Saying Yes To The Dress!. Сорейя Лейн

she told him. “Not Nero.”

      “Well, hell,” he said, “that’s what makes it really hard for a dumb carpenter to go out with a smart girl.”

      She stared at him. “Are we going out?” she whispered.

      “No! I just was pointing out more evidence of our incompatibility.”

      That stung even worse than being called a geek. “At least you got part of it right,” she told him.

      “Which part? The geek part?”

      “I am not a geek!”

      He shook his head sadly.

      “That line? ‘To be or not to be.’ It’s from a soliloquy in the play Hamlet. It’s from a scene in the nunnery.”

      “The nunnery?” he said with satisfaction. “Don’t you have a fascination?”

      “No! You think I have a fascination. You are incorrect, just as you are incorrect about me being a geek.”

      “Yes, and being able to quote Shakespeare, chapter and verse, certainly made that point.”

      She giggled, and unraveled the fabric from around him.

      “Hey! Give me back my toga. I already told you I don’t wear underwear!

      But it was her turn to play with the gauzy fabric. She inserted herself in the middle of it and twirled until she had made it into a long dress. Then she swathed some around her head, until only her eyes showed. Throwing inhibition to the wind, she swiveled her hips and did some things with her hands.

      “Guess who I am?” she purred.

      He frowned at her. “A bride?”

      The thing he liked least!

      “No, I’m not a bride,” she snapped.

      “A hula girl!”

      “No.”

      “I give up. Stop doing that.”

      “I’m Mata Hari.”

      “Who? I asked you to stop.”

      “Why?”

      “It’s a little too sexy for the job site.”

      “A perfect imitation of Mata Hari, then,” she said with glee. And she did not stop doing it. She was rather enjoying the look on his face.

      “Who?”

      “She was a spy. And a dancer.”

      He burst out laughing as if that was the most improbable thing he had ever heard. “How well versed was she in her Shakespeare?”

      “She didn’t have to be.” Becky began to do a slow writhe with her hips. He didn’t seem to think it was funny anymore.

      In fact, the ease they had been enjoying—that sense of being a team and working together—evaporated.

      He stepped back from her, as if he thought she was going to try kissing him again. She blushed.

      “I have so much to do,” she squeaked, suddenly feeling silly, and at the very same time, not silly at all.

      “Me, too,” he said.

      But neither of them moved.

      “Uh, boss, is this a bad time?”

      Mata Hari dropped her veil with a little shriek of embarrassment.

      “The guys were thinking maybe we could have a break? It’s f—”

      Drew stopped his worker with a look.

      “It’s flipping hot out here. We thought maybe we could go swimming and start again when it’s not so hot out.”

      “Great idea,” Drew said. “We all need cooling off, particularly Mata Hari here. You coming swimming, Becky?”

      She knew she should say no. She had to say no. She didn’t even have a proper bathing suit. Instead she unraveled herself from the yards of fabric, called, “Race you,” ran down to the water and flung herself in completely clothed.

      Drew’s crew crashed into the water around her, following her lead and just jumping in in shorts and T-shirts. They played a raucous game of tag in the water, and she was fully included, though she was very aware of Drew sending out a silent warning that no lines were to be crossed. And none were. It was like having five brothers.

      And wouldn’t that be the safest thing? Wasn’t that what she and Drew had vowed they were going to do? Hadn’t they both agreed they were going to retreat into a platonic relationship after the crazy-making sensation of those shared kisses?

      What had she been thinking, playing Mata Hari? What kind of craziness was it that she wanted him to not see her exactly as she was: not a spy and dancer who could coax secrets out of unsuspecting men, but a book-loving girl from a small town in America?

      * * *

      After that frolic in the water, the J brothers included her as one of them. Over the next few days, whenever they broke from work to go swimming, one of them came and pounded on her office door and invited her to come.

      Today, Josh knocked on the door.

      “Swim time,” he said.

      “I just can’t. I have to tie bows on two hundred chairs. And find a cool place to store three thousand potted lavender plants. And—”

      Without a word, Josh came in, picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

      “Stop it. This is my good dress!” She pounded on his back, but of course, with her laughing so hard, he did not take her seriously. She was carried, kicking and screaming and pounding on his back, to the water, where she was unceremoniously dumped in.

      “Hey, what the hell are you doing?” Drew demanded, arriving at the water’s edge and fishing her out.

      The fact that she was screaming with laughter had softened the protective look on his face.

      Josh had lifted a big shoulder. “Boss, you said don’t take no for an answer.”

      “No means no, boss,” she inserted, barely able to breathe she was laughing so hard.

      Drew gave them both an exasperated look, and turned away. Then he turned back, picked her up, raced out into the surf and dumped her again!

      She rose from the water sputtering, still holding on to his neck, both their bodies sleek with salt water, her good dress completely ruined.

      Gazing into the mischief-filled face of Drew Jordan, Becky was not certain she had ever felt so completely happy.

       CHAPTER TWELVE

      AFTER THAT BECKY was “in.” She and the J’s and Drew became a family. They took their meals together and they played together. Becky soon discovered this crew worked hard, and they played harder.

      At every break and after work, the football came out. Or the Frisbee. Both games were played with rough-and-tumble delight at the water’s edge. She wasn’t sure how they could have any energy left, but they did.

      The first few times she played, the brothers howled hysterically at both her efforts to throw and catch balls and Frisbees. They good-naturedly nicknamed her Barnside.

      “Barnside?” she protested. “That’s awful. I demand a new nickname. That is not flattering!”

      “You have to earn a new nickname,” Jimmy informed her seriously.

      “Time to go back to work,” Drew told them, after one coffee-break Frisbee session when poor Josh had to climb a palm tree to retrieve a Frisbee she’d thrown. He caught her arm as she turned to leave.