workers are hunched over their teeth-rattling noise blasters, but there’s a man in a suit standing at the edge of the lot. He’s got his back to me, and he’s talking to a man in a hardhat. He’s a very tall man in a very nice suit. I can tell even from behind; I’ve got an eye for it.
Somehow, he’s got the air of a man in charge, so I tap him on the shoulder. He doesn't even turn around to look at me. He just holds up one hand in a “wait” kind of motion, and keeps talking.
Seriously. This guy. I’m about to go all crazy Southern girl on his admittedly sexy bee-hind. Not that I was looking.
I tap him again, but this time it’s more of a finger-jab, like my mama used to do if I talked in church. He tries to ignore me; I keep jabbing. Finally he turns around to face me, eyes narrowing in annoyance.
And for a moment, I forget how to breathe.
Lungs. It involves sucking air into the lungs, right?
He's painfully handsome. Looking at him makes my eyes water; it’s like staring into the sun. Ice-blue eyes glaring at me from under thick dark brows, glossy black hair that begs for fingers running through it, a square jaw that would make Superman weep with envy. My finger quivers with the urge to trace the curve of his Cupid’s-bow upper lip. The beautiful package is wrapped in a navy pin-striped suit that drapes perfectly over his broad shoulders.
“Yes? You urgently needed to speak to me?” He raises his voice to be heard over the jackhammers.
I remember how to breathe – and that I’m mad enough to spit nails.
But I also remember you catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar. I’m not sure why anyone would want to catch flies, because they’re gross and what would you even do with them after you caught them? But that’s how the saying goes.
So I paste a smile on my face and wave my hand at the construction workers. "Excuse me. So sorry to bother you.” I make sure to let my Southern lilt come through. I’m just a little ol’ Southern belle, a damsel in distress. “Is this your crew?”
“And if it is?”
Would it kill him to give me a straight answer? One can only hope.
I smile wider. “I’m sure you didn’t know this, but you’re in violation of a city ordinance. They turned their jackhammers on at 6 a.m. You’re not legally allowed to start until 7 a.m."
Instead of answering, he looks me up and down, the corner of his mouth quirking up in amusement.
“Something you want to say?” My smile’s starting to twitch a little bit.
“Oh, I don't know where to start.” His voice has the cultured tones of boarding school and country clubs. Privileged and richly amused.
And I can see that my smile is going to waste, because he’s going to act like an entitled horse’s patoot no matter what I say or do. So I let it melt into an ice-cold stare. “How ’bout you start by telling your crew to turn their equipment off for the next hour?”
“Oh no, I’d rather start with a discussion of what happened in your life that led up to…” he waves at my pajamas. “All this.” He glances at his watch. “I’ve got three minutes to spare. Talk fast.”
This. Guy. I glower. “Do people smack you in the face a lot?” The furious heat burning through my body is so intense, it almost feels like arousal. I chalk it up to being so tired that all my internal wiring is crossed.
His eyes gleam with amusement. “I’m tall enough that they usually can’t reach me.” Yep, he’s an easy 6’3” to my 5’4”. That’s okay – the bigger they are, the harder they fall.
“Turn the jackhammers off. It’s the law.”
He shrugs. “Sorry, the project is on a schedule. It’s already delayed due to rain. Got to make up for it while we can.”
“Fine, I tried to ask nicely. Now I’m calling the city.” I want to sound intimidating, but it comes out sounding a lot like I’m telling my mom.
I turn and storm off, heading towards the front door before I remember that I’m locked out.
I won’t be calling anybody until I can figure out a way to get back inside, and I don’t have my cell phone with me.
I spin around to see His Royal Hiney standing there watching me with a smirk on