“I am so sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t work for you.”
There. He’d given her an out.
“Hey, you can’t run out on me now!” she joked and tapped his arm. “I’ll grab the shop vac.” Fortunately, the previous owners had left behind many of their tools. Some were too old and worn to be of much use, but others had saved her a lot of money.
She wasn’t destitute, but the insurance money was all she had, and after buying the lavender farm, she didn’t have a lot left, and what remained needed to last until the farm turned a profit. So, except for business expenses, she was determined to only buy bare necessities.
She and Dayton had lived well—too well, as it had turned out. He’d insisted on handling the finances, taking it as an insult if she asked about their money. Upon his death, she’d discovered they were in over their heads. They had a huge mortgage she couldn’t afford to pay on her own, and their luxury vehicles were leased. Credit cards were maxed. Dayton’s salary had been larger than most people’s, but they’d still lived paycheck to paycheck. After selling everything to pay off debts, she’d been left with nothing.
She’d been seeking employment as a dental assistant—her occupation before Dayton had convinced her to quit—when she got a call from his employer’s benefits administrator. Turned out she was the beneficiary of an insurance policy he’d taken out when they’d gotten married. She had a hunch Dayton had forgotten it existed.
She wheeled in the shop vac. “Have you ever used one of these before?” she asked. Of course he hadn’t. Dayton, a suit-wearing corporate executive vice president who hired out everything, had been handier than Cam.
“No…” he admitted.
She demonstrated how to flip the switches from off to on, and from wet to dry.
“Oh—it’s simple,” he said.
“Yes,” she said, but she’d learned not to take anything for granted.
She left him to vacuum up the water and went to change her wet clothes and dry her hair. When she returned to the kitchen, she discovered the water had been sucked up, and he’d installed the faucet.
“Look!” he demonstrated turning it on and off.
The water ran full and steady, the way it should. Trying to be surreptitious about it, she peeked under the sink. Nope, no leaks.
“You fixed it! It’s perfect!” she said, pleased, and a little surprised, although she shouldn’t have been. Despite his mishaps, he was a fast learner, and once he got the hang of something, he did good work. “Thank you!”
He stood there grinning, beaming with pride—and soaked to the skin.
“I’m so sorry! I forgot about your wet clothing. Let me put your stuff in the dryer. I don’t have anything that will fit you, but you can wrap up in a large towel while your clothes dry.” She tried to sound matter-of-fact as all sorts of ribald, juvenile naked handyman jokes sprang to mind.
Her cheeks felt hot, and she feared she was blushing. Her mind might be dirty, but her suggestion had been made with the best of intentions. The man was soaked, dripping all over the floor. Wetter than she had been. Although not anymore…stop it!
“I’d appreciate that! Thank you.” He sounded so relieved, she felt guiltier for her dirty thoughts. Two days ago, I was ready to zap him with bear spray, and today I’m looking for an excuse to get him naked.
The two bedrooms, the bath, and the small laundry closet were off the hall. “Come with me.” She winced.
He followed, seeming not to notice the double entendre.
That’s because he’s a gentleman, not a dirty sex fiend like me. Not that she’d practiced any fiendishness lately. She hadn’t had sex since before being widowed. Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe he’s not hot. Maybe I’m horny and desperate. Any port in a storm, and all. She risked a glance at him.
No. It was him. All him. Until he’d appeared on the scene, she’d sworn off men. Her libido had been nonexistent. Now her lust had shot from zero to sixty.
The everyday towels would be too small, so she found a beach towel and set it on the sink, and then moved into the hall so he could enter. She focused on his throat. “Um, you can hand me your wet clothes through the door, and I’ll put them in the dryer.”
She heard rustling and a plop as if sodden garments hit the floor. The door opened, and his bare arm snaked out with his wet clothing, a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved pullover shirt. She cleared her throat. “Uh, what about your underwear?”
Don’t think about him naked. The towel would more than cover his modesty, and it would be uncomfortable to wear a wet T-shirt and shorts. Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about—his comfort.
“Underwear?” he asked.
“T shirt? Shorts?”
“This is all I have.”
“All righty, then.” She shoved his jeans and shirt in the dryer and fled to the kitchen. She tidied up, throwing away the old faucet, putting the cleaners back under the sink. She was bent over, wiping a cabinet, when she caught sight of bare masculine feet and calves, her lime-green beach towel printed with pink flip-flops hitting him above the knees. Some men had bony knees. His were sexy. She gulped and stood up.
“Your, uh, clothes are in the dryer,” she stated the obvious. The squeaky hum could be heard. “It might, uh, take a little while. Your clothes were pretty wet.”
He shrugged. “What else would you like me to work on?”
He had that perfect V shape of broad shoulders tapering to slim hips. Smooth skin stretched taut over his muscled chest and bulging biceps. Scruff darkened his squared jaw, giving him that rugged lifeguard look. He can save me any day. Help! I’m drowning!
Maybe the Argent town council could feature him on different billboards for different seasons. Hot lifeguard for summer, sexy ski instructor for winter. All he’d need would be a prop, maybe a life preserver or a set of skis or…
The front of the towel tented with arousal.
Every cell went on alert, buzzing with awareness. Her entire body burned like fire. It has been so long… She forced her gaze up to his face.
“Maybe swap out the bathroom faucet?” she suggested, shifting and pressing her thighs together.
“Will do.”
She sneaked one last peek. Her reaction reminded her of the cheesy porn Dayton used to watch. Horny widow puts the moves on the handyman…
She was glad she was wearing a good bra because her nipples were hard.
On that thought, her eyes widened at his smooth muscular chest.
“You don’t have nipples!” she burst out and clapped a hand over her mouth. How could she have said such a thing! “Oh my, god, I’m sorry.” Embarrassment flooded her face in a surge of heat. Either he’d had surgery or he’d been born with a deformity. She was inclined to think the latter because there was no scarring. He was still handsome, but to call attention to his condition…
And then he turned every shade of the rainbow. Literally. As she gaped, his face contorted and his entire body turned lime green with pink patches like the towel, then yellow like the kitchen walls, then bright blue, and finally returned to a mocha shade, except for his feet. They were blue.
“Oh my god! What’s happening to you?”
A muscle ticked in his cheek, and he clenched his fist. “The way you affect me…I worried this would happen.”