He's the One (8 page)

"Yet you attended your friend's wedding—even as best man,” she countered, buttoning up her jacket, a reaction that screamed keep away.

"I don't criticize others for wanting to give it a go. What do they say? Love is blind?” But as far as he was concerned, love was too risky. “Why bother with all this stuff?” he said pointing to the bridal accoutrements about the room. “The divorce rate is here to stay. Of the twenty thousand odd marriages in 2004, virtually half that number ended up divorce."

Taylor's mouth pursed. “My, you're a fist full of facts and figures, aren't you? Got any more you can spout off?"

"Nope, just those,” he said, giving her his best disarming smile.

It worked, and she took a step back. “I see."

He watched the flicker of emotions skitter across her eyes. They'd darkened to a deep ocean blue. “And what's precisely is it you see, Ms. Sullivan? You going to get all uppity on me?"

"No.” But she didn't quite look him in the eye. “Your attitude, and the fact you can reel off facts and figures, makes sense, though."

Cade frowned. What did she know about him? “About me, I presume you mean."

Taylor shrugged. “Sure,” she said, but kept that gaze directed elsewhere.

Cade bristled. He didn't like the way this was heading, and certainly did not want some uptight woman trying to get the better of him. “Taylor Sullivan,” he said, planting his feet firm, towering over her. “Let's get this straight. Don't you try and analyze me."

"As if I would.” And she looked at him from beneath those long dark lashes of hers.

Blast it. It sent his pulses skyrocketing and his thoughts scattering. Hell, one look like that and she could analyze all she wanted. “You might do it all the time for your clients, Taylor, but I'm not a client."

"For your new bar concept, you are."

"Yes, but not a marriage client. So enough of the psycho-babble. My psyche isn't up for discussion."

"Suit yourself."

"You bet I will. Come on, let's go.” Cade turned to walk away.

"To your new premises?"

"Yep, unless you want to try and analyze why I've started that venture, too. If so, then, let me tell you, this little deal of yours is O.F.F. Got it."

Taylor saluted and grinned at him. “Yes sir.” And she gathered a folder and builder's tape.

Round one to ... him?

No way. Cade might have managed to forestall Taylor Sullivan's analytical bent, but it wasn't over. Not by a long shot. And that, he realized with a gnaw in the pit of his belly, was decidedly disconcerting.

He watched her move around the office. So sure of herself, like a gazelle, all long limbs and fluid motion. With her hair swept up in a French roll exposing her slender neck, he had the urge to kiss it and let his tongue slide along across her exquisite skin.

Earlobes were an aphrodisiac, an erogenous zone, so they said. He'd like to find out how Taylor would react.

He'd been so sure it would be different away from the bar, without the ribald input from his customers and snoopy Miss Sister. But nothing had changed. The moment he walked into Taylor's office, he could smell her perfume, sweet and enticing, it washed gently against his skin.

Gentle, my foot
. It hit him like a thunderbolt, suffused his skin at breakneck speed and tested his reserve.

Finally, he could escape outside, but with Taylor beside him, escape really was futile.

He'd brought the pickup this time. The pearlescent blue paintwork sparkled in the autumn sunlight. She walked round to the passenger side, laughing as Cade held the door open for her.

"Showing off, Cade?"

"Now why would you say that?"

"Different car every day. Makes a man look successful."

"You called it showing off."

"So I did,” she said smiling up at him.

Witch. She was a teasing witch. But, somehow, she didn't even know it. Biting back the urge to taste her smiling lips, his fingers gripped the door handle with knuckle-white intensity. Anything to stop his brain thinking those thoughts ... thoughts of what he'd like to do with Taylor Sullivan

Cade gritted his teeth. “I simply thought since you like classic cars, you'd like this one.” This really wasn't going to be easy.

Seated beside Taylor, he fired the ignition and eased into the traffic.

"You promised to take me up and see your ... etchings."

Yes! “So I did. Plenty of time.” Now why the heck did he go and say that?

"Really?"

"Yeah, like I said, take it slow and easy."

Mate, you've lost it. What's happened to the wham, bam, thank you ma'am guy?

