Major Renovations (Ritter University #1) (9 page)

Yeah, no. She’d never be able to sleep with him so close.

Ski left the couch and placed a hand on Samantha’s lower back. Her skin burned as he ran his fingers up and down the pebbling skin. She stood, inches from him. Inches from his hard, strong body. Her face inches from his. His lips. She wanted to put his lips to hers. She wanted to feel him. On her. In her.

Crap
.
She definitely needed to leave before she did something stupid.

“Good night.” She tripped over her feet as she headed for the door. “And, uh, thanks for dinner.”

“My pleasure.”

Pleasure? Yeah, pleasure all right. She thought about arguing whose pleasure it truly was, but that wouldn’t help the situation. Or her drooping eyelids.

~»ΨΡ«~

Chapter
Thirteen

Ski

SKI SWIPED at the bee circling his head, and brown stain splattered across his cheek. He probably should have put the paintbrush down before waving his arms like a wand-waver at the airport. Damn bee was too quick, too persistent. And it wasn’t like he smelled like a flower, either.

He leaned against the handrail.
Gowno
.
He pulled back and twisted to see the line of brown stain across his ass. Thank goodness he was covered in the stuff or it would look like he had an accident.

Damn stain.

When he woke up this morning, it seemed like such a good idea to help Samantha out. Now, two stain-covered hours later, he was questioning the intelligence of the whole thing. The new wood on the ceiling and the railing were covered in stain, which was a win. But bets could be waged on whether more stain was on there or on him.

If given the chance to bet, he’d bet on himself. He’d worn latex gloves, because, hey, that made sense, and the painters had left a box of them behind. If he had a brain in his head he would have worn long sleeves, too— he had splotches all over his arms, and the brown patches had hardened to a crusty cocoon, tugging the hair and skin every time he moved.

He walked onto the grass and grabbed a bottle of water. Sweat was already dripping down his neck and it was only eight in the morning. There was only one way the thermometer would go. Up. By noon, it could easily hit a hundred.

Another sweat-soaked day. Which— sort of— explained why he’d opted to get covered in stain rather than wear long sleeves.

He took a swig and leaned his head back. The early morning sun chipped away at the dew in the air warming his cheeks. Good thing he was almost done. Then, maybe, he could talk Samantha into sitting down for lunch. Or dinner. Or breakfast tomorrow after a long night of...

That last one was definitely wishful thinking. But he wasn’t letting go of that dream.

He wiped the back of his hand over his forehead. The porch looked pretty damn good. If he didn't go into medicine, he had a promising future as a painter. Stainer? Whatever.

He tossed the empty water bottle at the cooler and straightened up. The deck floor. That’s all he had left. He could do this. No sweat. Well, maybe some sweat, but it would be worth it when it was all done.

He grabbed the handle of the brush and flipped it around. Stain flew from the tips, little splats dimpling up his arm. There really wasn’t a question as to why he was covered in this crap. He knelt on the deck and slid the bristles into the can of brown goop. Another hour. Tops. He stroked the soaked bristles over the floorboards.

“If you want a tan, all you have to do is lay in the sun for a few hours.” Samantha walked onto the deck and stood over Ski. Her work boots slapped against the wood. She took a long pull from the steaming cup in her hand. “What are you doing?”

“I'm helping.”

Her pink lips turned up in a smile as she ran a finger over a drip sliding down a baluster. “I see.”

He sat back and watched her inspect his work. She looked good. Red T-shirt tucked into faded blue jeans, showing off her curves. Her shiny black hair was tied back, revealing the darkened soft skin of her neck.

She walked along the railing, lips puckered, head nodding. “Not bad, but why are you helping?”

“Because that's the kind of guy I am.”

“I can't decide if I should kick you or kiss you.”

“Do I get a vote?” He laid the brush on the can. “Anyway, I thought you'd be glad I got this done. Maybe get things back on schedule. Especially after my screw-up”

“It was my screw-up, not yours. I get paid to do this work. I can't really charge for something you did.”

“I won't tell if you don't.”

