CHAPTER ELEVEN
SAMANTHA STARED ATTEAGUEagainst the backdrop of the multi-million-dollar estate and felt disoriented…deceived.
“What’s the matter, Samantha?” Teague asked. “Cat got your tongue?”
“This is your house?” she murmured. “But I thought—”
“That I was just a ditch-digger?”
“I…” She felt as if she were floating, lost, that the ground had fallen out from under her. “What’s going on? Wh-why were you on the job site that day?”
His eyes glittered dangerously. “Why don’t you come in, and I’ll explain.”
Curiosity and longing drove her forward. Moving in a fog, she climbed the long, shallow steps leading to the front door. He gestured for her to precede him and she stepped inside the house onto what looked to be a Tibetan rug, immediately captivated by the breathtaking spaciousness, the soaring ceilings, the enormous skylights that spilled sunshine into the house, decorated in a minimalist, masculine style. And unless her eyes deceived her, that was a Robert Motherwell painting on the far wall.
Across the expansive entryway, Dixon came bounding up to her, his toenails clicking on the rustic white ash flooring, carrying the chew toy she’d given him. He dropped it on the rug at her feet proudly and nudged at her hand for attention. She patted his head tentatively, suddenly unsure of herself…unsure of everything. She straightened and met Teague’s gaze, astonished all over again at how stunningly handsome he was in his sleek designer clothes…although, she acknowledged vaguely, not more so than in his dusty jeans and sweat-stained T-shirt.
“Okay,” she said carefully, “so obviously you’re not a laborer. Whywereyou on the library job site that day?”
He touched his shoulder. “I found it was a great way to rehabilitate my injury. And I like getting back on the work site once in a while—it keeps me grounded.”
Feeling like an idiot, Samantha crossed her arms. “And why did you let me believe that you were a construction worker?”
He shrugged. “Because you wanted to.”
“But you let me…hire you.” She fought back tears. “You humiliated me.”
He gave a dry laugh. “You treated me as if I was a second class citizen because I was using a shovel, andIhumiliatedyou?”
She put her hand to her temple, trying to make sense of his ruse. “Whatdoyou do for a living?”
“Mostly real estate investments now, but I did my fair share of moving dirt while I built my business.”
Teague only works when he wants to.Samantha shook her head, baffled at his deception. “Why didn’t you just tell me the truth?”
His eyes narrowed and he set down his drink. He stood close to her, close enough to touch. “I started to, when you offered me the job that night at the bar. But when I hesitated, you said that you’d pay me well. I realized that to you I’d always be a hired hand.”
She started to deny his accusation, but she realized that she hadn’t asked Teague for any details about his life, where he lived, what he’d been doing over the years. She’d simply…assumed. “So why did you take the job?”
His smiled was smug. “Because I saw my chance to get even with you.”
She squinted. “Get even? You mean you took this job and purposely botched it so I would miss the deadline? Lose the library project?” She stared, incredulous. “Why would you do something like that?”
A look of disgust came over his face. “Did you grind people under your heel so often that you don’t remember?” He reached into his back pocket and removed his wallet. “Let me jog your memory. I was a clodhopper with a crush on the most spoiled little rich girl in school who wouldn’t give me the time of day—until I crashed your party and you let me spend the night in your bed.”
“And that was one of the most memorable nights of my life,” she murmured.
“Really? Do yourememberleaving this note whenyou left?” He removed a folded scrap of paper from his wallet and handed it to her.
She took it with trembling hands and opened it to read her own handwriting.Don’t track dirt on my carpet when you leave.
Her eyes filled with tears at the callous young woman she had been—too worried about getting into trouble and too eager to rid herself of his memory to consider how the note might have come across to Teague.
“You didn’t have to remind me that I was dirt-poor trash,” he bit out. “I knew that pretty well all on my own.”
“I didn’t know you’d take it that way,” she said. “I didn’t think that night had meant anything more to you than bragging rights to your buddies.” She struggled to hold back her tears. “All of this—the job, the seduction—it’s all been part of a master plan to…to put me in my place?”
A smug look settled on his face. “It worked, didn’t it?”
