focused on his sensual mouth. Her legs trembled as she thought about the kiss they’d shared. The memory of Caleb’s warm mouth and skillful tongue ignited a charge of heat through her body, hot little flames that licked at her skin.
“Tough day at work?” he asked as he followed her inside.
“Very tough,” she admitted. “I was assigned to the E.R. because there was a huge accident this morning. A tour bus taking twenty people to a casino collided with an eighteen-wheeler.”
“I saw it on the news. Was it as bad as it looked?” Caleb asked.
“Worse. Seven dead, twelve injured.” She led him into the kitchen, where she’d already set up all the paint trays and rollers they’d need.
“How do you do it?” His voice was low and laced with awe. “How can you look at so much death and carnage day in and day out?”
“I like helping people,” she said simply.
He didn’t respond, and when she looked over, she noticed him watching her with some expression she couldn’t quite decipher. Admiration? Or was it curiosity?
She cleared her throat and picked up the large paint can labeled Morning Sunshine. “Um, so, you can start on that wall,” she said, pointing to the wall opposite the back door. She moved her hand toward the adjacent wall, adding, “I still need to get rid of the rest of the wallpaper on this one, and then we can prime it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” A glint of humor filled his eyes, but his face remained as stoic as usual.
She wondered why he smiled so rarely. Difficult childhood, or was he just serious by nature? She didn’t mind, though. She’d faked enough smiles these past few months that it was refreshing not having to put on a happy face to avoid being on the receiving end of the sympathetic smiles she’d grown used to.
It was even more refreshing not having to make awkward small talk, which she discovered ten minutes later as they worked in comfortable silence. Caleb didn’t say much, except for the occasional work-related remark, as he rolled bright-yellow paint on her kitchen wall.
She found herself sneaking sidelong glances in his direction, admiring his perfect profile, the strength of his jaw, the confident way he moved. Her pulse sped up each time he lifted his arms, which made his powerful muscles bunch and flex. His body was incredible, hard and lean without an ounce of fat. And she loved how focused he was on his task, his head bent in concentration. As he painted, a rogue lock of dark hair fell onto his forehead. She wanted to walk over and brush it away, but kept her hands on the scraper she was using. Just because every nerve ending in her body crackled with the need to touch him didn’t mean she’d give in to temptation.
She forced herself to keep working, succeeding in removing nearly all the wallpaper before her parched throat finally got the best of her. “How about a break?” she suggested.
Caleb glanced over with a slight grin. “We’ve only been at this for an hour. I thought you were tougher than that, Kincaid.”
A tiny alarm went off in her head. Had she told him her last name? She couldn’t remember, but she didn’t think so. Or maybe…the mailbox, she deduced with relief. He must have seen her last name on the mailbox.
“I’m also thirsty,” she retorted.
“And you had a long night,” he added in concession. “So I’m willing to overlook your laziness.”
Rolling her eyes, she headed for the fridge. “Iced tea okay?”
“Yep.”
She poured two tall glasses, then grabbed a few ice cubes from the freezer. Caleb was sitting at the table when she came back, rolling his shoulders in a way that made his pecs flex against his shirt. Her dry mouth went even dryer.
She sat down, sipping her drink and hoping the cold liquid would ease the fire inside her. Silence hung in the kitchen again, only this time it made her feel awkward. God, it was strange having a man here. Three months ago, it had been Patrick in Caleb’s chair, reading the
“Tough day at work?” he asked as he followed her inside.
“Very tough,” she admitted. “I was assigned to the E.R. because there was a huge accident this morning. A tour bus taking twenty people to a casino collided with an eighteen-wheeler.”
“I saw it on the news. Was it as bad as it looked?” Caleb asked.
“Worse. Seven dead, twelve injured.” She led him into the kitchen, where she’d already set up all the paint trays and rollers they’d need.
“How do you do it?” His voice was low and laced with awe. “How can you look at so much death and carnage day in and day out?”
“I like helping people,” she said simply.
He didn’t respond, and when she looked over, she noticed him watching her with some expression she couldn’t quite decipher. Admiration? Or was it curiosity?
She cleared her throat and picked up the large paint can labeled Morning Sunshine. “Um, so, you can start on that wall,” she said, pointing to the wall opposite the back door. She moved her hand toward the adjacent wall, adding, “I still need to get rid of the rest of the wallpaper on this one, and then we can prime it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” A glint of humor filled his eyes, but his face remained as stoic as usual.
She wondered why he smiled so rarely. Difficult childhood, or was he just serious by nature? She didn’t mind, though. She’d faked enough smiles these past few months that it was refreshing not having to put on a happy face to avoid being on the receiving end of the sympathetic smiles she’d grown used to.
It was even more refreshing not having to make awkward small talk, which she discovered ten minutes later as they worked in comfortable silence. Caleb didn’t say much, except for the occasional work-related remark, as he rolled bright-yellow paint on her kitchen wall.
She found herself sneaking sidelong glances in his direction, admiring his perfect profile, the strength of his jaw, the confident way he moved. Her pulse sped up each time he lifted his arms, which made his powerful muscles bunch and flex. His body was incredible, hard and lean without an ounce of fat. And she loved how focused he was on his task, his head bent in concentration. As he painted, a rogue lock of dark hair fell onto his forehead. She wanted to walk over and brush it away, but kept her hands on the scraper she was using. Just because every nerve ending in her body crackled with the need to touch him didn’t mean she’d give in to temptation.
She forced herself to keep working, succeeding in removing nearly all the wallpaper before her parched throat finally got the best of her. “How about a break?” she suggested.
Caleb glanced over with a slight grin. “We’ve only been at this for an hour. I thought you were tougher than that, Kincaid.”
A tiny alarm went off in her head. Had she told him her last name? She couldn’t remember, but she didn’t think so. Or maybe…the mailbox, she deduced with relief. He must have seen her last name on the mailbox.
“I’m also thirsty,” she retorted.
“And you had a long night,” he added in concession. “So I’m willing to overlook your laziness.”
Rolling her eyes, she headed for the fridge. “Iced tea okay?”
“Yep.”
She poured two tall glasses, then grabbed a few ice cubes from the freezer. Caleb was sitting at the table when she came back, rolling his shoulders in a way that made his pecs flex against his shirt. Her dry mouth went even dryer.
She sat down, sipping her drink and hoping the cold liquid would ease the fire inside her. Silence hung in the kitchen again, only this time it made her feel awkward. God, it was strange having a man here. Three months ago, it had been Patrick in Caleb’s chair, reading the
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