Husband for Hire (7 page)

“Thank you for everything,” she said, feeling lost. She really hadn't expected him to leave so early.

She started to get into the elevator. He started to walk away. Simultaneously they turned to look at each other and then hesitated. Becca made the first move, saying his name, letting the elevator door shut. She moved toward him. He welcomed her with open arms, wrapped her up tight. His lips devoured hers, his tongue seeking and tasting, arousing. She groaned at the heat permeating her as their bodies touched.

“Come upstairs with me,” she murmured against his mouth, aware of their public situation.

“I can't,” he said, although intensifying the kiss, taking complete charge for a good, long time.

“Why?” she finally managed to ask.

“Because I really
want
to.”

She waited to see if he would add anything, but that was it. She understood what he was saying, but she wished he didn't have so much willpower.

And was also grateful for it.

“I'll see you in the morning,” she said. The elevator door opened the instant she touched the up button.

This time she didn't look back.

After all, a dozen chocolate-chip cookies awaited her. She didn't intend to leave a single one.

“W
hat makes you think you're just gonna be my gofer?” Landon Kincaid asked Gavin the next morning after draping tarps over the living-room furniture in preparation for the work ahead.

“I don't know anything about painting,” Gavin said.

“You're about to learn.”

“I'm paying
you
to do the job.”

“I dropped everything to help you out.”

The two men, about the same height and build, stared at each other, not in anger but with a touch of humor. Both were used to being in charge. Neither backed down often.

“It's a life skill you should have,” Kincaid said, crouching to pry open a paint can.

“Not as long as there are professional painters in the world,” Gavin said.

“Maybe you'd like to set the backsplash tile, instead?” Kincaid asked mildly.

Gavin raised both hands. “Uncle.”

Kincaid grunted, poured paint into two roller trays then gave Gavin instructions, along with a hands-on demonstration. Throughout the morning, new house hold purchases were delivered and tarped. Music blared—country, which was Kincaid's choice—to cover their lack of conversation, not because they didn't like each other, but because they had little in common. Not only had they taken entirely different career paths, Kincaid still lived in Chance City, Gavin's hometown, a place he avoided.

At one o'clock, they were finishing up the living room/dining room area when Becca popped in. Gavin hadn't told her they would be painting, hoping she would come home tonight to freshly done rooms.

“So much for surprises,” he muttered as she moved into the room, smiling, taking it all in, a string-tied cardboard package in her hands.

“I love the color. Shana is
good.
” She spotted Kincaid then and extended her hand, balancing her package on the floor. “Hi, I'm Becca Sheridan.”

“Kincaid.”

“You work fast.”

His eyes took on enough mischief to worry Gavin. “I've had help.”

“Gavin? Really?”

“Why are you so shocked? I'm good with my hands.” He decided to change the subject before Kincaid said something that might complicate things. “What's in the box?”

She hefted it. “The bridge sculpture. I'll get some scissors.”

“I can open it for you,” Kincaid said, grabbing a box opener from his tool chest, making quick work of it. The cardboard fell aside, revealing a piece even more beautiful than it had looked in the front-window display.

Gavin held it up in the spot it would find its home.

“Perfect,” Becca said, clasping her hands under her chin, admiring her find.

Gavin could see she'd finally gotten excited about her loft truly becoming her home. Even without his help at this point, she would finish it.

He also couldn't look at her without remembering their kiss in front of the elevator last night. Mutual need, mutual demand. It was getting harder and harder for him to stay out of her bed.

“You must be a magician,” she said to Gavin but turning to include Kincaid. “I've heard that getting a craftsman can take days, even weeks. Or did Shana arrange it?”

“Kincaid and I went to high school together. He took pity on me. I sounded desperate.”

“True,” Kincaid said. “It's been…entertaining watching him perform manual labor.”

“What
are
you good at?” she asked Gavin.

“I'm becoming a jack-of-all-trades,” he said, putting an arm around her shoulders to guide her into the kitchen, thus ending the conversation.

She was eyeing him, her expression caught between curiosity and amusement, as if she was on to his vague explanations. “I love the way the living room is starting to look. Shana is a genius. She must be in big demand as a designer.”

When Gavin didn't respond, she left the kitchen and crossed through the ghost town of tarped furniture to the front door to return to work. “Kincaid, thank you so much.”

