The Fox and the Hound

Chapter 1: How the Fox Met the Hound

If there was one thing that was undeniably, unequivocally true, it was that Miranda Fox was having a very bad day. It wasn’t that summer had crept up freakishly early on the quaint New England town in which she lived, making it creep towards eighty degrees at the beginning of April. No, she was getting used to weird weather. And it wasn’t because her job sucked about as much as it was possible for a job to suck, although that was certainly part of it. It wasn’t even Veronica Vespucci, the bitchy bride-to-be on whose wedding pavilion she was working.

No, it wasn’t any one of those things that was making Miranda’s day a living hell. It was all of them combined. She actually didn’t usually mind her job, although painting was sort of an odd profession for someone like her. It wasn’t until she’d gotten hired as part of the group working on the Vespucci-Hanover wedding that her job had started to suck. Miranda had gone to school with Veronica, and she was even bitchier now than she’d been then, if it was possible. Veronica took every possible opportunity to make fun of her current situation.

And no wonder, Miranda thought, glancing around warily as she made her way down the street to her apartment. Not even a car to my name! She couldn’t afford both the car and the apartment, not with the way she was living now. Usually, she got a ride from one of the guys, but tonight she was on her own. I guess chivalry really is dead, Miranda thought, shifting the heavy duffle bag, full of her tools, more comfortably onto her shoulder. I mean, my place isn’t that far out of the way. Then again, most of them were married and wanted to get home to their wives-or more likely, their dinner tables.

There was an alley she passed on her way home. She could hear the faint sound of music from a club not too far from the other side of the alley. Had she known how much more stressful her night was about to get, she might have hurried on by. But Miranda heard a racket from the alley, as though someone was stumbling through a forest of metal trash cans, and paused to look. She jumped back, clamping her lips shut on a shriek of surprise, as a man staggered out of the alley and almost ran right into her.

He had to be one of the most gorgeous men she’d ever seen in her life. However, he was also completely, totally plastered. Dark eyes stared at her from behind a fringe of long, black, rapidly blinking lashes. He had a shaggy mop of black hair that he had to push back from his eyes about twice per minute; it was long enough in the back to tickle the base of his neck. The high cheekbones would have made him look effeminate, but a long, narrow nose balanced that out somewhat.

“Well, hello!” he exclaimed, grinning lazily at her. “What have we here?”

“Someone who’s leaving,” Miranda said, turning on her heel and beginning to walk away.

“Oh, well, that’s just great!” The man’s voice rose, somewhat dramatically. “Another woman is leaving me! Not a one in twenty-four years, and then two in a week!”

Despite her better judgment, Miranda paused and glanced back over her shoulder at him. For a moment, she wondered if that was sorrow she saw in his dark eyes; then it was gone, buried beneath drunken bravado. Stopping had given him a moment to catch up, and he threw an arm around her shoulders, leaning against her heavily. My god, he’s drunk, Miranda thought, turning her face away. Damnit, I should have escaped while I could. She glanced around quickly to see if there was anyone around who would help her if he got rough.

“You know,” the man went on, “I didn’t even like her very much. It’s more the principle of the thing, really.”

“That’s great,” Miranda muttered, trying to get out from underneath him. “Look, Mister, I really don’t have time for this...”

He laughed. “Mister? That’s rich! No one has ever called me that before.” His breath was warm on her neck as he leaned in. “I’m bothering you, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” Miranda answered candidly. She did not like the shiver of delight that crept down her spine when his lips were so close to her skin.

She staggered beneath his weight as he leaned even more heavily against her. Like a sleepy puppy, he rubbed his cheek against her shoulder. Miranda paused and looked down at him uncertainly. Don’t be stupid, she told herself, even as she reached to touch a strand of hair that lay across his cheek. You don’t know him, he’s drunk, you could end up in a lot of trouble. He’d brought this on himself, after all. So why did she feel so bad for him? Miranda couldn’t stand the type of guy who got drunk ... or the type of guy who bragged about how good he was with women. Not good enough, apparently, she thought.

“I don’t feel good,” he said quietly.

“Look, I don’t even know you,” Miranda said, trying to disentangle herself from him. “I ... there’s nothing I can do to help...”

His lips couldn’t have been more than an inch from her neck. “I know,” he murmured. “I’m sorry...”

Oh, damn, Miranda thought. She threw an arm around his waist and gripped him tight; she had to, to be able to pull him along with her. I’ll bring him inside and see if he has a wallet on him, she thought, struggling beneath his weight. Maybe I’ll find a number I can call, someone who can pick him up. If not, she could always call the hospital. Or the homeless shelter. There was simply no way Miranda was letting some drunken guy she didn’t know spend the night in her apartment. This was stupid enough as it was.

As this hour, there were very few people on the street. The few she saw looked at her strangely but made no comment. By the time they were in sight of her apartment, there was no one around, so far as she could see. Lovely, no witnesses, Miranda thought, as she struggled to drag the man toward the stoop, only twenty feet away. At least that means no one will see me if I decide to just drop him here. Aside from leaning against her, he also swayed and hummed faintly.

