The Honeymoon House

As she drank the cool water, she remembered when she’d met Kevin three years ago at the architectural firm where they’d worked together. Kevin had been selfconfident and fun, and when she’d fallen in love with him, she’d shared her secret dreams with him.

She’d told Kevin she wanted to design a modern, high-tech house. She was sure a project of that magnitude would move her career ahead in their firm.

Her chance came. A wealthy client appeared in the office, seeking an architect to design his ultra-contemporary home. She excitedly told Kevin she was going to talk to the owner of their company right away and request that she be chosen for the job.

Kevin advised her to wait a little while. She listened to his advice because he loved her. He supported her. And she trusted him like family.

A few days later, she spotted Kevin talking privately with the owner. She was thrilled. She was sure he was recommending her for the job.

Then, one afternoon while Kevin was at a construction site, Danielle couldn’t find her drafting pen. When she searched Kevin’s drafting table for one, she felt the breath knocked out of her.

Hidden underneath other plans was Kevin’s sample design of the wealthy client’s modern, high-tech house and a letter to the owner of their firm requesting the prestigious job for himself.

She was crushed by his betrayal and devastated when she found out that the owner planned to move his architectural company to Chicago and wanted to take one talented, aggressive architect along with him. Kevin made sure he was that architect. He gave up their love as if it never mattered, as if she never mattered.

Danielle crumpled the paper cup and hurled it into the trash can. She’d learned one thing from Kevin. She’d never again fall in love with a man she worked with.

The next day, after doing some final finish work on a new home, Paul sped his faded-green van toward home. He felt troubled about the idea of keeping an eye on Danielle’s work. An architect had the right to privacy, and a good builder had to trust her creative judgment.

Paul made up his mind. Even though Mr. Harrington had insisted on his being a watchdog, he knew he couldn’t do it. He’d make sure Mr. Harrington’s house was built to perfection, but he’d never insult Danielle by interfering in her work.

Danielle Ford. She was spunky, determined and very sexy. He remembered her standing in Mr. Harrington’s office with her skirt up in the air, her tantalizing legs gleaming at him and her pink bikini panties in full view. He felt his body react just thinking about her.

Just as he drove past the Santa Monica baseball field, a baseball shot into the street in front of his van. He pulled his vehicle to the curb, got out and threw the ball back to the Little League players in the field.

He watched the kids practice before their game started. A rush of warmth filled him. He loved being with kids. But he knew he could never have a family of his own. He didn’t even know what being in a close family felt like.

A sadness overwhelmed him at the sight of the Little League kids’ mothers beaming with pride at their sons. He’d never known his mother. She’d died when he was born. A few years later, his father had married his stepmother, who had had two children of her own, but he’d barely known his father when he passed away of cancer. Paul had been three years old.

Paul had been raised by his stepmother, who had only seemed to care about her own two children. The sole person Paul had felt close to was his best friend, Lucky. He’d run to Lucky’s house whenever his stepmother screamed at him that he was always in her way. Lucky was the one who saw him cry when his stepmother told him that she wished his father had never left him to her.

When Paul had turned seventeen, he ran away for good—where nobody, even Lucky, could find him.

“Let’s play ball!” the umpire called out.

The words brought Paul back to the present. He glanced at the parents cheering in the bleachers for their kids. Family life belonged to others, not him. Never him.

When Paul returned to his small, steamy cottage in Santa Monica, he pulled off his T-shirt.

He banged on his window air conditioner to get it going, but not a whir could be heard from the motor. Maybe with the honeymoon house job, he’d be able to buy a new one.

His stomach grumbled for dinner. He looked in his refrigerator. Empty as usual. He grabbed a clean T-shirt and headed out.

At the supermarket, Paul went straight to the frozen food aisle. He yanked open the glass door. Ice-cold air hit his bare arms. What precooked delicacy was he in the mood for?

None, he thought. Sometimes he envied the construction workers he hired who were married and went home every night to their wives and kids to share a hot dinner and loving feelings.

He couldn’t remember ever having a warm family experience.

Paul pulled out a frozen lasagna dinner from the shelf and hurled it into his shopping cart. He rounded the corner on his way toward the vegetable and fruit department for his ready-made salad, when he suddenly slowed down his cart.

