Blazing Bedtime Stories (18 page)

“Oh,” she said. “I see.”

From the corner of his eye, Gareth noticed a rush of color bathe her cheeks and a single bright spot of red appear on her throat.

“As I explained to Gareth here, who’s working on the grotto and pool area, the wife and I like to keep things…fresh.”

Juliet nodded again, seemed to be inspecting the walls. In fact, she was looking everywhere but at him or Highgrove. “So, the fairy tales…What exactly did you have in mind?” Was it his imagination or had her voice become a bit strangled?

Highgrove mopped his face with a handkerchief. “Naughty fairy tales. Nothing too racy, of course. Just a slightly d-different take.”

Gareth smothered a snort. There was nothing “slight” about this request. Highgrove wanted to take beloved children’s fairy tales and turn them into a sexual stimulant. Granted, Beauty falling in love with the Beast appealed to him, and Little Red Riding Hood older, more mature, and decked out in nothing but the coat was an excellent idea. Still…

He didn’t have any idea what was going on in Juliet’s head, but he certainly hoped she’d sign on for the job. Watching her paint these scenes would sure as hell make his job more interesting over the next couple of weeks. His gaze slid down her back, over her rear, which was surprisingly full in the seat and another bolt of attraction knifed through him.

And if she’d paint them in nothing but her smock for inspiration, then all the better.

N
AUGHTY
fairy tales?

Juliet could feel Gareth’s amused gaze boring a hole in the back of her skull as well as the twin flags of color, which had no doubt appeared on her cheeks, blaze their way into her hairline and down her throat. She’d never blushed prettily, dammit. She’d always blushed in giant blotches. More like a rash.

Honestly, when Jamison Highgrove had called her about doing the murals, she’d gotten a bit of a weird vibe. But this—her gaze strayed to the champagne-glass hot tub and what she could only assume was some sort of sex harness—
this
took the cake.

But if she hadn’t keeled over in shock, or melted into a puddle upon seeing Gareth Harper again, she could certainly pull it together for this interview.

Gareth Harper. Here.
Wow
.

“I realize it’s an odd request, but I assure you—”

“No, no,” she said, swallowing her initial surprise. “Provided you give me creative license to make the scenes more evocative than sexual in nature, I think the concept could be quite nice.”

It would be even more nice if Gareth would stop staring at her, Juliet thought, stomach churning. She could hardly think. She hadn’t seen him in years, but he’d certainly featured prominently in many of her fantasies. He was the only one of her sisters’ boyfriends she’d ever wished was hers. That dark-auburn hair—irreverent curls—and those mossy green eyes were especially sexy. Factor in his significant height—he easily towered over her and actually made her feel small—not to mention he tripped internal triggers that made her squirm inwardly, made her breasts go all heavy and wanting.

“Evocative,” Hightower repeated thoughtfully. “Yes, that’s it
exactly. I don’t expect you to paint ‘Beauty and the Beast’ in flagrante delicto,” he explained, blushing sheepishly. He strode over to the bedside table and pulled a couple of books from the drawer, then returned. “More like these,” he said.

Juliet inspected the covers. “Like romance novels?”

“Exactly. They’re evocative, right? Without giving away too much?”

She could do this, Juliet realized, letting the thrill she always got with a new project tingle in her imagination. Visions of various fairy-tale heroines and their respective heroes flashed through her mind. She glanced at each wall, mentally measuring the scope, the amount of canvas she’d have to play with. Two long walls—one with a set of French doors which led out to the pool—then the one behind the bed. So three actual scenes, she decided, then the wall with the doorway could be a more of a mystical garden scene, with a gate painted directly onto the door. Hence, the doorway to their sexual sanctuary.

She smiled, shot Mr. Highgrove a smile and outlined her thoughts.

Gratifyingly, he beamed at her. “This is why you were so highly recommended. You’ve nailed it. You’ll need to be finished by the fourteenth. When can you start?”

She blinked. “The fourteenth?”

“It’s a gift for my wife,” he explained.

She had other clients in queue. She couldn’t possibly put them off to accommodate Mr. Highgrove, regardless how much she might want to.

Deflated, but resigned, Juliet shook her head. “Mr. Highgrove, I’m sorry, but—”

He scribbled a figure onto a business card and handed it to her. Juliet closed her mouth to keep her jaw from dropping. The amount was three times what she would have charged—and her services didn’t come cheaply.

