by Virna DePaul
I glanced at Dominic. A little shorter than Taylor, Dom was equally broad and muscular in the shoulders, with short dark hair and the most beautiful golden brown eyes I’d ever seen. He caught my gaze with his, then quickly looked away, not allowing the eye contact to linger. Something deep and dark lay hidden there—the nickname Dark and Broody fit him as well as his tight Levi jeans—and the haunted expression he wore triggered a desire in me to wrap my arms around him and promise him whatever was causing him pain would someday fade away.
Wow. I really needed to get my head out of dreamland and back to reality. These men were here to help me fix a leak, not satiate all my hidden fantasies.
“But?” Taylor asked.
“Nothing,” I said, shaking my thoughts aside. So, they were hot. Did that mean I had to be rude and forget my manners? I stepped back and let them in. “Come on in,” I said, my voice going low and husky. God, simply saying that made me feel slutty in all the best ways possible.
I stepped back, they stepped forward, and suddenly two tall bodies and masculinity in work boots filled the foyer. I felt so very small in comparison. And all rumpled, frizzy, and braless, too.
There wasn’t much I could do about my hair, but I folded my arms across my chest. “Sorry about the wait. I overslept.”
“No worries,” Taylor said. “So, you’re Tabitha’s niece. Nice to meet you.” He held what looked like a shiny new faucet in one hand but stuck out his free hand, forcing me to lower my arms to take it or appear rude.
“Hi.” I glanced at Dominic again.
“Hey,” the man said, his tone gruffer, not as friendly as Taylor’s. He seemed to hesitate, then his strong shoulders and muscles flexed as he reached out to shake my hand, too.
I almost flinched at how hot and hard his hand felt in mine before I pulled away. When he cocked a brow, I cleared my throat and joked, “You two aren’t smiling like in your picture on your truck. I want my money back.”
Taylor laughed, nudging Dominic with an elbow. “See? She has Tabitha’s sense of humor. Give the lady a smile, Dom.”
“Or we could get to work. Time is money,” Dominic said roughly. He seemed unimpressed with my attempt at humor and annoyed he had to deal with me, though he was not remiss in noticing my lack of bra. To his credit, he flicked his gaze away as soon as he realized he was staring at my chest.
As my body did crazy things inside, I cleared my throat and said, “So, uh…I can show you where the kitchen is.”
“We can find our own way,” Dominic said.
Now it was me who cocked a brow at him. Why was he giving me such disapproving, judgmental looks?
I caught Taylor giving his friend a brotherly what the fuck is wrong with you face before he smiled at me. “Dom hasn’t had his coffee. Thank you for showing us in.”
“No problem. The sink is over here.” I walked them through the house.
Taylor immediately started touching walls and railings with his free hand. I imagined that was part of the job, to capture a house’s essence, its sturdiness and its need for loving care. He mumbled to himself, already identifying what the home needed as we made our way to the kitchen.
“So, this is the sink.” I pointed to the offending fixture as if Taylor couldn’t figure it out for himself. “I turned it on and the handle came off. Water sprayed everywhere, splashing the entire ceiling and floor. I managed to turn the valve off. Then I called you.”
“You take care of this, and I’ll start assessing the rest of the house?” Dominic asked Taylor, who nodded. Dominic gave me an undecipherable look before spinning on a heel and heading off down the hall.
I pondered over what I’d said since they first walked in the door. Surely I couldn’t have offended Dom that terribly to deserve such an icy stare. I’d asked for a smile, I guess. Maybe he had some incurable disease where he couldn't smile and I'd hit a sore spot. Or perhaps he really liked guessing where a sink was in each new house and I’d ruined the fun, an unforgivable sin. Or maybe he was just an asshole.
A really hot asshole I couldn’t take my eyes off of.
“Well, he’s a grumpy one,” I muttered to Taylor, the really hot non-asshole.
That would be a pleasant change for once, eh, Kayla? A non-asshole in your life? Imagine that.
Taylor got down on the ground and opened up the sink cabinet. Watching him on his back with his leg extended and the other knee bent somehow felt personal, as if I should look away.
“Don’t mind him,” Taylor said, his velvet voice muffled. “Dom’s going through a hard time.”
“Oh?”
Taylor crawled back out from under the counter. “His fiancée recently left him. They were together for a couple of years. He’ll get over it.”
I could see Dom through the door to the kitchen as he tested the oak railing that lined the great winding staircase in the foyer. He moved silently, diligently, gripping each rail with strong, weathered hands. A surge of compassion washed over me.
Maybe Taylor didn’t understand, but I did. You don’t just “get over it.” A breakup, especially a bad one, changes a person. The ghost of the woman who'd hurt him lingered around Dom as he worked. He could probably still hear her words whispered in his ear at night. Still catch the scent of her perfume on a busy street. Still remember the way the door sounded the last time she closed it.
I had plenty of memories that haunted me from the men who’d broken my heart throughout the years.
Ghosts were hard to shake.
Now I regretted calling him grumpy. “I’m so sorry. I get what he’s going through.”