Standing a distance in front of him was Danielle Ford. She was bending forward, reaching into a display of ripe red tomatoes. Her tight white shorts accentuated her moonshaped buttocks. He halted his cart, unable to take his gaze off her. Her long, bare legs winked out at him.

He squeezed the chrome of the cart handle, imagining caressing the silken flesh of her thighs and gliding his palms up to her firm buttocks.

An elderly customer accidentally banged into him with her cart, waking him up from his sexual fantasy.

At the tomato stand, Danielle lightly squeezed each tomato for the perfectly ripened ones. She was excited about cooking Lisa an Italian dinner. She had just pulled out a red winner from the middle of the stand, when suddenly several tomatoes started falling down the display.

“Oh, no!” she whispered as an avalanche of tomatoes began tumbling to her feet. She frantically pressed her body against the display to stop the onslaught.

Just as she grabbed several, a strong hand collided with hers to help stop the tomatoes. She looked up to see Paul Richards’s charcoal eyes on her. The warmth of his masculine hand made her skin heat up in the icy airconditioned produce department.

For a moment, she forgot what she was doing and backed away from the display. “Paul, what’re you doing here?”

Suddenly, a huge batch of tomatoes rolled down the counter and splattered to the floor. Before answering, Paul immediately bent to catch the next batch of falling tomatoes in his open palms.

As Danielle swiftly stepped back from the counter to grab more plunging tomatoes, her foot slipped on tomato juice. She lost her balance and slammed into Paul, pushing him backward, then fell smack on top of him on the supermarket floor.

Her lips were close to his. She could feel his warm breath on her cheeks. Her breasts were crushed against his hard-muscled chest. She felt his broad palms against the small of her back. Desire raced through her veins.

Eventually, she realized that customers were trying to help them up. She rose with red-stained white shorts.

Paul’s shirt was filled with tomato skins. His curly hair was moist with red juice.

“Paul, I’m sorry,” she said, feeling that she was starting their working relationship on a terrible note.

Paul wiped off the skins. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Besides, I enjoyed taking a tomato bath with you.”

He said it with a smile, but his voice was deep and sexy. She felt a sizzle between her legs.

She quickly grabbed her shopping cart. “I’d better pay for these items.”

He eyed the food in her cart. “Some lucky guy is going to have a great dinner tonight.”

“Oh, no, I’m single,” she instantly replied, then frowned. Why had she told him that? Was she trying to let him know she was available? “I mean, I’m cooking dinner for my sister tonight. If it hadn’t been for Lisa, I would’ve never had the interview with Mr. Harrington.”

Paul’s gaze was steady on her. “Thank her for me, too.”

He turned to his shopping cart. “Well, I’d better get my Italian dinner into the microwave before it melts in the cart.”

“Why don’t you stick that frozen dinner into your freezer and come over and eat with us?” she heard herself ask before she knew what she was saying.

His eyes lit up. “Really? I don’t want to cause more work for you.”

“I owe it to you for the tomato mess,” she immediately added. “Besides, I always cook way too much Italian food for me and Lisa to eat.”

“When should I come over?”

Her pulse was racing. “Dinner’s at seven-thirty. Here’s my address.” She searched for a piece of paper in her bag.

“Tell me the number. I won’t forget.”

“Twelve-oh-four Beethoven Street in Santa Monica,” she replied, flattered and totally taken with him. “Apartment 2A.”

“I’ll be there.”

Mesmerized, she watched Paul walk out of the supermarket toward his van, when she suddenly realized that she’d just invited the man she was going to work with to a dinner date at her apartment!

What am I doing? she thought. She had vowed to maintain a professional-only relationship with general contractor Paul Richards. Why was she giving him a personal invitation into her heart?

With a bag of groceries in her hand, she ran out to the parking lot after Paul, hoping she could make an excuse to cancel. But she caught the red taillights of his van disappearing out of the lot.

Two

In the shower at his cottage, Paul washed the tomatoes out of his hair. He wondered if Danielle was soaping the red juice from her skin.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her lying on top of him on the supermarket floor. The turquoise of her eyes. The sweet smell of her hair. Her firm breasts against his chest. Her soft body pressed against his manhood.

His loins ached.

What a glutton for punishment you are, he thought. He turned off the shower. Can’t you remember what your relationship to Danielle Ford really is?

