Hard Irish (7 page)

“Seems to me that one way to understand what your father might be trying to say about your mom, is to go back and remember the person your mother was.”

“Good idea.  When I get home tomorrow night, I’ll pull out her books. Tomorrow is a big day.  We start the Drake Hotel renovations.  I want to be onsite by seven.”

Dessie crossed her eyes. “You might have mentioned that
before
I invited you for a PJ party.  Pebbles, you’re in charge of breakfast and seeing our guest off.”

Rocky laughed.  “What is she going to serve me?  A dog biscuit?”

“Yes.  They are gourmet.  All natural, organic, and teeth-sinking good.  Bacon, egg, and cheese
is
her favorite flavor.  She had one for dessert tonight.”

“I think I got a whiff of that when I kissed her earlier.”

“Speaking of kisses.  On a scale of one to ten, how does your stranger rate?”

“Twenty.” Rocky sighed.

“Really?  Twenty?”  Dessie practically fell off the couch.  “Oh, honey!  I’m having a hot flash just thinking about it.  You need to get him bedroom bound ASAP.  Do not waste a minute of talent like that.” 

Rocky rolled her eyes.  “Let’s watch a movie.”

Dessie arched a brow.  “I’ll let it go for now, but you can’t hide from yourself forever.  What do you want to watch?”

“
Flirting with Forty
,” Rocky said with a grin.  They’d both read the book based on author Jane Porter’s real life experience about finding love with a younger man.

“You play dirty girlfriend.  We’ll watch it, but then you’ve got homework tonight.”

“What?”

“You’ll see.” Dessie smiled.

Two hours later, movie finished, couch made into a bed, and several Bailey’s Irish Creams a piece down the hatch, Dessie tossed a small book in Rocky’s lap as she said goodnight.

“What’s this?” Rocky picked it up.

“Your homework.”

“
Pocket Guide to Kama Sutra
.  Seriously?”

Dessie grinned, using Rocky’s earlier tone of voice.  “In today’s world, a woman needs to know how to handle big guns on and off the shooting range.  Just because you know your way around the bedroom doesn’t mean you can’t become an expert at the art of love.  Night, night.”  Dessie made a bee-line for her bedroom.

Rocky stared at the book a minute.  Hours later she concluded, it was more than curiosity that killed the cat.  Intimate images filled her mind and her body was on fire.

C
HAPTER
F
IVE

James slammed the truck door and headed for their office in Weldon Estates’ model home.  Jared winced as he followed his twin.  He half expected the rusty hinges to break on the old Ford they’d borrowed from their dad earlier.

Nine o’clock in the morning and reality already had them by the short hairs with no Starbucks to soften the pain. His Porsche and James’s Jaguar were back at the leasing company, and they were reduced to their Shamrock Construction work truck and the beat-up pick-up they’d shared in high school.  Degrees in business, architecture, and award-winning house designs had done zip to insulate them from a sagging economy.

Besides the money issue, James was still on edge about his “premonition” of Jesse and Jackson.  He’d spoken to both brothers this morning...at six
AM
.  Jared was pretty sure James hadn’t slept all night and wasn’t taking Jared’s news well.

“I can’t believe you.  Our asses are on the line and you have the perfect opportunity to find out what underhanded crap is going on with McKenna Construction that’s putting us out of business.  But instead of checking things out, you’re going to go apologize for kissing her?”

“Yeah, I am.  I shouldn’t have coerced her into it.”

James pressed his palms to his temples.  “A Weldon kiss gave that girl the best five seconds of her life and you’re going to apologize and walk away?  Either her ex knocked a screw loose in your brain or she castrated you.  If McKenna Construction was being run by a man you’d have no qualms about checking things out.”

Jared frowned.  Considering Rocky’s response to his kiss, he couldn’t argue about it being a damn good five seconds.  Hell, it might even be the best five seconds of
his
life as well.  He didn’t want to “walk away” from her, but given who he was, and what he wanted, it was the only honorable thing to do.  He wasn’t going to use her, or their kiss, as a way to spy on her company.

“You’re right.  But then if a man was running McKenna Construction, I wouldn’t have kissed him.  We’ll find out what we want without me screwing her over.  She’s got enough assholes in her life as it is.  I refuse to add to it.”

