by Lea Nolan
Stop it. You made your decision and now you have to stick with it.
Wren stretched to swipe the paint brush above the window, exposing her side. A moment later, Smith approached, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as he pushed the roller over the old water stain. His elbow swept against the side of her breast, shooting a tingling sensation through her body.
"Oops, sorry," he said, taking a wide step back. "Didn't mean that."
She grinned. "It's okay." More than okay, it was nice. So nice, she wouldn't mind if he did it again.
He shook his head. "No, it's not. I told you I wasn't making a move and I meant it." He continued on, covering the ceiling, maintaining his distance.
Which stunk because that momentary graze was the most boob action she'd gotten in months. She'd forgotten how much she missed a casual, intimate touch by a good-looking man.
A strange craving built in Wren's stomach, wishing for another errant swipe of that elbow or maybe his hand. If it happened again, she wouldn't stop him. In fact, she was pretty sure she'd guide that hand from her breast to other sorely neglected regions that ached for a man's touch.
But Smith seemed determined to stick to his word.
For the next couple of hours they worked side-by-side as she edged and he followed right behind, covering the walls with long strokes of his roller. Every few minutes, he'd step so close she smelled the clean scent of his sweat. The rawness fueled her desire, unlocking a deep need she'd suppressed for half a year.
Yet every time she inched toward him, breathlessly anticipating their contact, Smith would retreat. And whenever she willed herself to ignore his scorching magnetism and focus on her task, he'd draw so near she felt the heat rising off his body. Seconds later, he'd withdraw again, leaving her pulse pounding and filled with want. It was as if they were engaged in a music-less dance designed specifically to tease her.
After their last close encounter, she glanced over her shoulder and caught his self-satisfied grin. He was trying to tease her. And dammit, it was working.
It wasn't fair. She'd admitted her attraction and he was using it against her. It was time to turn the tables.
They put the finishing touches on the last wall, then turned to face each other.
"You've got a little paint." Smith pointed to a small white dot on her T-shirt that she already knew was there.
"Well, you've got a lot of paint." Wren swiped her still wet brush across his broad chest.
His eyelids stretched wide. "Did you really just do that?"
She nodded. "Uh huh. And guess what? I'm going to do it again." Wren swung the brush in the opposite direction, drawing a giant white X across his black T-shirt.
Smith's jaw dropped as he stared at his chest. "This is one of my favorite shirts."
Oops. That might have been a mistake. Nervous laughter bubbled up her throat. "Sorry?"
He lifted his head to meet her gaze. "Oh, it's on now." With a devilish glint in his eyes, he bent and scooped a handful of paint from the tray, then hurled it at her. It splattered her T-shirt and leggings.
"Aaah!" Wren squealed, then ran across the tarp and ducked behind the covered furniture in the center of the room.
"You think you can hide from me?" Smith laughed as he stalked toward her.
"Um...maybe?" she giggled, crouched behind the dresser.
He loomed over her, his hand filled with another pool of white paint. "Uh uh. You started this war, you've got to fight in it."
Wren stood, wearing her best sweet-and-innocent smile, the one she used when facing a particularly harsh judge in court. "Truce?" she asked, her right hand tucked behind her back.
His lids narrowed. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't dump this on your head?"
"Because it would be really hard to wash out."
Smith exhaled. "That's fair." He slapped the paint on to the tarp, then wiped his hand on the only dry spot left on his T-shirt.
Shaking her head, Wren clucked her tongue. "It isn't smart to disarm yourself before your opponent does." Rising on tiptoes, she pulled out the paintbrush she'd kept hidden behind her back and wiped it across his forehead.
Surprise flashed in his eyes. "You fight dirty."
She shrugged. "I am a lawyer."
"I'll show you dirty." In one smooth movement, Smith hoisted her up in his arms, and deposited her on the dresser top. Spreading her knees wide, he wedged himself between her legs and leaned in so far, she was nearly lying flat, propped on her elbows. A mischievous smile played on his lips. "That wasn't very nice."