“Yeah?” Taylor reached into his tool belt, took out a wrench, and started working his repairman magic while I watched with fascination. I’d always been intrigued by men who worked with their hands and fixed things. Grant couldn’t change a light bulb if he tried. Suddenly, I felt like a fool for ever having been with him. What was wrong with me that I’d picked men so eager to make me feel bad about myself in order to feel good about themselves?
“Your fiancé broke up with you, too, or you did the letting go?” Taylor’s voice floated into my awareness. Focusing on Taylor after Dom was like putting on a rom-com after a thriller film. Dom was everything dark and brooding. Taylor was sunshine and smiles and a velvet voice meant to stroke a woman’s soul.
He also had deliciously chiseled abs from what I could see through his tee. Yum. Memories of my fantasy the night before charged into my mind, and my arousal intensified.
“Boyfriend, and it was…messy,” I murmured. So messy, I abruptly remembered, that I suddenly wanted to go hide upstairs, to get myself away from the temptation Taylor and his friend represented. “Hey, do you mind if I shower while you’re doing that? It’ll only take a few minutes.”
He glanced at me, and for a long moment, held my gaze. Almost as if my mention of the word “shower” had been an invitation for him to imagine me naked.
Heat crept up my neck and cheeks. I swallowed. “I meant—”
“No worries, you can trust us. The entire population of Fosterman does. Go do your thing. We’ll do ours. Besides, I’m almost done with the sink.” As if to prove his words true, he ducked back under the counter, wrench in hand, and moments later popped back out and turned on the faucet.
I clapped and thanked him, and he gave me a grin before going to his toolbox and pulling a little contraption out.
“One task down,” he said, running the unit along the walls until the little machine beeped. “Now let’s see what else this gorgeous lady needs.”
Everything that was naughty in me went wild at those words. Yeah, I get it—he was talking about the house—but my libido interpreted his statement in an entirely different way.
I needed to get upstairs and catch my breath already. “Shower time,” I murmured before ducking out of the kitchen.
As I got to the landing and turned the corner, Dominic surprised me by coming out of the guest bathroom across the hall. We nearly slammed into each other. He grabbed my a
rm to steady me, and his touch and proximity made me stiffen.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Thought you were still downstairs.” I worked my way around him.
“Not a problem.” Even through a judgmental stare, his eyes, dark and intense, roved over my body, stopping on my chest where my nipples had pebbled, pressing through the fabric. Unlike before, his gaze lingered boldly and I had to fight the sudden urge to whip up my shirt and show him the goods. Instead, I quickly crossed my arms over my chest and headed for the guest bathroom.
“You have a short circuit in there,” he warned before I got too far. “Is there another bathroom you can use?”
“Yes, thank you,” I said, turning back to face him. The man may have an attitude toward me I didn’t deserve, but at least he'd saved me from being electrocuted. I guess that was the electrical hiss I’d heard yesterday when I’d first arrived and turned on the lights. Besides, I could easily use Tabitha’s bathroom.
He nodded curtly.
Okay, so he wasn’t friendly, but I suppose he didn’t have to be for me to be attracted to him. Though he was quieter, more somber than Taylor, I sympathized with his reason why and wished I could tell him I knew his secret. Our gazes unlocked, and I found myself catching my breath as I stepped into the guest room.
Deep breath, Kayla. Let’s recap, shall we?
Taylor and Dominic were builders here to fix my kitchen sink and give me an estimate for the repairs to the house so I could figure out if I had to sell or might possibly be able to fix it up. Nothing more. It’s not like they were here to help bring orgasms into my life. For all I knew, Taylor could be married with kids.
Push them out of your mind, I told myself. Today’s task was to sit down and compile a To-Do list for getting my life back in order, not allow fantasies of construction men to invade my brain.
I grabbed my towel and made my way into Tabitha’s master bathroom, but even then Taylor and Dominic’s low voices came through the walls, messing with my resolve to put them out of my head. Their combined rumbly voices did crazy things to my insides, and for the briefest second I had a vivid image of the three of us together. Last night the two men had been true fantasies, but now? Now they were here, and my fantasies were so much more colorful and real than they had been last night.
Dominic holding me against the counter, gently gripping my neck, nipping my ear and Taylor sinking to his knees and spreading my legs…
God, it all felt so…possible.
“Not now, Kayla,” I whispered. “Save it for tonight, when you’re all alone.”
Not finding any shampoo or soap, I grabbed a couple mini hotel bottles Tabitha had stored under her sink. Hopping into the shower, I let out a squeak as the icy cold water fell over me, but it soon warmed up. Letting the grime of the previous day wash off my body felt good. The warm water sluiced through my hair, and the jasmine-scented shower gel permeated my senses. My libido faded, much to my relief.
I finished up my shower, dried myself, brushed my teeth, and knotted my hair into a bun. Nothing like being refreshed and ready to tackle anything. I wrapped a towel around myself and stepped out of the bathroom—and about leapt out of my skin. “Taylor!”
Taylor stood in Tabitha’s room, looking up at the corner section of the ceiling where some plaster had crumbled away. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. I saw your belongings in a different bedroom and thought this one was empty. I should’ve knocked. Are you alright?”
