Always and Forever, page 5
“Are you ready to get to it?” Phylicia asked, all business. “I could get started on removing the wainscoting today.”
“I thought you wanted me to leave the wainscoting untouched?” he asked.
“It’s your house, Jamal.” She scrunched up her nose. “You have no idea how hard it was for me to say that.”
“Phyl—” he started, but she put her hand up, halting him.
“It is your house. You agreed to leave my mom’s painting room intact, which I am unbelievably grateful for, but I don’t expect you to change all of your plans just to suit me. You hired me to help preserve elements of Belle Maison’s original structure; that’s what I’m here to do.”
“I also hired you for your input,” he said. “I’m open to suggestions. Doesn’t mean I’ll go along with all of them, but as highly recommended as you come, I’d be a fool not to listen to what you have to say.”
He tossed the measuring tape aside and moved toward her. “I want us to work together as a team.”
He reached for her, but she took several steps back. She held her hands up, her face resolute. “Look, Jamal, I already told you that if I’m going to work with you on this project, what happened yesterday afternoon cannot happen again. That kiss was...well, it was a mistake.”
“It wasn’t a mistake,” he disputed. “It was unbelievable.”
“Jamal—”
“Don’t shut me down without at least giving me a chance, Phylicia.”
“It’s not going to happen,” she reiterated. “I have too much going on in my life right now. And with you and this house and just... It’s not going to happen. Is that going to be a problem for you?”
He raised his palms up, giving her the universal hands-off gesture. What he really wanted to do was kiss the living daylights out of her again. Apparently, she’d quickly forgotten how explosive their kiss was yesterday. He, on the other hand, couldn’t get it out of his head.
“Good,” she said with a curt nod. “I’ll get to work on the parlor.”
Arms crossed over his chest, Jamal stepped to the side so she could move past him. As he watched her walk up the back steps and into the house, he couldn’t imagine how he would get through the next few months working alongside her.
As it turned out, he didn’t have to worry about running into Phylicia all that much. With him outside measuring the strawboard that would replace the walls in the bedrooms, and her working inside in the front parlor, he hardly saw her for most of the morning. At noon, Jamal tossed the carpenter’s pencil aside and entered the house through the door just off the kitchen.
He stopped at the arched entryway between the parlor and downstairs sitting room and watched as Phylicia carefully pried a section of aged wainscoting from the wall. She gingerly laid it next to an identical piece she’d placed on the floor, and turned to tackle the next section.
As she bent over, Jamal’s hands fisted at the way the faded denim cupped her ass like a well-worn baseball glove. It probably felt as soft and smooth, too. He reined in the urge to walk up to her and test it for himself.
Stop it, he ordered himself. Phylicia had made her feelings known; he had to respect them, no matter how much it killed him to do so.
He shoved away from the doorjamb. “Are you hungry?” he asked.
She jumped and turned.
“Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
“That’s okay,” she said. “Between the pounding and the music you’d have to wear a cowbell around your neck to announce your arrival.” She smiled, and that urge to kiss her roared back to life. “Did you need something?” she asked.
And isn’t that a loaded question?
Jamal bit back the answer that was on the tip of his tongue and held up his wrist to show her the time. “Lunch,” he said. “What are you in the mood for?”
“Mine is in the truck,” Phylicia answered. “I always bring my own lunch when I’m working on a site.”
“Will you give me a few minutes to run over to Jessie’s before you eat?” he asked, referring to the pseudorestaurant that was run out of a local woman’s kitchen. “I’m hoping you’ll share some of the history of the house over lunch.”
The look she gave him was guarded, as if she didn’t trust his motives.
Smart woman.
He held his hands up. “Information. I promise I won’t try anything else. I’ll need to know the history of Belle Maison when giving tours to guests.”
Slowly, she nodded, mistrust still evident in her narrowed gaze. “I’ll wait for you. Let me know when you get back.” She pointed at him. “But don’t sneak up on me this time. It’s not smart to startle a woman who’s holding a crowbar.”
“And I’m pretty sure you have several uses for it, too.”
“Bet your ass I do.” The musical sound of her laughter traveled along his skin like a caress. Jamal left the house before he went back on his promise not to try anything else with her.
* * *
“How long did you live here?” Jamal asked just as Phil took a bite of her sandwich. “Sorry,” he said, obviously realizing what he’d done.
She held up a finger. While she chewed, she studied his legs that hung off the edge of the truck’s tailgate, where they sat eating their lunch. The muscles were so well-defined they looked as if they were sculpted by hand. A faded four-inch line stretched across his knee.
“Surgery?” she asked, gesturing to it.
“Yeah, back in college. The bitter end to my dreams of playing in the major league.”
“I forgot you played college baseball with Corey. That’s how you two met, right?”
He nodded. “We were teammates for a couple of years. He was a junior when I was a freshman, but somehow we ended up being assigned together as roommates. Pissed him off, until the first care package from my mom arrived.” He chuckled. “He warmed up to me after one bite of her famous walnut chocolate chip cookies.”
