Reaching for the door to follow her outside, hormones kicking to life, it occurred to him he didn’t feel tired anymore.
2
CHRISTINE HATED to muck up her big exit by simply digging her hands right back in the dirt to continue working for a guy who saw her presence as pure fluff.
Then again, what choices did she have? Pausing in the middle of Vito Cesare’s driveway, she scanned her brain for more options. Her beat-up secondhand truck was parked in the carport, so she possessed the means to leave. But where would she go?
She had no ready cash, and she was between apartments. Actually, she hadn’t even thought about looking for a new apartment for another month since this job was supposed to have taken at least that long. And if she left now, she could kiss her dreams of owning her own landscaping business goodbye. If she went bankrupt, no one in their right mind would ever give her a loan to start up again.
Peering around the yard for inspiration, her gaze landed on the fire bush already wilting in the Florida heat. She couldn’t just let the plant die so she could make a great exit.
Swallowing her pride, she trudged across the tilled up ground that would one day be a lush flower garden. As she finished securing the bush into the ground and giving the shrub a nice long drink, she couldn’t help but think of the fat investment account her older brother had started in her name.
She had the money to finance this dream. But damn it, she didn’t want to start her own business with money someone else had earned. Her older brother Seth had worked long hours for years after their father walked out, slowly growing adept at reading the stock market and knowing where to invest. He’d made huge profits on his investments, funneling money to both Christine and their brother Jesse.
But she’d never been comfortable with the idea of someone else making money on her behalf. What kind of satisfaction would she take in owning her own business if the whole operation rode on the shoulders of Seth’s hard work and not her own?
The answer remained the same as it had been for the last six months she’d struggled to start All Natural.
None.
Rinsing her hands in the stream from the hose before tossing aside the nozzle, Christine prepared herself to go back and face Vito Cesare. To somehow eat humble pie and pretend it tasted good.
Definitely not her forte.
But as she straightened, he was already there in front of her, dressed in olive-colored shorts and a white knit collared shirt. He held two glasses of lemonade in his hands.
He stepped over the hose to offer her a drink, his feet now visible in black flip-flops. “I would have come out sooner to apologize for that whole misunderstanding, but I thought it might be better if I cooled off first.”
He looked far more approachable in flip-flops. The gold wristwatch was gone, as were the slick shades. She wholeheartedly approved of the more laid-back Vito. In fact, if she hadn’t seen a glimpse of Vito the worldly jet-setter, she could almost be attracted to him.
Gulping down the lemonade he handed her, she decided she was the one who needed cooling off. No way would she develop a thing for the man who held the future of her fledgling business in his hands. Too unprofessional. Too tacky.
“Actually, I was just about to come looking for you to apologize, too.” She pressed the bottom of her cool glass to her hot forehead, the icy cold condensation a welcome relief from the sultry temperature outdoors and her hot flashes inside. “I was sort of taken off guard to think your uncle didn’t care about having the yard look really great. I wanted to be impressive with the best landscaping job I could provide and not because I look better in shorts than my competition, you know?”
His eyes flicked south at the mention of her legs and Christine found herself wondering how many other women had fallen victim to that hooded stare. Been there. Done that. Lived the public humiliation of having been taken in by a pro.
She swigged the rest of her drink and kept her mind on business.
“I understand better than you think.” He nodded toward the house. “There are some chairs around back on the patio if you want to sit for a minute.”
Nodding, she followed him since they obviously had a few glitches to iron out together.
“So, are you suggesting you know what it’s like to be hired for your bod instead of your brains, Cesare?” She could hold her own with this guy as long as she kept things light, easy. She would put herself in the driver’s seat of this relationship and stay there.
“As a matter of fact, I do. Sort of.” He led them to the patio that she’d commandeered for peat moss.
Thankfully, she’d used all the bags of manure a week ago.
She couldn’t picture Vito hanging out around the fertilizer, even in his flip-flop guise. Settling into the wrought-iron chair across from him with a big glass-topped umbrella table between them, she placed her empty glass on the surface and was grateful the lawn wasn’t in full destruction mode back here. A tire swing still hung in an old banyan tree behind a big workshop in the backyard. “And how is it that you end up being judged on your looks? Are you an underwear model on the side?”
