Going All In Page 2

  After their last dance, rather than being a little bitch and running off to tell Kevin Callie should be named Cruella, he kept his head down, did his job, and focused on their mutual goal of getting the property ready to open. And after they finished the project, he made sure he never had to deal with her again.

  Until today.

  “Fine,” he growled to the empty space around him.

  He’d been through worse and survived. At least this time, he wasn’t trying to keep the pieces of his obliterated heart from falling out of his chest while working, so he could go in, get shit done, and get out. He didn’t know how much she’d already finished, but he thought she’d been working there for a couple of days. With any luck, he’d be done by lunch and headed home for his much-needed nap.

  Chapter Two

  Callie Holden chewed on a sliver of fingernail and watched the rain slide down the oval clubhouse window in a solid sheet. It reminded her of her favorite wall fountain at the country club, the one she loved to stare at while the water carried her imagination to far off places and into endless dreams.

  Except the torrential rain beating against the window wasn’t nearly as peaceful as the tranquil fountain.

  And neither was the scene beyond it.

  Wade Neumann sat in his truck, cell phone gripped in one hand while the other cut violent slashes through the air. He’d been sitting there for ten minutes, and the longer he talked, the more agitated and animated he became. Which in turn caused her to become exponentially more nervous and unsettled.

  Kevin’s offer to send someone over to help her unpack the shipping crates and place the new furniture had brightened her gloomy mood. But when she looked out the window and saw the Beast, panic clawed at her insides, urging her to run for her life. She’d actually considered turning off the lights, locking the door, and hiding in a closet so he’d think no one was home and go away.

  A little fog circle appeared on the glass as she blew out a puff of breath. While taking evasive action held a lot of appeal, that was the old Callie’s way of doing things. The new Callie, or at least the woman she wanted to become, didn’t run. She met difficulties head-on and dealt with them in a mature, responsible way.

  A small part of her brain suggested she ditch the new plan for today and start again tomorrow, especially when he climbed from the cab of the truck and slammed the door with enough force to rock the entire vehicle. She could swear the concrete sidewalk buckled under the weight of his boots as he stormed toward the sales office front door.

  Sweat broke out under her arms and across the back of her neck as she shrank back from the glass. This had the potential to be bad—very, very bad—but she refused to show her fear. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she squared her shoulders, grabbed a pen, and began making unintelligible notes on one of the packing slips attached to the furniture crate. A burst of cold air rushed into the lobby ahead of him, sending a shiver down her spine and splintering her resolve to appear unperturbed by his presence.

  His imposing size and rugged alpha vibe always reminded her of a wild animal. Since their first meeting, she had the sense their boss, Kevin, was one of the few people who could keep Wade in check. However, she also believed were they a pack of wolves, Kevin only remained in charge because Wade never challenged him.

  He blinked a couple of times against the bright overhead lighting, then squeezed his eyes shut and retrieved a pair of sunglasses from his coat pocket. After slipping them on, he lowered his forehead in what might have been construed as a nod. “Morning.”

  Based on the way his eyes and mouth remained pinched at the corners, she assumed he had a severe headache and the sunglasses weren’t blocking enough light to make him comfortable. She dashed across the expansive lobby, zigzagging through wooden crates and random pieces of furniture and flipped off the light switch, plunging them into semi-darkness.

  Working with the Beast was scary, especially given the way things had gone their first time working together. Working with a wounded beast was unacceptable. She’d rather quit her job than get eaten, so if knocking out the lights didn’t help, she was outta here.

  “Is that better?” she asked in a calm, soothing voice, like one would use when trying to approach a snarling stray.

  The darkness seemed to ease some of his pain, but as she spoke, his brows dipped into a sharp, scowling V. Okay, that wasn’t the reaction she’d been going for.

  His answer was slow in coming, like he had to think about it, but eventually he said, “Yeah.” After a brief pause, he added a terse, “Thanks.”

