LITMIR.BIZ

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He turned toward the sound of the voice. A good-looking middle-aged woman in a crisp navy-blue suit and pale pink blouse approached him.

       “Hi, I’m looking for Ms. Lawson. We have an appointment.”

       “You must be Mr. Jackson.”

       “Yes.”

       She smiled. “I’m Phyllis. Dominique is expecting you. Let me show you to her office.”

       They walked around the racks of clothing to the back of the showroom and then down a narrow hallway. The walls were lined with framed photographs of women in a variety of settings and outfits.

       “Those are pictures of our ladies,” Phyllis said by way of explanation. “Most of them are single mothers getting back to work, or women who had been incarcerated and are starting life over again. Some are high school seniors that needed a prom dress. I was one of them,” she added.

       Trevor didn’t try to guess which category she fell into.

       Phyllis stopped and knocked on a closed door.

       He faintly heard a voice from the other side say to come in.

       Phyllis turned the knob and opened the door. “Mr. Jackson is here.”

       “Thanks, Phyllis,” Dominique said from behind the frame of her computer screen. “Make yourself comfortable, Mr. Jackson,” she said and continued typing. “I’ll be right with you.”

       Phyllis eased out and Trevor stepped inside. He took a quick survey of the small, totally feminine office and crossed the room to view the framed photographs on a chrome wall unit.

       He’d seen pictures of the Lawson family in the newspapers and on television for years that spotlighted the high-class parties, the politics, the weddings and even the scandals that swirled around the oldest son. He’d had some doubts about bidding on the job. He’d had his share of rich folk and their “issues,” their demands and fickleness. It was his business partner, Max Hunt, who finally convinced him that it was worth doing. The work that the organization did—according to its brochure—fit into Trevor and Max’s sense of service to the community. Although he preferred to work in low-income neighborhoods and help the families in the 9th Ward rebuild, this would be his one corporate project for the year.

       Dominique swerved her chair from in front of her computer screen and slammed her knee into the desk when she caught her first glimpse of Trevor’s broad back, lean waist and tight behind. White-hot pain shot up from her knee and exploded into tiny stars in her head. She gripped the edge of the desk and bit down on her lip to keep from screaming.

       But the real cause of the heat that flooded her cheeks and set her heart racing was when Trevor looked over his shoulder at the sound of the collision.

       For a moment, she couldn’t think beyond the pain in her knee and the vision before her. Trevor Jackson was not the stumpy, balding, cigar-chewing, dirty-under-the-fingernails contractor that she’d expected. He was an Idris Elba look-alike, with the build and piercing dark eyes to cinch the deal. If he opened his mouth and out spouted the King’s English, she was done. His right eyebrow lifted and she only wished her lashes were as naturally thick as his.

       Concentrating on standing up without wobbling on her aching knee, she made it to her feet as he turned fully around. Her stomach fluttered.

       “Mr… .” Her mind went blank.

       “Jackson.”

       She forced a smile and wondered if she looked as suddenly unnerved as she felt. “Yes, sorry. Mr. Jackson. I’ve seen so many people this morning.”

       Trevor let the comment go. Maybe she got a very early start, seeing that it was barely after nine. Either that or she was no different from the rest of the elite that he’d dealt with in the past who didn’t care enough to know the names of the people that they employ.

       Dominique’s knee was pulsing in time to the thudding in her chest. She finally had the presence of mind to extend her hand in his direction. And what did she do that for?

       Trevor’s large work-roughened hand enveloped hers. His long fingers wrapped around her palm and gently squeezed.

       Heat sluiced through her veins, filled her body, loosened her inner thighs and made her tiny pearl stiffen and twitch.

       He was a full head above her, even in her heels, and she was forced to look up at him to make contact with eyes that were framed with thick lashes and orbs that were inky black, almost bottomless. There was a slight squint to his gaze as if he was staring into sunshine.

       “Is it okay if I sit down?”

       Damn, was she staring? Only the flickering light of good home training kept her from snatching her hand away. “Of course.” She smiled and extended her scorched hand in the direction of the couch and briefly shut her eyes the instant he turned his back and willed herself to get it together—and grabbed the folder with his paperwork.

       He would never know how stiff her knee was becoming the way she managed to catwalk across the short space to join him in the cozy seating area. She opted for the club chair and slowly eased down into the plush comfort of the seat. Her knee was on fire.

       Trevor leaned back against the plump cushions and draped his arm across the back of the couch. The rolled up sleeves of his tan chambray shirt revealed the tight tendons of his arms and he looked quite comfortable, as if sitting in her office relaxed and nonplussed was something he did regularly.

       Dominique ran her tongue across her dry bottom lip and then opened the folder that was on her lap. “So…” She glanced across at him and forgot what she was going to say.

       “Yes?” The corner of his mouth flicked.

       Dominique adjusted herself in her chair and switched her focus to the papers in front of her. “Well, as you know, my organization has plans to expand. We recently purchased the two floors above us and I need them converted into work space, well classrooms, a library and a resource center.”

       “Right.”

       He wasn’t going to make this easy. “I’ve received dozens of proposals but yours met all of our criteria.”

       He nodded.

       Dominique swallowed. “If you’re still interested, we can discuss terms and when the work can get started.”

       “I’d like to see the space.”

       “Of course.” She started to stand and winced at the pain in her knee. She gripped the side of the chair.

       Trevor was halfway to her side. “You okay?” He almost grabbed her but caught himself.

       She bobbed her head. “Fine.” She pushed herself to a standing position. “I’ll show you the space.” She led the way out of her office, toward the back of the building and around to the side entrance that led to the upper floors.

       Dominique gripped the wobbly wooden banister and gritted her teeth as she mounted the stairs. She was going to need some ice and not just for her aching knee.

      * * *

       Trevor dutifully followed Dominique up the stairs, trying to keep his mind on the steps and not the gentle sway of Dominique’s hips or the curve of her legs or the soft scent that she trailed in her wake. Fortunately, they wouldn’t have too much contact. Once work began he couldn’t imagine a woman like Dominique Lawson being in the mix of dust, buzz saws and sweaty men.

      Chapter 3

      Dominique opened the door onto the first floor that had once upon a time been an apartment.

       “Here we are.”

       Trevor took in the space. The wood floors were warped and coming up in spots and some of the boards were missing. It was clear that there had been major water damage from the stains on the ceiling and the buckling walls. The kitchen would have to be ripped

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