Authors: Erin Dutton
Tags: #(v5.0), #Fiction, #Contractors, #Lesbian, #LGBT, #Romance
Designed for Love
Jillian Sealy and Wil Johnson don’t much like each other but they do have to work together, at least long enough to rehab an historic house.
Jillian Sealy is not running away from her life, she’s seizing a business opportunity. That’s what she tells herself when she moves to a rural Tennessee town to flip a nearly century-old house. But the project gets a bit more interesting when she meets her devastatingly attractive contractor, Wil Johnson. When Jillian seems to think she has Wil all figured out from nearly their first meeting, Wil wants nothing to do with her. Wil has spent most of her life being underestimated by her neighbors because of where she came from, and she’s not about to get involved with a big-city snob who does the same.
Forced to cooperate for the sake of the project, Jillian and Wil find that what they desire most is not what either of them had planned.
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By the Author
Sequestered Hearts
Fully Involved
A Place to Rest
Designed for Love
Designed for Love
by
Erin Dutton
2008
Designed for Love
© 2008
By Erin Dutton. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN
10: 1-60282-038-4E
ISBN
13: 978-1-60282-038-8E
This electronic book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.,
Po Box
249
Valley Falls, New York
12185
Original Bold Strokes Books Ebook Editon: November
2008
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editors: Shelley Thrasher
Production Design: Stacia Seaman
Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])
Acknowledgements
As always, thanks to Radclyffe for your leadership and for each opportunity to tell a new story. Shelley Thrasher, I never thought I could describe the editorial process as painless, but with you, on this project, it was pretty darn close.
In this, my fourth book, I want to thank Toni, Dana, and Jeanne—for always being willing to talk out story lines, read whatever I ask them to, and offer honest opinions.
Dedication
To Gertrude,
because there wouldn’t be a George without you.
Chapter One
Jillian Sealy climbed out of her BMW, tugging at her short skirt as it rode up her thigh. She flipped her sunglasses onto her head and dubiously studied the establishment in front of her. The building had definitely seen better days. Avocado green paint had long ago started peeling off the wood siding, and from the grime on the windows, she guessed it had been years since they were washed. The sign above the door read Johnson & Son Construction.
After only two days in Redmond, a small town in east Tennessee, she could almost picture the beefy rednecks who worked inside. She pulled on the hem of her skirt again and glanced down at her white silk blouse and black Tahari jacket to ensure she wasn’t revealing too much cleavage. She wasn’t in the mood to compete with her breasts for the men’s attention.
“Well, let’s get this over with,” she muttered. As she crossed the gravel lot she cursed the thin layer of dust that settled on her Jimmy Choo sling backs.
When she stepped inside the front door the occupants didn’t disappoint her. Three men in jeans and flannel shirts looked her way, and she could practically feel their gaze drop down her body.
“May I help you, ma’am?” The bravest of them took off his ball cap and stepped forward. At least he had manners.
“I’m looking for Mr. Johnson.”
A bald man wearing a chambray shirt with
Johnson & Son
embroidered on the left pocket entered through a door at the right and said, “Well, you’ve found him.”
“I’m Jillian Sealy. We spoke on the phone.”
“Yes, Miss Sealy, come into the office.” He indicated the door he still stood in front of and waited while she entered ahead of him.
“As I told you on the phone, Mr. Johnson, I’ve recently inherited Mary Connor’s house. I intend to fix it up and sell it, and I’ll need a contractor.” She’d been surprised to learn that her great-aunt had left her the house. But it had offered the perfect reason to get out of Cincinnati. She’d barely hesitated before packing up and driving south.
“Please, call me Bud. My sympathies on your loss, ma’am. I did plenty of work for Mrs. Connor over the years. If you hire us, I’ll send my kid’s crew. They’re my best.”
She’d found the listing for Mr. Johnson’s company in Aunt Mary’s address book. Now that she’d met him, she was even more confident she’d made the right call. Bud Johnson struck her as an honest, hardworking man.
Thirty minutes later, after she’d finished outlining her plans for the house, Bud gave her a good-faith estimate.
“I think we’ve got a deal, then,” she said, extending her hand, and he shook it firmly.
“Good. I’ll send Wil over when it’s convenient for you so you can review your plans.”