  She couldn’t see through his dark glasses in the dim light, but she had the feeling he was closely watching her—like a lion stalking a gazelle before the kill—and without conscious thought, she found herself sidestepping to her left and positioning one of the larger crates between them.

  She hated the deep resentment and dislike Wade harbored for her, but she understood his reasoning. The first and only time they worked together hadn’t been pleasant for either of them.

  It had been her first job with Mazze Builders—her first job, ever—and Kevin had given her specific instructions: Work Wade like a dog. Keep him busy. Don’t give him so much as a second to think or get all up in his head. He hadn’t given her an explanation as to why he wanted Wade worked so hard, but one look at Wade’s hollow, nearly dead eyes told her all she needed to know.

  Someone had not just broken his heart, but left him shattered.

  In retrospective, she wished she’d taken a different approach and tried talking to Wade as someone who’d also suffered devastating losses. But she hadn’t.

  Since then, whenever they passed in the office, she’d had to endure his sidelong glares filled with contempt and a snarling lip. God only knows what he said about her when she wasn’t around. It had been over a year since that time, and she’d often contemplated approaching him to try and clear the air. But she always chickened out, and rather than address the issue head-on, she maintained a safe distance and avoided eye contact.

  His current state of health indicated this definitely wasn’t the time to try and explain herself, so the old Callie stepped forward and took the reins. “If you don’t feel well, why don’t you go home? I can take care of this by myself.”

  He took a deep breath, then sighed. “I’d love nothing more, but no can do. Kevin gave me specific orders, and besides”—he tossed a large paw, errr… hand in the air and waved off her concern—“it’s self-induced. I deserve to feel like hell.”

  “Ohhh…” A wave of compassionate understanding propelled her to leave the safety of the crate and head for her purse. “I can help with that.”

  She gave him a sidelong glance and smiled, then reached into her bag for her emergency bottle of Dramamine. Since it had been recently used—as in the past hour—it was right on top. She also snatched up her half-full forty-eight ounce strawberry Gatorade sitting next to her bag, then crossed back to where he stood, flat-footed, a look of bewilderment on his face.

  “This will help rehydrate you. I don’t have an unopened bottle, but I don’t have cooties, so you’re safe drinking after me.”

  His eyebrow lifted and his lip twitched as he took the Gatorade from her. When he didn’t reach for the Dramamine tablets, she grabbed his thick wrist and twisted so his hand went palm up.

  She was completely unprepared for the effect of the touch and their close proximity. Standing inches away, staring at his chest, she was shocked to realize how big he really was. And he smelled incredible. Nothing like a wild animal… very much like a virile male.

  Despite her better judgment and the awkwardness created, she leaned forward and drew in a breath, pulling more of his woodsy scent deep into her lungs. His body heat pushing against her, the weight of his hand in hers, and his intoxicating scent mingled together to make her a little lightheaded and a lot overwhelmed.

  A primal pulse rose from her core, urging her to step forward and slide her free hand along the solid wall of
his chest. But before she embarrassed herself further with her unwanted advances, she dumped the tablets into his palm and took one… two… three steps back. She wasn’t far enough away to escape his heady scent or to cool the tropical heat building around her neck, but at least the distance kept her from sniffing him up like an exotic leather bag. Again.

  Clearing her throat, she said, “Those will help with the nausea. I assume you already took Tylenol?”

  Along with learning animals could sense fear, she’d also been told to never look them directly in the eye. However, standing this close and able to see through his sunglasses, the risk seemed worth the reward.

  He blinked a couple of times, like she’d spoken a foreign language he didn’t understand. After several heartbeats, he gave another of those barely perceptible nods and said, “Yeah, I took some as soon as I got home this morning.”

  As soon as I got home this morning.

  Meaning he’d spent the night away from home.

  A flush of unease, more commonly known as jealousy, settled in the pit of her stomach. She’d once overheard Marianne, Kevin’s sister and Mazze Builders’ office manager, and Kevin’s wife, Sam, talking about Wade. Callie had been right in her assumption about Wade being badly hurt, and according to Marianne and Sam, he handled the pain by “burying himself”—their words, not hers—in an endless string of willing women.