He merely smiled. “I want this, Ms. Swan, and more importantly, my wife wants it. I understand that your time and services are valuable and changing your schedule to accommodate mine is an inconvenience for you and your other clients. I hope my offer will rectify any problem.”

Juliet wavered. On the one hand, she hated to be so greedy and
self-serving, but on the other hand the next couple of projects she had slated weren’t particularly pressing. Furthermore, Highgrove’s bonus would go a long way toward that house on the lake she’d been saving for. She loved the water. It was the only place she didn’t feel awkward and gangly.

Smiling, Juliet reached out and shook his hand. “Your offer is more than generous, Mr. Highgrove. I accept.”

His grin made an encore appearance. “Wonderful,” he said.

“Other than ‘Beauty and the Beast,’ were there any particular fairy tales you were interested in?”

“‘Little Red Riding Hood,’” he said. He winked at her. “That one ought to have some potential. And ‘The Ugly Duckling.’ It’s Patricia’s favorite.”

‘The Ugly Duckling,’ Juliet thought, inwardly wincing. She’d been the ugly duckling her entire life and had completely given up on that whole turning-into-a-swan nonsense. Of course, with enough money and plastic surgery, anybody could be beautiful nowadays. Highgrove had mentioned something about his wife being out of town for surgery—no doubt that was the sort she was getting. In which case, for her, the story might actually fit. She’d get her happy ending.

Juliet nodded. “Certainly, sir. I’ll see what I can come up with.”

“I know you won’t disappoint me.” A walkie-talkie clipped to his waist chirped, announcing the arrival of another guest. He expressed his regrets, told her to take as much time as she needed today, and he’d see her tomorrow. Then he happily excused himself.

Interestingly, Gareth stayed behind. She was hammeringly aware of the heart-shaped bed and the naughty nature of what she’d been commissioned to paint as he continued to stare at her with a slightly bemused expression.

“So,” she said, for lack of anything better. “What exactly is it that
you’re
doing for Mr. Highgrove?” She scowled. “Or do I want to know?”

Gareth grinned and wandered over to the harness suspended from the ceiling, inspecting it thoroughly. “I’m building his sex grotto.”

A startled chuckle erupted from her throat. “A sex grotto?”

Gareth shrugged. “Hey, if it’s good enough for the Hef, then it’s good enough for the Highgrove.”

She wished he’d get the hell away from that contraption. She didn’t have any idea how the damned thing worked, but just imagining him trying to figure it out—preferably with her—was making her blood pressure rise. “So you’re still in the landscaping and pool business then?”

He nodded. “I am. But this is the first time I’ve built a sex grotto.”

“Seriously?” she quipped, feigning surprise. “You mean people in the greater Jackson area aren’t beating down your door asking you to build them?”

He chuckled, the sound every bit as sexy as she remembered. “I know it’s hard to believe, but no. And I guess you get requests to paint naughty fairy tales every day, too, right?”

“Naughty fairy tales?” She shrugged. “It’s old hat.”

Gareth grinned again. “I could tell,” he said. “By the strangled tone of your voice and that blush that hasn’t quite gone away yet.”

Damned cheeks. She gave her head a sad but resigned shake. “Gives me away every time.”

The sound of Highgrove’s booming voice drifted into the bedroom, jarring Gareth into action. He jerked his thumb toward the pool area. “I’ve got to be finished in two weeks as well, so I’d better get back to it.” He paused and his gaze drifted over her face, lingered over her lips, making them tingle. “It’s good seeing you again, Juliet.”

Probably so he could hook back up with her sister, she thought. But she basked in the comment all the same. “I’ll tell Portia you said hello.”

A slight frown flashed over his face, but he covered it quickly with a smile. “Sure,” he said. He started to walk off, then stopped short. “Want to share lunch Monday?” he asked. “You know, since we’re both going to be here?”

“Sure,” she said, startled. More than likely, he wanted to pump her about what was happening with her sister, but for the moment she’d pretend he was actually interested in sharing a meal with her.

His smile was quick and curiously relieved, then turned a bit wicked. “Excellent. I’ll bring dessert.” He chuckled under his breath “I, um…I recently found out that you were fond of Hershey Kisses and conversation hearts.” And with that parting shot, he strode off, leaving her to blush in mortification.