The door shut behind her. Gavin looked at Kincaid, who crossed his arms and cocked his head. “She was wearing a wedding band,” he said.

Gavin turned on the faucet to wash his hands, making noise instead of answering.

“And isn't it interesting,” Kincaid continued casually as he wandered into the kitchen, “there's a matching man's ring right there on the counter.”

Gavin gave him a look but said nothing. Those rings were causing major problems. He'd gotten as far as taking his off while he painted, but why hadn't he hidden it? There had to be a reason, one he didn't want to acknowledge, even to himself.

“Did you get married, Gavin?”

“No.”

“So that ring belongs to another man? Her husband?” He leaned against the counter. “I remember your Don Juan reputation in high school. I would've thought you'd outgrown that by now.”

“It's not what you think. And I'm not at liberty to explain at the moment. We're not sleeping together.”

“You want to. So does she.”

That was a good thing, Gavin decided. Her brothers would believe them—if she didn't decide to tell them the truth instead. “How long until the paint is dry?”

Kincaid laughed, a rare sound for him. “Okay, I get it. None of my business.”

“True, but also a legitimate question. I'd like to move some of the stuff that arrived today into place before Becca gets home.”

“It'll be dry enough by the time we're done with the tile.”

“We? Really, Kincaid, I don't consider tiling a life skill.”

“I do,” he said cheerfully. “What're you griping about, anyway? It's an eighteen-inch-by-six-foot space. I'll do the grouting.”

“Damn right you will.”

Gavin found himself enjoying the tiling, especially seeing such a big change in a short time. The kitchen sparkled as if dressed in jewels. By six o'clock, every
thing was done and the furniture moved into place according to Shana's master plan. Gavin and Kincaid leaned against the counter bar enjoying a beer and admiring their work. At least, Gavin was. It was nothing new for Kincaid.

“I may have given you grief today,” Gavin said, “but I appreciate everything you did, especially how fast you came. I know you're always in demand.”

“No problem.” He took a long sip as he glanced at Gavin. “Does Shana have enough money to get by? Seems like she's putting in a lot of hours.”

“She also commutes two hours a day. Sacramento's the only place she can get consistent work.”

“It's got to be hard, leaving Emma behind with a sitter every day.”

Gavin nodded. It bothered him, too, but when he'd offered her financial assistance, she'd turned him down cold, determined to make it on her own. “I figure that's the hardest thing for her. But as for funds, lots of people invite them for meals, Aggie babysits for free, as do a few others. Shana seems to be managing. And I think if she were desperate, she would let me help her.”

“What about your parents?”

“Mom is in touch. Dad hasn't forgiven her.”

“Idiot.” The word came out like a curse and hung in the air for a few seconds.

What could Gavin say to that, anyway? He agreed. His father was a narrow-minded idiot who was missing the opportunity to know his granddaughter, as
well as enjoy his daughter's company. Shana had become a steady, responsible woman. She deserved a second chance.

Kincaid set his empty bottle in the sink. “Let me know if you need anything else done.”

“Thanks. I'll help carry your stuff to your truck.”

Gavin returned to the loft fifteen minutes later, appreciating the fresh, new look to the place as he walked through the front door, even though it wasn't completely furnished yet. He needed a shower, yet he wanted to see Becca's reaction when she got home. The problem was she came home a different time each night and he was afraid that if he changed, he'd miss her arrival.

He did have a change of clothes in his car. He could use her second bathroom, get in, get out…

He retrieved his clothes, took the world's fastest shower, put on his jeans, then was towel drying his hair as he went into the living room, making sure she hadn't come home. All clear.

He headed back to the bathroom then heard her key in the lock. The front door swung open. She stood still, taking in the room.

“What do you think?” he asked.

She jumped, apparently not having realized he'd been standing in the bathroom doorway watching her….

“It's…” Becca's gaze landed on him, shirtless, messy haired, barefoot, reminding her once again
of a perfect sculpture. He had broad shoulders and an interesting amount of chest hair that took an intriguing path down firm abs before disappearing into his jeans. “Nice. Really, really nice.”

She finally made eye contact but couldn't read his expression. He clutched a towel.

