Now and Forever 4, The Renovated Heart (10 page)

When he approached her, the electricity
fairly crackled…the air so charged with sexual energy she could
barely breathe. He smiled his sexy lopsided grin and his eyes
glittered when he looked at her.

* * * *

Kit followed the directions Tunney gave her.
She landed at the Nichols Building without getting lost once. The
building, beautifully designed and immaculate, impressed her.
Painted in neutral colors outside and in gave her a hint as to how
ingrained neutral colors were with him. When she went inside an
attractive redhead sat behind the front desk.

“You must be Anne Marie,” Kit said.

“Yes, who are you?” She could feel the
redhead’s gaze looking her up and down.

“I’m Kit Alexander. I’m here to pick up some
supplies Tunney left?”

“Oh, yes. Wait a sec; I’ll have Jeremy load
them into your truck.”

“I don’t have a truck. Just a car.”

“No problem, everything should fit,” she
said, picking up the phone to announce over a building-wide
intercom a request for Jeremy. Anne Marie’s gaze traveled over
Kit’s slender build, not missing her curves, emphasized by her
shorts and tank top. Then her green eyes took in Kit’s silky hair
falling close to a pair of big blue eyes. The green eyes got
darker.

“Thank you,” Kit said. She tapped her foot
anxious to get away from the hostile stare of the receptionist.

“How long you know Tunney?”

“Not long.”

“You staying long in Willow Falls?”

“It depends…”

“On Tunney?”

“On …other things,” Kit said, looking at the
floor.

“How come you’re helping him renovate his
house?”

“I’m living there. He asked me if I’d mind.”
Kit shifted her weight from foot to foot.

“You don’t look like much of a carpenter to
me. So why would you be helping him? Helping him do what,
exactly?”

“I’m his carpenter’s helper, whatever that
is.”

“Why’d he ask you?”

“I don’t know,” Kit said, color creeping up
her neck.

“I guess his request has more to do with
your bra size than your experience,” Anne Marie said, staring at
Kit’s chest.

Kit looked at her watch saying nothing,
embarrassed.

“Look at you. Can you lift a fifty pound bag
of anything?”

“Probably not…but I can paint, I can clean
up, put out drop cloths.”

“Yeah? Whoopee. Tunney is a man first.”

“What do you mean?” Kit replied.

“He probably sees you as most helpful to him
in the bedroom.”

“Are those supplies ready?” Kit said, her
embarrassment turning to anger.

“Jeremy’s loaded you up. Watch out for
Tunney. He’ll sneak up on you, if you’re not careful…break your
heart,” Anne Marie said.

“Nobody is going to sneak up on me.”

“No? I bet he already has.”

“I’m late,” she said, anxious to leave Anne
Marie’s scrutiny.

She drove everything home, got the supplies
unloaded in five trips... In the vestibule she ticked off
everything on the list. Paint, brushes, rollers, drop cloths, blue
tape…a man’s shirt? She held the shirt up, wondering what it was
for.

* * * *

In an hour, Tunney scraped, spackled and
plastered the inside of the closet.

“Tomorrow I’ll sand and you paint.”

Kit nodded as if she knew what to do.
Never painted before. Guess I’ll learn.

She tried to stay away because he worked
shirtless in the warm closet. She didn’t trust herself. But she did
bring him water and a sandwich. Trying to avert her gaze from his
broad shoulders, his strong, bare chest sprinkled with dark hair, a
lump grew in her throat, her breath came more quickly. With a
little spackle smeared on his arm and shoulder, some plaster dust
in his hair and a light sheen of sweat on his chest; he looked so
sexy she could hardly keep her hands off him.

“Should be dry by tomorrow. You can paint
then.”

Better confess now.

“Me? I don’t know how to paint.”

“I thought you were going to be my
helper?”

“I am, but…”

“Time you learned how to paint. The closet
is the perfect place to start because no one can see in there
anyway, in case you mess up.”

“Why do you assume I’m going to mess
up?”

“I’m not assuming, but just in case. I’ll
come in the morning to show you.”

“What’s this shirt for?” Kit asked him,
holding up a solid light blue long-sleeved shirt.’

