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What would he be like after all these years? As a teenager he’d been cocky and arrogant. At least, that’s what he’d wanted people to think. He’d never come right out and admitted it, but she knew he was ashamed of his family and probably as insecure as she’d been. That common thread had bound them and kept them close. But he wasn’t poor anymore. She was sure the vulnerable kid who hid behind the bravado, the Matt she’d been friends with, was long gone. Oddly enough, the thought made her sad.
The sun burned white-hot overhead and sweat trickled down her cheek. No point sitting here melting. The sooner she got in there, the sooner she could leave.
She stuck out her chin, shoved open the truck door and stepped down. Sweaty male construction types in varying degrees of undress gave the site an interesting atmosphere, but she didn’t see anyone resembling Matt. Aware that more than a dozen pairs of eyes were suddenly riveted in her direction, she held her head high, prayed she wouldn’t stumble over her own feet, and walked through the open door of the restaurant. It took her eyes a minute to adjust in the dim light, then she scanned the interior and—
No one was there.
Any apprehension she’d been feeling was instantly replaced by a ripple of irritation. Granted, her time wasn’t as valuable as his, but he could at least have the courtesy to show up when he made an appointment.
“Emily?” someone said from behind her. “Emily Douglas, is that you?”
She froze in place and her heart started doing a crazy dance in her chest. She knew that voice. Its deep baritone rumbled through her, awakening a long-dead awareness.
You’re over him, she reminded herself.
She forced herself to turn and face him, confused for a second by the man standing there. Missing was the thousand-dollar suit she’d expected. He was dressed similarly to the other workers, in faded carpenter jeans and a sweat-soaked muscle shirt that clung to his tanned, muscular chest. The nails she’d expected to be manicured were uneven and work-worn and she had the feeling his hands were probably calloused as well. Dirt and sweat streaked down his face, a red bandana covered his hair, and dark sunglasses masked his eyes. But that grin was unmistakable. Riding somewhere in between a smirk and a smile, it was burned permanently into her memory. Matt the millionaire was one of the sweaty construction people.
He slipped the glasses off and staring back at her were eyes the deepest, richest shade of brown. She would never forget those eyes—the way they’d looked at her that night. The tenderness they’d held. And the regret she’d seen there the next morning.
“Emily Douglas.” He looked her up and down, as if awed by the sight of her. “I barely recognized you.”
And he looked exactly the same. The charming, boyish good looks of his youth had matured right along with the rest of him. In photos and television interviews he always seemed larger than life. An icon. In person, standing here in front of her, he looked like the same old Matt.
A dull ache wrapped itself around her heart and wouldn’t let her breathe.
This is business, Emily reminded herself. Just do your job.
“You called for an estimate?” she asked.
An estimate?
Matt stood there, robbed of his voice, completely mesmerized by the woman standing before him. When she’d climbed out of the truck, her legs a mile long, her backside curved under snug khaki shorts, he’d just about forgotten his own name. Oh, man, why hadn’t Ty warned him? The rough-and-tumble tomboy was now one-hundred-percent, heart-stopping female.
Unable to do little more than gape, he took it all in, from the pale-blond hair he’d once feathered his fingers through, down the column of her throat to the softly rounded breasts that had fit so perfectly in his palms. His gaze traveled lower, to the toned stomach he’d pressed kisses to, and her legs…damn. They were long and trim and looked as smooth as the finest Italian silk. And if memory served, they were. He could still distinctly recall how they’d felt wrapped around him.
When she’d first emerged from the truck, he’d been sure they’d sent the wrong person. It had been Ty’s idea to call the nursery where Emily worked, under the guise of needing plants—which Matt really did need. He’d made it clear he would not, under any circumstances, lie to Emily or mislead her in any way.
Emily’s expression turned wary. “You did call for an estimate.”
“An estimate,” he repeated, wondering where his brain had wandered off to. This wasn’t going at all as planned. He could barely string a coherent sentence together. He hadn’t expected to feel this way. Of course, Emily always did have a way of making him feel things he shouldn’t.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m just a little surprised to see you. You look…different.”