“What do you do with a drunken sailor?” Miranda sang beneath her breath, even though that didn’t sound even vaguely like what he was humming. “What do you do with a drunken sailor ... what do you do with a drunken sailor early in the morning...”

“Put him in the longboat ‘til he’s sober,” her charge sang back at her, startling her.

I wish I was drunk, she decided, as she hauled him up onto the stoop and to the apartment door. Then I wouldn’t feel so odd, singing along with him. But she did sing with him, since it distracted him long enough to get the key in the lock and open the door. Like a child entranced, he followed her up the stairs, stumbling only a little. By the time Miranda got him into her apartment, she found she wasn’t all that worried about being attacked. The man could barely stand up. He fell down onto her couch as soon as she released his arm and didn’t move.

“You don’t look like you’re going anywhere,” Miranda commented dryly. She planted her hands on her hips and stared down at him.

“Mmmno,” he mumbled, turning his head just enough to look up at her. “Can’t.”

“So if I leave you here for ten minutes, I won’t have to worry?” Miranda asked.

“No worry,” he agreed, his voice slightly slurred. “I mean ... whoever you are ... thank you ... for your kindness...”

Stupidity, Miranda corrected silently. I’m being stupid. Yet she didn’t feel like she was in any danger. And it was beyond a doubt the most foolhardy thing she had ever done, but she left him lying on the couch and went to take a shower. Covered in paint and plaster as she was, she wanted to be clean. But she made it quick, scrubbing herself and washing her hair at top speed. Miranda was still damp when she pulled on her clothes. Her hair hung down past her shoulders, so wet it soaked immediately through her shirt.

Upon her return to the living room, she found, much to her displeasure, that her drunken charge had left the couch. He said he couldn’t move, Miranda thought, worrying at her lower lip as she stepped cautiously around the couch. And like a moron, I believed him. She glanced around for something she could potentially use as a weapon, but she had nothing that would work. My tools, Miranda thought, taking a step towards the bedroom. Unless he’s in there already...

She was not happy to find that he was. Although he didn’t seem ready to attack her or anything; on the contrary, he was draped at the foot of the bed like a giant dog. He must have heard her approach, because his eyes opened and he stared at her.

“What are you doing in here?” Miranda demanded. She folded her arms over her chest and hoped she looked at least a little intimidating.

“You’ve got one hell of an uncomfortable couch,” her charge answered, in a voice that was still slurred.

Miranda smiled sweetly. “What, you don’t like springs poking you in the back? Too bad... get off my bed!”

Maybe I can drag him, she thought, as she approached. He doesn’t look that heavy. As it turned out, he was a bit heavier than he looked, and trying to get him off the bed only landed her on it. Miranda growled in frustration, but the sound died on her lips. Her charge was awake, aware, and reaching for her. For someone so drunk, he moved faster than she would have expected. Suddenly she found herself half pinned beneath him. She pushed at him, but he didn’t budge so easily. I should have known better, Miranda thought, starting to panic. God, this was so, so stupid!

For a while he simply stared at her, his dark eyes blurred from the alcohol. Then he lowered his head, letting it rest against her shoulder. What is he doing? she wondered, shivering as his breath blew warm against her neck. This would be much easier if he wasn’t so ... so ... If she wasn’t attracted to him. Miranda tried to find a place to brace her hands, to try to push him away, but she couldn’t find a good one. She couldn’t really reach his shoulders or chest, and touching him at all made her ... well, she didn’t like to think about what it made her feel.

His lips brushed her neck and she jumped. Get a hold of yourself, damnit, Miranda thought, struggling beneath him. Her mysterious charge was intent upon her neck, teasing the surface of her skin with gentle nips. No way, she thought, just no way. Oh, not that she hadn’t been attracted to men before; just not drunk ones that were slobbering all over her.

“Stop!” Miranda insisted, shoving at him. “Stop it!” His head lifted and those bleary eyes blinked at her. “Stop?”

“Yes, stop,” Miranda repeated. “I didn’t give you permission to maul me!”

Confusion swirled in the dark depths of his eyes. He stared at her for long moments, as if she’d said something in a foreign language that he knew nothing of. She thought he was going to move, but he simply dropped his head back to her shoulder. Grumbling beneath her breath, Miranda pushed at him, trying to get out from beneath him. He merely shifted, moving off of her enough that she could breathe, but keeping an arm around her. As hard as she tried, he wouldn’t budge, and after a few minutes, she realized he’d fallen asleep.

“Oh, lovely,” Miranda muttered, rolling her eyes. “Well, my day is officially complete.”

---

It had been much too late to consider the fact that he might be imposing upon his generous-and currently nameless-hostess. So Chase didn’t feel too bad about getting into the shower while she was still fast asleep. As the hot water ran down his back, he wracked his brain, trying to remember what had happened last night. It was hard, with his head aching as if he’d swallowed a gallon of ice cream whole. He was pretty positive he hadn’t slept with her, since both of them had still had their clothes on. Although she certainly looked like his type.

