Farrah Rochon - Always and Forever

Jamal folded his arms across his chest, one brow cocked. So that’s how it’s going to be?

Phylicia lifted her chin. Damn right.

His mind recoiled in protest, but Jamal knew it was for the best, especially with all the work that needed to be done and the limited time he had left before guests began arriving. But there were after-work hours. And the work crew he’d hired would soon add a lot more manpower to the project.

“Are you ready to get to it?” Phylicia asked, all business. “I could get started on removing the wainscoting today.”

“I thought you wanted me to leave the wainscoting untouched?” he asked.

“It’s your house, Jamal.” She scrunched up her nose. “You have no idea how hard it was for me to say that.”

“Phyl—” he started, but she put her hand up, halting him.

“It is your house. You agreed to leave my mom’s painting room intact, which I am unbelievably grateful for, but I don’t expect you to change all of your plans just to suit me. You hired me to help preserve elements of Belle Maison’s original structure; that’s what I’m here to do.”

“I also hired you for your input,” he said. “I’m open to suggestions. Doesn’t mean I’ll go along with all of them, but as highly recommended as you come, I’d be a fool not to listen to what you have to say.”

He tossed the measuring tape aside and moved toward her. “I want us to work together as a team.”

He reached for her, but she took several steps back. She held her hands up, her face resolute. “Look, Jamal, I already told you that if I’m going to work with you on this project, what happened yesterday afternoon cannot happen again. That kiss was...well, it was a mistake.”

“It wasn’t a mistake,” he disputed. “It was unbelievable.”

“Jamal—”

“Don’t shut me down without at least giving me a chance, Phylicia.”

“It’s not going to happen,” she reiterated. “I have too much going on in my life right now. And with you and this house and just... It’s not going to happen. Is that going to be a problem for you?”

He raised his palms up, giving her the universal hands-off gesture. What he really wanted to do was kiss the living daylights out of her again. Apparently, she’d quickly forgotten how explosive their kiss was yesterday. He, on the other hand, couldn’t get it out of his head.

“Good,” she said with a curt nod. “I’ll get to work on the parlor.”

Arms crossed over his chest, Jamal stepped to the side so she could move past him. As he watched her walk up the back steps and into the house, he couldn’t imagine how he would get through the next few months working alongside her.

As it turned out, he didn’t have to worry about running into Phylicia all that much. With him outside measuring the strawboard that would replace the walls in the bedrooms, and her working inside in the front parlor, he hardly saw her for most of the morning. At noon, Jamal tossed the carpenter’s pencil aside and entered the house through the door just off the kitchen.

He stopped at the arched entryway between the parlor and downstairs sitting room and watched as Phylicia carefully pried a section of aged wainscoting from the wall. She gingerly laid it next to an identical piece she’d placed on the floor, and turned to tackle the next section.

As she bent over, Jamal’s hands fisted at the way the faded denim cupped her ass like a well-worn baseball glove. It probably felt as soft and smooth, too. He reined in the urge to walk up to her and test it for himself.

Stop it, he ordered himself. Phylicia had made her feelings known; he had to respect them, no matter how much it killed him to do so.

He shoved away from the doorjamb. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

She jumped and turned.

“Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

“That’s okay,” she said. “Between the pounding and the music you’d have to wear a cowbell around your neck to announce your arrival.” She smiled, and that urge to kiss her roared back to life. “Did you need something?” she asked.

And isn’t that a loaded question?

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