Will Work For Love Read Online Free PDF Page A

Most were closed, but
they had colorful displays in the windows. The excited crowd bumped
her around, and she was glad to have Chris’ powerful hand on her
arm. When the street was blocked with partiers, he shoulder-plowed
through.
    She followed him, noticing how he greeted people in
the crowd by name. It was obvious he was pretty widely known on
this island. He did not attempt to introduce her to any of the
people who shook his hand or slapped him on the back. It was too
loud for them to hear, and most people in the crowd were too drunk
to remember anyway.
    It was almost ten o’clock when they joined the
throng by the harbor to watch the Christmas tree come alive with
lights. Drums beat in Whitney’s head making her drunk with night
air, Chris Maxwell, and island music. She wanted to run her fingers
through his dark blond hair and toy with the slightly shaggy ends
curling over the top of his ears. Back in Boston, she usually dated
the more buttoned-up types. Safe men like Logan. There was
something refreshing…tempting…about Chris.
    He moved behind her and wrapped one arm around her
waist, his other hand resting on her bare shoulder. It would take
only a slight move for her to be completely in his embrace, for her
lips to touch his. She wondered what it would feel like, and a
tremor rippled over her skin. Chris must have felt the tremor
because he pulled her closer, his body heat warming her everywhere
they touched.
    Whitney barely noticed when the tree lights finally
flickered on. The music died down, and people started to move away
from the spectacle, but she stood completely still with the wall of
Chris’ chest behind her and his slightly rough hand grazing the
skin on her shoulder.
    A trio of people bumped along the boardwalk in the
darkness.
    “That you, Maxwell?”
    The speaker was a twenty something man wearing an
open shirt and a pretty girl on each arm. He looked drunk and
happy.
    Chris loosened his hold on Whitney and squinted into
the darkness.
    “Wilson? You’re out late for a guy who has to be at
work early.”
    Wilson looked doubtfully at Chris.
    “I’m not the only one,” he said.
    “Have I ever been late?”
    Wilson laughed. “No. And don’t worry about me. I’ll
be there. My sister is sending some chicken for lunch, too, to say
thanks for all you done for her.”
    “Not necessary,” Chris said, but chuckled and added,
“but I’m not going to turn it down.”
    Wilson left with his girlfriends still on his arms
and his shirt flapping loosely. Chris pulled Whitney close again,
one arm around her waist and the other hand running a slow pattern
from her shoulder down to her fingertips. His touch was tempting,
intoxicating. Maybe she should call it a night before she let
herself get carried away by the drums, the night, and loneliness.
She was vulnerable. Especially since a tantalizing man was now
kissing her neck in the darkness.
    “It’s really good,” he whispered.
    Whitney wanted to ask what he meant, but she
couldn’t think clearly.
    “His sister’s chicken,” Chris said.
    Whitney laughed. “I’m almost afraid to ask what a
man has to do to get paid in chicken around here.”
    “She owns the restaurant where we ate tonight. I
helped her get a patio built.”
    The mere mention of building brought Whitney solidly
back to the ground. She took a deep breath and turned toward Chris,
the movement causing a gap between them. Maybe she needed breathing
room.
    “You’re a builder?” she asked.
    Chris looked down at her, a serious expression on
his face. “I was more of a supply man on that job.”
    The breeze brushed Whitney’s bare arms and legs,
reminding her it was late. She had a twisted drive over darkened
roads back to the East Pointe estate which was, in fact, in ruins.
She had a meeting with a contractor in a few short hours and two
weeks’ worth of hard labor to make everything perfect for
Taylor.
    “I should probably get home,” she said
tentatively.
    Chris nodded