the food. No living Kristen – no food for the kitties.”

“Unless they decide people meat is tastier than liver in a can,” Ford deadpanned.

Kristen felt the color drain from her face. “Damn. Didn’t think of that. Thanks a lot!” she slapped his chest, which was sprinkled with dust and just a little… rock hard. The color quickly returned to her cheeks. Healthy exercise slapping someone’s chest – gets the adrenaline and blood pumping. She should recommend that as a cardio workout back home.