Under His Skin. Nicola Marsh
gestured at the walls to emphasise her point but by the glint in his eyes he knew her excuse was BS.
‘Right, the renovations,’ he drawled, sticking his hands into his pockets and following her line of vision around the room. ‘Here’s what I see. You’ll need a complete revamp of the space. New roofing for a start. If you want to keep the glass dome, it’ll need to be double-glazed. But if you want this to be completely soundproof I’d ditch the glass. The flooring will be an easy fix and the walls not too hard either.’
She could listen to him talk all day, his deep voice with the broad Australian accent as intoxicating as the rest of him. His eyes lit up as he explained the renovations, demonstrating true passion for his work.
How would he look indulging in other passions?
When she caught him staring at her oddly again, she quickly cleared her throat. ‘How much?’
‘I’ll outline all the proposed changes and costing in a formal quote I’ll email to you later, but from what I can see, including materials and labour, you’re looking at a ballpark figure of around sixty grand.’
Hope tried to hide her surprise and failed. She wasn’t a complete novice and had obtained quotes from two other companies, both coming in at about half of Logan’s. But a fellow music teacher who also played violin in a major touring orchestra had recommended him to her. Apparently Logan’s company had constructed their rehearsal spaces to a standard higher than that of anything in which her friend had practised around the world and Hope had known then that she had to have him. Renovate, that was. That clarification was important for her howling libido that hadn’t quit since she’d first laid eyes on him.
‘Done.’
His eyebrows shot up and his lips thinned, as if he was clamping them together with all his might to prevent from blurting that she was crazy for accepting his first offer.
‘I’ll settle for nothing less than the best and I know what I want.’ She stepped into his personal space, almost toe to toe, done with him toying with her. Time to regain the upper hand. ‘And I want you.’
LOGAN KNEW HOPE was referring to him doing her precious bloody renovations when she said ‘I want you’ but it took a second or two for his eager cock to catch up with his logic.
He’d been rock-hard since he’d set foot in this room and she’d become animated, like one of those wind-up ballerinas in his mum’s old jewellery box that whirled when wound up.
He’d tried to get a rise out of her several times, to tease her into lightening up, to see what was beneath that frosty exterior.
He hadn’t expected her to turn the tables on him.
She stood too close, some exotic flowery fragrance reminiscent of newly budded roses teasing him to bury his nose in her neck and inhale. Close enough he could feel the heat radiating off her, as if she’d been standing next to a radiator too long. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted and tiny jade flecks glowed in her eyes.
For a second he almost lost it. He imagined backing her up against the nearest wall, flipping up that short kaftan, tearing off her panties and burying himself in deep. Or having her kneel before him, that prim and proper mouth wrapped around him, sucking him off...
‘I accept your offer. When can you start?’
Logan blinked, his X-rated fantasy instantly obliterated by her coolly polite question.
Of course he had to accept the job now, even after throwing out that ludicrously inflated price. He’d done it to see her baulk and had looked forward to bargaining with her. She had a hidden fire beneath the frost and it had come out several times already when she’d returned his quips. He sure as hell hadn’t expected her to agree to it so fast.
But he couldn’t recant now, not without appearing unprofessional, so he nodded. ‘I’ll do the preliminaries and get my team set. We can start Monday if that suits?’
She grimaced. ‘Monday is my busiest teaching day and I don’t want my students disrupted. Can you start Tuesday?’
Usually he called the shots on where and when his crew worked but residual guilt over the exorbitant quote for a fairly routine job made Logan nod. ‘Sure, but you’ll need to reschedule the following Monday, because a job of this magnitude may require two weeks to complete. Plus we need to factor in unforeseen hold-ups like bad weather.’
‘Understood.’ She twisted a strand of hair that had come loose from her elaborate topknot, gnawing on her lip absentmindedly. ‘I knew there’d be some disruption but maybe I’m better off closing and changing all my appointments for the next fortnight.’
He nodded. ‘It would make life easier on us. We take occupational health and safety very seriously and having people around during renovations is a hazard we’d rather avoid.’
‘Okay.’
He eyed her suspiciously, wondering why she sounded so meek, as though the ice princess had melted into a submissive little snowman.
‘I really need this to work,’ she murmured as she headed back towards the room with the instruments, winding that strand of hair tighter around her finger. ‘It has to.’
Intrigued by her glimpse of vulnerability, he followed, stopping only to turn out the lights and close the double doors. He found her slumped on the piano stool, eyeing him with open speculation.
‘I have it on good authority you’re the best at what you do.’
While he didn’t need the validation these days, it was always nice to get praise. ‘My company only takes on a limited number of boutique jobs, meaning we focus on one at a time per city, ensuring quality and attention to detail.’ He shrugged. ‘When you’re the best, word gets around.’
‘So I heard.’ She pinned him with an astute stare. ‘And you charge accordingly, so it seems.’
‘That’s right. Supply and demand.’
Though in this case he was quadrupling his profit margins because he’d been a smart-ass trying to get a rise out of her and it didn’t sit well with him. Too late to back down now.
When she continued to stare at him as if she could see right through his BS, he distracted her by pointing at the instruments. ‘You play and teach all these?’
‘Yes. Viola and double bass too.’
‘Wow, talented.’ The only thing he played was the fool. ‘My music tastes extend to good old country and western, that’s it.’
‘I’m an indie girl myself, hence the recording studio dream.’ She pointed at the closed doors, managing to surprise him once again with her eclectic taste in music.
‘I picked you for classical.’
The corners of her mouth drooped. ‘I’m not some cliché. The indie scene is huge in Melbourne, which is why I want to record my own songs and then branch out into recording other artists.’
Damn, he’d trod on a minefield without meaning to. ‘Sounds admirable.’
‘Are you mocking me?’
Fuck, she really was testy about her music. ‘Not at all.’ He held up his hands. ‘Hey, the only musical talent I have is playing the washboard back in Rally-Doo and even then I was only ever mediocre.’
Her forehead crinkled in confusion. ‘Washboard? Rally-Doo?’
‘It’s a tiny town near Swan Hill, in the middle of nowhere, really, where I grew up.’
Even saying the name made him clear his throat like he’d done as a kid when the summer dust grew so thick it clogged in his nose and the back of his mouth.