“Her name is Miss Story,” said Cameron from behind him, “and if you need to dig a little, we’ll work it out.”
Geraldo turned slowly and grinned at Cameron, and Cameron couldn’t decide if he liked the younger man or not. He wasn’t opposed to a little swagger in a twenty-something kid, as long as he was capable, smart, and respectful. Capable, he believed based on Diego’s recommendation. Smart, he was fairly certain based on his knowledge and the sharp look in his eyes. Respectful? All signs pointed to hell, no.
“Weekends is good for me,” said Geraldo, turning back to Margaret. “I’ll get started on the rip-out next Saturday. That work for you?”
She nodded. “Yes, thanks. And your fees?”
“Five hundred up front for expenses, twenty an hour after that. I’ll bring you receipts for stuff I buy. I work mostly alone except for my family. And I prefer cash.”
“That’s fine,” she said. Her voice lowered to a strict librarian no-nonsense warning: “Now, Geraldo, I won’t be here on the weekends while you’re here working, but your cousin vouched for you.”
“You don’t need to worry, mami . . . Miss Story. I’ll treat your place like it’s mine.”
“And we’ll swap cell numbers so you can call me should you have any questions. Shall I give you a key?”
He thought this over for a second, flashing a quick glance at Cameron. “Nah. Keep your key. I need to get in, Diego will let me up.”
Reassured, a lovely smile broke out on Margaret’s face as she extended her hand. “Then we have a deal. I’ll leave the money on the counter for you next Saturday morning.”
“Yeah, that’s good.”
She dropped Geraldo’s hand and looked up at Cameron, as though uncertain about what should happen next.
Cameron cleared his throat. “I have a project upstairs, but I’d only want work done during the week. Interested? It’s a bathroom.”
“I’ll take a look, but I’ll probably ask my brother, Huicho, if he wants the job. I ain’t as good with pipes.”
“Fine.” Cameron cast a glance at Margaret before looking back at Geraldo. “Can you wait for me in the hall for a second?”
“Yeah. I’ll be talking to you, Miss Story.”
“Thanks so much, Geraldo,” she said, handing him a slip of paper with her cell phone number and waving goodbye to him.
Cameron watched him saunter out of the kitchen and waited until he heard the front door close before turning to face Margaret.
She took a deep breath and sighed, smiling at him. “He seems capable.”
“A little too cocky for his own good.”
“He’s young.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“And anyway, finding another building-approved contractor would be a chore. He knows Diego, he can come and go easily, and it sounds like his family can help him with any details that need a second set of hands.”
All true. And yet Cameron still felt unsettled about having Geraldo in Margaret’s space. He couldn’t explain why—call it a gut instinct, perhaps one he’d have about any man other than himself so close to her. Which led his thoughts directly to Shane Olson.
Olson, the lucky bastard who could listen to her murmur herbs and oak all day long if he wanted to, who could see what was beneath her sweater dress, touch her perfect little breasts, sucking a pebbled nipple between his fucking lips as she—
“Cameron?”
He gulped. “So I guess you spend your weekends with Olson?”
“What?” She stared at him for a moment, then laughed softly. “Oh! I didn’t know who you were talking about for a moment there. Do you mean Shane?”
Cameron nodded tightly.
She shook her head, placing her hand on the kitchen counter as she faced him. “We’re not quite that exclusive yet.”
This was news.
This was epic news.
Epically good to his cock. Epically bad to his head, which quickly reviewed every sensible reason he shouldn’t become involved with her right now.
“Is that right?”
She lowered her eyes demurely, shrugging one shoulder. “We’re dating, but, well, I haven’t invited him out to Newtown yet. I just . . . I don’t know. He’s more of a beer drinker, and I . . . Well, Shane’s a wonderful person, but I spend my weekends out at The Five Sisters and . . .”
“ . . . and you’re not quite that exclusive yet,” Cameron repeated in a low rumble, taking two steps closer to her and placing his palm near hers on the smooth marble counter.
Wetting her lips, she raised her head and nailed him with her big, brown eyes. “No. We’re not.”
“I’d love to see it sometime.”
“The Five Sisters?”
He nodded, still looking deeply into her eyes. If he had chanced upon this softer, relaxed, more playful Margaret in her apartment, he could only imagine the version of her he’d find in the country, at her vineyard, where she was most happy. He clenched his jaw, his thumb reaching out to touch hers, to trail softly, slowly, down the length of hers, the brief, butterfly-wing-like contact more erotic than he would have guessed.