“It must have been hard to see Corey go off to the majors,” she said.
“He wanted it way more than I did,” Jamal said with a casual shrug. “Playing major league baseball had always been my dad’s dream. I just happened to be good at baseball, so I played it.” He glanced at her. “I haven’t admitted this to very many people, but when I went down with that knee injury I was more relieved than anything else.”
“So, you spent most of your childhood trying to please your dad, too, huh?”
“You, too?” he asked.
“Oh, yeah. I was a total daddy’s girl. He hung the moon. Literally.” Phil laughed. “Back when I was in grade school my room was decorated with a solar system motif,” she explained.
“What was it like growing up here?”
“It was wonderful. Just look at it.” She gestured toward the Victorian. “How many houses are so grand that they warrant a name? When I was younger, I used to pretend it was a castle.”
“When did you move out?” he asked. “The Realtor said the house had been abandoned for some time.”
“Unoccupied, not abandoned,” Phil reminded him. “I lived at Belle Maison until I finished college. I went to Southeastern in Hammond, so I commuted back and forth. Who in their right mind would pick a dorm room over this, huh?”
“It sure beats that cubbyhole Corey and I shared back at Arizona State.” He laughed. His head tipped to the side in inquiry. “What does a restoration specialist study in college? Did you get a degree in design?”
“No, finance.” Phil rolled her eyes at his dumbfounded look. “I know, I know. How does a person with a finance degree end up restoring furniture?”
“It’s not that big of a stretch. Corey told me the restoration business was your dad’s. Did you work in the finance world before joining the family business?”
“Nope.” She shook her head. “I always knew this was what I wanted to do. But I figured I could help my dad grow the business with my finance degree.”
But things had not worked out as she’d hoped. Phil could recall verbatim the argument she’d had with her dad over her vision for the company. If she had known it would be the last words she would ever say to him, she wouldn’t have uttered half the things that came out of her mouth that day.
She took a sip of the iced tea Jamal had brought back from Jessie’s. It had a hard time finding its way past the lump in her throat. “As I was saying, I lived here until I finished college. It was just me, Mom and Dad.”
“This is a lot of house for three people,” he commented.
“I know,” Phil said, unable to suppress the nostalgic grin that drew across her lips. “According to the stories I’ve heard, my mom’s grandfather had anticipated a large family, but after three wives and several mistresses, he only managed to produce one son. The largest brood was my grandfather’s generation. There were four of them, but all of their descendants left Gauthier a long time ago. So the house passed down to my mom, and, eventually—” unfortunately, she thought “—to me.”
Jamal assessed her for several long moments. “You hate that I’m the one who bought this house, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she answered, not even considering lying, but Phil was solicitous enough to soften the blow with a modest chuckle. “I don’t mean to be harsh, but our styles differ a bit too much for my comfort. When I heard you were the new owner, I fully expected to find a wind turbine in the front yard.”
Jamal’s brow dipped with his chastising frown. “Everyone knows the wind turbine goes in the backyard next to the gazebo.”
Phil nearly choked on her tea. She started to speak, but he stopped her with upraised palms.
“I’m kidding.” He laughed. “There will be no wind turbine. I promise,” he emphasized, humor still coloring his voice. “What do you have against saving the environment, anyway?”
“I don’t have anything against saving the environment,” she answered with an affronted frown. “I just don’t like it when people ruin historic properties with their new-wave, save-the-trees green technology. Belle Maison has been standing here for more than a century and a half. It’s fine just the way it is.”
“And I’ll bet the utility bills are through the roof in the winter.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, this is south Louisiana, not Alaska. It may drop below freezing one week out of the year.” Phylicia reined in her indignation, cautious of allowing her emotions to get the best of her.
Jamal held his hands up, as if he too recognized that things were getting too heated.
“Look,” he started. “I get that you’re big into restoration, but I’m just as passionate about my work. Can you at least try to embrace what I want to do? I promise you I will not disturb the integrity of the house.”
“If you say so,” Phil replied, unable to stanch the skepticism that dripped from the words, despite her best effort. “But I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Jamal rolled his eyes, chagrin blanketing his face. “You just wait,” he said. “You’ll hardly be able to tell the difference between my eco-friendly improvements and the original structure. That’s what will be unique about my architectural firm, making the green technology unobtrusive.”
“How long before you get your firm off the ground?” she asked.
He shrugged again and stared at the house across the street for some time before answering. “Soon. I’m in no big hurry. My main priority is getting Belle Maison opened on time.” He scooted off the back of the tailgate. “Which is why we should probably get back to work.”
Something about the change in his tone gave her pause, but Phil didn’t want to dig any deeper. The less she intruded into Jamal Johnson’s life, the better.
She hopped down from the truck’s tailgate. “Were you planning to strip the paint from the woodwork in the parlor?” she asked.