“That's sweet, but I can't take money for something I didn't do. So it looks like I'm going to work on the sliding glass door, and you” —she knelt down and lifted the brush— “are going to finish the deck.” She scowled at the fuzzy brush. “I have better brushes in the truck. This is crap.”

“I only have the floor to do. No use wasting a new brush on that.”

“The floor, twice, and then the railing again.”

“Two coats?” Maybe she was kidding
.
Please be kidding
.

“I always buy a lighter stain, since I like to do two coats. It hides imperfections.”

“Another coat.” He rested his head on his knees. This was a nightmare.

He watched Samantha walk to her truck and grab a new brush along with a tool box. She walked past him, tossing him the brush. “Keep it up, Picasso.”

“Thanks.” He watched her walk into the house. So now he not only had double work to do, but his eye-candy was in the house.

Out of sight, but no matter how hard he tried, definitely not out of mind.

~»ΨΡ«~

Chapter
Fourteen

Sam

THE SUN was high in the sky as Samantha mounted the last wall sconce on the brick face of the building. She was trying to stay out of Ski’s way, but that was rather difficult. He was staining the deck she needed to walk on to put up the lighting.

She had to admit, for a pampered frat prince he seemed to be handling the whole painting process in stride. Maybe she’d underestimated him— again.

She’d been shocked by his med school revelation last night. Well, given his current state of stain coverage, he did have that nice-guy complex, so maybe lifesaver-fantastic fit. But the education needed just to get accepted to a program like that? Wow. She really hadn’t seen the man for what he was. A brilliant saint.

He was too good to stick around this Podunk town. Sweet. Kind. Helpful. Three reasons to stay as far away from the man as possible. Three reasons to run. No one was that perfect. If her mom taught her anything, it was not to let people get too close. They’ll always let you down. You can only trust yourself. Everyone else will walk away.

It was human nature.

She turned to the building. Done. She reached inside the front door and felt along the wall, flipping the switch. Light streamed from the black sconces.

“Let there be light.” Ski’s eyes glowed with admiration as he stood up.

She turned to the caramel-covered man. He looked like an extra from the
Home Alone
f
ranchise. He probably used half a gallon of stain on himself. It was so darn cute.

“So, why are you dealing with the headaches of managing a business when you have skills like this?” He reached around her and hit the switch up and down. Up and down. Light flickered on the partially-stained deck. “I saw you working with Bob on this. You know what you’re doing.”

“The inspection.”

“Eh, one mistake of paperwork compared to the magic of creating light.”

“This is just a hobby.” At least that’s what she’d told herself when her dad collapsed. Everything changed that day. Her priorities. Her dreams. Her future. She didn’t care what her future held as long as he was in it.

“When you told me you wanted to give electricity to the masses, I didn’t think you had skills like this. This is more than a hobby.”

“Thanks, but with my dad being sick…”

“I was thinking about that. Why can’t Barry manage the company? Or, hell, why can’t you hire someone to do it?”

She hated these conversations. Well, any conversation about her life, her family, her anything. It wasn’t her style. It wasn’t their business. She wasn’t tired enough, or drunk enough, to be comfortable with a trip down reality lane. But looking into those big brown eyes… Just what she needed. A man whose look could wither her resolve.

“You should see your face. You look so happy.” He stripped off one latex glove and ran his pinky across her forehead to slide her hair behind her ear. And no, her heart did not react in any way to the innocent caress. She huffed in irritation. It didn’t.

“My dad always wanted a son, but my mom abandoned us before she could give him one. Turned out she couldn’t handle having one child, let alone having another.” She grabbed a clean rag from her back pocket, and kept her eyes on the dirt that smudged the closest light fixture.

“That sucks, but your dad loves you. He’d rather you be happy than sacrifice yourself for his company.”

“He does love me.” She refolded the rag and slid it over the sconce. “But that doesn’t mean he’s not disappointed. He never got over losing my mom. Losing the family he dreamed of. The Y chromosome he never got to pass on. Never got over losing the future he wanted, the one where he groomed his male heir to ascend the construction throne.”

“That must have been hard.”

She stuffed the rag back in her pocket. “It’s history.”