"Think of today as verbal foreplay,” he said, and saw Taylor's wide-eyed shock. Cade chuckled to himself. He was sure he'd heard her gulp, too.

That's better. He felt in control now.

Slow and easy.

Just the sound of Cade's voice, languid and heavy, sent Taylor's hormones into an uproar.

Grateful that Cade switched the radio onto a rock station and she didn't have to find her voice, she watched his fingers tapping against the steering wheel. She was hypnotized, unable to submerge the thrill of wondering what his fingers would feel like against her skin.

Like sin
.

Oh, dear heaven!
A soporific sigh slid from her lips.

"You say something?” He gave her a curious glance and she colored.

"No. Just a bit tired, I guess."

"Another sleepless night?"

She twisted round sharply, only to catch Cade's knowing grin. “Me, too."

So why don't you do something about it,
she moaned silently.
Put me out of my agony.

Cade's new premises were situated in the central business district, a part of the city that had seen a resurrection over the last few years. The gas works were gone, and the docks had morphed into a myriad of apartments and upscale shops and businesses.

They were parked outside an old brick building with boarded windows and peeling paintwork.

Taylor's mind whirred with ideas. Old and the new, side by side. History and modern day.

Already out of the truck, Cade opened her door.

A perfect gentleman.

Captured by her surroundings, Taylor absently took Cade's hand as he helped her from the pickup. She didn't think—until that same tingling shot from her fingers up her arm. Her gaze snapped down to her hand, still in his, and she swallowed hard and shook her head.

Stumbling away, she pulled her hand from his.

Concentrate, Sullivan
. Refusing to look at Cade, she walked up to the building and cast her creative eye over the scuffed brickwork, the wrought iron handrails either side of the well-worn stairs. Inside, a knowing excitement bubbled up.

"I'm not sure I like the look on your face, Taylor Sullivan. Give it to me. You think the place is a dump and won't work."

Taylor turned to Cade and smiled. “This is wonderful. It's so evocative of Auckland's history."

"A pile of dilapidated bricks, you mean."

"Of course not. It's..."

"A dump,” Cade pre-empted.

"Definitely not."

A wary uncertainty crossed Cade's eyes. His countenance spoke silent volumes. This business venue meant more than dollars to him.

Pride?

She wouldn't damage that. Cade was going to give her something very important. She owed him her best efforts.

"Okay.” She shrugged not put off by Cade's pessimism. “So there's quite a bit of work."

"Tell me about it. The builders are all ready to start."

"So I see.” Scaffolding framed the façade, and workmen had already begun scraping back years of grime and neglect from the brickwork. Raising her hand to the wall, Taylor trailed her fingers over the hand-hewn bricks, feeling their texture.

"You touch them as if they speaks to you.” Cade sounded worried.

"They do in some ways,” she confirmed. “It's sort of an intuition thing. They tell me what they want. A bit like a character in a book."

"Characters don't speak."

"They do to the writer, or at least that's what I've heard."

Obviously impatient, Cade jangled a clutch of keys from one hand. “Sounds nutty."

"Sounds exciting,” she corrected.

"So, you approve of my purchase?"

Taylor grabbed his forearm and spun him round to face the front of the building. “Feel this, the age of it,” she instructed. And she lifted his hand, holding it in hers and ran his fingers along the mottled bricks. “This building has seen so much, so many pass it. It has a sense of history, of pride of place in this city of ours. See the door. Okay, so graffiti has marred its elegance, but a bit of cleaning and it will be back to its stately proportions,” Taylor reviewed.

"You feel all this from touch?"

Taylor's head tilted to one side, and she looked at him, searching his face. “Don't you?"

"Uh ... I suppose."

"It's not simply touch, Cade, but all the senses. Sight, sound, smell, touch, and yes, probably even taste. We're close to where the fishing boats used to moor and deposit their catch, so the smell of salt and fish is integral to the building and its history. It's all there; we just have to pull it from the building's past."

Seeing Cade's eyes flicker as if he thought her nuts, Taylor suddenly realized she was prattling and slammed her lips firmly closed. She shrugged, giving him an impish sort of grin.

