"It's the truth."
"So when did you want to have this chat? And where?"
"Whenever and wherever. I just need a night off."
Her mind's already started twisting with possibilities that she doesn't dare consider any further. "Alright, then. Tonight?"
"Tonight sounds wonderful. Any ideas where you'd like to go?"
"Anywhere."
"Anywhere sounds wonderful, but I need a specific where."
She doesn't take long to think about it. She's passed by the little Italian place a thousand times. She can hear something in his voice when she suggests it. Something that makes her wonder if she's made a mistake by mentioning it. If she has, though, the mistake is already made.
"That's fine. You want me to meet you there? Or I can pick you up from the site."
"I don't need a ride, Mr. Callahan. I've got a very nice one of my own."
"I've seen it. How do you keep mud off, way out here? You'd think—"
"I wash it. It's real easy, you just use a hose, and…"
She tapers off and there's a little silence where Philip Callahan's smile fits in.
"Alright, smart-ass. Seven o'clock sound good to you?"
She should be ready well before then. But if it's a date—and he's making it sound very much like a date—then she can be busy as late as he needs her to be.
"Sure."
She sets the phone down and makes a distinct effort not to read into any of it. This was all about making sure that he was in a good mood, making sure that he had what he needed to keep going. Her feelings didn't enter into it in the slightest—nor should they.
But that didn't mean that her heart wasn't flapping around the room, now. It didn't mean that she could keep the smile off her face. It didn't mean that she could keep her thoughts out of the gutter, either.
She tapped the desk. Just another few days. Easy days. Nothing to worry about. The walls were already up. Now they just had to build out the inside, and then they'd have a couple weeks installing the machinery.
Six months from now, there would be people working there who had already settled into the daily routine. People who would already be used to it.
She smiles at the thought. Not much longer, now. Not much more to wait for. Not for them, anyways. Not for her business. But for her, personally… tonight was all that she had to look forward to, and it was already far, far too much.
She clicks her teeth together in anticipation. She checks her e-mail again. A hundred new messages, not one of them particularly important. She starts combing through them. By the time she finishes, they'll have replenished themselves.
And then, after she's done that a few more times, after she's made a call or two to make absolutely certain that everything is on track, it'll be time to cut out of here. She'll go right straight home and get dressed, and then…
She doesn't dare to think about it. She shouldn't be imagining any of it. She shouldn't even think about what it's going to be like sitting at the table with him.
The thought of a repeat performance, of laying down in the back of his truck with a little blanket under her to cushion her shoulders?
The thought of spreading her legs a little, of him pushing her skirt up over her hips and taking his place between them?
The thought of being full and complete in a way that she had only felt once before in her life?
Those were the sort of thoughts she couldn't really afford to be having. And those were, as it happened, exactly the sort of thoughts running through her head at that instant. Go figure.
She takes a deep breath and tries to slow the beating of her heart down, tries to cool the fire that lit itself inside her belly when she wasn't paying enough attention to her thoughts.
There's a lot more going on in her imagination, and she's trying like the devil not to think about it. But the more that she tries not to think about it, the more real it all seems. The more that her skin raises goosebumps, the more that her nipples can feel, acutely, the fabric of her bra with every little movement.