"But it was funny."
Smith's eyes sparkled. "True, but you still deserve to be punished. What should your punishment be?" His hard length pressed against her. It was hot and hard and made her insides coil with need.
Wren swallowed. "It's never a good idea to ask the accused to set their own punishment. They always go too light. I'll leave it to you to decide."
Kiss me. Hard and rough. Then rip off my clothes and do whatever you want.
"Hmm, what do you deserve?" His gaze bore into her.
Her breath raged as electric energy sparked between them. Smith's own fierce desire was written on his face. So what was he waiting for? All he had to do was dip his mouth to hers, then do all the things he'd promised last night.
Finally, his lips curled at the ends. "I've got it. But you're not going to like it."
Wren smirked. "Try me."
He straightened to his full height and took a step backward.
"Where are you going?" She scrambled to sit up. This was not moving in the right direction. In fact, it was the very opposite.
Smith stepped over a paint splotch on the tarp. "Home. You get to clean this mess up all by yourself."
Chapter 6
Smith pushed his regular morning run extra hard, taking his frustration out on the sidewalk along Oyster Avenue. The memory of Wren on that dresser—soft and close, and smelling like sweet apple nectar—wouldn't quit. He'd wanted to take her right there in the tiny upstairs bedroom of the beach house. But that would have been the wrong play. He needed to make her want him as much as he wanted her.
He'd won the first round. Desire had filled Wren's gorgeous green eyes as he towered over her, his body pressed between her legs. It hurt like hell to walk away, leaving her hot and needy, while ignoring his own Herculean want, but it was the smart move.
Any fool could act on impulse and rush in for the fast, cheap thrill. But a wise man resisted in order to play the long game. He'd yearned for Wren for most of his life. Waiting another couple of days would be worth it. Now he just needed a new excuse to see her again. And a reason to get between her legs.
Smith hung a left on Main Street and sped past a couple of shops, heading toward the boardwalk on the far side of Beach Drive. Steps from Island Deli, the front door swung open, blocking his path. He skidded to a halt as Wren stepped out carrying a large brown paper bag.
Holy shit. He'd asked and the universe delivered by placing her literally in his path. If this wasn't proof they were meant to be, he didn't know what was.
"Hey." Smith smiled as his chest heaved from exertion.
"Hey to you," Wren answered, her own grin dimming slightly as if she remembered their parting the day before. "Thanks again for helping me yesterday. The room looks great—now that I cleaned up the mess." She hitched a pretty brow.
Smith held up his hands. "I didn't start the paint fight."
"No. But you ended it."
He chuckled. "You just don't like losing."
She smirked. "No. I don't. But who does?"
"Not me. I decided a long time ago to win every fight I fought." Because a woman of Wren's caliber deserved a winner.
Once Smith had figured out why school had always been so hard, he'd adapted, learning techniques to help decode the words and numbers on every page. Then he threw himself into what he was good at, excelling in the culinary arts program at the local technical high school. After that, it wasn't enough to simply be a co
ok; he was driven to be the chef of his own restaurant. With years of hard work, determination, and persistence, he achieved his goals and then some.
But was it enough to be worthy in her eyes?
Wren laughed. "Remind me not to tangle with you again."
He leaned in and dropped his voice. "Depends on your definition of tangle."
A rush of pink flushed her cheeks. "I guess it does." The tip of her tongue darted past her lips as her gaze dropped from his face to his fitted T-shirt.
She was checking him out. And from the looks of it, she liked what she saw. Pleased he was getting to her, he switched subjects and nodded at the bag in her hands. "What have you got there?"
"Lunch, or maybe breakfast. I'm going to the bird sanctuary and thought it'd be nice to have a picnic."
"I haven't been there in years. Funny how that happens—living so close to something but never taking the time to enjoy it. I'm so busy with the restaurant I never think about going even when I have the morning off."