She was on the tallish side for a woman, probably about five nine. He really liked the look of her. And there was definitely something striking about her hair; it was a rich, dark brown, but he could see a lot of red in it, too. Somewhat plain-faced, but she had a kissable mouth, and Chase got the feeling, judging by those lovely long lashes, that she had nice eyes too. He’d remember sleeping with someone like her, he decided, as he reached up to turn off the shower. There’s no way I’d forget that, no matter how drunk I was.

He supposed he shouldn’t have let it get to him so much. It wasn’t something he was all that torn up about that he should drink himself into a stumbling stupor. It’s the principle of the thing, really, Chase thought, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes and looking around for a towel. Not that it was a terribly healthy relationship to begin with, but at least I was honest. It had bothered him enough when she’d kept him such a secret from her rich, snobby parents; he hadn’t known until last night that she’d really been keeping him a secret from her rich, snobby fiancé. With that feeling of being someone’s dirty little secret multiplied, Chase had decided he’d had enough.

As he came out into the living room, a towel hanging loose and low on his hips, his mystery benefactress came stumbling, bleary-eyed, out of the bedroom. She blinked at him, and he saw he’d been right about her eyes; they were a lovely shade of light brown that reminded him a little bit of walnuts. Groaning, she ran her fingers back through her bed-tangled hair.

“I guess you weren’t some really weird late-night-cold-pizza dream,” she said, frowning. She had a decidedly pouty lower lip that stuck out sulkily when she frowned.

“’Fraid not,” Chase said cheerfully. “I take it you’re not that happy to see me.”

“I’d be happier if you would put some clothes on,” she grumbled, heading past him into the living room.

“You know,” Chase said, “I have never had a woman say that to me. Are you a lesbian?”

She was leaning over, inspecting the contents of her refrigerator when he said it. Straightening, she whirled to face him and planted her hands on her hips. Obviously not amused by that, he thought, grinning. Granted, most people find it rather rude. Chase didn’t care. As far as he was concerned, you could only be offended by something if you let yourself be. So if she got offended, it was her fault, not his. But to his surprise, she simply rolled her eyes, tossed her head, and went back to looking in the fridge. Peeking over her shoulder, Chase saw containers of carrot and celery sticks, cartons of fruit juice and skim milk, even Egg-Beaters, which were utterly disgusting, as far as he was concerned.

“Are you a vegan or something?” he asked.

She elbowed him away. “I like to eat healthy. And for cripes sake, put some clothes on!”

Chuckling to himself, Chase retrieved his clothes from the bathroom and put them on. Ugh, he thought, plucking at his t-shirt. Definitely need to go home and change before work. Ah, work ... another reason he’d drunken himself into a stupor last night. That was the whole reason he’d found out in the first place. As soon as the Bossman told him he’d be working on the Vespucci-Hanover project, Chase had known something was up. But I promised I’d do it before I knew, he thought, running his fingers through his hair to get it out of his eyes. And I can’t go breaking my promises to the Bossman, not with what he’s expecting out of me.

His hostess was in the kitchen, crunching on carrot sticks as she packed lunch into a cooler. Was she that tall in high school? Chase wondered idly, as he watched her dash into her bedroom and come back with her tools. That would have sucked for her... I bet they teased her for it, even though it makes her totally hot. Not that he’d ever been hugely picky; in his opinion, the only women who were unattractive were the ones who were either so overweight or so underweight that it was unhealthy. His hostess might be slender, but who wouldn’t be, living on rabbit food like she did? Chase just didn’t understand people who wouldn’t eat meat.

“Damnit, I’m going to be so late for work,” she muttered, as she reached for the phone. “How the hell am I supposed to get a ride?”

“I can give you one,” Chase told her. He was glad she wasn’t looking at him, because the double entendre made him grin broadly and he thought she just might slap him for it. “As long as we’re not too far from the club I was at last night. I left my truck in the parking lot. If they didn’t tow it.”

She turned to face him and, to his surprise, smiled. “That would be great!” she exclaimed. “We’re not that far at all. Look, if you like, I’ll give you some money for gas and even for breakfast, but we really need to leave now.”

“Not a problem,” Chase told her. “I’m going to be late for work, too. Where do you work, anyway?”

“Oh, you know Eden Park? I’m working on a wedding pavilion there,” she answered.

Hello! Chase thought, his grin widening. Looks like my job just got better in spades. So this little number was on the crew he’d be working with... maybe he ought to thank the Bossman, after all. He picked up her bag of tools, ignoring her scowl, and carried it for her as they headed out of the apartment. Fortunately, it was a relatively short trip to the club from her apartment, and much to his relief, his truck hadn’t been towed. That battered red Ford was a sight for sore eyes, all right. Chase had a motorcycle, too, but generally, he didn’t care what he drove, as long as it got him from point A to point B. It was just that chicks tended to dig the motorcycle much more than the pickup truck. He’d taken the truck last night because he thought he might have to sleep in it, if he ended up too drunk to drive.

He allowed his hostess to give him directions, even though he knew how to get to Eden Park. Chase didn’t want to tell her just yet that he was going to be working with her soon. No, he’d much rather just watch from the corner of his eye as she shifted, crossing those long, sexy legs of hers. She had work boots in her bag, but he noticed she was wearing flip-flops at the moment. And-much to his delight-she had painted toenails and wore things like anklets and toe rings. That was just damn adorable, in Chase’s opinion.