  So who was last night’s lucky woman? she wondered while chewing on a hangnail.

  Good grief, what was wrong with her? She’d gone from being afraid of working with him to wondering about intimate details of his personal life? All because he smelled good—okay, great—and his warmth drew her in like a blanket straight out of the dryer, tempting her to curl up on this cold, rainy day and get comfy?

  No, she needed to be honest, at least with herself, and admit there was more at work than just his cologne. She often found herself watching him prowl around his job sites, drawn to and completely captivated by his dangerous, bad-boy vibe.

  And darn if that magnetic pull didn’t strengthen ten-fold as he twisted off the bottle cap and started drinking. She parted her lips and drew in slow, even breaths as Wade tossed the tablets into his mouth, closed his eyes, and tilted his head back, swallowing in long, healthy gulps. The way his throat muscles worked up and down, flexing and relaxing, mesmerized her.

  Sex.

  That’s the way he’d look in the throes of sex… wild and unbridled. Carnal longing, unlike anything she’d ever felt, unfurled in her lower belly and pulsed between her thighs.

  As the last of the red liquid drained into his mouth, she shook off the trance she’d fallen into and busied herself with an already-buttoned button on the sleeve of her blouse.

  “Thanks, I appreciate that.”

  The sharp edge of his tone had been replaced by soft gratitude, and she looked up, encouraged this might be the opening she needed to approach him about their last time together. But as he took off his sunglasses and rubbed at his eyes, she chickened out again.

  His eyelashes were a shade darker than his dirty-blond hair, and his brown eyes, which were much prettier when not surrounded by bloodshot whites, reminded her of soft, rich suede.

  “Did Kevin call and forewarn you, or are you always armed with a hangover care pack?”

  She briefly considered lying but decided the truth might be a tiny thread of commonality she could work with toward making amends. She grinned and shook her head. “Kevin didn’t call me.”

  His eyebrow kicked up a notch and he chewed on the inside of his cheek while studying her like she was a puzzle he couldn’t quite piece together. “Interesting.”

  She wished her hangover was the result of a wild and crazy night, but unlike him, she hadn’t used a bevy of men to deal with her humiliating and devastating loss of a man who’d never been hers to begin with. Fighting the urge to squirm under Wade’s close scrutiny, she tossed the Dramamine back into her purse and said, “No, not interesting at all.” Feeling awkward and somehow less-than because of her boring and chaste existence, she crossed her arms before turning back to face him. “Movie night with my friends Jen and Tiffany usually includes popcorn, margaritas, and sometimes a movie. If we can find something we all agree on.” Which lately hadn’t been much.

  “I see.”

  The situation had been unusual and awkward, to say the least, the first time they worked together, and since then, she hadn’t had a lot of up-close-and-personal time with him. Watching his broad chest move side to side as he worked his coat sleeves down his long arms might become her new favorite pastime. Standing in front of her in a white T-shirt, a blue-and-black flannel shirt, relaxed-fit jeans, and work boots, rugged virility rolled off him, and she practically bit her tongue in half, holding back her appreciative sigh.

  And that was before he tossed his coat off to the side, then rolled up the sleeves of his flannel shirt, exposing thick forearms roped with veins and the bottom edge of a tattoo.

  Lord have mercy, try as she might—and there was tremendous effort going into the task—she couldn’t locate an ounce of fat anywhere.

  “Okay,” he said, finishing the final roll of his sleeves, “where do you want me to start?”

  She unglued her tongue from the roof of her mouth and worked it around, trying to gather enough moisture to speak. If she were Jen, an incorrigible flirt, she’d say something like, We can start anywhere you want, just as long as we finish. But she wasn’t Jen, and even though Wade had her mind traversing all kinds of unfamiliar terrain, she wasn’t brave enough to venture into the dark forest with the Beast.