“We all have history. It’s what makes us who we are.” He gave her a sideways glance and cleared his throat. “Would you like to go to dinner and talk about history? Or not talk about history. Your choice.”

“Umm…”

“I’m covered in stain. It’s the least you can do after all that work you made me do…”

“Made you do?” She laughed. “Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t we?”

“Maybe.” He pinched his thumb and finger together. “A little. But will you have dinner with me? We have to eat. Might as well do it together.” He dipped his head to the side, a smile inching across his adorable face. Adorable?

Running. She should be running far, far away.

“It’s just dinner,” he said.

“Fine, but no history talk.”

“Deal.” He shook her hand. Why did it feel like she should be walking away with a fiddle of gold? Her hands were empty, but deals with the devil never worked out the way anyone planned.

Hours later, Samantha stared into the restaurant’s bathroom mirror and resisted the urge to tug on her hair. Biting her lip, she tilted her head, watching the way the soft waves slid over her shoulder. She’d spent an hour on her hair, make-up and clothes. An
hour
.
She never spent that much time on her appearance. She’d gone overboard, unless this was a date.

Which this wasn’t. This was two friends sharing a meal. Nothing more. She needed to keep reminding herself of that.

She eased the skirt of her red dress down her legs. She hated dresses. Especially when the skirt barely covered the important stuff. Her thighs felt so exposed, and if she pulled the skirt down, her chest was in danger of popping out. Why the heck she wore a dress when there were perfectly good jeans hanging in her closet— she had no idea. Well, she had an idea, but she wasn’t thinking about it. She wasn’t trying to impress him. Not at all.

Maybe this had been a bad idea.

No
maybe
a
bout it.

She tucked her hair behind her ears and fluffed the ends. She needed to get back out there before he decided to check and see if she’d fell in the toilet or something else equally embarrassing.

Opening the bathroom door, she slid out into the dimly lit hall. Their table sat at the end of the dark tunnel, Ski’s smile lighting up the exit. The jock cleaned up nice. A bright blue shirt covered his muscular shoulders, and the top two buttons were open, exposing a tan, nibble-worthy neck.

Nibble-worthy? She couldn’t even reprimand herself for drooling over the man. She was only human. He was nibble-worthy.

She had this overwhelming desire to run a hand over his spiked dark blond hair, not to mention the other parts of his anatomy. Heat crawled up her neck.

“Dinner was fantastic.” She sat back down at their table, where a single red rose in a vase was centered on the white tablecloth. When she agreed to dinner, she figured it would be at some chain restaurant. Not Casciani’s, her favorite place for Italian food. “You sure know how to treat a girl.”

“When the girl is special...” He tucked money into the folder with the bill. “Where would you like to go next?”

“Well, it’s late.”

“It’s ten. It’s only late if you’re a geriatric.” He leaned forward and wrapped a hand around hers.

“Or if you have an early morning.”

“Do you have time for coffee?”

She knew the answer should be no. The word sat on the tip of her tongue, but somehow that’s not what came out of her mouth. “Sure.”

He escorted Samantha out the door, and somehow they ended up walking with their linked hands nestled softly in her lower back. He opened the car door for her, and she climbed into the passenger side. The cool summer-evening air tickled her way-too-exposed skin, and she rubbed the chill from her arms.

He started the sedan and twisted on the heat. “You’re cold.”

“A little.”

“I could give you my shirt.” His lips quirked into a devilish smile.

“The one you’re wearing?”
Yes, please.
The hard ridges and glistening skin were so nice to look at.

“Yeah.” He unbuttoned the next button down.

Oh, good gracious he was going to take the thing off. She wanted to turn away, but she couldn’t find the strength to move her head. Or maybe she just had no interest in moving her head.

Another button. He was playing with her, and she didn’t mind. But she should. Darn it. They were in the parking lot of a restaurant. “I’m fine. Let’s just get some coffee.”

A deep laugh rumbled from his chest. “Okay. We’ll be at the house in a few.” He pulled out of the lot and headed down the darkened streets of Cedar Glen toward the frat.