“So, you got a name?” he asked, realizing that she probably wouldn’t like some of the things he’d call her, even if they were meant affectionately.

“Miranda,” she told him, glancing over at him. “Miranda Fox. Folks call me Randy.”

Chase chuckled. “Miranda Fox, huh?” he repeated, grinning. “Now if that doesn’t just beat all. Chase Wolfe, at your service, Randy.”

She surprised him again by laughing. It was a sweet sound, really, and it seemed to break a bit of the tension. Chase was disappointed when they reached Eden Park, and the area where the pavilion was being built. Chances were good that she was going to be pissed at him when she found out that he hadn’t told her he was working with her. It meant I’m going to have to work harder, Chase thought, watching her walk around the truck, if I want to get her to ... Grinning, he leaned out the open window of the truck and watched her walking away.

Miranda paused and glanced back over her shoulder at him. “Take a picture,” she said, scowling, “it lasts longer.”

“Are you giving me permission?” Chase asked, unable to stop himself.

She whirled and came towards him. To his surprise-once again-she leaned against the door of the truck and put her face close to his. “Only if you can pay me really, really well,” she murmured, a teasing smile touching the corners of her mouth.

He couldn’t stop himself. Chase cradled the back of her neck with one hand and pressed his mouth against hers. He’d been right about her having a kissable mouth. That pouty lower lip was soft and she moaned softly when he sucked on it. And here he’d been starting to get the impression that she was a bit of an ice princess. Ice princesses didn’t open their mouths so nicely when he coaxed their lips open with his tongue. Chase kissed her until he could feel her trembling, then pulled back just a bit.

“What don’t you hop back in the truck?” he suggested in a soft, husky voice.

Miranda pushed away from the truck, her cheeks blazing red. “I ... I can’t,” she stammered. “I have to work...”

“Don’t get shy on me now,” Chase teased. “You were really hot just then, you know.”

“I ... I really have to get to work,” she said, taking another step back. “Thanks for the ride...”

She turned and sprinted away, unhampered by her tools and her cooler. Well, that was odd, Chase thought, frowning. Where did that all come from? Well, the guys working on the pavilion would know her, so he could ask them about her. Perhaps she’d just been a bit flustered. He could tell she had a lot of spirit to her. Guess I am a little overbearing at times, he thought, starting the truck up again. Oh well ... better luck next time. Chase was going to get that particular little fox into his bed eventually; no way he was going to let that one get away. But right now he needed an emergency shower and then to get his butt to work.

Chapter 2: Accomplice

It was too bad, Miranda reflected, that Veronica’s parents had convinced her that building her pavilion of wood, rather than marble, would be much more expedient. She wouldn’t have minded having a spare chunk of marble right about now; the carpenters wouldn’t spare any two-by-fours. To say she had been irritated yesterday, when Chase had returned and told her, “Oh, yes, he was working with her now,” might well be the biggest understatement of the century. Because, as Miranda soon found out, some of the guys she worked with had seen her and Chase kissing. And because men, just like women, were unable to resist the urge to gossip, now everyone working on the pavilion knew.

Including Veronica Vespucci, who had shown up today to announce-just when Miranda thought her day couldn’t get any worse-that she would be overseeing the work on the pavilion. Now I have her breathing down my neck on a regular basis, Miranda thought, as she huddled in the shadow of a large pile of wood, quickly downing a bag of grapes. She’ll never let me have all the breaks I need. Because she had to eat every few hours; she was hypoglycemic. And if she didn’t take care of herself, she could end up diabetic. When Miranda’s doctor had first told her he thought she was hypoglycemic, insulin injection had not been as sophisticated as it was now, and the thought of injecting herself every day for the rest of her life had terrified her into behaving.

“Randy!”

Ah, Miranda thought, quickly stuffing the empty plastic bag in the pocket of her overalls. I can hear Ronnie’s dulcet tones now. She stood up, grabbing her tool belt and buckling it around her hips. Mostly she did painting, because that’s what she was best at, but sometimes she was needed for other things. There were two reasons the pavilion was taking so long: one being that it was so humid it was hard to move or even breathe, and two being that they were also carving it to look somewhat like a Greek temple. She just had to have Corinthian Order columns, didn’t she? Miranda thought, wrinkling her nose. Everything has to be extravagant for Veronica Vespucci.

Who was actually wearing a pair of Manolo Blahniks and complaining because she didn’t want to get sawdust on them! Veronica was one of those petite, shapely women with large breasts, a face that didn’t need make-up to be pretty-even though she wore plenty-and dark hair that was never anything other than perfect. In other words, pretty much Miranda’s polar opposite in every single way. Growing up, Ronnie had been the cute, popular girl, and Miranda had been the jolly green giant that was always with her for some reason. At least now she could reflect on just how uncomfortable Veronica must be in this heat, wearing that godawful pink tweed blazer.