*
The next morning Jillian sat in the front-porch swing making notes on her plans for the house. It was turning into a pleasant day, warm with just enough of a breeze to ruffle the leaves of the large sycamore. She made a note to have a tree service prune the sprawling branches so the house would be more visible from the street.
“Miss Sealy?”
Jillian looked up and her breath caught in her throat. The powerfully built woman standing at the bottom of the steps regarded her with eyes the color of light sapphires. Her black hair swept back from her face in thick waves and barely brushed the collar of her denim jacket. Her white T-shirt was tucked into jeans so well worn the denim looked as soft as flannel. Deeply tanned skin stretched over wide cheekbones.
Jillian realized the woman was still waiting for her to speak. “Yes?”
“I’m Wil. You met with my father yesterday. He told me you were expecting me.” Jillian sensed a raw edge in Wil, yet the sensuous alto with a lilting accent seemed oddly gentle.
“Yes.” She recovered a bit of her composure. “Yes. I’m sorry. It’s Johnson and Son—I guess I was thrown.”
“Actually, the original ‘Johnson’ was my grandfather. My father didn’t have any sons, but when he took over he didn’t want to change the name.” Wil shoved her hands in her pocket and the motion tugged her jeans lower, accentuating her narrow hips.
“I’m sorry, I’m being rude. Can I get you anything to drink?” Jillian forced her eyes to Wil’s face.
“No, ma’am.”
Jillian laughed. “Lord, save me from Southern hospitality. Please don’t call me ma’am.”
“Yes, Miss Sealy.”
“It’s Jillian.”
Wil smiled, revealing a small gap between otherwise perfect teeth. “Okay. Jillian.”
“Let’s get started, then,” Jillian said, more abruptly than she’d intended. The gentle way Wil’s low voice caressed her name was distracting and she needed to get back on track. “Would you like a tour while I explain what I have in mind?”
“Sure.”
“Well, for starters, I plan to do some of the smaller projects myself, like replacing the boards on this porch and giving it a fresh coat of paint. So I’ll just need you to handle the larger issues while I’m working on those.” She had decided on projects she could do herself so she could spend more money on the quality touches that would maximize her profit when she sold.
“That’s fine. So we’ll just do what you need us to and then you can finish up your tasks.”
“Actually, I’d planned on doing the work simultaneously.”
“What’s your hurry?”
“If we finish quickly I can get it on the market sooner.”
“My crew isn’t used to working with the homeowner underfoot.”
“Well, then I’ll try not to be
underfoot.
” Jillian’s tone purposely indicated that there would be no argument. “Let’s start in the dining room.”
Aware that she’d just been put in her place, Wil climbed the steps to the front porch that spanned the width of the house. The exterior needed paint, but the buttery yellow shade wouldn’t be Wil’s first choice.
After automatically assessing the outside of the house, Wil turned her attention to her new client. She couldn’t see Jillian’s eyes behind her sunglasses, but finely arched brows had lifted in surprise as she’d first looked at Wil. She couldn’t even guess how much Jillian spent on products to make her skin look so soft and flawless. Wil didn’t see any of the lines that marred her own face.
She glanced at the waistband of Jillian’s jeans where her neatly pressed button-down shirt was tucked in, revealing the expected designer label. As her gaze drifted farther down, she wondered if it was the expensive jeans that made Jillian’s ass appear so perfect. In just minutes, she’d pegged Jillian as high-maintenance and, though incredibly attractive, probably far too uptight for Wil’s liking.
They entered the house and passed through the foyer into the dining room. Wil noted the pocket doors set in the ornately carved woodwork. She tested one, satisfied to feel it glide out smoothly.
“In here, there’s just that bit of molding that needs to be fixed.”
“That shouldn’t be a big deal.”
Jillian stepped into the kitchen and turned, causing Wil to stop quickly. At least six inches shorter, Jillian tilted her head back to meet Wil’s eyes. “I also need to have the wiring inspected in the entire house. Can you recommend an electrician?”
“We’ve got a guy we usually use. I can give him a call or I can get you his number.” Jillian had removed her sunglasses and Wil could now see that her irises were green, with flecks of gold. Realizing that she was staring into Jillian’s eyes, Wil dropped her gaze. But that was a mistake as well, since the three buttons open on Jillian’s shirt revealed the curve of her breasts. Wil’s stomach clenched and she curled her fingers into her palms to quell the sudden urge to trace them inside the edge of Jillian’s shirt.