Chasing Marisol (Blueprint to Love Book 3)

Love Under Construction . . .

Construction executive Jefferson Traynor has zero problems attracting women. Until now. A blow to his ego, the sexy, beautiful Marisol seems immune to his superpower charm.

Marisol Ortega is on a mission— build the safest women's shelter she can negotiate on her shoestring budget. If that means playing along with the gorgeous, cocky stud building it— then game on. A single mom to foster son Hector, Mari can't afford the distraction of the crazy hot man pursuing her.

Chasing Marisol was supposed to be a fun, no-strings interlude while Jeff builds a safe shelter for the strong women he has grown to admire. Falling for Mari and Hector wasn't in the blueprint. But can Marisol ever move past old fears to risk building a shiny, new life with him?

Chapter 1

She had a run in her pantyhose— left leg, inside the ankle. Not usually one to notice such a small detail, Jefferson Traynor momentarily forgot the phone in his hand— fascinated by the shapely limbs transporting his next girlfriend quite ably across the hotel parking lot.

"Earth to Jeff— you still there?"

"I'm here. Wasting time at Dad's charity thing." His slow assessment had yet to reach her face, and in a way, Jeff was reluctant to continue. The rest of her couldn't possibly hold his attention so readily. "Jake, when I said I wanted more responsibility— I meant at work. Can't you stick this charitable stuff with Jenna?"

His brother launched into the
many
reasons why his presence at a charitable board meeting
was
important to Specialty Construction. With a sigh, Jeff resumed his perusal of the lithe body heading toward him, praying her destination would coincide with his.

Wow. He'd been wrong. If possible, the face was more stunning than the body. A Latin supermodel. . . right here in Arlington. Jeff's pulse ricocheted as she drew closer. His presence at the board meeting might be delayed while he scored her number.

"So, Dad dumps the homeless shelter gig on you and now you're sticking me with it." The spark of interest he'd experienced as she approached morphed to inferno level awareness. When their eyes finally met over the wobbly stack of files she struggled with, he drew a breath of dismay.

Her eyes were wide-set and shimmering blue. Had they been welcoming, they would have reminded him of the clear turquoise of a tropical sea. Instead, her challenging,
don't-even-think-about-messing-with-me
stare told him what she thought of his perusal. When she turned haughtily toward the hotel entrance, he was left to admire long, chocolate curls that bobbed with every step.

Damn— he should be offering to grab the door for her instead of wasting time arguing with his brother. "Jake— are you gonna pull this four-kids-excuse forever? Because it's getting a little old." Pocketing the keys to his bike, he hustled after the supermodel. Jeff managed to reach the door as she jockeyed her briefcase with the precariously sliding stack of folders.

"We'll argue later. I'm late for this stupid charity thing." In one motion, Jeff stuffed his phone into his pocket and reached for the door handle. Offering her one of his patented Traynor smiles, he winked. History being what it was, Legs would be unable to resist for long. "You look as though you could use some assistance. Allow me to get the door, Miss-"

Ignoring his blatant end run, she responded with a smile, but it was the kind meant to freeze out— not invite in. And it most definitely didn't reach her eyes. "Thank you."

Okay— maybe a little too obvious. Truth was— most women approached him, not the other way around. But her voice held promise— husky, melodic. A touch of an accent. Definitely worth another try. Not the least deterred, he fell into step beside her.

"Can I carry something? I'm heading into a meeting but I always have time to assist a beautiful woman." Eventually they all caved. The Traynor charm was damn near irresistible.

"Only the beautiful ones? What a shame." She eyed him with amusement. "Many women need assistance." She turned for the bank of elevators. "Thankfully, I'm not one of them."

***

"What is
wrong
with you?" Marisol Ortega muttered as she rode the elevator to the third floor. Her arms were moments from snapping under the weight of her briefcase and the load of presentation materials she carried. An absolutely stunning man offers assistance and what does she do? Accept gracefully? No— that would be too easy.