This time, all over.

Excellent,
Juliet thought.
Just excellent
. He’d seen that damned video, too.

Cupid really could kiss her ass.

“C
OME ON
,
sis,” Gareth moaned. “Surely there’s someone else who can do it.”

“Gareth, you are my only hope,” Jill needled, in that older-sister tone that had managed to extract all sorts of favors over the years. “These kids don’t want their parents chaperoning their prom. Would you have wanted Mom and Dad at yours?”

“Of course not,” he admitted. He accepted the lunch he’d ordered for him and Juliet from the delivery guy, nodding an apology over the handset. It was rude, but getting off the phone with Jill was impossible at the moment. “But I still don’t want to do it.”

A heavy sigh carried over the line. “Fine. I’ll tell Jeremy that his favorite uncle doesn’t care about his prom and the poor kid will simply have to make do with his meddling old mother there. I’m sure he’ll love it.”

Gareth checked the bag, making certain their order was correct. Asian chicken salad for her, steak sandwich and potato skins for him. Excellent. He frowned. “Tell me again why you’re in charge of the chaperones?”

“It’s part of my job description.”

“You’re a teacher, not a babysitter. Couldn’t someone else have volunteered?”

“You think I volunteered for this?” she asked, her voice climbing. “I was assigned this job. I would never have volunteered for it.” She snorted. “Hell, no one does. And it’s my night in the barrel. Come on, Gareth. It’s one night and it’s in February instead of the summer, for a change. You can’t have anything planned. It’s not like you’re seeing someone,” she said significantly, fishing for information.

He glanced through the French doors into the kitchen where he
and Juliet were meeting for lunch—Highgrove had stocked the fridge with drinks for them—and watched her stroll into the room.

Once again that unusual blast of heat erupted in his groin and an odd sensation winged through his suddenly tight chest. She looked up and her gaze caught his, making his breath catch in his lungs.

“Unless something has changed,” his sister added, evidently sensing his hesitation.

“Er…no,” he said, cursing his distraction. “Fine. I’ll do it,” he relented, more to get off the phone than anything else. “But I’m not wearing a tux.”

Jill whooped in his ear. “Thank you, little brother. Jeremy will be pleased.”

He didn’t know about that. He imagined his nephew wasn’t going to like having any family member at his prom, but given the circumstances Jeremy would probably agree that Gareth was the lesser of two evils.

“We’ll see,” Gareth said cryptically. “Look, sis, I’ve got to go.”

“But—”

“Talk to you later,” he interrupted, then quickly snapped the cell phone closed to end any further protest.

For reasons he couldn’t begin to fathom, he’d been looking forward to this lunch with Juliet since the instant he’d suggested it. He’d been surprised he’d had the nerve to ask and, because Cupid evidently had it in for him, lunch would probably end in disaster. But…Juliet fascinated him.

He’d been intrigued by her the minute he’d laid eyes on her all those years ago and that interest seemed to have grown considerably overnight.

And now it was sexual.

He’d never been so preoccupied over a woman before and frankly, his reaction puzzled him.

After all, while compelling, Juliet wasn’t exactly what one would call—and he winced even thinking this—but, well…pretty.

Unique, yes. Her face was an interesting composition of planes and angles, her brows a bit heavy. Her eyes were strikingly dark, the deepest shade of brown he’d ever seen and ringed in what could only be called black. It was an intense illusion, one that made him feel his thoughts were being stripped bare and exposed. Her nose
was slim, feminine even, and her mouth was a bit wide, but full, rosy and surprising lush.

He’d spent a lot of time over the past twenty-four hours thinking about her mouth.

And what she could do to him with it—in the sex grotto, specifically.

It was sheer madness, Gareth thought, as he opened the door and stepped into the kitchen. “Hey,” he said. “I’ve got lunch.”

Juliet smiled. “Wonderful. I’m starving.” She moved to the fridge and opened the door. “What would you like to drink?”

“A soda’s fine,” he said, setting everything down onto the table. He’d just finished unloading the bag when she placed his drink next to the takeout container.

Juliet sat down and inspected her meal, then picked up a condiment package and removed a napkin and utensil. “Ah,” she said, grinning. “Nothing says haute cuisine like a spork.”

Gareth nodded, smiling. “Part spoon, part fork. It’s ingenious, really.”