“I don’t get how looking around screws her over.  But since it eats at your conscience, why don’t I take your place?  I’ll go see her, pretend to be you for a day or two and find out how they are consistently underbidding us.”

It had been a long time since Jared wanted to plant his fist in James’s face.  He sucked in air, and glared.

James raised his hands in surrender and backed off.  “Damn, bro.  Forget I mentioned it.  You’re screwed, blued, tattooed, and delusional.  Good luck and send me an invite.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means I hope our shared DNA doesn’t mean a shared fate.”

The phone rang and James answered.  He hung up after a short conversation and shook his head.  “Weird.”

“What?”

“The couple from L.A. coming to see the spec house.  They sound as if they’ve already bought it.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

James shrugged.  “I guess.  Unusual, given the economy.  They’ll be here in fifteen.”

“My cue to head out.  I’ve an apology to deliver.”

“I bet you my last dollar that your noble-ass is incapable of walking away from her,” James muttered.

Jared pretended he didn’t hear.  Walking away from her was just until he could settle his professional bone with McKenna Construction.  It didn’t mean he wasn’t going to pick up where their kiss left off ASAP.

He drove all the way to McKenna Construction’s main office thirty minutes into South Carolina only to discover that Roxanne McKenna wasn’t there.  Folks had to have recognized him from the bar fight last night, because he practically had to pull teeth to find out where Roxanne McKenna was.  She was back in Savannah at the Drake Hotel, already setting up her crew for the job.  The woman apparently didn’t waste a minute. 

Jared spent the return trip rehearsing what to say without sounding like an idiot, but ended up empty handed.  Frustrated, he turned his thoughts to the job McKenna Construction had just outbid them on.  During the turn of the century, Anderson Drake had had all of George Washington Biltmore’s vision of creating an unforgettable estate, but only half the money and acreage.  Word was, to finish his dream, he’d made a deal with Chicago crime bosses during Prohibition and ran liquor through tunnels leading from the estate to the Savannah River.

The association had cost him, though.  Five years later, Anderson Drake had been murdered, gunned down in the middle of the night, staining the foyer of his dream with his blood.  The murder went unsolved and the Drake Hotel joined several other Savannah landmarks as being “haunted.”  Over the years a couple of owners had met tragic ends at the hotel and two women guests had disappeared in the last decade.  It was whispered that Anderson Drake’s ghost was responsible.

Jared chalked it up to bad luck and tourists wandering off into the surrounding marsh lands.  Gators lurked in the brackish water and were known to snatch an unsuspecting bystander if they got too close.  Recently, the hotel had been part of a bitter divorce battle between a philandering husband, Brian Bentley and his philanthropist wife, Tiffany Parker Bentley.  The wife won and she was gutting the place like only a woman scorned could.  News reports had the husband currently stewing in jail for assault.

Jared pulled into the parking lot, surprised at the bustle of activity already surrounding the hotel.  McKenna Construction office trailers had been set up.  Industrial dumpsters were in place and delivery trucks with supplies lined the parking area.

As he exited his truck, searching for the woman who’d snagged his attention even before she’d appeared on scene, he felt as if he’d been blown to Oz.  The site looked as if it had been underway for a week rather than a day.

The hotel’s four wings and six floors were ringed by balconies sporting massive white columns and urns of bright flowers.  Inside, twenty-foot high ceilings, intricately carved molding, Italian Marble, and Byzantine glass mosaics dominated the first floor.  Jared’s hands and guts ached that he and James didn’t get the job.  Being able to renovate such a treasure would have been an experience of a lifetime.  Not finding Roxanne in the large lobby area, he decided to check the perimeter before braving the envy the upper floors of the hotel would deliver.

Giving one last look at the drool-worth artistry surrounding him, he plowed into someone rushing into the hotel as he was exiting.

The woman’s hard hat hit him mid-chest and she stepped back with a gasp.

“Bloody hell, I need coffee.”  The buxom redhead wrestled with the clipboard in her hand then frowned at him. “You had better get a hard hat before the boss lady chews your ass.”

Jared raised a brow.  It would seem Roxanne McKenna was a force to be feared.  “I’ll do that,” he said and stepped to the side.  She went on about her business and he snatched a hard hat from a nearby truck then headed around the hotel’s perimeter.