“There you are,” Veronica said, in her typical snooty tone. “I’ve been looking all over for you! What is this I hear about you getting cozy with one of the workers?”

Miranda could feel her cheeks turning red. “That ... that wasn’t ... it wasn’t like that!” she stammered. “I mean, there was nothing...”

“Ah, Miranda,” Veronica tsked, shaking her head. “What if your parents found out? What would they say?”

They’d make me go back home, she thought, biting her lip, because the deal was that she couldn’t have any sort of physical relationship. And oh, she was kicking herself for ever agreeing to it. Miranda had always wished she could be more assertive with her parents, but part of the problem was that, back when she’d made the deal with them, she’d really thought what they’d offered was important. Watching Veronica prepare for her wedding made her doubts triple. And Chase ... she could never, ever tell Ronnie the truth about Chase. Miranda must not admit her attraction to him ... even to herself.

“I won’t tell them,” Veronica went on, “if you stay away from him. You’re not allowed to interact with him. And you have to work hard.”

Miranda stared at her. “You can’t just...”

“Yes, I can,” Veronica said, smirking. “Even more, Mr. Ashford told me that he would remove anyone I wished from this project. So if you don’t shape up, you’re out of a job.”

Bitch! Miranda thought, watching Veronica turn and start walking away. Coming from the opposite direction, much to her dismay, was Chase Wolfe. And did he ever look good, in a white wifebeater, with the top half of his coveralls secured around his hips? Maybe that was why Veronica froze like a deer in headlights when she saw him. Miranda couldn’t see her face, but she would have sworn Ronnie had gone pale. Chase smiled his sexy, cheerful smile, pushed his hair back from his face, and waved at her. Finally, Veronica started walking again, albeit rather stiffly. How come I get a lecture, Miranda thought, and he doesn’t? Did she maybe not know it had been Chase who had kissed her?

“Well, hello there,” Chase said, giving her that sexy smile. “Still mad at me?”

“I have to get back to work,” Miranda grumbled, turning away from him. “And yes, I am!”

At least Veronica seemed frightened of him or something, so maybe she wouldn’t make good on her threat. But Miranda didn’t want to risk it, so she started back to her work station, where she was helping to paint some of the finished columns. Unfortunately, Chase followed her like a puppy that couldn’t take no for an answer, asking her questions about the progress they were making. Should he already know? Miranda wondered, glancing at him. Why is he asking me? She reached the column she’d been working on and, ignoring grins from her partners, Hank and Aaron, tried to get back to work.

“So why isn’t this thing finished yet?” Chase asked. He’d grabbed one of Hank’s spare paintbrushes and was helping paint her column.

“Her Majesty changed her mind,” Aaron put in, from Miranda’s other side. “We were originally building it all the way across the park, but then she decided she wanted it here, near the water.”

“We had to tear it down and start all over again,” Miranda added. After all, she couldn’t get in trouble for something related to working ... right? “None of us were too happy about that.”

“Plus,” Hank said, “this isn’t the only thing we’ll be doing. She wants a bridge over the lake. I understand they paid the park a crazy amount of money to let them do it. And smaller pavilions for those who want to eat out of the sun and stuff like that.”

Miranda inched away from Chase as they worked, but he kept getting close to her again. She couldn’t stop herself from watching him from the corner of her eye, though. At first she thought he was right-handed, then he started using his left. And somehow he maintained a conversation with Hank and Aaron, finished a huge section of the column on his own, and still managed to occasionally brush up against her. Talk about multitasking, Miranda thought, shivering as his thigh brushed her hip. Sheesh. I can barely walk and think at the same time!

---

His brother’s apartment always made him feel relaxed. Partially it was the décor, which was his sister Bailey’s specialty. But there was something-or more precisely, someone-there that Chase could relax around, no problem. That was his brother’s girlfriend, Bea, and he was well aware of what that sounded like. She was totally gorgeous, too, but she and Ethan had been officially a couple for almost a year now. Besides, as soon as Chase had realized that his brother was actually attracted to a woman, for the first time in years, she’d become completely off-limits in his mind. And as it turned out, he and Bea had become really good friends over the last half year or so.

“Why me?” Bea was asking him, as she moved around the kitchen, getting out plates and silverware. “Why not Xandri?”

Chase reached for the dessert dish he’d brought-full of whipped cream and chocolate pudding-and pulled off the plastic covering it. “Because you won’t put up with any of Ethan’s crap if he protests. Xandri is about one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met, but she lets Quinn get away with too much.”

“That’s because he’s fantastic in bed,” Bea said, her voice nonchalant, but a grin tugging at her lips. She set down plates on the counter. “I don’t usually do weddings.”

“The pay will be great,” Chase assured her, as he spooned his creation out onto two plates. “Plus, you can help me with something.”

Bea’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, I can, can I?”

Chase grinned. Sometimes he thought it was really too bad he had an older brother, because Bea was the kind of woman he thought that maybe, just maybe, he could fall in love with. She wasn’t like most people, always trying to cover up the fact that she wasn’t perfect. No, she was very honest about herself, and somehow she’d gotten Ethan to be more honest about himself, too. Chase had always looked up to Ethan, because he’d taken care of them for as long as he could remember, in lieu of his parents, but for the first time in his life, he actually really liked his brother.