  She also wanted to make sure this working arrangement went better than the last, so she cleared her throat and said, “Those go into the back corner office. Let’s start there and work our way out.”

  *

  Wade stared at Callie’s slender, delicate fingers with mangled nails as she pushed against the top of a crate to tilt it away from her, then slid the metal hand truck under the front edge. They’d spent the past three hours repeating this routine over and over—she’d load the crates onto the truck, then reluctantly step aside and allow him to move it into position.

  Even after three hours, he was having a hard time adapting to the drastic differences between Callie of a year ago and the Callie of today. Everything, from the way she acted and treated him to the way he responded to her, was different.

  Last year, she’d been cold and aloof and behaved like a self-serving brat. She hadn’t made small talk, which was fine with him, but she’d barely even looked at him—not even when ordering him to move this or place that. Today, she was friendly and polite, and he was struggling to keep up with her ever-changing facets.

  As soon as he walked in the door, she picked up on his headache—not the actions of a self-centered individual—and sprang into action to help. Cutting off the lights had been kind but hadn’t really cost her anything. Sacrificing her drink, one he suspected she needed herself, had been a strong right hook that caused him to drop his guard and stumble, and he had yet to regain his balance.

  When she handed him the drink and said she didn’t have cooties, she revealed a rare, endearing innocence he never saw in the women with which he associated. But then she took hold of his hand, and thoughts of innocence evaporated. When she leaned forward and drew in a deep breath, his body turned traitor. Heat swept through his system and cognitive reasoning dissipated. His anger and contempt for her was replaced by something basal, a primal need and instinct that has been controlling men since the beginning of time.

  He’d been around the block enough times to recognize an aroused woman, and she’d been as affected as him. She’d also seemed equally shocked and confused.

  Unfortunately for him, things had continued to go downhill.

  The only explanation he could come up with for his strong reaction to her was the moonshine. There must’ve been one hell of a powerful aphrodisiac added to that shit, because nothing else made sense.

  This was
the woman who treated him like a work horse the last time they were together. She’d been rude and uptight, and the way she’d held her chin up while looking down her nose made it clear he was below her station in life. She drove a Mercedes SUV, a woman he assumed was her mom picked her up in a Jag, and friends driving a Beamer dropped her off one morning.

  In addition to her obvious wealth—which meant he had nothing to offer her but a good time—she so closely resembled his lying, cheating ex, her effect on him should’ve been similar to a snakebite.

  So why did he keep finding himself tongue-tied and flat-footed with his body simmering with the slow burn of arousal?

  Her long hair was a thick profusion of curls that lay around her head in a just-out-of-bed sexy mess. Her bangs were long enough to pull to one side and tuck behind her ears, but trying to get it to stay that way was futile. Every time the thick chunks fell back into her face, his fingers twitched with the compulsion to re-tuck it, just to find out for himself how silky soft the corkscrew locks really were.

  She wore a black button-down and a pink pull-on sweater, nothing-fancy black slacks, and plain flat shoes. Her fingernails weren’t polished and filed to the point they could be considered deadly weapons—she hardly had any nails left—and she didn’t wear a ton of makeup.

  She reminded him of the girl next door… Except none of the girls in his neighborhood drove fancy cars.

  Most shocking, however, was how hard she worked and how freely she smiled while doing it, like she truly enjoyed her job. Last time, she’d pointed and directed and did very little of the heavy lifting herself. This time, he couldn’t slow her down and had to keep fussing at her to not overdo and hurt herself.

  Like now.

  “Dammit, Callie. Stop.”

  As he wrapped his hand over the top of her shoulder to stop her forward progress, he took particular notice of her petite frame—something that was easy to do since his palm was curved over the hard ridge of her shoulder, but his fingers fell dangerously low on her chest. He hardened and tightened as his fingers brushed the curving swell of her breast, and an electrical charge shot up his arm, down his chest, straight to his cock.