“Ah.” She clicks her tongue. “Such a nice young man. So helpful. So…handy.” The inflection she puts on handy is loaded with innuendo.
I narrow my eyes at her. “He replaced a pipe assembly, Agatha. Nothing more.”
“Mmm-hmm.” She nods sagely, as if I’ve confirmed something important. “So, what’s the verdict on our new handyman?”
A million answers fleet through my mind, each more inappropriate than the last. Gorgeous. Charming. Trouble. He throws me off balance. One smile and I forget every rule I wrote for myself. He stirs up wants I’ve sworn off, cravings buried so deep I forgot I had them. But when I’m around him, the part of me that hopes for more in life wakes up, no matter how hard I try to keep it asleep. He’s everything I’m afraid to want again.
Josh Collins is a complication I don’t need. A temptation I shouldn’t indulge. The first spark of interest I’ve felt in four years, and it had to be another firefighter with a hero complex. Someone who risks his life every day on the job.
“I didn’t expect him to be so…” I begin, searching for a neutral descriptor that won’t give Agatha ammunition.
“Ugly?” she interrupts with a sarcastic, foxy grin.
I snort into my coffee. “Yes, Agatha. That’s what I was going to say. He’s hideous.”
She cackles. “Well, I wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating crackers.”
“Agatha!”
“What?” She blinks innocently. “I may be old, but I’m not dead.”
I shake my head, trying not to laugh. “What are you doing up before ten? I thought you didn’t emerge from your lair until at least noon on weekends.”
She leans forward, dropping her voice to a stage whisper that they must hear in San Diego. “Just enjoying the view.” Her gaze shifts suggestively toward the courtyard below.
I stand and lean on the railing, peering past the large palm that blocks the pool from view and…
Oh.
Josh is stretched out on one of the poolside chaises. Shirtless. Arms crossed behind his head, elbows wide, face tilted up toward the sun like he’s photosynthesizing. His chest rises and falls with slow, even breaths, the morning light highlighting every defined muscle on his body. Those ripped abs, the narrow trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his swim trunks, the powerful thighs that look like they could crack coconuts.
The white bandage I applied to his arm last night stands out against his tanned skin.
Yep. Trouble. Capital T, underlined twice, with flashing sirens all around.
“Not bad, huh?” Agatha says, her tone smug.
Before I can respond, Josh gets up and stretches, his muscles rippling in a way that should be censored. He walks to the edge of the pool and dips a toe in, testing the temperature.
Wait. Is he about to?—
“Oh my gosh,” I mutter, watching in horror as he wades in.
On impulse, I drop the coffee mug on the small table and race down the exterior stairs, my flip-flops slapping with each step.
I march across the courtyard toward the pool, my cotton sleep shorts and tank top hardly appropriate for a public confrontation, but I don’t care.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I demand when I reach the pool’s edge.
Josh turns, startled. He’s standing waist-deep in the water. When he spots me, his face breaks into a smile so boyish, so unfiltered, that I almost stagger backward.
“Good morning to you too,” he says, his voice warm and amused.
I ignore the greeting, planting my hands on my hips. “Explain yourself.”
“I’m… enjoying the pool?” He raises an eyebrow, confusion clear.
“With a fresh wound? Do you have any idea”—I launch into full nurse mode— “what could happen if the gash gets infected? That water is a petri dish of bacteria. E. coli, pseudomonas, Legionella?—”