Absolutely stunning and completely full of himself, she amended, entering the carpeted hallway. Remembering his expression, she smiled. Gorgeous, hazel eyes had registered something akin to shock. Perhaps it had been worth it after all. Motorcycle Stud wasn't familiar with being rejected— for anything. Despite his disarming smile and the drool-worthy build his expensive suit couldn't hide— everything about him screamed 'player'. Mari had too much experience with that type to ever be tempted again.

Sexy and conceited were only attractive for a short while. Inevitably, the inherent shallowness left her bored. Her next relationship would be with a plain, earnest man. Maybe even a bit dull, Mari decided. No— not dull. She needed someone to laugh with. So— plain, earnest and funny. And gainfully employed, she added— after a brief flashback to Nick. Employed would be a major plus.

A little bitter, Mari
? Because that definitely sounded like sour grapes. And what did it matter anyway? She had enough problems to manage without adding a high maintenance man to her list. Besides— she had Hector to think of now.

Annoyed with herself, she shook off the ambivalent mood. It would not serve her well to head into this board meeting with an attitude. She needed cooperation— and lots of money. Otherwise, the shelter would suffer for her bad temper. The wealthy patrons who showed up for these meetings expected to feel noble about the money they parted with. With the exception of a few hardworking board members who truly embraced the mission— most wanted to hear a sad story, learn how their specific donation would make the difference, then write their check and leave.

Setting the stack of PR materials on the table inside the room, she massaged her aching arms. Her practiced eye noted the fine china coffee service, the tray of expensive pastries that would barely be touched by the toothpick-thin wives of the wealthy executives she courted. Yet, if the trappings weren't there, her shelter would appear less worthy— less photogenic to the corporations she solicited. She continually walked a fine line between wasting valuable resources on the elaborate trappings required to gain more donors and appearing too lowbrow to merit their attention.

Hearing the rustle of footsteps behind her, Mari shelved her thoughts. Pasting on a smile, she turned to face her arriving guests. "Good morning-"

"So, we meet again."

Her smile faltered as she met the discerning gaze of the sexy fratboy from the lobby. What were the odds? "What a pleasant surprise," she lied. "I'm Marisol Ortega from the New Beginnings Shelter. And you?"

"Jeff Traynor, from Specialty Construction. Nice to meet you."

Her hand was engulfed in his. She noticed he took his time before releasing it. It was a nice hand, she admitted reluctantly. Sturdy. Capable. "You're related to Linc and Mona? They're wonderful people." Who couldn't possibly have spawned such a self-indulgent charmer. Perhaps her original impression had been wrong.

"My parents— and they are pretty great. They speak very highly of the shelter. On behalf of Specialty, I look forward to helping in any way we can."

Mari couldn't help her smile. "You realize our shelter is the very one you referred to in the parking lot as 'being stuck with the homeless shelter gig'?"

His expression chagrined, he raised his hands. "Guilty as charged. But try not to let my initial impression sway you."

"You've suddenly realized a previously undiscovered interest in the homeless?" Warm, green eyes sparked with what she could only term mischief. How could a man his age have the capacity to appear as though he'd been caught with his hand in a cookie jar? "Perhaps you had an epiphany in the elevator?"

"Go figure." A slow grin flashed. "Seriously, the shelter means a great deal to my parents. Therefore it means a great deal to me."

"Where is Mr. Traynor? He's well, I hope?"

"Dad's out of town this week. He asked me to sit in for him. Something about an addition you're planning?"

"Yes, we've been working together for months on the final plans." She chewed her lip at the realization there would be yet another delay. With Linc out of town, she would make little progress. "I'd hoped to spend a few minutes with him after this meeting to finalize a few outstanding issues-"

"I'll be happy to review the plans with you," he persisted.

Jeff's grin revealed dazzling, movie star white teeth and a winking dimple. A lethal combination. Thick lashes and a panty-dropping smile. No wonder he was full of himself. Mari hesitated— knowing the flare of interest in his eyes was not a sudden fascination with the city's homeless population. "Perhaps I should wait for Linc-"

"I insist," he interrupted. "He'll be ticked if he thinks I'm the reason your project is delayed. Dad said I should do whatever you asked."

