Her Kind of Hero - Cindy Kirk Page 0,7
of trim. “Friendly enough. Stays just long enough to check on the progress. Sometimes asks a few questions. That’s about it. She’s a real looker.”
“She certainly is.”
Curiosity sparked in the older man’s eyes. “You acquainted?”
“We met recently.” Keenan measured a piece of molding and made a quick cut with the miter box. “She knows people I know.”
“Gabe and Joel are both married to doctors.”
Keenan was well aware of that fact. Joel, owner of Stone Craft Builders, was married to Mitzi’s good friend, Kate. He’d briefly met Gabe Davis, the construction engineer who was Joel’s second in command. Keenan hadn’t yet met Gabe’s wife, Michelle, another local doctor.
“Speak of the devil.” Bill brushed some of the sawdust off his pants and straightened.
Keenan followed Bill’s gaze out the front window and saw a car pull to a stop in the driveway. Mitzi got out and straightened a skirt the color of the Wyoming sky, modest but short enough to reveal an enticing expanse of tanned and toned thighs.
Keenan wasn’t sure if it was the legs or the cream-colored sweater hugging her generous curves that made his insides jiggle like the gelatin Betsy served for dessert last night.
He frowned. What was it about Mitzi that made him feel like some geeky teen crushing on the school’s head cheerleader?
Best not to delve too deeply into that muddy pool, he told himself. What mattered was the last time they were together he’d brushed off the gorgeous doctor. He’d done to her before she could do to him. The realization that he hadn’t let his attraction to her tie him into knots buoyed his courage. When the front door opened and Mitzi stepped inside, the smile he shot her was easy.
Her own smile flashed warm and friendly. If she felt any discomfort over seeing him again, it didn’t show.
“Dr. Sanchez.” Bill stepped forward. As the job site foreman, working with the client was his responsibility when Joel or Gabe wasn’t there. “We’re making good progress.”
“C’mon, Bill. Please call me Mitzi.” She slanted a sideways glance at Keenan. “Hello, again.”
Keenan touched the brim of his ball cap. “Ma’am.”
She frowned then turned from him in dismissal. Her imperious gaze swept the room.
He tried to see the home through her eyes: the massive stone fireplace with hand-carved mantel against one wall, twelve-foot ceilings that pulled the eyes upward, creating a feeling of openness. Whoever had drawn up the plans had done a superb job of contrasting warmth and comfort with understated elegance.
“I’m going to wander.” She waved a hand. “Don’t let me disturb you.”
“I can show you—” Bill began then glanced down as the phone clipped to his belt buzzed. He lifted it, grimaced. “I’m afraid I need to take this. Keenan can point out what we’ve finished up today.”
“I don’t need—”
“I’m happy to do it,” Keenan said smoothly, catching Bill’s look.
Mitzi must have noticed it too, because she didn’t protest further.
“Bill set the countertop this morning.” He gestured with one hand as they entered the kitchen area. Keenan pointed out several other accomplishments Bill had mentioned when he’d first arrived.
Though Mitzi listened intently, she didn’t say much. As the tour continued, he understood by the way her gaze kept flitting to him and lingering that lust had punched her, too. Desire, hot as a fired-up grill, snapped and sizzled in the air.
She might be determined to push him away—as he was with her—but he’d stake his life she was fighting a losing battle with the pull.
No guts. No glory.
His former mantra rose up and slapped him in the face.
“Do you have plans for dinner?” Keenan heard himself ask when they paused at the door to the last of the three bedrooms.
Her head swiveled.
“I was thinking of stopping by Perfect Pizza tonight.” He gave a careless shrug. Just because he’d succumbed to the urge didn’t mean he’d beg. “Interested?”
Mitzi slid a hand along the recently sanded doorjamb and his mouth went dry.
Okay, maybe he’d consider begging.
“Interested?” She lifted a brow. “In what?”
In pushing up that sweater and letting me fill my hands with your breasts.
In tugging that scrap of skirt down and exploring with my mouth and tongue what lies beneath.
Heck, yes, he was interested.
Keenan took a moment to collect himself. “Pizza, of course.”
“I’m not sure us having dinner is a good idea.”
Keenan understood. Right now his own gut roiled. But standing back and letting life happen had never been his style. He gave a little chuckle. “You’re afraid.”
“Don’t be silly.” She huffed. “I’m not afraid of anything. Or