Sprawling live oaks, lush gardens, fountains, and cobblestone paths surrounded the hotel.  Absolutely beautiful and would need extra care not to damage during the renovation process.  He heard Roxanne’s voice as he turned the corner.  She and a man were standing with their backs to the hotel facing another man who had his gaze fixed to the ground.

“We clear on this, Riley Scott?  I’m a fair woman, but I will not be disrespected on the job.  You have an issue with me or one of my decisions, then you make an appointment and the management will review your complaint.”

A standard hard hat sat easy on her head.  She wore work jeans rather than the causal, form hugging ones she’d had on before, but the over-sized T-shirt was a familiar look.  This one was powerhouse red and barely gave a hint at the full curves he’d felt pressed to his chest last night.

Now that Jared finally had eyes on her, he froze.  He knew who she was, but she didn’t know him from Adam and he was beginning to wonder if the whole apology thing was a bit over the top.  What if he was attaching more importance to the incident than she was?  Maybe he needed to feel her out about things first, and that wasn’t going to happen on a job site.

He almost turned around to leave for now, but then decided to at least introduce himself and ask if she’d had trouble from her ex.  Jared had spent a restless night thinking about that jerk unleashing his rage on her.  His only consolation had been that the crew men hustling her out the door had seemed very protective of her.

Three long strides into the twenty feet separating them, he heard concrete scrape then saw in horrifying slow motion a huge planter falling from the top floor’s balcony headed right at the group below. 

“Watch out!” Jared sprinted and spread his arms as Roxanne and the man beside her looked over their shoulder at him, clueless.  The man facing them looked up and stumbled back.  Rather than take time he didn’t have to explain, he dove at the two in danger, hoping he had enough momentum to knock them to safety.  He hit them low, knowing from his football days that would send them farther out.

Even before they slammed into the ground, pain shot up Jared’s left leg as a heavy weight pinned his boot to the ground.  Roxanne had been in the center of his tackle, which meant his face was now planted between her legs, just inches away from her delectable ass.  He didn’t have a clue as to where his hard hat had flown.  He just knew there was nothing to insulate him from her softness.

She’d landed on her stomach hard and lay gasping for air, trapped beneath his weight.  Blue forget-me-nots and dirt surrounded them.

The men recovered first, one scrambling to his knees, the other rushing forward.

“Son of a bitch!”

“What the hell happened?”

“A planter fell,” Jared muttered.

Roxanne squirmed, trying to twist around to see him.  “You again!”  She glanced at her men.  “Don’t just stare.  Help me up.”

Sweat beading his brow, Jared planted his hands on each side of Roxanne’s hips and lifted his body up from hers.  He moaned as pain shot up his left leg.  “Hurry.”

She scrambled free and gained her knees as she faced him.  “You’re hurt.”

“Maybe.  Might just be pinned.  Boots are reinforced with steel.”

“Dear God.  This is unbelievable.  Mack, on the count of three, you and Riley lift the planter and I’ll help him slide free,” Roxanne directed.  She slid in front of him and hooked her arms under his.  This left his head rooted against her breasts and he inhaled, letting her citrus and coconut scent imbue him with a sense of the tropics—steamy sun and bare skin.

She counted.  The men lifted, and Jared, using his right leg, helped Roxanne to free him from the planter.  He flipped onto his back.  The pain in his leg worsened and he sucked in air.

Positioning herself at his side, she slid her hands down his legs.  “Can you feel me?”

His gaze met hers.  She was a picture of raw beauty, crisp green eyes brimming with worry, tanned skin, full bottom lip trapped beneath pearly white teeth.  Christ.  “Yeah, I can feel you,” he whispered, his voice scraping over the jagged lump of need she evoked.

“Call an ambulance,” she said, likely mistaking his want of her for overwhelming pain.  He hurt, but it wasn’t killing him, not like having her all over him was.

“No.  No ambulance.” He laughed.  “You make it sound as if I’m dying.  My name’s Jared Weldon.  In case you need to write it on my tombstone.”

She glared at him.  “Not funny, Jared.  This is my job site.  Any man goes down for any reason he gets cleared by the hospital.  No exceptions.  So don’t argue.”