True-Blue Cowboy - Vicki Lewis Thompson Page 0,37
well, let’s just say I’m not looking for a life partner.”
“Ah. Yes, I remember.” A few hours ago he’d been amused that she’d felt the need to announce it so early in the game. Wasn’t quite so amusing now.
“I just wanted to check, because you said you want to get married someday.”
“Someday.”
“Then I hope you find the perfect woman for you.”
“Thank you.” What if I already have?
“I’m guessing you’d like to have kids, too.”
This topic wasn’t random and he answered the question with care. “If it works out.”
“It will. You deserve that.” She made the statement as if checking a box. Now she could relax about the subject of marriage and kids. She’d reminded him of her position. They could move on.
He was more than ready to move on. He’d get the mirror out of the attic, check that box and go out back to dig up stones. He drained his glass of iced coffee. “Do you have duct tape? If not, I might have some in my truck.”
“I think I saw some in a drawer. Let me look.”
“I can head up there and wipe the worst of the dust off while you’re looking for the tape.”
“Sounds good.”
“See you in a few minutes.” He rinsed his glass and set it on the counter before leaving the kitchen. The Brotherhood had a system for loading the dishwasher but she likely had a different one.
As he climbed the stairs, he congratulated himself on not reaching for her, not kissing her during that extended conversation. Hadn’t been easy.
It helped that he was a filthy mess. His shirt had been relatively clean when she’d needed comforting after finding out about Miss Barton’s cancelled wedding. But now—only a case of extreme lust would override his better judgment about pulling her into his arms.
On the other hand, extreme lust wasn’t totally off the table. When she looked at him the way she had when she’d asked about the plan, he’d hooked his boots around the legs of his chair to keep from rising to his feet.
She tested his self-control as no woman ever had. That was a clue that she could be the one. Ah, who was he kidding? He didn’t need clues.
He’d been convinced from the first time he’d settled into her chair at the salon. But her crush on CJ had been a problem. Now he faced a far more complicated one.
He’d just finished wiping the dust off the mirror’s wooden frame when her light footsteps on the staircase announced her approach.
He went to the open door. “Did you find some?”
“I did.” She brandished a roll that should do the trick.
He held out his hand. “I’ll tape it. You can stay out there where it’s cooler.”
“That’s silly. I’m not some fragile flower. I’ve spent time in the attic this week. I know what it’s like.”
“But—”
“Taping is easier when you have two people, one to hold and one to tape.” She stepped over the sill.
“You have a point.” Clearly she was determined to help. If he hadn’t moved back she would have bumped into him. “Would you rather hold or tape?”
“Tape.”
“Go for it.” Gripping the mirror’s curved frame near the top, he stepped back, extending his arms so she could duck under them as she worked.
Their close proximity ramped up his heartbeat and his breathing, but the ripping of the tape made enough noise to cover it. Maybe.
Why should the attic be more intimate than the kitchen? Likely because the heat intensified her scent, a combination of soap, body lotion and aroused woman.
He was fragrant, too, but not in a pleasant way. His smelly self should kill any sexual urges she had. A guy with class wouldn’t reach for a woman when he reeked.
“I figure taping around the middle should be good enough.” She’d started on the far side, which put the mirror between them.
“That should do it.” He was hoarse. Dusty up here. Yeah, that was it. His vocal cords weren’t reacting to an attack of extreme lust. Of course not.
She rounded the mirror, leaning over in concentration. Rip, rip, rip. “You’re right about the temperature. It’s like a furnace up here.”
And getting hotter by the second. His jeans pinched something fierce. “Listen, I can—” He paused to clear his throat. “I can finish up.”
She ducked under his left arm and her hip brushed against his fly. “That would make it harder.”
His laugh sounded like tires on gravel. “Not possible.”
She stopped ripping the tape from the roll. Silence.
Well, not quite. He was breathing like