“An old shirt of mine. Wear it to paint.
Painting is messy, gets everywhere, so you need a big…a…”

“A smock?”

“Yeah, right. A smock.”

“Okay.”

“I’ve got to get back to work. See you
tomorrow,” he said, closing the door behind him.

Sarah invited Kit to dinner. After the meal,
the children disappeared into their rooms. The ladies took coffee
onto the deck.

“How’s the house renovation coming?”

“We started today.”

“And?”

“If he takes his shirt off one more time…I
might not be responsible.”

The two women dissolved in laughter.

At nine o’clock, Kit drove home in her “rust
bucket” as she called her old car. Tired after a day of physical
activity, only sleep was on her mind, or so she thought. Bedding
down in the master bedroom, the fantasy of Tunney being with her
came back. Imagining his strong arms folded around her, keeping her
safe, she fell into a restful sleep.

* * * *

The next morning, Tunney showed up right on
time. Kit answered the door wearing nothing but his shirt, which
hung down just below her knee. He eyed her body then looked
away.

“What are you wearing?”

“The smock, remember? Your shirt.”

“But…but…what else?”

“Nothing else. This shirt is thin, paint’ll
soak right through. Easier to get paint off my skin than out of my
lingerie. Do I need to be dressed to spend the day inside a closet,
painting?”

“Maybe not to paint the closet, but geez,
you shouldn’t come to the door so…so…undressed.”

“Why not? You can’t see anything.”

“I can see enough…more than enough.”

His gaze rested on her breasts then dropped
to her legs.

“What?” she said, looking down at the
shirt.

“Your legs…can’t you at least button up…all
the way to the top? You look like a centerfold for Popular
Mechanics.”

“Very funny. I have legs, Tunney. Get over
it. I’m not going to button the shirt all the way to the top, I’ll
choke.”

“Now you know how a man feels when he goes
to work.”

“Put your eyes back in your head. Let’s get
started.”

Tunney went upstairs. He strung up a
powerful light and set up a stepping stool.

“Put out the drop cloth first,” he said,
“then get the roller and the pan.”

Kit set out the drop cloth to cover the wood
floor in the closet. He poured some paint in the pan filling the
trough halfway.

“The most important part is to get the paint
on evenly. First outline with the brush. Here, let me show you.
Move the brush back and forth in even strokes,” he said as he
brushed the paint on the wall.

I’d like to stroke you evenly.
Her
mouth felt dry.

When Tunney gave her the brush, she started
outlining the side wall.

“Right but do the ceiling first, in case you
need to touch the wall to balance yourself. Call me when you’ve
finished outlining the ceiling. I can’t be here when you get up on
the ladder.”

“Why not?”

“Get serious. When you stand on the ladder
then reach up, I’ll be able to see…well…all the way to China…use
your imagination, dammit. I’ll be back,” he said, storming out of
the closet while Kit laughed.

When the ceiling had been outlined, she
called him. He picked up the roller and screwed a long handle into
the end.

“Here, you roll this in the paint, try to
get it distributed evenly on the roller. Then you roll the paint on
the ceiling. Stroke in different directions. Then you go over the
ceiling like this, light strokes.”

Again. Twice. That word, “stroke”.
She closed her eyes, gave her head a slight shake to remove the
image.
Stroke, stroke. Stop, I’m only human.

“Something wrong?” He stared at her.

“I’m fine. Got it…evenly.” Color rose in her
cheeks.

He stood so close to her. Couldn’t he move
away? Not in the closet, nowhere to go.

“Should I set up a fan in here? Too hot for
you?” He asked, perusing her face.

Beads of sweat had formed on her upper
lip.

Damn right…with you standing there with
plaster in your hair, those gorgeous arm muscles just inches from
me, your sexy mouth…with that lopsided grin
!

“I’m fine. Let me try, okay? I’ll call you
when I’m done.”

“It’s hot in here.”

He feels it too.

Tunney mopped his face with a towel he
yanked out of his back pocket. Their eyes connected as he moved the
towel down to his neck.

“Too hot in here for you?” She taunted him
with her words, raising her eyebrows.

“Damn right. Too hot anywhere near you in
your…smock.”

“Don’t you have something else to do?”