“I figured I didn’t have a choice,” Jamal answered.
“Let me see what I can do,” she said. “I may be able to get it cleaned with the materials I have with me. If not, I can bring it back to my shop. Can you lay out some of that plastic sheeting over there?” She pointed to the area just off the gazebo.
He nodded and she went inside to grab a section of the wainscoting she’d removed. As Phil dabbed at the scuff marks with her least abrasive solvent, she surreptitiously studied Jamal as he sawed through panels of strawboard. Even though it was late September, the temperature was still hovering in the upper eighties, and his sweat-soaked shirt clung deliciously to the muscles that undulated with every push of the saw.
It was mesmerizing, watching the sinuous motion of his shoulders rise and fall. Her hands itched with the need to glide along the moist, hot skin underneath.
He turned abruptly and caught her staring. Phil jumped, nearly knocking over the bottle of solvent.
“Careful there,” he called, a knowing grin pulling at his lips.
“Oh, great,” Phil muttered. Mortified, she lowered her eyes and got back to work.
A half hour later, Phil had managed to remove every scuff mark from the wainscoting without marring a single inch. Jamal walked over to where she stood and dropped to his haunches, observing her work.
“Unbelievable,” he said with an awed breath. “How did you manage to get it clean without ruining the paint job?”
“I have my ways,” she said.
He looked up at her, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “I can’t wait to see what else you can do.”
“Darling, I would blow your mind,” she said before she could stop herself.
Way wrong thing to say. Phil inwardly cringed, but she couldn’t deny the shot of molten heat that flashed through her as Jamal’s eyes took on a smoldering look. She knew she was skirting along the edges of the danger zone. After that kiss yesterday, the worst thing she could do was encourage his flirting.
Actually, that wasn’t the worst thing she could do. The absolute worst thing would involve them both being naked.
Do not think of him naked, she mentally chastised.
Jamal rose slowly from his crouched position, his intense gaze searing straight through her. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough with want. “You can try to ignore this all you want, Phylicia. We both know it’s there.”
She didn’t have to ask what it was. It was so apparent, so potent, it had nearly taken on a physical form. The attraction sizzling between them was hotter than her workshop after a full day of working with the blowtorch.
Phil swallowed past the lump in her throat. She wanted to shake her head. She was dying to tell him that she didn’t want to ignore anything.
“That’s too bad,” she said, her voice so husky she barely recognized it. She cleared her throat. “Because I fully intend to ignore it.”
Those sparks of electricity, like the kind zapping between them right now, were dangerous. She’d been burned before, and fear of making those same mistakes terrified her more than Phil thought possible.
This was all too eerily familiar to the severe lapse in judgment that had already caused her so much heartache. Standing here with Jamal, in the midst of a huge home-renovation project, was like a remake of a twisted reality show: The Phylicia and Kevin Fiasco.
How many times had Kevin crept up behind her while she was working and pressed his lips to her neck? It had taken little more than a gentle kiss and some sweetly whispered words before they were both stripping out of their clothes and making love among the dusty construction material.
She so was not going there again.
“Look, Jamal. I won’t deny that there was some chemistry between us during Mya and Corey’s wedding—”
“Not just at the wedding,” he interjected.
“Okay, fine. The chemistry is still there. But I’m just not in the right place. Getting involved with you, with anyone right now...it’s not going to happen. And don’t even think about suggesting no-strings-attached sex,” she added.
The broad grin that flashed across his face was pure sin. “I wasn’t going to,” he said. “But apparently you’ve been thinking about it.”
Phil knew her face was as red as a fire engine. Why did he have to be so damn sexy?
“You’re making a mistake,” he said. “You and I both know that there’s a lot more going on here than just the potential for no-strings-attached sex.” He leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “Although that would be a lot of fun, Phylicia.”
Lord, how she wanted to take him up on his offer!
It had been way too long since she’d had fun of any kind. And despite how doggedly she’d tried to suppress her body’s outright craving for this man, all she had to do was look at him and she went liquid. More and more, the hazy figure that entered her nightly fantasies had started to solidify in her mind, and its strong jaw and deep brown eyes resembled one man. The one standing before her.
A slightly calloused thumb grazed her cheek then tipped her chin up. Phil stared at his sensually soft lips and bit back a needy moan.
“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable working here,” Jamal said. “If your answer is no, then I’ll just have to accept it. I’ll survive. This isn’t the first time I’ve been turned down by a pretty girl.”
His noble capitulation only made her decision harder to swallow.
Phil was tempted to apologize for having to take such an uncompromising stance, but with everything else going on in her life, she could not summon the strength to deal with the complications that came with a relationship, even a casusal, no-strings-attached kind.
Because she didn’t do casual sex. Her heart always managed to get involved. And eventually broken.
Stupid heart.
“Is this the last time we’re going to have this conversation?” she asked.
