WHISTLED UNDER his breath as he made his way back to his truck, satisfied his roofing crew was set on the new subdivision job he’d contracted between Nashville and Dahlia. Urban sprawl was both a bane and a blessing, but right now it was a damn fine morning in Dahlia. The sun was shining, he had jobs lined up in a less-than-stellar economy and he had Natalie Bridges right where he wanted her.
He leaned against the cab of his truck and checked his wristwatch. He’d finished up the conversation with his sister about forty-five minutes ago. He figured he’d get a call anytime now. Actually, depending on how long Caitlyn kept Natalie on the phone, it could be another couple of minutes.
Natalie. Her sweet, hot mouth…her velvet tongue…Classy. Sexy. Fiery. True enough, he’d started out with the intent to shut this wedding down and that remained his primary goal, but he’d discovered two things in the last day. One, he realized he’d never had to chase a woman before. From the earliest time he could remember women just seemed to like him. But Natalie brought out the hunter in him. Two, he wanted her. She’d told him yesterday in no uncertain terms he wasn’t her type. Bullshit. She wouldn’t…couldn’t…kiss him that way if she didn’t want him.
He scrolled through his cell-phone options. Natalie deserved her own ringtone and he deserved to be forewarned when she called. He downloaded and waited.
He didn’t have to wait long. His phone trilled the opening chords of AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell.”
“I just spoke to Caitlyn,” she said without preamble.
A fly buzzed past him and the sounds of the guys hauling up shingle bundles and recounting weekend exploits filled the background. “Great. I’m sure it’s important to stay in close contact when you’re planning her wedding.”
He climbed in the cab of the truck, cutting off the background noise. He could’ve sworn on the drive from his office to the work site that he’d caught the occasional whiff of her scent from last night.
“You know, press-ganged servitude is out of vogue these days. Of course, I have only myself to blame.” She paused and sighed heavily on the other end. “I should’ve never kissed you.”
What angle was she working? Women never regretted kissing him. Quite the opposite, in fact.
“I’ll have to say you’ve lost me there, sweet thing.” He picked up the take-out coffee cup from the dash cup holder. Empty.
“Obviously I drove you beyond the point of desperate when I kissed you,” she announced on a smug note. “It goes without saying I’d never go out with you, so you’ve resorted to manipulating me into indentured servitude.”
She’d never go out with him, as if he were some substandard species? The hell, she said. The hunt was definitely on. He chuckled.
“Indentured servitude?” Well, hell, that just brought a whole bunch of things to mind. Her on her knees in front of him, her mouth on his…a little light bondage with silken cords…“Does that mean you want me to tie you up?”
“You wouldn’t dare.” Well, well, well. She sounded far more breathless than outraged. Just what was going on in her pretty little head? “And can you say sexual harassment?”
No. And neither could she. “Am I writing your paycheck, baby? Do I have the authority to fire or promote you? Think again. If you find yourself all tied up, it’s strictly because that’s what you want.”
“I think you have a pretty accurate idea of what I want right now and it’s not that.” No man with a brain would trust that sweet note.
“I’m certain I know what you want, you just need to decide how you want it.”
“Since you seem to be calling all the shots at this point, you tell me. When do you want to start?”
“I’m sitting on ready. You’re the one with the rushed time schedule. Let’s start this evening.”
“What time?”
“Six.” That ought to have her sitting through Nashville rush hour. The idea, after all, was to push her to her limits.
“Perfect.”
Perfect? Ha. She was probably ready to gnaw on wood. And just to thoroughly piss her off…“And don’t be late. I’d hate for us to get behind schedule because you’re not punctual.”
He could all but feel her kiss-my-ass radiating over the phone line. Perversely, he was looking forward to 6:00 p.m.
AT PRECISELY four-thirty, Natalie pulled into a parking spot on Dahlia’s picturesque town square. There was no way she was going to sit through rush-hour traffic heading out of the city. Plus, she’d seen Beau’s face when Scooter told her to replace her outfit at Stillwell Motors Racing’s expense. Two could play his game, and she was more than willing to hit below the belt…at least, that’s where she assumed he kept his wallet.
She slung her purse over her shoulder and locked the minivan. Was it her imagination or did the air smell sweeter, fresher here? With its refurbished store fronts around a parklike square anchored by a Confederate soldier monument, Dahlia was a refreshing step back in time—especially after the urban sprawl that had become Nashville.
She’d driven through with Caitlyn once before on their way out to Belle Terre and Caitlyn had pointed out the green and white striped awning that marked Beverly’s Closet, but they hadn’t stopped. Now Natalie strolled along the sidewalk, enchanted.
Early on, she and Caitlyn had discussed whether to use local businesses in the wedding or Natalie’s tried-and-true Nashville contacts. Now that Caitlyn had made up her mind, Natalie needed to set up appointments to meet with the business owners. True, she could just drop in, but that seemed disrespectful of their time—and thank you, Beau Stillwell, she knew all about how it felt to have someone disregard your time.
Plus, she wouldn’t mind an opportunity to “window-shop” anonymously. One of her concerns was whether the small hometown businesses in Dahlia could deliver and pull off an event like Caitlyn and Cash’s wedding. Not that she didn’t want every wedding to be perfect, but the way this one would be covered by the media, Natalie’s already narrow margin of error had narrowed even further. This, the career catalyst that had been handed to her like a gift, had to be as close to perfect as possible.
She’d noted the bakery’s location on the outskirts of town, a pink cinder block building with white lace curtains gracing the display windows of Pammy’s Petals. She paused now in front of Christa’s Florals and breathed a small sigh of relief. Several elegant floral arrangements on a velvet runner filled the front window. Whew! It was always a bad sign when a florist presented funeral wreaths and cemetery flowers as their primary offering.
She passed a small gallery showing several stainedglass pieces, lace and beadwork and a lovely wedding-knot quilt in shades of lavender, yellow and pink that sent a wave of nostalgia washing over her. She could almost smell the signature scent of gardenia her grandmother had favored and feel her warmth as they’d shared a similar quilt on Memaw’s front porch swing when Natalie had been a young girl. She blinked. It would be beyond crazy to burst into tears on the Dahlia sidewalk because some exquisitely crafted artwork had pulled an emotional rug out from under her feet.
She walked on. Dahlia Hair and Nails. Hmm. Hard to tell, but selling Caitlyn on another stylist would be a real
