For a moment, I couldn’t think. I was sure I’d built her up in my mind over the past week. But she was just as appealing as I remembered. Except today, she was in regular clothes, which made things much worse. Her hair hung in loose curls around her shoulders. The soft red sweater she wore clung to the curves above her waist, her faded jeans to the ones below.
She came to a stop when she saw me. “Mr. Harrington.” She folded her arms. Her left hip cocked just slightly, tempting my eyes downward. I resisted with extreme effort.
“Look at you, answering your door like a peasant."
She was punchy, like she’d imbibed some liquid courage. Had she been on a date? Was that what I’d interrupted? She was wearing lipstick. Heels, too.
I kept my eyes on hers, ignoring the unwelcome surge of jealous heat that rippled through me. “Ms. Chalmers. Thank you for coming.”
She blinked, like she’d expected me to throw a barb.Finally, she lifted her brows. “Did you want me to look at this pipe, or...?”
Right. I was in the way.
She breezed past me in a cloud of something faintly floral. “So, what seems to be the issue this time? And did Miller finish the bathroom?”
I closed the door, forcing myself to exhale her scent.
But when I turned, I had to grit my jaw. Her back was to me, and fuck, her ass looked incredible in those jeans. Round and plush and perfect. I had the obscene thought that I could palm both cheeks perfectly with my hands, like a basketball. The lower part of my body heated at the thought.
The cerebral part shoutedThe fuck is wrong with you?
I bit my cheek hard, drawing pain to clear my dirty mind, and looked sharply away.
This was not why she was here.
I tried hard to recollect what she’d just asked.Plumbing. Miller. Bathroom.I didn’t actually know if the repair she’d started had been completed. I never used that bathroom. Maybe I remembered a van that wasn’t hers showing up sometime midweek? Sal must have taken care of it.
“The bathroom’s fine,” I said. “I think.” It probably was. But maybe she could stay to check that too. “The new issue is in the kitchen.”
Winona gave me a strange look. Then she pressed her hand against the strip of wall between the painting and the corner and slipped out of her heels.
I groaned inwardly at the sight, unable to keep from picturing her bracing and looking down for other reasons.
I managed to school my expression just as she looked up again.
Losing the shoes had made her drop several inches in height. I felt like a beast standing over her, like I could accidentally bruise her just by standing here.
I took a step back. But then I was distracted by the intimacy of seeing her bare feet on my concrete floor, the delicate pink-painted toenails, the smooth points of her ankles.
I’m not a foot guy. Am I a fucking foot guy?
I wanted to smack myself. I wasn’t like this. I didn’t call women for nefarious purposes. I didn’t need to. I also didn’t get distracted by them.I had laser-sharp focus. It was what had gotten me to where I was. It was also what I couldn’t seem to find here; not with my book, and not with her.
“This way,” I snarled, moving past her. I pressed my eyes closed at the fresh noseful of that sweet floral scent, opening them again so I didn’t take a header down the stairs to the main room.
But when I reached the kitchen, I drew to a halt. I’d been so hung up on getting her here, I hadn’t thought about what she might think when she saw the disaster under the sink. What if she ran screaming? Why the fuck hadn’t I just unscrewed something like a normal fucking person?
I breathed through my nostrils, turning around and meeting her eyes. There was no avoiding it now.
“There,” I said, pointing to the cabinet.
Winona stopped at the threshold of the room, at the end of the island.
She glanced at the cabinet, but didn’t move to open it.
Instead, she folded her arms again, her eyes narrowing like she was a cop trying to suss me out.
A dark irritation flooded over me. I knew it was there to mask the preview of my embarrassment. “Do you need me to open the cupboard for you?” I asked.
