“Up next is this stuff?”
“Yep. I’ll drape it over the frames and fasten it with the clear zip ties. Then I’ll smooth the flower food and dirt and moss paste on the outside. Once that’s done, I’ll thread the flowers through the netting. I’ll wait until Friday morning so it’ll be as fresh as possible on Saturday night.”
“How long does it last?”
“As long as they water it. The paste keeps the flowers hydrated, and I try to select ones that hold up well after cutting. Roses are the worst, but we have to have roses for Beauty and the Beast.”
“Why is that?”
“The rose is Beast’s countdown clock. As each petal falls, the time runs out for him to learn to love Belle and earn her love in return. If he doesn’t before the last one falls, he’ll be a beast forever.”
Hazel eyes meet mine, and the pull between us is real. I’m the magnet and he’s the steel. I’m fire to his ice.
I want to thread my fingers in the back of his hair and kiss him. I want to slide my nose along his jaw and inhale his rich scent of sandalwood and leather. I want to see the energy swirl around us like the cascades from my torch. We had something…
“Does he make it?”
Blinking quickly, I shake my head. “In the movie he does. Just barely, though. Belle shows up in time to save him.”
His full lips press together, and he frowns up at the sculpture. “What about the non-Disney version?”
“I don’t know. I like the Disney version of the story.”
“Probably best to get the whole truth before believing in fairy tales.” He lowers the netting, dusting his hands together. “I think you’ve got it from here. Let me know if you need any more help.”
“Scout’s coming to help me tomorrow. Thanks, though.” The muscle in his jaw moves, and he seems annoyed by my answer.
I want to ask why. I want to ask what his true story is, but if he said it’s not my business, he’d be right. No more going down that road, no matter how orgasmic it promises to be. We’re keeping this professional.
Chapter 10
Spencer
“Three love boat platters and two pitchers of Natty Light.” Daisy’s high voice rings out over the live reggae band.
It’s Thursday night, and we’re treating the crew to dinner at the Tuna Tiki before our guests roll in tomorrow evening. I lean to the side, speaking in Joselyn’s ear.
“I’m going to the bar. Want a martini?”
Her blue eyes widen, and she grips my arm. “Please. I can’t drink Natural Light.”
Working with Joselyn these last few days has been unexpectedly challenging. Wednesday, she showed up looking like my every pinup fantasy come to life.
Tight jeans cinched her narrow waist, and her red blouse was knotted right under those amazing tits. Every time she moved, I got a teasing glimpse of creamy white skin. Her lips were red velvet, and perched on that ladder, wielding a blowtorch, I almost had to toss her over my shoulder.
Standing beneath a cascade of sparks raining all around us, it was like I’d been snatched into some ancient Greek myth where the gods had decided to have their fun with my resolve.
Today was a different kind of test with Daisy’s husband in the mix.
Unlike his quiet, irascible brother, Scout Dunne is the classic, all-American football golden boy. He oozes charm, which is irritating in its own way, and he and Joselyn spent the day pranking each other and laughing.
From ice down her shirt and his pants—one after the other, I was ready to punch that guy in the nuts, and when I offhandedly noted our guests would be arriving tomorrow afternoon, I’m pretty sure, Joselyn mimicked me behind my back.
If she thinks she’s getting under my skin with these antics…
My confidence in Daisy’s marriage kept me from suggesting he was too much of a distraction. They claimed to be working, and by 6 p.m., the sculptures were ready to be flowered.
At least it’s over now.