He dried his aching, naked body with the bath towel. Danielle was the architect who stood between his success or failure with Mr. Harrington. If she made one mistake on the honeymoon house that he didn’t catch, goodbye partnership.

He hurried into his bedroom, zipped up his jeans and put on a clean white shirt. He glanced at the clock.

Who am I kidding? he thought. He couldn’t wait to be with Danielle again. That’s what scared him. He knew he wasn’t destined to have a permanent relationship with her. A female friend, sure. But how could he be platonic friends with a woman as sensitive and sensual as Danielle Ford?

The doorbell rang. He buttoned his shirt and opened the door to his construction supervisor.

“Butch, you have lousy timing,” he said with a grin as he shook his hand.

“I try to,” Butch replied as he sauntered inside. He wore a gold earring and black motorcycle jacket and carried a helmet. He was divorced twice, with no kids and no responsibilities except to himself, and was an old-timer at building houses.

“Man, I just heard the horrendous news,” Butch began. “Danielle Ford’s gonna be the architect on Harrington’s honeymoon house. Remember the Tilden house catastrophe? She’s major bad luck for us, man.”

To his surprise, Paul felt a jolt of protectiveness toward Danielle. A feeling he’d never had for a woman before.

“Don’t sweat it, Butch. The honeymoon house will go up smooth as velvet.”

Butch leaned on one leg and stared at him. “What’s with the change in attitude toward Danielle Ford?”

Paul avoided his gaze. “What change?”

“After the Tilden mess, didn’t you say you’d quit contracting before ever working with the woman’s plans again?”

Paul hedged. “Yeah.”

“I don’t get it,” Butch said, confused. “Are you glad she’ll be working with us?”

“I didn’t hire her,” Paul quickly replied. “Mr. Harrington did, and I’ve got to make it work.”

Butch shook his head. “I still don’t like the idea.”

Paul glanced at his watch. Seeing that it was getting late, he grabbed the bottle of Chianti off the counter, which he’d picked up on his way home.

“Hey, man, who’s the hot date?” Butch asked, taking in the red wine.

Paul reached for his keys from the coffee table. “You never met her.” He wasn’t lying. Butch never had met Danielle.

“Falling in love, are we?” Butch added with a teasing twinkle in his eyes. “I recognize that gushy feeling when a special woman turns you on.”

Paul opened the cottage door. “She’s just a friend.”

“Cow dung.”

Paul nudged Butch out of the cottage. “Finish up the last-minute stuff on the Barry house. Then start the grading on Mr. Harrington’s property and get the site prepared for construction.”

Paul locked the door with an unsteady hand. Butch had hit a sensitive chord. He did have a gushy feeling about Danielle. He’d better curb it fast if he was planning on a platonic relationship with her.

In the kitchen of her apartment, Danielle tasted the tomato sauce in the pot, wanting it to be perfectly spiced. Would Paul Richards like it with more oregano or garlic?

She cut her thoughts short. What was she doing? She was making an Italian dinner for Lisa, not Paul. Yet he’d permeated her mind ever since she’d met him in Mr. Harrington’s office.

She glanced at the small, magnetized photo of her parents on the refrigerator door. Mom, Dad, I’m one yard closer to making my promise to you come true, she happily thought.

That’s why she couldn’t let her attraction to Paul Richards interfere with her ultimate goal—the children’s library.

Just then, Lisa walked into their apartment.

“Lee, I hope you’re starved,” Danielle said excitedly.

Lisa didn’t answer. She set down her briefcase, plopped into a chair and nervously fiddled with the breadbasket on the table.

Danielle looked at her, feeling worried. “What’s wrong?”

“I was talking to Mr. Harrington’s secretary on the phone today,” Lisa began hesitantly.

Danielle’s stomach tightened. “Did he change his mind about hiring me?”

“Not really.” Lisa got up, washed her hands and began cutting tomatoes for their dinner salad.

“Tell me, Lee. I’m dying inside.”

Lisa stopped chopping. “He likes your plans for his house.”

Danielle suddenly felt uneasy. “But?”

“He’s asked someone to oversee your work.”

“What do you mean?” Danielle asked, feeling queasy. “Who did he ask?”

“His name is Paul Richards.”

Danielle’s legs suddenly felt weak. “But Paul is a building contractor, not an architect.”