"You trying to get me in touch with my softer side, Taylor? It's bricks and mortar. Dollars and cents. Nothing else. At least, so my bank manager keeps reminding me."

Taylor wagged her finger at him. “Cade Harper, where's your romance?"

"Don't have any. Told you that."

"Yes, you do."

The air between them hung heavy with innuendo. Cade tightened his grip on her fingers imperceptibly and a liquid heat slid through her veins. Her breathing stopped .

Hot became scorching as he brought her fingertips to his parted lips, just touching. The warm wash of his breath fluttered against their tips, and her expectation rampaged.

Then, he kissed them.

One fingertip at a time.

Slowly.

And he looked right into her soul.

"Never confuse business with pleasure, Ms. Sullivan."

And with that, he dropped her hand and stuck the key in the antiquated lock, turning it under protest. Shoulder to the door, he pushed it open and strode into the abyss, leaving Taylor to follow.

Cade circled the vast space and then walked to the nearest wall. Reaching out, he ripped a piece of tattered wallpaper off in one long, single tear. He held the shabby strip in one hand. “Welcome to my empire. What do you want to know?"

Taylor's insides pitted themselves in a conflict for control. She hid her hands behind her back, locking her fingers to prevent their shaking. Eyeing the room, she slowly counted to ten, knowing she needed to remain calm.

"What game are you playing, Cade? One minute you're all hot..."

"Hot, as in sexy?"

"Don't put me off. You know exactly what I mean. You're playing sex games."

"And you have a problem with this?"

Yeah, but she wouldn't admit to him she was scared witless.

"The next, you're as cold as ice—in the emotional sense. I don't know if I'm up to this any more. Let's forget the deal."

"No!” Cade's shout echoed through the derelict building. “You can't. We can't."

"Of course we can,” Taylor reasoned. “It's not a legal deal, nothing formal."

Cade reached out and caught her elbow, turning her to him and pulling her close—so close she could hear his breathing, see the flicker of gold in his darkened gaze.

"But how can you disappoint your clients?” he challenged.

"Low blow, Cade.” And damn it, she felt cornered. One part of her wanted to run for the hills, while the other part of her wanted to jump his bones, right here, right now. Her thoughts returned to the repeated phone calls, the desperate pleas of nervous brides.

Her knees wobbled beneath her and she sank down on to an upended crate, dust and cobwebs tangling with her bare legs. She looked up at Cade. Dark semi-circles shadowed beneath his eyes, and the rake-like hair that had seen his hand brush through too many times made her heart skip several beats.

You can do this.

Keep things business-like, she reminded herself.

Fingers twining behind her back to prevent them from shaking, she spoke.

"What have you got in mind, Cade?"

"That would be telling, but from the look of you,” he said and gave her a direct stare, “I think, business before pleasure."

Taylor's jaw dropped. “Can you read minds?"

"Depends on what you're thinking. If it's as wicked as what I'm thinking, we could be in for lots of fun,” he said, winking. “Come on.” He grabbed her hand, lacing his fingers through hers and tugged slightly when she resisted.

But only a fraction. She could never resist him too long. And that scared her more than she cared to admit.

"The building,” Cade informed her as he offered a guided tour “consists of about half a dozen rooms. The main one will be used for the cocktail bar, while several of the smaller ones, for private parties and corporate events."

"Do you have a theme?"

Cade frowned, then his expression turned to horrified, and Taylor choked back a fit of laughter.

"You mean like those weddings you plan?"

"Don't panic. I won't cover the place in miles of pink tulle or too much frou frou."

"Who said I was panicking?"

"Your face says it all."

"You mean you can read me like a book?"

She wished.

"If that's the case, I better watch out. A man's gotta have some mystery."

The playful banter was fun—as if she'd known him for years, not a couple of days.

"Come on, there's more.” Cade directed her towards a staircase to the right of the main door. As they drew alongside it, Cade ran a hand over the carved mahogany banister.

"This is beautiful. True craftsmanship,” he said, brushing the dust aside to reveal the still smooth ambience of the dark wood.

"See,” Taylor joked, “there is an itty bit of romance in that heart of yours, after all."