“I know. I can’t believe that Oneida hasn’t tried to capitalize on it yet.”

“I’m sure that Highgrove wouldn’t mind us borrowing the real thing if it bothers you.”

Juliet shook her head. “No, no, not at all.” She stabbed a mandarin orange wedge. “See how well this works? It’s amazing.” She took a bite, then washed it down with a sip of bottled water. “So how long have you worked for him?”

Gareth slathered a bit of sour cream onto a potato wedge. “I’ve been here around a month. He wanted the pool area completely revamped. I put in a new liner and built the waterfall at the deep end—I’m still working on the opposite one in the shallow end that hides the grotto. Then I tore out all of the original concrete and replaced it with the stone you see out there now. My crew has been taking care of some of the lighting and landscaping, while I’ve been primarily working in the grotto area myself.” He nodded, pleased with how well it was turning out. “It’s been a bit of a challenge. Highgrove wanted several water features inside the grotto, all flowing into a secluded pool, and several seating areas both inside the pool and outside of the water, tucked against the cave walls.”

She smiled, seemingly impressed. “Sounds like a tall order. But a very nice one.”

“It is,” he admitted, feeling that smile of approval warm in his chest. “You should come out and look at it before you go home. And what about you? Think you can get those murals done before Valentine’s Day?”

She grimaced at the mention of the holiday, forcing him to squelch a laugh.

“Er…yes,” she said. “It’s going to take a lot of long days and a few long nights, but I’ll get it done. I’m sketching it out now. That’s the hardest part for me. Once I’m finished with that and can actually pick up a brush, it’ll go much faster.”

He took a bite of his sandwich. “You’re sketching out all of them in advance?”

“Yes. I want to know exactly what I’m doing and, of course, I’ll need Highgrove’s seal of approval before I apply the first bit of color.”

“Good idea,” Gareth told her, remembering some of the man’s explicit instructions for him. He chuckled. “He has a very clear vision of what he wants, I can tell you that.”

A droll smile rolled around her lips. “I sort of got that impression.”

Finished eating, Gareth leaned back and shot her a grin. “You’ve got to admire him, though. He’s not letting a little thing like age slow him down.”

Her dark eyes twinkled. “I imagine that younger wife of his has something to do that that.”

“How do you know she’s younger?” He’d met Patricia, so he knew that she was at least half Highgrove’s age. But how did Juliet know, or was she just making an assumption?

Juliet jerked her head toward the hall. “Pictures.”

“Ah,” he said, inclining his head. He decided to toss the line of conversation into a more personal pond. “So, other than startling unsuspecting reporters with your anti-Valentine’s Day propaganda, what else have you been up to lately?” He had to admit he was very curious as to why she was so personally opposed to the holiday. Personal experience, he wondered. Or just an overall sense of discontent?

Her cheeks pinkened, she chewed the inside of her cheek and her embarrassed gaze tangled with his. “You’re going to bring this up regularly, aren’t you?”

Gareth resisted a smile. “Not regularly, I’d say. But often enough to enjoy seeing you squirm.” He rocked back in his chair, lifting the front legs off the floor. “It’s certainly made the news circuit. I caught a glimpse of it on late-night TV last night as well. And my sister had actually e-mailed me the link Saturday, right before you got here.” His gaze found hers once more. “Weird timing, eh?”

She rolled her eyes. “I think I’d call it more ‘bad luck,’” she said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Gareth chuckled and passed a hand over his face. “I know that you’re probably sick of it, but it’s damned funny.”

Her lips twitched and she gave him a long-suffering look. “It’s funny to you because you’re not the one who made a fool of yourself. Nor are you living with the consequences. And if those other two girls—one’s from Louisiana and the other’s from Texas, I think—are having the same sort of trouble I am…” She shrugged. “I’ve had to change my home number, I’m getting inundated with calls through my business line and I’ve been contacted by no less than
three
Internet dating sites which promise results.” She rested her chin in her hand and stared at him. “Evidently successfully helping me find my perfect match would be a public relations coup.”

Gareth felt his chest shake with silent laughter. “I wouldn’t say that you made a fool of yourself, precisely. You were—” he felt his mouth quiver “—certainly…vehement,” he decided, looking for the right word.