“You help me,” Chase said, “and I won’t tell Ethan what you said about Quinn being good in bed.”

“Ethan won’t believe you,” Bea said, tossing her head sassily. She grinned. “But what is it you want help with, anyway?”

“There’s this girl...” Chase began.

Bea smacked him with a dishtowel. “I am not helping you seduce some poor, defenseless young woman!” She swatted him again for good measure. “Besides, I wouldn’t think you’d need any help.”

Chase sighed. He knew Bea was only teasing him, but he could feel a bit of a headache coming on. Okay, not that he wasn’t going to try to seduce Miranda, because he most certainly was. How could he possibly resist, what with her and her painted toenails and her toe rings and all? So he explained to Bea about the night before last. As he was talking, Chase almost thought he saw a hint of his brother’s disapproval in her eyes when he mentioned how drunk he’d been. However, when he made an offhand comment about Miranda’s toe rings, Bea burst out laughing.

“Wouldn’t have picked you for a foot fetishist,” she teased. “Okay, so what exactly do you want to do? I mean, aside from sleep with her.”

Chase grinned wryly. “I’m not sure. But I just want to thank her somehow for taking me in like that, because she certainly didn’t have to. And I was so drunk, I fell asleep and wouldn’t let her go.”

“And she doesn’t think this is a gift enough?” Bea asked, trying very hard not to grin.

“No, she’s got to make things difficult,” Chase replied, in mock defeat. “She’s ... complex.”

When he’d been kissing her the other day, Miranda had been ... hot. He’d really thought she would get back in the truck with him, but the way she’d reacted when he’d suggested it confused him. Everything about her confused him. She blew hot and cold, one minute annoyed at him for being a pervert, the next moment teasing him back. Chase knew he felt her lean into him when he brushed against her, but sometimes when he handed her a paintbrush, she jerked her hand back if their fingers touched. The mixed signals she was sending were frustrating.

And he must have been a glutton for punishment, because that frustration was hot. He knew he wasn’t just imagining the sexual tension between them, because some of the guys had commented on it. And Aaron, who was one of the oldest of the bunch, had informed Chase just what parts of his body would be broken if he tried anything with Miranda. They were all fond of her, it seemed, at least those who worked on the painting and the instruction. The wood carvers were much too busy to ever talk to anyone.

“I’d like to meet this girl,” Bea said, setting aside her spoon. “Anyone who puts you into this much of a tizzy is definitely worth meeting.”

Chase snorted. “I’m not in a tizzy. I’m horny. There’s a difference.”

“Not for you, there isn’t,” Bea said, grinning at him. “It doesn’t matter what emotion you’re feeling, horny goes along with it.”

Sadly, he really couldn’t argue.

---

One more day, Miranda thought, and then it’s my day off. Thank God! Working side by side with Chase was an exercise in frustration. Worse, she’d been distracted all day because her mother had called last night. The panic she’d felt when she’d heard her mother’s voice had almost made her faint. Fortunately-or perhaps unfortunately-her mother had only tried to convince her to come home. Miranda had no intention of doing so, not when there was a nice doctor her mother wanted her to meet in the bargain.

It’s funny, she thought, squinting to see the portion of column near the bottom that she was working on. What I was hoping for when I left home was some sort of tumultuous love affair or something. Something interesting. Instead, I was only allowed to leave home so long as I didn’t have one. That was Miranda’s biggest problem. And now here she was, spending every day with Ronnie breathing down her neck, and the world’s hottest guy trying his damnedest to get to know her. The thing was, Chase could be very nice, very funny, and he was way too much fun to hang out with.

Where is he, anyway? she wondered, setting down her paintbrush and standing up. It was about time for her grape break, too. There was no real reason why she should care about where he was, except a part of her was kind of enjoying all of the attention. Miranda was a little quiet and shy in high school because she’d been a tall, flat-chested outcast, but things had changed during college, and she found she wasn’t so much of a wallflower as she’d thought. Okay, she thought, rubbing her forehead, I think this deal I made with Mom and Dad has caused me to be seriously sexually repressed.

She was looking around for a place to hide while she had her grape-break when she finally spotted Chase. He was, unfortunately, talking to Ronnie, and he had the most gorgeous woman standing next to him. A petite redhead with hair just as perfect as Ronnie’s, in a wild sort of way, and a figure that probably had guys dropping at her feet. She has to be his girlfriend, Miranda thought, watching them talk. But wait ... didn’t he say she broke up with him?

“Don’t look so sad, Randy,” Hank called, from up on a scaffolding, where he was painting the top of a column. “You’ve still got me.”

Miranda tossed her head back and looked up at him, shading her eyes against the sun. “I do not! You’ve already said your wife cooks like a dream. I can’t even boil water!”