She looked up into his eyes, seeing heat
there tempted her to step a bit closer. He placed his hands on her
arms to hold her away from him.

“I’m stripping the paint off the dining room
trim. I need to get back.”

Stepping back to give him room to pass, her
bare foot dipped into the paint pan by accident.

“Oh, crap!” She picked up her foot, which
was covered in white paint.

“The roller, Kit, not your foot,” Tunney
chuckled.

“Very funny,” she said, dabbing at her foot
with several paper towels, stifling a laugh.

“Painting is messy.”

“Duh!” Kit said, then turned to swipe a
finger covered with paint down the length of his nose.

“What are you doing?” He grabbed his
nose.

“Sharing!”

Tunney grabbed a paper towel.

“You want a paint fight?” Grinning, he
cocked an eyebrow at her.

“No, no. I’m sorry…sorry,” Kit said, putting
her hands up.

“You know what I’d do to you, if you weren’t
married?” he said, moving closer.

Kit backed up against the closet wall,
wanting him to show her but being afraid at the same time. Her eyes
grew wide her hands palmed the wall behind her. Trapped!

“What? What would you do, Mr. Carpenter?”
She feigned confidence, but the breathiness in her throat gave her
away.

“If you weren’t married, I’d, I’d,” he said,
dipping his finger in paint before running it down the length of
her nose, then he grabbed her to him and kissed her hard. His lips
bruised hers with their passionate insistence. She rested her palms
on his chest but didn’t push away. As he tightened his grip, Kit
softened in his arms. His lips engulfed hers, hard at first then
going soft, coaxing her. Finally he pulled away. She heard his
ragged breathing, watched his chest heave while he sucked in air.
Her pulse kicked into hyper-drive, her hands still on his pecs.

“That’s what I would do…but you’re married,
so I can’t,” he whispered. Tunney pushed her aside, stalked out of
the closet then disappeared down the stairs to the dining room. Kit
wiped the paint off her nose with a shaking hand. She leaned
against the wall while waiting for her breathing to return to
normal.

* * * *

Tunney continued to come by daily with
equipment, paint, stain, plaster to set up projects all over the
house. Kit laid down drop cloths, picked them up, cleaned brushes,
bagged garbage, stirred paint but stayed in a different room, away
from him.

He avoided her, too. He didn’t apologize
after the escapade in the closet, but he gave her a wide berth. He
patched the ceiling in the kitchen in the early afternoon since she
was there in the morning. Mornings were spent plastering cracks in
the walls in the living room. Stripping paint, rubbing oil into the
trim in the dining room took place in the late afternoons. He
played the radio and sang along, working away as if she wasn’t even
in the house. Except at break time.

Kit prepared ham and Swiss sandwiches for
lunch. They ate in the kitchen, eying each other warily as they
discussed the projects, disagreeing over colors for each room. They
were always polite, staying on their own side of the table with
minimal physical contact. Unable to avoid passing by each other,
the occasional touch of shoulder to shoulder or hip to hip, hands
brushing as they passed the mustard heightened their physical
awareness. The heat generated by their mutual desire forced her to
turn the ceiling fan up a notch when they were there together.

He spent several days pulling up worn
carpets in the rooms on the first floor, tossing out ancient area
rugs. He planned to refinish the wood floors. A cracked pane of
glass in the parlor window needed replacing.

Every morning at six o’clock, Kit spent an
hour at her computer, trying to write, but nothing came. At eight,
when Tunney arrived, she worked on a renovation task from their
list. She scraped walls, painted, hauled equipment and supplies up
the stairs, down the stairs, from room to room.

“The gray should go in the living room
because it’s sunny…the gray is cool.”

“I don’t have enough gray paint for the
living room. I have enough for the parlor.”

“So? Get more paint.”

“Then I won’t be able to start until
tomorrow, the paint might not match perfectly.”

“Mix the two together.”

“Nuts!” Tunney said, stalking out of the
room, refusing to admit she was right.

“I changed my mind about the color for the
dining room. How about light green instead of cream.” Kit chewed
her lip.

“Green! No way. The rooms have to have
neutral colors. We agreed. No one wants a green dining room…except
maybe you.”