Page 34 of I Wish You Were Mine

His lips twitch. “I’m not, no.”

“Marianne, consider it done.”

We head for the living room, which is a huge, soaring space just off the kitchen. Two stories of windows overlook the Cape Fear River, which is currently a grey expanse of restless waves whipped into a frenzy by the wind.

I climb two rungs up on the ladder, looking for those hooks Marianne was talking about.

“Stop.” Tuck shakes his head. “I climb. You direct.”

I give him a look. “I’m an acrobat. Literally. I’ll be fine.”

That muscle in his jaw tics. “On the ground, Maren. Now.”

Because I can’t resist busting his chops, I climb one rung higher and nod at the material he’s holding. “Hand it over.”

“Don’t think I won’t come up there and get you. Down. Now. Or I’m sending you back home. If you fall?—”

“I won’t.”

Next thing I know he’s shoving the material underneath one arm and reaching for me with the other. He grabs my calf. I’m not high enough off the ground to fall, so I try to pull away from him, laughter fizzing inside my chest.

He just firms his grip on my bare leg. Electricity streaks through me at the contact.

“Stop,” he says, but he’s laughing too.

Our eyes meet and there it is again—that exchange of high-voltage energy. We’re exactly on the same wavelength, our bodies saying exactly the same thing.

More.

But I feel the people around us watching. Last thing I want to do is create a scene. Plus, we really do need to get some work done. I feel bad for the couple-to-be. Tuck and his friends are going to have to pull off a legitimate miracle to make this place look decent, much less spectacular.

“Fine.” I jump down, landing easily on my feet.

Tuck gives me a dark look, but his eyes are dancing. “Try that again and see what happens.” He holds out the material. “Hold this.”

An hour later, we’ve actually made some progress. I direct and Tuck hangs, creating long, elegant swags of fabric that crisscross the room.

“That one is still way too tight.” I stand at the bottom of the ladder and point to the swag Tuck is working on. He curses, wiping his forehead on his sleeve. “Seriously, Tuck, let me do it.”

“No fuckin’ way you’re getting on a twenty-foot ladder. I got it.” But when he glances down at me, his grip on the organza slips, and it slumps to the floor.

I grab it. “You know, if you’d let me?—”

“No.” He tugs on the other end, looping it on a nearby hook. “Tell me how it looks now.”

“Like shit.”

“Jesus Christ, Maren, could you give me some guidance that’s helpful for once?”

I feel laughter bubbling up inside me again. Putting my hands on my hips, I tilt my head. “I am trying to help, but you won’t let me.”

He glances at me over his shoulder. “You know, you got a big mouth for someone so little.”

“I do know.” I fold my arms. “I also know you like it.”

His face splits in a grin. My stomach dips. “Is that so?”

More of his friends show up then. I get to meet Lu, who can’t stop looking at Riley. I briefly meet Tuck’s dad, who looks like a salt-and-pepper version of his son, but sans the tattoos.

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