Thankfully, a sudden cluster of new arrivals crowded the doorway. The tall, likeable man standing before her was a little too charming. Nodding to Jeff, she drifted to the door. "Very well. I look forward to working with you."

***

Nodding as introductions were made, Jeff tried to contain his smile. A private meeting with a gorgeous woman— a project that would keep them in close contact. He owed the old man big-time. He couldn't have planned the situation better himself. Marisol. An unusual name for a beautiful woman. She'd be charmed. Grateful for his assistance. By the time the project was ready to break ground— she'd be his for the taking.

"As most of you are aware— the homeless population in Arlington has only grown since the downturn in the economy forced people further outside the District-"

Jeff had every intention of paying attention. But each time she passed his table, her scent drifted over him, tantalizing him with the spice of cinnamon and . . . vanilla? Whatever it was had his senses prickling with awareness. She was making it very difficult to concentrate.

Discreetly checking his phone, he rearranged his schedule for the next several hours. They would review the plans . . . flirt a little. Invite her to lunch. Easy enough to extend their
work
discussion over a meal. Then shift their conversation to the personal side-

"Despite having seven homeless shelters in this area— over one hundred people are turned away each night for beds. That number will more than double or even triple when the weather gets colder."

Glancing up, he discovered Marisol staring at his phone as she spoke. Damn. What had she just said? That last statistic sounded ridiculously high. Sliding his phone into his pocket, he vowed to pay closer attention.

"At New Beginnings, we serve over three hundred meals each day— not including those that are prepared for the residents at the shelter."

"Is this shelter unisex?"

Marisol acknowledged the woman with a gracious smile. The simple act sent his pulse into overdrive. "The shelter is for women and their children only. But our daily meals are open to anyone. We serve breakfast, lunch and dinner to the area homeless. At night we have a separate living area that serves as short term housing for women in transition."

Transition? Jeff raised a brow. He smiled a moment later when someone asked the same question.

"We offer temporary housing to women who are experiencing domestic violence and must make a quick escape-"

"How often do those situations occur?" Jeff surprised himself with the question. Her beautiful eyes shifted their focus to him and he experienced a punch of heat.

"At New Beginnings we receive at least three calls a week from agencies asking to place women— sometimes alone— but usually mothers with children. Typically, they have escaped their situation with only the clothes on their backs." Marisol's voice grew husky, her expression serious. "Currently, those are hard for us to accommodate. We have limited space and we don't have separate apartment units for mothers to care for their children."

Wishing he'd taken the time to review the plans his dad had dropped off earlier in the week, Jeff frowned. "Is that what this addition is all about?"

She nodded. "We hope to expand the homeless shelter to better provide an appropriate setting for mothers to care for their children— somewhere they will feel safe from harm— safe from being discovered— as they work to get back on their feet."

Nodding his thanks, he jotted notes as others asked detailed questions about the expansion and the financing. He had several construction-related questions— most of which would be answered once he took a good look at her drawings.

Her voice washed over him as she calmly answered each question, at times, her sexy accent more pronounced. Had she been raised in the States? Marisol was painstaking in her answers— yet unvarnished. He was left with the impression of a woman would not couch the truth in pretty words. Nor would she paint an extremely dire picture— even though making the situation appear worse might be helpful in securing donations. From what he'd heard so far, she was straightforward. Her eyes sparkled with intelligence and compassion for the women she assisted.  

Jeff glanced around the room. She had them eating out of her hand. Hell— after thirty minutes in her presence, she'd reeled him in, too. He'd entered the room resentful about having to waste his time. Now— he was eager to review the plans. Discover what changes needed to be made. Research what engineering could be accomplished to shave costs without hurting design. She'd won him over to the challenge— just as she'd won over several others in the room. He watched as several heads nodded, agreeing with the point she was making.

His thoughts drifted to their conversation by the elevator. When he'd been busy launching a standard pick-up line, her response had been decisive.
Many women need help. But I am not one of them
. Marisol was tough. He'd bet she was protective of her clients at the shelter. She'd probably seen just about everything humanity had to offer.