“Are you suggesting I’d have a future in the industry?”
“Just taking wild guesses.” She wished she hadn’t emptied her glass so quickly as she conjured images of Vito in his underwear. Was he a boxers or briefs kind of guy?
Considering his flashy clothes earlier, she’d have to go with silk boxers. But if ever a man had been built for tighty-whiteys…
“Christine?”
Her underwear daydreams faded at Vito’s voice. “Sorry. You were saying?”
“I’m a race-car driver.” The humor in his eyes suggested he knew the direction of her daydreams. “And sometimes people bet on a driver because he looks good in his racing suit instead of how well he drives. That bugs me, too, so I don’t blame you for being miffed that my uncle would be so superficial. If it makes you feel any better though, I’m sure he never would have hired you if he didn’t think you’d do a great job on the landscaping. He’s really excited about Giselle’s wedding.”
“You race cars?” Christine didn’t know squat about any sport. For that matter, was racing even considered a sport since it didn’t have a damn thing to do with being athletic?
“I’m a Formula One driver.” At her blank look, he continued. “It’s open-wheel racing. You know, as opposed to stock cars like NASCAR?”
“Don’t have a clue about any of those, actually. Although I’m sure you look very cute in the racing suit.” She’d flirt with him before he had the chance to flirt with her, putting herself firmly in control of the situation. No sense making herself seem like a novice when it came to men. She wouldn’t be taken advantage of again. “But back to the matter at hand, what do you suggest we do in relation to my work here?”
He peered around the yard, his square shoulders settling deeper into the wrought-iron patio chair. “I think you’d better keep working. No offense, Christine, but it looks like a natural disaster around here.”
“It’s a work in progress.” She wasn’t always the neatest person, even when she wasn’t involved in an extensive landscaping job. But she could see the potential for the yard and had every confidence it would be gorgeous by the time she finished. “Besides, I was operating under the impression that the house would be vacant except for me, so I’ll admit I’ve been a little more lax about daily cleanup just because I’m working such long hours on this job. It doesn’t make much sense for me to put away my tools in the garage every night when I’m only going to need them six hours later.”
“You’re putting in that much time on the yard?”
“Have you seen the property recently? It was in shambles. Not that it looked terrible from the street or anything, but from a professional perspective, it needed to be almost started from scratch. Just keeping up with all the watering is more than a full-time job for transplants in this heat.” She leaned closer, elbows on the table. “But you think I’ll be able to stay on here and finish up the job?”
She folded her hands inward so he wouldn’t see her crossing her fingers.
“Definitely. I sure as hell couldn’t have my baby sister come home with the house looking like this. Giuseppe told you it needs to be ready to go September first?”
“It won’t be a problem as long as I can continue to work at manic speed, which means I can’t take off many afternoons like this.” She plucked her T-shirt away from her damp skin in the hope of catching a breeze. “And I’d also need to be able to stay onsite so I can maximize my work hours. Do you have any family you can stay with for a few weeks while I finish up? Giuseppe, maybe, since he’s the one who assured me I’d have twenty-four-hour access to the property?”
“That could be a problem.” Vito drained his lemonade glass with one long swallow. The upturned glass dripped condensation down into the open neck of his collared shirt, drawing Christine’s eye to that dark expanse of skin glistening with a slight sheen.
She blinked fast before the underwear fantasy came back.
“How so? If you don’t want to stay with your uncle, maybe you could stay at a swanky hotel while you’re in town. Aren’t European race-car drivers practically made of money?”
“No. But money isn’t really the issue here—it’s more of a comfort concern. I like to stay at the house whenever I’m in the States. I grew up here, so it’s sort of…home.” He met her gaze, his hazel eyes dark and intense despite his relaxed tone.
Christine had the feeling he wouldn’t be changing his mind on the issue anytime soon.
“Well, we can’t both stay here.” What did he expect her to do—pitch a tent out front for the next month?
“Why can’t we?”
For a moment she thought he really wanted her to get to work on the tent, until she realized she’d never said that part out loud. “You mean both of us in the house?”