“You like it, so far?” he asked, moving toward her.

Who wouldn't?
She needed to touch him, to flatten her hands on that perfect chest and let her fingertips seek the ridges and planes of his flesh. She could follow the thin line of hair bisecting his stomach, hook her finger on his waistband, pull him to her—

“Kincaid helped me move everything into place,” he said, as if not noticing her blatant desire. “If there's something you don't like…”

It took her a moment to focus her attention on the room, not him. “I like everything I see,” she said, dragging her gaze to view the freshly painted living and dining room. Some new furnishings were in place, too—end tables, two comfortable chairs to face the sofa, creating a conversation area, a sleek dining room table and chairs. “You tiled the kitchen,” she said, noticing the backsplash. “It's beautiful.”

“Technically Kincaid tiled. I assisted. Although it wasn't as hard as I'd anticipated.”

“I love it.”

“There's more. Take a look in the bedrooms.” He grabbed his shirt from where it hung on a doorknob and put it on.

She felt him close behind her as she viewed the additional pieces added to the master bedroom—a chaise lounge, reading lamp and small table. Next they went into the guest room/office.

“It's starting to look like a real space,” she said, moving around the room, large enough to hold a double bed and end tables.

“Your home office will be placed along that wall,” Gavin said, pointing it out. “The furniture should arrive tomorrow. In the meantime, we still have boxes to unload, and more stacks of journals and folders to sort through.”

“I can't believe I accumulated that much stuff.”

His cell phone rang. He looked at the screen, then let it go to voice mail. Why wouldn't he answer it?

Becca had given little thought to his personal life, only his career, or lack thereof. Why had she assumed he didn't have much going on in his life?

Jealousy crept in. She hadn't felt it in so long, she didn't know how to handle it. Her fingers itched to massage his neck. And shoulders. And back. And more. “I could rub your neck for you before we go,” she said. “After all, you incurred the pain in the line of duty,” she added, her tongue firmly in her cheek.

“Worker's compensation?” he asked, his eyes sparkling, as if he knew exactly why she'd offered. No doubt he did. She'd practically drooled over him when she'd seen him shirtless.

“Just for a little while,” he said after a few seconds. “I'm starved.”

Was that his reason for limiting the time or was he worried it might lead to something else?

They went in the living room. He sat backward on one of the new chairs and rested his arms along the back, cushioning his head.

“Shirt off, please,” she said, aiming for casualness.

He didn't respond right away but eventually unbuttoned it then tossed it onto the second chair. Becca got up close and set her hands on his shoulders. His skin felt warm and smooth, his muscles bunched and tight.

“Relax,” she said quietly. “It'll be more effective.”

She felt his shoulders relax but noticed that he wasn't shutting his eyes, his gaze aimed at the kitchen. To distract himself? Did he think he wouldn't feel her touch as much?

“Close your eyes, Gavin. Enjoy it.”

“I might enjoy it too much.”

Ah. So she was right. “You've done so much for me. Let me have a turn, please.”

“I'm being paid for what I do.”

“It's not why you're helping me all this week, and you know it.”

He didn't say anything, but he did close his eyes. His whole body seemed to sink into the chair.

Becca worked his shoulders first, easing up his neck now and then but always returning to his shoulders, kneading them. When she slid her hands down
his upper arms he made an involuntary sound of pleasure, so she worked his arm muscles all the way down to his wrists, taking her time, enjoying touching him and bringing him relief.

After a long while, she set her hands on his back, near his shoulder blades, and started working his back.

“Is this okay?” she asked.

“I'm mush. I couldn't stop you if I wanted to. I don't want to. You have great hands, Becca.”

She should've put some music on. Or the television. The quiet accentuated her own pulse in her ears, loud and steady but escalating. He didn't stop her when she made her way down to his waist, then she realized he'd fallen asleep. She figured he'd wake up if she stopped, so she continued, not pushing hard, not kneading, but long, slow strokes meant to soothe.

A few minutes later he awakened with a start, sitting straight up. Even without seeing his face, she knew he was disoriented.

“Everything's fine,” she said, more than a little pleased she'd put him to sleep.

He turned around and set his hands at her waist, drawing her close, until she had no place to go other than to straddle his lap. He kept his arms around her, keeping her from slipping.