Her eyebrow quirked slightly. “Different? Gosh, Conway. I’m…flattered.”
“I didn’t mean it like—”
“Look. I realize this is uncomfortable for both of us, but I have a job to do. Let’s try to make the best of an inconvenient situation. Okay? I’ll get you your estimate and get out of your life.”
Damn. This was going to be a little harder than he’d expected. But he had never been one to back down from a challenge. Especially when the stakes were so high. All he needed to do was figure out an angle. Every woman had a weakness. Jewelry, furs, whatever.
Once he determined Emily’s, he’d have her eating from his hand.
Two
Matt took a step toward Emily. Close enough to catch a light, flowery scent drifting off her skin. The last time he’d been this close to her, they’d both smelled of the bonfire her father had built on the beach, the fire they sat by long after Ty and Emily’s parents had gone to bed.
Back then he’d never imagined Emily wearing perfume. It had always been too girly, too feminine for someone like her. Now it was perfect. She was perfect. Just the right height, the ideal combination of lean muscle and female softness. Expressive blue eyes deep enough to drown in.
Or freeze him solid, as they were doing now.
“Well?” Emily tapped her booted foot in the dirt.
“Whatever you want,” he said.
“Great.” She plucked a pen from her shirt pocket and jotted something down on the form attached to her clipboard. “What were you thinking about for the interior? Ferns? Philodendrons? Real or silk? Is there a particular theme you follow in all the restaurants?”
“I have a binder with all the specs.” He gestured to the door and she started toward it, distinctly aware of his presence behind her. Too close behind her, she realized as he reached past her to open the door and his sweat-slicked arm brushed hers. No expensive cologne for him today. He smelled like a man who was no stranger to physical labor.
He smelled good.
She squinted against the sudden shaft of sunlight slanting across her face as she stepped outside.
“Hey, boss!” One of the workers waved Matt over. “The inspector is here. We got a problem.”
“Give me a minute,” he called and turned to Emily. “I’ve got the stuff in my car.”
She followed him to a dusty black SUV parked next to the construction trailer. Honestly, she’d expected something convertible and red with an anorexic blonde permanently fixed in the front seat for that special touch.
He opened the passenger’s-side door and grabbed a binder off the front seat. “This has photos of the other restaurants and all the information you’ll need. The inside plants should all be live. No silk or plastic. Does your company handle maintenance?”
“No, but we can recommend someone.” She flipped through the binder, surprised by what she saw. While a few of the older members of the city council had been openly opposed to building yet another unsightly bar in town—and others had protested out of what she was sure was jealousy—Emily had to admit, Touchdown wasn’t a bad-looking place. Classy in fact, but casual enough to stop in for a beer and a bite after work. It might even bring in business when her flower shop went up on the vacant lot next door.
“We like to keep the landscaping consistent,” he said.
She flipped past a photo that was obviously Southern-based. “I hate to disappoint you, but you’ll be hard-pressed to find a palm tree that will grow in Michigan.”
The edge of his mouth quirked up slightly. “As consistent as the climate will allow. Now, if you’ll excuse me for a minute?” He nodded in the direction of the men waiting for him.
“Go for it.”
“Give me a holler if you need anything.”
Emily jotted a few notes on her clipboard, watching Matt in her peripheral vision. He might be dressed like the other men and was unshaven and dirty like them, but he had an air about him that garnered respect—demanded it even. The intelligence shining behind his eyes, the way he looked at a person, as if he could see inside their head.
He used to look at her that way. Sometimes she swore he could read her thoughts. How many times had she silently willed him to kiss her, to tell her she was anything but a pal? She would wish so hard for it, her head would hurt and her eyes would sting. But he’d never treated her as anything but a good friend.