“I know, but Mr. Harrington’s secretary told me that Paul Richards wants to form a partnership with him,” Lisa hurriedly explained. “And Paul can’t take a chance on your screwing up on the plans.”

Danielle couldn’t breathe. “You mean, if Paul Richards is displeased with my work, he could tell Mr. Harrington and then I’m off the job?”

“I don’t know, Sis.”

She couldn’t believe it. She didn’t want to believe it. “I knew it was a mistake.”

“What?”

“I invited Paul Richards over for dinner tonight.”

“Why’d you do that?”

“I bumped into him at the supermarket.” Bumped? Her cheeks flamed as she thought about his hard body under her on the store floor. “He had a frozen dinner in his cart. I felt sorry for him.”

Lisa’s right eyebrow shot up. “Wait a minute. Is Paul Richards single and cute?”

Danielle cleared her throat. “Well, yes, he is.”

“Wow!” Lisa exclaimed. “Now what’re you going to do?”

“Don’t worry,” Danielle said in a shaky voice. “I won’t get involved with him.”

“But you’re attracted to him, and if you work closely with him, what if—”

“I won’t let that happen, that’s all.”

If she was so sure, why was her hand trembling as she washed the lettuce in the sink? And why did she feel crushed at learning Lisa’s news about Paul?

Was it that she didn’t like Paul being her watchdog on the job? She shook the water out of the lettuce, feeling anxious and upset. Or was Paul Richards already more to her than just a co-worker?

As Paul drove his van toward Danielle’s street in Santa Monica, Butch’s words echoed in his mind: “Falling in love, are we?”

He shook his head. How could he be falling for Danielle? He’d just met her. Besides, being in love meant sharing his life, didn’t it? He had no idea how to blend his solitary existence with a woman like her.

He found himself pulling into a mini-mall at the corner of Wilshire and Barrington. He got out and walked straight into the flower shop.

Danielle Ford is the architect on the honeymoon house and that’s all, he silently reminded himself.

The elderly saleswoman came up to him. “Are you looking for a bouquet for your girlfriend or wife?”

He shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “For a woman—I mean, a friend—I mean, a woman friend.”

“I understand,” she said with a knowing smile, and led him to the roses.

In her bedroom, Danielle glanced anxiously at the digital alarm clock on her bedstand. Paul was scheduled to arrive in fifteen minutes.

Her stomach felt jittery as she slipped on her silk, melon-colored dress. She fluffed her hair and lined her lips with hot-pink gloss. Though she tried convincing herself that she was getting dressed up to celebrate her new job, she knew better.

No matter how hard she denied it, Paul’s coming over excited her. She knew how difficult it would be to fight her powerful attraction to him.

The telephone suddenly rang. She stared at the phone, hesitant to answer it. Was Paul canceling? She realized how disappointed she’d be if he was.

“I’ll get it!” Lisa called from the living room.

Danielle heard Lisa pick up the phone. She nervously waited for her sister to say it was for her. She heard Lisa laughing and hurried into the living room.

“Who is it?” Danielle whispered.

Lisa’s eyes were aglow as she mouthed, “It’s Manny from New York! He misses me!”

Danielle sighed with relief. Paul was still coming. Even though she was stung by the idea that he was going to monitor her plans, her hands were perspiring just at the mere thought that he’d be at her apartment any second.

In the kitchen, she stirred the meatballs in the tomato sauce with a wooden spoon. She checked the lasagna and foil-covered garlic bread baking in the oven, wanting it to be perfect for Paul. Paul? The dinner was for Lisa, Lisa, Lisa! What was going on with her?

She boiled the water for the macaroni. You invited Paul over because it was the polite thing to do, she told herself over and over again.

Just as she put the macaroni into the pot of water, the doorbell rang. Her heart hammered. She apprehensively touched her hair and smoothed down her dress.

She glanced into the living room, hoping Lisa could greet Paul, instead of her. But Lisa was oblivious as she whispered love words to Manny into the phone.

I invited Paul over for good business, business, business! she repeated in her mind.

Danielle took a deep breath and opened her apartment door. Paul’s charcoal eyes lit up at the sight of her. He looked handsome in his snug jeans and white shirt with the top two buttons open, revealing his tanned chest.