She snorted indelicately and leaned back. “I came across as a thwarted, miserable harpy on a lunatic rampage against love.”

“I wouldn’t say that. Besides those other women weren’t any more opinionated than you were.”

She quirked a pointed brow.

“Really,” Gareth insisted. “You were all equally thwarted, miserable harpies on a lunatic rampage against love.” He grinned. “Telling Cupid to kiss your ass was a classic moment.”

Another smile shaped her lips. “A fine moment my mother was proud of.”

Gareth remembered her mother. A true Southern belle with a soft lilting accent and perfectly coifed pale-blond hair. The woman undoubtedly bled sweet tea.
No,
he thought, silently agreeing with her.
Her mother probably wasn’t thrilled with the clip. “I’m sure it’ll blow over,” he said.

“I hope you’re right. It can’t happen soon enough to suit me, I can assure you.”

He should really get back to work, but he was reluctant to leave her. She was easy company, Gareth decided, enjoying being with her more than he’d expected. “So, have you always hated Valentine’s Day or did something precipitate your, er…
strong
opinion?”

She considered him for a minute, as though not quite sure what to make of this line of questioning. He knew he was prying, but he had to confess intense curiosity all the same. He wanted to know why she hated it so much. Had someone hurt her? Did she really believe that she was an ugly duckling, never destined for romance?

It wasn’t true, Gareth decided, feeling that strange snake of heat she inspired coil in his loins and slither up his dick, readying it for action. He shifted, trying to ease a bit of the pressure.

“It’s never been my favorite holiday,” Juliet finally said. “Relationships don’t come easy for me.” She exhaled loudly, as though reluctant to share the rest. Then obviously deciding to get it over with she continued. “But that particular day I’d been on a bad blind-date—trolling for a Valentine date so I wouldn’t be alone again this year—and I just…snapped. Honestly, I didn’t have any idea it all sounded so terrible until Bianca called me and told me to check my e-mail. She’d sent me the link to kissmyasscupid.com,” she explained. “And there I was, in all my bitter glory.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I probably would have done the same thing, had that happened to me.”

“I find it difficult to believe that you’d ever have a hard time getting a date,” she said, taking a sip of her water.

“Not necessarily getting a date,” he admitted, unwilling to lie. “But that doesn’t mean relationships are easy. Hell, I found my last so-called girlfriend under my Christmas tree with my business partner a couple of months ago.”

She choked on her drink.

A hard smile turned his lips. “She was wrapping his present, so to speak.”

She winced. “I’m sorry, Gareth. That had to be tough.”

He looked away, stared at a chickadee bathing in one of the
water features outside. “Well, it wasn’t the best thing I got for Christmas, that was for sure. But I was well rid of her. The relationship had flat-lined. We’d stayed together more out of habit than any affection.” He looked back at Juliet and felt a shadow of a smile cross his lips. “To tell you the truth, I miss my business partner more.” He jerked his head toward the pool. “I could sure use his help right now.”

She didn’t look surprised. Merely curious. “You could forgive him?”

Gareth lifted a shoulder. “Alcohol was involved. He’d just come off a bad break-up. She admitted that she’d initiated things.” He was thoughtful for a moment. “Yeah, I think I could. I’d like to.”

She grinned and the rest of the room seemed to shrink away. A long strand of dark hair hung against her pale cheek, emphasizing the creamy perfection of her skin. “Congratulations, Mr. Harper,” she said. “A rational, well-thought-out, testosterone-free conclusion. I’m impressed.”

Gareth chuckled. “Let me get this straight. I impressed you with my ability to reason? With my small Neanderthal-sized male brain?”

She shook her head, pretending she could scarcely believe it herself. “That’s why it’s so impressive.”

A hearty laugh broke from his throat. “Ouch,” he said, rubbing his jaw as though she’d struck him. “Excuse me while I recover from that backhanded compliment.”

“I can tell you’re wounded.”

He shook his head. “No, but I will be if Highgrove sees I’m still on lunch.” He paused. “This has been nice,” he said, meaning it. “What do you say? Same time tomorrow?”

She hesitated.

“Or not,” he countered, hiding his disappointment.

“Portia’s seeing someone,” she blurted out.

Gareth blinked, confused. “What?”

“Portia’s s-seeing someone,” she repeated. “So if that’s why you’re, you know…” She trailed off, gesturing helplessly.