Someday he would see, she’d told herself at least a thousand times. But Matt didn’t date girls like her. He preferred cheerleaders—the pretty girls. Still, she took it for granted that he would always be around, that someday she would get her chance. Then he’d earned a football scholarship that guaranteed he’d be taken away from her forever.
Every time he talked about leaving Michigan, about getting a new start in California and never looking back, a piece of her heart would die. She’d been in love with him since the third grade when his family had moved to Chapel. She could barely remember a time when he wasn’t around. He was like family.
To Emily, he had been her whole world.
But as the end of that final summer drew nearer and his leaving loomed closer, something changed. She would catch him watching her, and the look in his eyes, the longing she saw there, would make her shiver with awareness. It was as if she possessed something he desperately wanted, but knew he couldn’t have. For the first time in her life she began to feel feminine and pretty. It had occurred to her that maybe he actually had feelings for her and was afraid to make the first move. Though the thought of any female turning down a man like Matt had been completely out of her realm of imagination, she knew he had a vulnerable side he rarely let show. Maybe he was as afraid of rejection as she was.
It was then that she’d decided to tell him how she felt. She knew it wouldn’t stop him from leaving—she would never ask him to give up his dream for her—but she’d thought he could come back and visit, and maybe, eventually, she could relocate to California. Yet every time she tried to tell him, she couldn’t make herself say the words. Until that last weekend up at the cottage.
Sitting by the fire, she’d finally worked up the nerve to say it. To say “I love you.” And before she’d even gotten all the words out he’d kissed her.
She’d given him everything on that beach, surrendered her innocence to him. She woke the following morning feeling lighter than air, until Matt had said they needed to talk. His somber expression—the regret in his eyes—said more than words ever could. Still she’d listened numbly as he explained that while he cared for her deeply—she was his best friend—he was in no position to start a relationship with anyone. He had dreams to fulfill, a new life to start in California. But he still wanted them to be friends. They would always be friends. A few days later he left, and, true to his word, he’d never looked back.
Not to her anyway.
Pain, stark and biting, took hold of Emily. She never should have come here. Tears burned behind her eyes and she turned her attention to the estimate forms. She had a job to do.
She walked the perimeter of the building, taking notes and measurements, then went inside and took down the information she needed there. When she stepped back outside, Matt was still deep in conversation with the building inspector. They were bent over what looked like blueprints spread across the hood of a car.
The silly girl in her longed to talk to him again, to search his face for even a glimpse of the Matt she used to love, while the practical Emily convinced her not to bother.
The practical Emily always won.
Matt watched Emily, head lowered as she scribbled something on her clipboard, wondering what was going on in her head, wondering what he was going to do to get back on her good side. Expensive gifts were a favorite of the women he dated, but somehow he couldn’t see Emily impressed by glitter. Short of seeing him strung up by his toes and tortured, he wasn’t sure what would impress her.
“Mr. Conway?”
Matt tuned to Eric Dixon, the building inspector. “Eric, I’ve known you since the third grade. Would you please call me Matt?”
Eyes full of contempt, Dixon said, “As I was saying, Mr. Conway, the ratio of square feet to lot space is off.”
“By twenty lousy feet.”
“Regardless, you’re either going to have to reduce the amount of square footage or increase the size of the parking lot.”
Matt snapped a tight rein on his anger. There was no way he was going to let this weasel get in his way. The restaurant was going up. He would find an angle. He always did. “What I find interesting is that no one mentioned this when the plans were approved. And only now that the structure is half built do you point out the problem.”
Eric’s smile was smug and full of satisfaction. “It was a regrettable oversight.”
One you’ll regret more than I will, Matt thought. If they could play hardball, so could he. He took a step toward Eric, amused to see the man take a nervous step back. “I don’t suppose this has anything to do with the fact that in high school I beat you out as starting quarterback and got lucky with your girlfriend in the bed of my truck? Didn’t you end up marrying her?”