She grew warm inside, totally forgetting her resolve. “Paul, you’re a few minutes early.”

“I couldn’t wait to see y—I mean, eat your Italian dinner.” He took in a whiff of air as she let him inside. “Ummm,” he hummed. “Your sauce smells delicious.”

His deep, gravelly voice sent a tingle across her skin as his gaze remained on her. Why did she feel he was talking about her?

She swallowed. “Make yourself at home, Paul.”

From behind him, Paul pulled out a bottle of Chianti and a vibrant bouquet of yellow roses surrounded by baby’s breath.

Her heart swelled. “For me?”

He shrugged, looking shy and slightly embarrassed. “I happened to pass a liquor store and flower shop.”

She was thrilled. “The roses are beautiful.”

She set the Chianti on the kitchen counter and slipped the sweet-scented flowers into a crystal vase.

“Paul, sit down,” she invited. “I’ll pull Lisa off the phone so you can meet her.”

As Paul sat on a kitchen chair, his eyes never left Danielle. He watched the silk of her dress cling to her bouncing breasts and shapely hips as she left the kitchen. He swallowed and nervously tapped his fingers on the edge of the already set table.

Remember the word platonic, he reminded himself. Don’t ever let it leave your brain.

Just then, Paul heard a loud sizzle. He turned to the stove. White foam was overflowing from the pot with the macaroni. He jumped up and quickly turned down the flame. He picked up the wooden spoon and stirred the macaroni in the boiling water, hoping Danielle wouldn’t mind.

He noticed the flowery wallpaper in her kitchen and the stack of food-stained recipe books piled on the side of the counter. Pot holders hung from a nail on the wall. A magnetized picture of an attractive elderly couple hugging was on the refrigerator door. He wondered if the people were Danielle’s parents.

Like home, that’s what her apartment felt to Paul. His muscles relaxed. He felt he could kick off his shoes, unbutton his shirt and let all his anxieties go.

He tasted the macaroni to see if it was ready. Not yet. He’d let it cook a few more minutes longer. His eyes caught the magnetized photo again. He pulled out a magnet from his pocket. It was in the shape of a hammer, with Richards General Contracting printed on it. He stuck his magnet on her refrigerator door.

In the living room, Danielle nudged Lisa to get off the telephone. “Paul’s here!”

She glanced anxiously toward the kitchen door. She could see Paul’s yellow roses beaming from the vase on the table. Her heart leaped: he was in the kitchen waiting for her!

“Manny, I love you!” Lisa moaned into the phone. “I love you!”

The moment Lisa hung up, Danielle whispered in her ear, “Don’t say a word about Mr. Harrington or the honeymoon house.”

Danielle knew that her sister had a tendency to open her mouth when she shouldn’t, and Danielle wanted to make sure that Lisa didn’t with Paul.

Before Lisa could respond. Paul stuck his head into the living room. “Dinner’s ready.”

“The macaroni!” Danielle rushed into the kitchen.

“Don’t worry,” Paul said. “Everything’s taken care of.”

Danielle’s mouth dropped open. Paul had set the steamy macaroni in a large, flowered bowl he’d found in the cabinet. He’d put out the lasagna and garlic bread on the table, too.

Her cheeks flamed. “Paul, you’re our guest. You shouldn’t have—”

“Did I do it the way you want?” he asked, a bit worried.

“Perfect,” she replied.

The pleased smile on his face and twinkle in his eyes made her melt inside. Why did it feel so natural having him in her apartment, when she had practically just met him?

Lisa entered the kitchen. “Paul Richards?”

Her voice had a mischievous tone that immediately bothered Danielle.

“Mr. Harrington has told me so much about you.”

“Really?” Paul said, glancing at Danielle. “Exactly what did he say about me?”

“Well—” Lisa began.

“Lee, get the salad, will you?” Danielle immediately cut in, shooting her sister a warning look that she’d better not say a word about Paul’s watchdog role in her honeymoon house plans.

Paul took it all in. “From Danielle’s reaction, sounds to me like Mr. Harrington didn’t give me any gold stars.”

Danielle quickly took the salad bowl from her sister’s hands and set it on the table. “I’m starved,” she said, determined to change the subject.

Lisa gave her a secret smile and then sat at the table. “I’ve been waiting for this treat all day.”