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Authors: Jean Harrington
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know that he did.”
“Nor that he did not. The reason he gave for parking by the kitchen door was flimsy at best. And why was he out of range when the explosion occurred?”
“I want to do what you ask, but this time I simply can’t. The business needs a cash infusion. You know that. With any luck at all, my work on the Grandese house will get my name into the upscale community. There’s no telling what the ripple effect will be. A design business grows on word of mouth. Besides—”
He stopped my tirade with a kiss. One of his best ever. A long, lingering kiss. A kiss to drown in, to sink into and not care if you ever breathe again. It lasted forever, and when it did, finally, end, Rossi held me at arm’s length and gazed at me with those eyes that turned me to mush. To avoid the plea in them, I looked over his shoulder at the temporary plywood wall as if it were an architectural wonder. No question, he had my welfare in mind, but I couldn’t give in on this. Not with success so tantalizingly close.
“Well?”
I shook my head. “You’re asking me to swim in the shallow end of the pool.”
He put a finger under my chin and tilted my face toward him. “No, that’s not what I’m asking. I’m asking you to take care. I want you safe.”
I forgot the plywood. Gazing straight into his craggy face, I raised a hand to stroke his cheek, feeling its stubble, feeling its strength. “I want you safe too. You live in harm’s way every day. But I’m not asking you to give up your work for me.”
His turn to look away, to stare at the jury-rigged wall. “My work’s my life, though it’ll never make me as wealthy as Simon Yaeger. So if that’s a problem, tell me. Just don’t play games.”
He was jealous, an insight that made me happy and sad at the same time. “I do want to play games with you, Rossi. But not head games.”
I grinned, trying to coax a smile out of him. No luck.
As always, at the worst moment, a cell phone chirped. Mine this time. I fished it out of my bag and glanced at caller ID. It was the painting contractor. “I’d better get this,” I said. “Tom Kruse is calling.”
Rossi’s jaw dropped. “ Who ?”
He looked so comical I had to laugh. “Not to worry. You’re sexier than any movie star on earth.”
Chapter Ten
Rossi promised to come by with a pizza after work when we’d have a chance to talk at leisure. Armed with that and another long, lingering kiss, I zoomed over to Rum Row only five miles above the limit. Twenty minutes later, I was touring the Grandese house with a shell-shocked Tom Kruse. A trim, sixties-something who took his work seriously, Tom ran Oceanside Finishes, the best painting firm in town. When he wasn’t swinging a brush, like today, he dressed as if he were a surgeon, in a white doctor’s coat over chinos and button-downs.
As we strolled into the lilac kitchen, he whistled through his front teeth. “Looks like somebody unleashed a paint store in here.” He rested a clipboard on the kitchen’s purple island. “So what do you have in mind?”
“A clean sweep. The kitchen will be gutted and rebuilt, so leave this for last. Same for the baths. What I’m after in the public rooms is cohesion. A monochromatic look, at least for now.”
“Base white on the walls, then?”
“Yes, and a flat classic white on all the ceilings.”
“What about those magenta beams in the living room?”
The arched living room ceiling rose to fourteen feet in the center with exposed beams spanning the space.
“The classic white in semi-gloss on all trim and paneling, including those beams. The floor plan is open, so color flow is important. Once we get the walls sanded and primed, we can go from there.”
Tom jotted a few notes. “They may need three coats.”
“Whatever it takes.”
Within twenty minutes, he’d measured all the rooms, promised to fax me a bid that same afternoon, and took off to crunch the numbers. Once his proposal was approved, he
“Nor that he did not. The reason he gave for parking by the kitchen door was flimsy at best. And why was he out of range when the explosion occurred?”
“I want to do what you ask, but this time I simply can’t. The business needs a cash infusion. You know that. With any luck at all, my work on the Grandese house will get my name into the upscale community. There’s no telling what the ripple effect will be. A design business grows on word of mouth. Besides—”
He stopped my tirade with a kiss. One of his best ever. A long, lingering kiss. A kiss to drown in, to sink into and not care if you ever breathe again. It lasted forever, and when it did, finally, end, Rossi held me at arm’s length and gazed at me with those eyes that turned me to mush. To avoid the plea in them, I looked over his shoulder at the temporary plywood wall as if it were an architectural wonder. No question, he had my welfare in mind, but I couldn’t give in on this. Not with success so tantalizingly close.
“Well?”
I shook my head. “You’re asking me to swim in the shallow end of the pool.”
He put a finger under my chin and tilted my face toward him. “No, that’s not what I’m asking. I’m asking you to take care. I want you safe.”
I forgot the plywood. Gazing straight into his craggy face, I raised a hand to stroke his cheek, feeling its stubble, feeling its strength. “I want you safe too. You live in harm’s way every day. But I’m not asking you to give up your work for me.”
His turn to look away, to stare at the jury-rigged wall. “My work’s my life, though it’ll never make me as wealthy as Simon Yaeger. So if that’s a problem, tell me. Just don’t play games.”
He was jealous, an insight that made me happy and sad at the same time. “I do want to play games with you, Rossi. But not head games.”
I grinned, trying to coax a smile out of him. No luck.
As always, at the worst moment, a cell phone chirped. Mine this time. I fished it out of my bag and glanced at caller ID. It was the painting contractor. “I’d better get this,” I said. “Tom Kruse is calling.”
Rossi’s jaw dropped. “ Who ?”
He looked so comical I had to laugh. “Not to worry. You’re sexier than any movie star on earth.”
Chapter Ten
Rossi promised to come by with a pizza after work when we’d have a chance to talk at leisure. Armed with that and another long, lingering kiss, I zoomed over to Rum Row only five miles above the limit. Twenty minutes later, I was touring the Grandese house with a shell-shocked Tom Kruse. A trim, sixties-something who took his work seriously, Tom ran Oceanside Finishes, the best painting firm in town. When he wasn’t swinging a brush, like today, he dressed as if he were a surgeon, in a white doctor’s coat over chinos and button-downs.
As we strolled into the lilac kitchen, he whistled through his front teeth. “Looks like somebody unleashed a paint store in here.” He rested a clipboard on the kitchen’s purple island. “So what do you have in mind?”
“A clean sweep. The kitchen will be gutted and rebuilt, so leave this for last. Same for the baths. What I’m after in the public rooms is cohesion. A monochromatic look, at least for now.”
“Base white on the walls, then?”
“Yes, and a flat classic white on all the ceilings.”
“What about those magenta beams in the living room?”
The arched living room ceiling rose to fourteen feet in the center with exposed beams spanning the space.
“The classic white in semi-gloss on all trim and paneling, including those beams. The floor plan is open, so color flow is important. Once we get the walls sanded and primed, we can go from there.”
Tom jotted a few notes. “They may need three coats.”
“Whatever it takes.”
Within twenty minutes, he’d measured all the rooms, promised to fax me a bid that same afternoon, and took off to crunch the numbers. Once his proposal was approved, he
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