It was only a rumor; he’d supposedly scored with so many of the girls in high school, but it served its purpose. Eric’s face turned an interesting shade of purple and the veins in his temple bulged. At twenty-eight, with a beer gut that hung over his belt and nicotine stains on his teeth and fingers, he looked like a heart attack in the making.
“I’m not shutting down construction,” Matt said.
“You’ve got until next week to bring it up to code, then I’m shutting you down.” Eric slammed his briefcase, and flashed Matt a greasy smile. “Have a nice day.”
Though the majority of the city had been supportive of his restaurant, there were a few people who had given him nothing but grief. The same people who’d had so little tolerance for him when he was a kid. No matter how well he did in school, or how he excelled in sports, thanks to his alcoholic parents he’d been labeled a troublemaker by some—guilty by association. Despite his recent fame, living in L.A. afforded him a certain anonymity. In Chapel, a traffic violation won you a spot in the local paper’s “Police Beat” column.
He hadn’t let them win back then and he wouldn’t let them now.
Matt heard an engine start and turned to see Emily’s truck pulling out of the lot. She was leaving before he’d had a chance to smooth things over. He felt as if he was being pulled in a dozen different directions at once.
He watched her truck disappear around the corner and felt more determined than ever to make amends. The only question was, how?
He was pretty sure there would be groveling involved.
“Look at you,” Emily scolded. “If you don’t pull it together, you’ll never get out of this place. There’s a sunny window somewhere out there just waiting for you.”
The Abutilon hybridum, commonly known as a Canary Bird Flowering Maple, sat on the isolation table near the rear of the nursery, looking wilted and sick, its leaves pale and drooping pathetically. Emily plucked an errant brown leaf. “It’s not aphids and I don’t see a fungus.”
She checked the undersides of the leaves for signs of mites. “Your brothers and sisters are healthy. What’s the deal?”
“Do they ever answer you?”
At the unexpected voice, Emily let out a squeal of surprise and spun around. She knew who it was even before she saw Matt standing behind her. Her heart gave an appropriate flutter at the sight of him.
Damn him for always looking so good, for bringing back memories that were better off forgotten.
“In a manner of speaking, they do,” she said. “It’s been scientifically proven that plants respond positively to verbal stimuli.”
He nodded thoughtfully and gestured toward the sickly plant. “Maybe this one is hard of hearing.”
She had to stifle a smile. He always did have a good sense of humor, and the ability to make her laugh. He’d been the brightest point in her life. Her life had grown dim since then, but she was used to it. She liked it that way. It was tough for people to hurt you, to disappoint you, if you kept them at arms’ length.
“What do you want, Conway?” she asked. “I thought we agreed to stay out of each other’s way.”
“You have my binder with the restaurant specs and I need it for tomorrow. The decorator has my only other copy.”
He’d only wanted his folder. Why would she even think he would want to see her for any other reason than business? Why would he be interested in someone like her when he could have a thousand other women? Beautiful, feminine women.
And why did she feel disappointment instead of relief?
“I get it for you and you’ll leave?” she asked.
“Scout’s honor.”
“Stay here, I’ll be right back.” She brushed past him, far too aware of the energy vibrating from his body, and headed toward the front of the building. The man was a walking powerhouse, and even worse, he knew it. Stepping into her miniscule office, she grabbed the binder off her desk, but as she spun around to leave she slammed hard into Matt’s chest. The heat radiating from his skin scorched her and she jerked away, bumping the backs of her thighs against her cluttered desk. “What are you doing in here?”
He reached behind him and closed the door. “Giving us some privacy.”
“You said you would leave. You did the Scout’s honor thing.”
He gave her a wide, toothy grin, looking just like the old Matt. “I was never a Scout.”
That was exactly the kind of stunt the old Matt would have pulled. He looked like the old Matt, and he was acting like the old Matt—
No. No way she would let herself even consider that. She didn’t want to like him. If she started to like him a little, that might grow into liking him a lot. Then he would leave and she would never hear from him again. No thanks. “What do you want from me, Conway?”
“I just want to talk to you. I’ve…missed you.”