"Any chance you're off this morning?"
A grin bent the corners of his mouth. "I am."
"Would you...like to come with me?" Wren's bottom lip slipped between her teeth.
Hell yeah.
"Mind if we stop off at my place for a quick shower first?"
Wren stood in front of the Cape Cod with neat white trim and gray cedar shake siding that was just a block inland from her beach house. Surrounded by a low stone wall, the property was landscaped with pink and blue hydrangeas, laurel shrubs, and cone shaped evergreens.
"This is your house?" she asked as they walked up the red brick path to the front stoop.
"Why do you seem so surprised?"
"Your mother’s house is on the other side of Main Street."
Smith's head tilted. "Did you think I still lived with my mom?"
Maybe? It wasn't totally crazy. They did both live in the same small town. But now that the words had leapt from her mouth, she realized how dumb they sounded. "No, I just—"
He halted then stepped close, running his palm over her arm. "Do I have to convince you I'm a full-grown man?"
Yes, please. The air escaped her lungs in a gush.
Wait. No. Yesterday's little game had left her on the losing—and longing—end. She wasn't about to fall for his teasing and running again. It was time to act like the tough-as-nails attorney she was, capable of besting the most persuasive adversary.
Shaking her head, Wren stepped out of Smith's grasp and climbed the two steps on the front stoop. "That's not necessary."
See, she didn't have to cave under his touch. She had this.
He followed, then slid his key in the lock. "Good. Because I wouldn't want to have to pin you down...again." He twisted the knob and held the door open for her.
"Me neither." Liar. His hard body was the best thing she'd had between her legs in ages, including when she was still with Pierce.
Smith laughed as she breezed past him. "We'll see about that. Watch your step."
Inside she was stunned by the unexpected half-construction area, half-lived-in elegance that was Smith's home.
"Wow." Her gaze drifted over the gutted walls of the front rooms and open stairwell that led to the second floor. She could see clear through the stick-construction to the fully renovated gourmet kitchen, breakfast nook, and huge great room at the back of the house.
Smith kicked off his running shoes near the front door and peeled off his socks. "It's a work in progress. I do most of the construction myself and there's never enough time in the day."
"How long has it been like this?" Wren eyed the table saw that stood where a dining room table ought to be.
"I started renovating about six years ago. I bought it before Harbor's Edge really took off. It's getting there, one room at a time. When the bathrooms are finished, I can work on closing the rest of this up."
He led her through the center hall to the finished great room at the back. The wide plank floors were a warm shade of maple and the walls were painted in soft neutral shades. The stone fireplace was surrounded by a large cushy sofa that looked perfect for cuddling on in front of a movie.
"This is nice. And the front yard looks perfect."
"That's all Mom. She couldn't stand the scrubby bushes that used to be out there so she transplanted some stuff from her garden. You thirsty?" Smith veered toward the kitchen and opened the industrial refrigerator. "I've got water, lemonade, and some fresh carrot, spinach and apple juice."
Wren placed the bag from the deli on the granite island counter, then slid onto one of the stools. "Water's good."
"Afraid of the juice, huh?" He chuckled as he filled two glasses from the filter in the refrigerator.
She laughed. "A little."
"Chicken. You shouldn't doubt anything I do in the kitchen." Stepping close, he handed her one of the glasses, brushing his fingers against hers. His touch sent an electric charge over her skin. She longed to lean toward him, breathe in his musky male scent, and...
Nope. This wasn't happening. Not today. She'd resist Smith's many charms if it was the last thing she did. Prying her eyes from his chiseled jaw, and the adorable cleft in his chin, Wren turned her attention to the French doors that overlooked the back patio and yard.
"Is that what it looks like?" She rose from the stool and went to the door. Beyond the patio and its quaint sitting area lay a sprawling vegetable garden that took up the bulk of the yard. She opened the door and stepped outside. There were rows of broccoli, Brussels sprouts, cabbage, cauliflower, and zucchini, and many more she couldn't place. It was basically a small farm.
