Page 14 of Sexy as Sin
She leaned her upper body against the rock, looked out to sea, wiped her face once more, and said, “Right, then. Tell me. Sell me.”
He hesitated, then went on. They were here. Why not? “Down there,” he said, motioning down the semi-steep hillside, “at the lower boundary of the property, you start with townhouses. Condos, but each one on two levels, so everybody gets their view. Lots of glass, lots of white, very clean lines. Pleasing. On the uphill side, you’ve got a lap pool, a big one, for the whole development, and you plant all around it. You’re adding some space to the uphill neighbors’ sight lines that way. Nothing too tall, nothing that interferes with the views, but all the good stuff. Palms. Yellow, uh...” He waved a hand. “Pretty flowers. Delicate. Yellow and white. Like stars.”
“Frangipani,” she said. “Also jacaranda, dwarf ones if you don’t want to go tall. Dark purple blossoms, fast growing, and the most beautiful tree in the world. Hibiscus, too. Vines.”
“Vines,” he agreed. “On a stone wall. Jasmine, and whatever that was you had around your back door. Something around here always smells sweet, and it’s not just you. A waterfall wall planted with ferns, that sort of thing. Running water, lots of green and lots of flowers, a shady oasis. And open space between the buildings. There’ll be a ring path, too, that takes you around the edge of the entire development, winding through more plantings. You leave as many of the big trees as you can, plant shade-loving things underneath them, make it look natural and wild. Jogging path, walking path. You’re not in a walled complex, you’re in a community.”
“Hmm.” It was noncommittal, but she wasn’t looking quite as shaky, so there was that.
“Above that,” he said, “you have the quarter-acre parcels. You have preferred builders, but you give people as much latitude as you can for their designs. And at the top, the big parcels. Same idea. More space. Premium. Nothing on the ridgeline. It all fits into the landscape, that’s the idea. It’s harmonious.”
She was silent for a moment, then asked, “What if they don’t want to design a whole house? Not everybody does.”
“Hmm. Good point. Do you?” He was leaning against the ledge himself, resting on his elbows, looking out to sea. Now, he turned his head to look at her. Hair trying to escape its knot, face still flushed with effort and heat. He wished he’d found her a hat.
“Oh, yeah.” Her tone was nothing but wry. “I’ve been designing my dream house since I was twelve. For what that’s worth.”
“When you came to Australia to live with your aunt and uncle.”
“Do you remember everything people say?”
“Generally. It’s useful. It’s usually not a burden. I like people.”
“How about when you don’t?”
“Then it’s even more useful.” Her past was off-limits, he guessed. “But you’re right. Not everybody wants to design a house. We’ll have sample plans that they can customize. I’d love to show them to you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve been designing your dream house since you were twelve, maybe. Because you took those photos on your wall, and I think you painted those tables, and you arranged that food to look beautiful, and for the tastes to... go together, or whatever tastes do. You understand harmony, and you think outside the box. You see what’s around you, and you do more than that. You notice how things smell, how they sound, how they taste. You use all your senses, and you can put your finger on exactly what makes this spot so special.”
“Flattery will get you... well, nowhere,” she said. “Considering that you don’t even want me on your couch.”
“I want you on my couch. Right now?” He looked into her green eyes, shadowed now with fatigue, anddidn’tbrush back the curls that clung damply at her temples, because he wasn’t invited. Not anymore. “I want that fairly desperately.”
Something changed in her face, and she said not a word. Finally, he said, “And much as I’d love to say more about that, we should probably get back. It’s hot, and we’re both still working. Let me go down first, so I can give you a hand if you need one.” She eyed him a little sardonically, and he started down-climbing the rock, thought back over what he’d said, and had to laugh. “Yeah,” he said, perched a few feet below her. “One of us fought off a shark today. One of us surfed. Neither of those was me. Come on. Leave me my masculine illusions.”
She smiled. Finally. “Go on, then. Show me how it’s done. Impress me again. Make me sorry.”
It startled him, or it didn’t. He put his foot onto the next spot and let go with his hand a fraction too soon.
He knew what was happening the second he’d done it. He tried to grab for the hold again, but his leather sole had already slipped. His left hand lost its hold next, then his left foot,bang-bang-bang-bang,and there was no going back.A sharp cry from above like an eagle, or a woman, and he was falling.
A half second of disbelief, his stomach dropping, his hands grabbing at nothing, and he landed on his feet. A shock like a red-hot poker rammed straight up his left leg and into his hip, and he was falling backward, his head hitting the ground hard, then bouncing off.
No breath. No thought. Just pain.
Willow wasn’t sure how she’d made it down the rock, but somehow, she was on the ground. Hunter was on his back, his eyes closed, his left leg askew. But he was breathing. She thought.
“Hunter.” She almost said, “Are you all right?” She didn’t, because he so clearly wasn’t. He was a man who’d always get up if he could, and he wasn’t getting up. “Where does it hurt?” she asked instead.
His eyes opened, and his breath hissed in. “Try... everywhere.”
“I’m going for help.”
“No.” He tried to sit up, let out a cry that he bit off fast, and landed on his back again. Some more hissing breaths. “Leg. I think you’re going to... have to...”
It was bad. She already had her phone out, was hitting triple-zero with the half of her mind that was still functioning, that wasn’t trying to be paralyzed with disbelief. How could two things this bad happen in the same day?