Hank’s laughter followed her as she started off in the direction of the water cooler. Veronica might be able to keep her from her snack breaks, but she could not keep her from staying hydrated. Besides which, she had headed off in the opposite direction, going around the lake. And Chase and his redhead were coming towards Miranda. Now that she looked, she noticed that the redhead was carrying a camera case. Hey ... she thought, I’ve seen her before! Just a few months ago, local fashion photographer Beatrice Johansen had been the subject of her own article in She, the magazine she freelanced for. Miranda was not a big magazine reader, but she’d gotten roped into a spa trip with her mother and sister, and had read the magazine while her hair was trying.

“Hey there,” Chase said, when he reached her. He was smiling that smile that made his dark blue eyes glitter.

The redhead rolled her eyes and smiled at Miranda. “I’m Bea,” she said, confirming her suspicions. “His brother’s girlfriend. Which is why I’m agreeing to work for that witch, and the only reason.”

“And because I’m cute,” Chase put in, flashing his puppy dog look. “Don’t forget that one.”

“Yes, yes, because you’re cute,” Bea said, sighing. “Come on.”

Leaving Chase bewildered, Bea took her by the arm and led her away. Miranda was pretty bewildered herself. She looked over her shoulder as Bea pulled her away and found Chase obediently staying where they’d left him. These days, life is moving so fast, she thought, it’s amazing I haven’t gotten whiplash. Maybe it was a good thing. Miranda had been so busy and confused lately that she hadn’t had any time to think about the fact that her parents were becoming more and more persistent in getting her home.

Bea didn’t say much as they walked towards the pavilion. Miranda was a bit irked to see that there were some women-friends of Veronica’s, much to the irritation of everyone hanging around the workers. However, Bea ignored everyone and walked straight up to one of the columns. Some of the women started whispering when they saw her, apparently recognizing her from the magazine article, but she paid no attention whatsoever. I like her already, Miranda decided.

“This whole thing is stupid,” Bea said suddenly, startling her. “The extravagance... when will people learn? Less is always more.” She paused, half-turned to Miranda, and grinned. “Well, in most cases, at least.”

Miranda colored a bit. “I uh... um,” she stammered, “uh, did you want to talk to me or something?”

“Guess I was just curious,” Bea explained, smiling. “It’s a long story. So, you seem to really like Chase.”

“What?” Miranda stared at her. “No, I... I mean... no! He’s a pain in the ass, I... well, I guess he’s all right sometimes but...”

Bea laughed. “Okay, that sounds about right,” she said. “Well, I suppose I’m being a bit of a traitor, but I feel it’s my duty to warn you that he wants to sleep with you.”

“Funny,” Miranda said wryly, “he kind of gave me the impression that he wants to sleep with anyone female between the ages of eighteen and forty.”

“Very perceptive of you,” Bea said, grinning. “Well, since you’ve been working on this thing, and you’re the only other person on the crew without unfortunate levels of testosterone, I’ve got a special job for you.”

Me? Miranda thought. A fashion photographer wants my help? Bea paused beside a finished column and reached into the pocket of the cargo shorts she was wearing. She pulled out a folded slip of paper which turned out to be a spare diagram of the park. The pavilion and all the other buildings they were creating for the wedding were drawn on there. Confused, Miranda took the piece of paper from Bea and stared at it.

“The amount of money they’re paying me is insane,” Bea said. “So I’m going to do this right. Which means figuring out the very best way to get the wedding pictures, since she wants them taken outside.”

“And what does this have to do with me?” Miranda asked, confused.

“I’ll be coming out about twice a week,” Bea replied. “And I want you to accompany me while I walk.”

Miranda frowned. “Why not have Chase do it?”

Bea didn’t answer that. She took the piece of paper back and stuffed it in her pocket, then walked away. A short distance away, she paused, looked over her shoulder, and waved, then continued on. Just like Ronnie, Miranda thought, to get a famous fashion photographer to take her wedding pictures. Although ... it had been Chase who had brought her, right? What is he playing at? she wondered, catching a glimpse of him bidding farewell to Bea. For that matter ... what are they both playing at?

Chapter 3: Chase to the Rescue

Most people thought Chase liked being the center of attention in a group of women, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. This was false; in a group of very rich, very snobby women, he just wanted to be not there. Veronica may not have so much as looked at him since he’d begun working on the pavilion, but all of her friends liked to look at him. And touch him. And flirt with him. They were driving all the workers crazy, of course, not just him, but Chase was one of the few of them that wasn’t married or at least attached. It was pretty sad, since it was the first time in his life that he did not want women fawning over him.

Except for one woman, who was currently too busy painting a column and wiggling her cute toes to the music in her Discman to notice him. She was color-coordinated today, with a silver and blue anklet, silver toe rings, and blue nail polish. Too cute, Chase thought, watching her from the corner of his eye. Oh my god, she has got to stop wiggling her toes like that. Okay, maybe Bea was right. Maybe he was a little too taken with Miranda’s feet. Although he was pretty sure that toe rings and nail polish and such were more of a personality thing rather than a physical thing.

“Randy,” he said, when he saw her take her headphones off. “Hey, Randy.”

“Leave me alone, Chase,” Miranda grumbled, setting her Discman aside and pushing herself to her feet. “I’m not in the mood for your crap right now.”