"Did your mom plant these, too?" she asked, hearing his footsteps behind her.
"No. That's mine. And a gardening service that helps."
The door slid closed. She turned to find Smith beside her, a fresh white towel in his hands.
"Do you use these vegetables at the restaurant?"
"As much as possible. You can't get more fresh and local than this." He handed her the towel then, without a word of warning, yanked off his T-shirt.
What exactly is happening?
Though she hardly minded the view. That glimpse she'd caught yesterday as they were painting—when Smith had wiped his brow with the tail of his shirt—didn't come close to revealing what he was packing beneath his clothes. The man before her was a perfect specimen of the male form: V-shaped torso with spectacularly defined abs and pecs, and a killer set of arms. Not to mention the shorts that hung low on his narrow hips, drawing her gaze to places her hands hadn't yet ventured.
She cleared her throat. "What are you doing?"
"The bathrooms are under construction. The toilets still work but I shower out here." He plucked the towel from her hands then strode to an outdoor shower constructed of long cedar planks at the far side of the patio. He laid the towel over the top edge of the shower then reached in and turned on the water.
"But it's cool out." The sunny day was mild for October, but was still nippy enough for a sweater.
He smirked. "I can take it. Besides, the water's hot." Stepping inside, he shut the door, his head and shoulders were visible over the shower sides. Steam rose as he ducked for a moment, then straightened to his full height and draped his shorts over the side. Then his boxer briefs.
Which meant Smith Connors was naked. And only steps away.
He reached for a bar of soap and rubbed it across his wide shoulders and under his arms. Sudsy water ran down his shins and onto the shower floor. Behind the cedar walls, he lathered the rest of his sculpted body. Wren conjured his firm backside in her mind's eye, then imagined what his front might look like. Her pulse fluttered and a warm sensation pooled in her midsection.
Wren caught herself staring, her thumb nail wedged between her teeth. Forcing her gaze back to the garden, she focused on a plant with dark purple stems and forest green leaves. "You know, it's going to get cold soon. Have you considered hiring a contractor to finish the house so you don't have to get na
ked outside?"
"I like doing it myself. And maybe I like getting naked outside." Smith said.
"Right because who doesn't?" Wren laughed.
"Definitely not you."
She spun on her heels. "Why would you say that?"
Did he think she was uptight? Because she wasn't. With enough warning and prep time, she could be as spontaneous and carefree as the next woman.
He shut off the water. "Come on, you know you're not the naked-outside type. It's okay. You don't have to be wild and free."
Wren crossed her arms. "But I am."
"Is that so?" Smith flicked the water back on, slid the shower wand from its holder, and pointed it toward her. The water arced over the top of the shower stall.
"Hey!" She squealed and sprinted to the opposite edge of the patio where the water splatted at her feet.
Smith roared. "See? Told you." He shut the water off a second time and pulled the towel off the side of the shower stall.
Fists balled, she marched toward him. "Just because I don't want to get wet doesn't mean I can't be wild and free...and naked."
"Prove it. Right here, right now. No one will see you. Besides me." A wicked smile parted his mouth.
Averting his gaze she glanced back at the vegetable garden. "I can't. We're going to the bird sanctuary."
The shower door swung open and he stalked toward her, the towel wrapped low on his hips, his chest glistening with water droplets. "So? You can put your clothes back on. Later."
Locked in his gaze, her breath quickened. Getting naked with Smith was more tempting that it ought to be. She yearned to run her hand over his thick biceps, across his wide chest, then skirt her fingers over the fine line of hair that ended below the towel. But the memory of yesterday roared back, strengthening her will. She wouldn't fall into his trap again.
Tipping her head, she crossed her arms. "I'm leaving for the bird sanctuary in five minutes. With or without you."
He smirked. "I'll be ready in four."
