The Other Side of Us - By Sarah Mayberry Page 0,54
a good-looking man up close before.
But it wasn’t only that Oliver was extensively easy on the eyes. He was also lovely, pure and simple. Sweet and funny and generous and smart. He remembered throwaway comments she’d made and teased her and seemed genuinely interested in her and her life.
And you pushed him away last night when he kissed you.
She muttered a four-letter word beneath her breath as she drove the shovel into a pile of gravel. She didn’t have a long list of wholehearted regrets in her life—the accident, moments during her marriage—but her knee-jerk reaction last night was on its way to qualifying.
If only she’d been better prepared. If only she’d been more conscious of where things had been going with her and Oliver...
But she hadn’t, and the moment was gone and she needed to move on.
One of those concepts that definitely came under the heading Easier Said Than Done.
As they toiled, no matter which way she turned, Oliver was in her line of sight, either directly or peripherally. He was a hard worker, giving the task his all, and soon he was gleaming with sweat. His tank top clung to the planes of his chest, and his jeans slipped down his hips an inch or so. Every now and then he stopped and wiped his brow with his forearm and she was treated to a flash of hairy male armpit.
She wasn’t sure what planet she’d been living on, but never had the differences between a man’s body and her own been so compelling. Her own chest and underarms were smooth as silk, thanks to Mother Nature and the regular attention of a razor, respectively. Oliver’s hairier, rougher body had her mind and heart racing. She wanted to press her face to his chest and inhale the smell of him. She wanted to wrap her hands around his big biceps. She wanted to lick the point where his neck became his shoulder, right in the little hollow between his collarbone and trapezius muscle. She wanted to slide her hand down his flat belly and inside the waistband of his jeans. She wanted—
She gave herself a mental slap. She was out of control, like one of those oversexed, humpy dogs that went to town on unsuspecting houseguests. Next thing she knew, Oliver would be shaking his leg, trying to remove her from his person.
“Maybe we should take a break,” she said, mostly out of desperation. Energywise, she was holding up well, but mentally she was a mess. A turned-on, confused, aroused mess.
Oliver stopped and considered the walkway. They’d cleared over half of the gravel, an effort she was more than happy with.
“Sure. We’ve made a good start.”
“Do you want a cold drink? I’ve got orange juice or mineral water.”
“Water would be great.”
She headed into the house, aware of him following her, his heavy tread echoing down the hallway. In the kitchen, she served them both water. He leaned against the sink, she against the opposite counter. He swallowed his in one big gulp, his Adam’s apple bobbing. She told herself not to stare and had to resist the urge to roll the cold glass across her chest to cool herself down.
It hit her suddenly that there was no way she could handle another hour of watching him do manly things in faded jeans. Not without an icy shower.
“You know what? Maybe we should call it a day. We got so much done I can probably chip away at what’s left over the rest of the week.”
Oliver rinsed his glass and set it on the drain board. Now that they were in closer quarters, she could smell the strong, spicy scent of his deodorant, along with a faint hint of clean, male sweat.
“If you’re whacked, I don’t mind doing the rest alone.”
“There is no way I could let you do that.”
“I knew you were going to say that.”
Her weakening resistance sent up a silent cheer. He wasn’t going to fight her. Hallelujah.
“When were you thinking of tackling the shed?”
“Want to pencil me into your busy schedule?” His smile was teasing.
“Something like that.”
“Let’s see how you feel tomorrow. If you’re not too sore maybe we can tackle it then.”
“Sounds like a plan.” She swallowed the last of her water and took the three steps necessary to take it to the sink. She was conscious of him standing a couple of feet away as she rinsed her glass and set it beside his.
“Your hair’s gone all curly on the ends,” he said.