The Ivy House - By Drea Stein Page 0,47

“Not many. It’s a special order, but I know a guy in the business.”

“I’m sure you do.” Phoebe took a sip of her coffee, still looking at the helmet. She wasn’t sure what to do with it. Just how much demolition did Chase think the house needed?”

“You don’t think I’m going to need it, do you?” she asked, trying to see if he had an opinion.

“You never know,” Chase answered, still grinning.

“But…” Phoebe felt her mouth go dry. She thought about some new paint and curtains, but not any actual demolition.

Chase took a step closer to her and held out his hand. She wasn’t sure what he wanted, but then he reached out for her coffee cup. Mesmerized, she let him take it from her and watched as he took a sip, her eyes locked on his, his on hers. Slowly, he handed the cup back to her.

“Thanks. I needed that. Look, I happen to have spent a few summers working construction. Thought maybe I could help you do a walk-through, get a sense of what needs to be done now, what can wait.”

Phoebe felt herself swallowing hard, trying to forget the way his hand, warmed from the coffee cup, had burned against her skin and made her stomach do a flip.

“But we’re not going to be breaking anything, are we?” Phoebe asked, surprised to find her voice was low, throaty.

“Not unless you want to.”

Phoebe nodded. There was no reason for him to be holding her hand, but it had felt good. She decided not to dwell on it.

They wound up in the room she had decided would be the master bedroom. The floors were hardwood and she knew that they could be beautiful again.

“I know a guy who does floors. I asked him to swing by later, to take a look around, give you an estimate. They should be done all at once, upstairs, downstairs. That way, you can move in. You can always do your painting later.”

Phoebe nodded. “It would be good if I could at least get a bed in here by the end of the week.” Phoebe felt it, the slow burn of a flush. Somehow saying the word “bed” in front of Chase made her feel self-conscious. He had dropped her hand by this time, but was still standing close to her, and she couldn’t get over the feeling of being on edge, like she had drunk five espressos in a row and the caffeine was buzzing through her in overdrive.

“Really? I didn’t know you were in such a hurry to get set up. Is someone waiting for it?”

It took her a moment to figure out what Chase meant.

“I…” she stuttered, cursing her fair skin, feeling the blush crawl up her cheeks and to the roots of her hair.

“So you’re just eager to get moved in?” he said, his eyes laughing at her.

“I’d rather not spend that much more time in the hotel. The Osprey Arms is fine, but I hadn’t figured on making it a permanent home.”

“I like that one.” He had come up behind her, and pointed to the middle shade of blue on the paint chip Phoebe was holding. “I’m sure I could arrange a deal for you, since you’re practically living there.”

“Don’t tell me… You know the manager.” Phoebe said, the memory of the way he had seemed so comfortable at the Osprey Arms coming back to her.

Chase shrugged. “Maybe I do.”

“Well, thank you, but I already did.” The shade Chase liked was deeper than she would have gone for, but it was bold too. “I’m a grown woman; I can take care myself. I happen to have plenty of experience negotiating for myself.”

“I am sure you can come down hard on them when you want.” She could feel him, his bulk and heat behind, and the way his breath whispered in her ear and tickled her hair, which was up in a ponytail. She fought to control the shiver that ran down her spine and the little delicious flame of heat that flicked below her stomach, between her legs. Desperately wanting to put some distance between herself and Chase, she almost took a step away, but she couldn’t; she was trapped there, loving the feeling of him close to her.

“I manage to get what I want most of the time,” she managed to say in a husky voice.

“I can imagine.” She turned slightly to face him so that her eyes were almost level with his chin. One of his arms