navel. The white painter’s pants were perfect for high tide, while
the waistband offered at least an inch or two of extra material. Since Gracie
also insisted he remove his leather belt, the pants rode low on his hips every
time he raised his arms above his head. Which was pretty often.
After
Gracie showed him the ropes and left him on his own, he’d fallen into an
automatic rhythm. As his body went into auto-pilot with the paint roller, his
thoughts drifted to Gracie O’Donnell and Clayton Harris. The two topics most
certain to disrupt his peace of mind.
No matter
how often he grappled with the subject of Clayton, he wasn’t prepared to give
the fake Bradford an inch. And Gracie’s inexplicable allure nagged at him like
a bad rash that would spread into the most irritating places if he scratched
it.
Just how
close were those two? She’d seemed awfully protective of him. He shook his
head. Much better not to think about them.
He pushed
the roller through the pan, climbed the ladder, and turned to paint the section
above the door.
Rapid
footsteps approached. He put his hand out just in time to prevent Gracie from
shoving the door into the ladder. She edged through the six-inch opening and
pirouetted slowly to take in the entire room. Fresh and delicious, she had
showered and changed into a floaty floral skirt and a skinny-ribbed pink top.
Late
afternoon sunlight poured through the bare windows, gilding her movements. The
front and sides of her stunning hair were caught in a clip at the back of her
head. Fiery streaks of red and gold glinted through the very touchable curls.
Not that he cared.
Stepping
off the ladder, he poured a final puddle of paint into the pan. The tail of his
shirt rode up and the waist of the pants rode down, as they had been doing all
afternoon. As he straightened, Gracie’s gaze swept up and down his body and
returned to settle on his eyes.
“Everything
looks great,” she said.
“Thanks.”
Her unexpected approval warmed him as no one else’s had in a long time. Looking
around, he took a measure of satisfaction in the nearly finished project. “I
think I got the hang of it after a while.”
“You sure
did.” She pursed her lips as she trained her attention on him. “The question
is, what do I do with you now?”
That was a
burning question. Of all the possibilities, his first choice was that she feed
him. Okay, maybe not his first choice, but it came in a close second.
He laid the
roller in the pan. “Do you have any other pressing needs?”
Her natural
color heightened, and he grinned. He’d never learned to curb the tendency to
flirt with any available female, but this one wasn’t his type. In spite of
those great legs. And luscious tits. “I mean, what’s the problem?”
She twisted
a strand of her glorious hair around a finger. “Since you’re a working guest, I
can’t leave you here alone.”
He leaned
back to check for streaks in the fresh paint above the door. “Afraid to trust
me with the family silver?”
Her husky
laughter jolted Dylan with a straight shot of eighty-proof lust.
“I’m sure
your family silver would put ours to shame. And do I trust you?” She pinched
her bottom lip between her thumb and forefinger. “I’m reserving judgment.”
“Well,
that’s progress. Yesterday, you wouldn’t have had to think twice about it.” He
hiked the baggy pants up to his waist from his hips. “I didn’t see your car in
the lane earlier. Did you get it fixed?”
“Turley
towed it to the garage this morning.” She picked at the loose end of a strip of
masking tape in the corner of the room and started pulling it off the trim.
Certain she
would end up covered with paint, Dylan took the tape from her and turned her
hands palms-up to check. Sure enough, blue stripes. He handed her a rag from
his back pocket. “Is it being repaired?”
“No.” Her
bottom lip dipped down into a brief pout. “The transmission’s shot. Turley said
it would cost
the waistband offered at least an inch or two of extra material. Since Gracie
also insisted he remove his leather belt, the pants rode low on his hips every
time he raised his arms above his head. Which was pretty often.
After
Gracie showed him the ropes and left him on his own, he’d fallen into an
automatic rhythm. As his body went into auto-pilot with the paint roller, his
thoughts drifted to Gracie O’Donnell and Clayton Harris. The two topics most
certain to disrupt his peace of mind.
No matter
how often he grappled with the subject of Clayton, he wasn’t prepared to give
the fake Bradford an inch. And Gracie’s inexplicable allure nagged at him like
a bad rash that would spread into the most irritating places if he scratched
it.
Just how
close were those two? She’d seemed awfully protective of him. He shook his
head. Much better not to think about them.
He pushed
the roller through the pan, climbed the ladder, and turned to paint the section
above the door.
Rapid
footsteps approached. He put his hand out just in time to prevent Gracie from
shoving the door into the ladder. She edged through the six-inch opening and
pirouetted slowly to take in the entire room. Fresh and delicious, she had
showered and changed into a floaty floral skirt and a skinny-ribbed pink top.
Late
afternoon sunlight poured through the bare windows, gilding her movements. The
front and sides of her stunning hair were caught in a clip at the back of her
head. Fiery streaks of red and gold glinted through the very touchable curls.
Not that he cared.
Stepping
off the ladder, he poured a final puddle of paint into the pan. The tail of his
shirt rode up and the waist of the pants rode down, as they had been doing all
afternoon. As he straightened, Gracie’s gaze swept up and down his body and
returned to settle on his eyes.
“Everything
looks great,” she said.
“Thanks.”
Her unexpected approval warmed him as no one else’s had in a long time. Looking
around, he took a measure of satisfaction in the nearly finished project. “I
think I got the hang of it after a while.”
“You sure
did.” She pursed her lips as she trained her attention on him. “The question
is, what do I do with you now?”
That was a
burning question. Of all the possibilities, his first choice was that she feed
him. Okay, maybe not his first choice, but it came in a close second.
He laid the
roller in the pan. “Do you have any other pressing needs?”
Her natural
color heightened, and he grinned. He’d never learned to curb the tendency to
flirt with any available female, but this one wasn’t his type. In spite of
those great legs. And luscious tits. “I mean, what’s the problem?”
She twisted
a strand of her glorious hair around a finger. “Since you’re a working guest, I
can’t leave you here alone.”
He leaned
back to check for streaks in the fresh paint above the door. “Afraid to trust
me with the family silver?”
Her husky
laughter jolted Dylan with a straight shot of eighty-proof lust.
“I’m sure
your family silver would put ours to shame. And do I trust you?” She pinched
her bottom lip between her thumb and forefinger. “I’m reserving judgment.”
“Well,
that’s progress. Yesterday, you wouldn’t have had to think twice about it.” He
hiked the baggy pants up to his waist from his hips. “I didn’t see your car in
the lane earlier. Did you get it fixed?”
“Turley
towed it to the garage this morning.” She picked at the loose end of a strip of
masking tape in the corner of the room and started pulling it off the trim.
Certain she
would end up covered with paint, Dylan took the tape from her and turned her
hands palms-up to check. Sure enough, blue stripes. He handed her a rag from
his back pocket. “Is it being repaired?”
“No.” Her
bottom lip dipped down into a brief pout. “The transmission’s shot. Turley said
it would cost
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