Chase blinked. “I was only going to ask if you were done with that paint tray...”

What’s with the crankiness all of a sudden? Chase wondered. I thought I was behaving myself. He watched Miranda walk away, towards the wood pile she liked to hide behind, and frowned when he noticed that her gait was unsteady. Leaving his paintbrush in the tray, he got up and followed her. She didn’t seem to notice him, and when she got behind the woodpile, she practically collapsed. Alarmed, Chase crouched down beside her and reached for her. Miranda shook him off. She hung her head, holding it in her hands.

“Randy, what’s wrong?” Chase asked, keeping his voice quiet. “Are you sick?”

“I’m fine,” Miranda mumbled. “Just a little dizzy...”

Frowning, he took a quick look around. It was hot, but he’d seen her go to the water cooler plenty of times, so that wasn’t it. It’s amazing she gets to do that much, Chase thought, with Ronnie breathing down her neck all the time. Miranda hadn’t even gone with them when he and the guys had taken their lunch break an hour ago. Wait a minute, he thought, looking down at her again. I think I know what this is. Sydney had the same problem; and she got just as grouchy, too.

“When was the last time you ate?” Chase demanded, giving her a little shake to get her attention. “Randy!”

“This morning!” she snapped, slapping his hands away. “Before work. Now leave me alone! I’ll be fine in a few minutes.”

“Liar,” Chase shot back.

He was on his feet before she could say anything, although he doubted she could muster up the strength. It just so happened-and he knew this for a fact-that Miranda had been scheduled to start working at seven this morning. This is all because of Veronica, Chase thought, as he raced across the grass, towards a cluster of plastic tables set up some distance from the construction site. She isn’t happy unless she’s able to make someone else miserable.

Fortunately, Chase had been the best track runner in high school-they’d won a number of meets, due to him-and he could move fast. The bridge wasn’t finished yet, so he had to run all the way around the lake, then to the tables. It was at these tables, shaded with large umbrellas, that Veronica and her friends sat when they weren’t pestering the workers. It was the first time-and likely to be the last-that he found himself running towards it rather than away. Because Ronnie and her friends kept food at the table pretty much the whole time they were there, and Chase knew that was what Miranda needed.

They all looked up, startled, as he skidded to a halt before the table. Chase zeroed in on a young blonde, who had frozen with a large bran muffin halfway to her mouth when she saw him. Judging by the occasional disapproving glance thrown her way, the poor thing was likely in over her head with this woman. Snobby rich women were not supposed to just take bites out of muffins the way normal people did. And, Chase noted, she had one of those little plastic, sealed cups of orange juice-no doubt something her companions found tacky. He swooped down upon her, flashed her his most charming smile, and scooped up the orange juice and muffin.

“Mind if I take these?” he asked, making an attempt to at least seem polite.

He didn’t expect her to protest, but he’d misjudged the power of peer pressure. Beneath the contemptuous stares of her fellows, the young woman stammered out, “Can ... can you pay for them?”

Around her the other women tittered. Chase had to admit, that was a pretty lame thing to say, but they didn’t have to laugh at the poor thing. Only Veronica was quiet, and that was because she was determinedly not looking at him. Irritated now, even with this little blonde chit who couldn’t think for herself, he leaned over and gave her what payment he could provide: a kiss. Not a very intimate kiss, like the one he’d given Miranda-this woman didn’t deserve a fraction of that passion-but enough to leave the blonde giddy and speechless. Chase smiled at her, doubting she would see his distaste, and turned to run back to Miranda.

Temperamental and stubborn she might be; and those were some of her good points, it was true. But Miranda wasn’t the type to let a table full of snobby, Prada-wearing, caviar-eating wenches control her. Okay, Chase thought, as he raced around the edge of the lake, not most snobby, Prada-wearing, caviar-eating wenches. Only one, and that one is threatening her job. He came to a halt behind the wood pile, where he found Miranda the way he’d left her, with her head in her hands. Chase dropped unceremoniously onto the ground next to her.

“Okay, Randy,” he said, setting down the juice container and tearing off a piece of muffin. “Look at me.”

She lifted her head and glowered at him from beneath a curtain of dark, reddish-brown hair. Miranda opened her mouth to say something, and he took that glorious opportunity to stuff a piece of muffin between her lips. Her pale brown eyes blazed and narrowed on him, but she chewed obediently. Holding the muffin in one hand, Chase picked up the juice container and opened it with his teeth. Better than holding it with my feet and opening it with my hand, he thought, ignoring her raised eyebrows. He handed over the orange juice and watched her-much like a matronly old nursemaid, he fancied-while she sipped it.

“Feeling a little better?” Chase asked, as she chewed on another piece of muffin.

“Much, actually,” Miranda answered, her grumpiness mostly fled. “Even though I can’t stand orange juice and I loathe bran muffins.”

Chase gasped in mock outrage. “No matter what I do, it isn’t ever enough! Forgive your humble servant, Majesty, he wished only to please you.”

“So I noticed,” Miranda said, her eyes sparkling with barely suppressed laughter. “The way you went rushing off like that, as if I was going to die or something...”