That flush crept up my neck again and I fidgeted with the towel. Did it cover enough of my thighs? Why did it feel miniscule on me all of a sudden? “It’s okay. I’ll get out of your way.”
Taylor smiled and politely looked away. “You’re not bothering me at all.” He was amused. Whether it was because I was standing in a towel, practically naked, or because my attraction was plastered all over my face, I wasn’t sure. “Don’t you want the master bedroom now that you own the house?” he asked, still inspecting the corner ceiling spot.
“Eventually. But for now, I still see it as my great-aunt’s room. Also, the bed in the guest room is bigger, better.” I blushed when I heard the words coming out of my mouth.
“Fair enough.” He reached up to touch the ceiling, the muscles of his arm undulating, and I felt a twirl in my stomach. The sexier embodiment of the Brawny paper towel guy was in the same room as me, and I happened to be wearing nothing but a towel.
“I guess that ceiling is going on your list, too, huh?” I asked in the hopes of bringing my thoughts back around to professionalism. As professional as I could be wearing a towel and with wet hair in a messy bun.
“Definitely. There’s a lot to work on here, Miss Pratchett. Is it okay to go in the bathroom?”
“Yeah, I’m done. And call me Kayla.”
Taylor moved so confidently that it was hard to look away from him. I knew it was past time to excuse myself and go to my room and dress, but the way the morning sun hit him through the window, accenting his sharp features and stubble face, was mesmerizing.
I had to avert my gaze or get caught ogling him.
“So, I know you said you might be selling the place,” he said, “but I don’t know…when we talked yesterday, it seemed like I heard some hesitation in your voice about that.” He’d turned back toward me, gripping the top of the bathroom door frame as he spoke. With his arm up like that, it was easy to imagine him without that lumberjack shirt. Without those jeans. Without anything, actually.
“I moved here thinking I’d live in the house and find work here in Fosterman,” I said, “but I wasn’t expecting the house would need such an extensive renovation. I’m probably going to have to sell, but since you offered to give me an estimate…”
“Well, it’s great you’re assessing the situation and making an informed decision,” he said. “If you sell the house, you could make a nice profit. Old houses like these are getting snatched up like biscuits around Fosterman. Lots of people converting them into bed-and-breakfasts.”
“Really?” I hung onto my towel, which had started to lose its grip around my body. I figured by the way Taylor’s lips tweaked at the corner, he’d noticed as well. Part of me wanted to duck out and get myself dressed, but I realized that’s what the old Kayla would do. I’d come out to California to find myself, and right now, this new Kayla wanted to stand in front of a sexy man, even if she was only covered in a towel, and continue talking to him.
Taylor studied me. “Have you thought of that? Fixing up the place and then running a bed-and-breakfast, I mean? Tabitha said you were one hell of a baker.”
“I don’t have professional training. I only bake as a hobby.” I nibbled my lip. “I also like my privacy, so I’m not sure.” I shrugged.
He gave me a light smile. “I hear you about the privacy thing. To have a successful B&B you’d have to constantly socialize with strangers.”
“Well, forget it then,” I laughed. “Pretty sure I suck at that.”
“I don’t know,” he said, “you’ve been pretty warm and welcoming so far.”
That smile! My god, he had to stop doing that.
Suddenly a vision of myself baking in this house swam into my mind. Tabitha's kitchen had always been filled with joy when we'd baked together. I would love to stay here forever, puttering around in the kitchen, growing herbs and fruits and vegetables in the yard, living my best life.
“I wish the decision about keeping the house were easy,” I said sadly. “Tabitha was the only person who really got me. It was bad enough that I missed her funeral because I was down with a case of pneumonia. I’d love it if I could do this place—and her—justice.”
He winced. “Ah. I’m sorry you were sick and missed the funeral, but Tabitha would understand. She’d understand about the house, too, no matter what you decide. She was a special person. Always made me smile whenever I ran into her. ‘Taylor, Taylor, why aren’t you a tailor?’ she’d say to me every time she saw me.” He chuckled and shook his head.
“Did she r
eally say that?” I broke into a laugh. Yep, I could see Tabitha saying something that dorky. Always goofing off or flirting in her own way.
“She did.”
“God, I loved growing up around her,” I said, choking up. I had to stop talking about Tabitha or I was going to start crying right here, in front of this gorgeous man.
“Well, you did grow up, and you’re just as beautiful as Tabitha described you,” Taylor said quietly.
His gaze was filled with admiration, and I wondered if flirting was just second nature to him or if he was actually as attracted to me as I was to him. It was possible, but then again, it was also possible he was playing some kind of game. With all the questions he’d asked about the house, maybe he was just trying to convince me to do the repairs he recommended, whether I could afford them or not. Most people had no problem charging things on credit cards, but thankfully I hadn’t gone down that road. Maybe the only reason he was in here being so nice was because he wanted money out of me. Maybe—
“Hey, I’m sorry if I went too far,” he said. “Not trying to make you feel uncomfortable. I’ll go ahead and evaluate the rest of the house with Dom. We’ll be out of your hair in no time.”
I didn’t want him out of my hair. Not really. He seemed genuine. I hated that my past experience with men had made me jaded enough to suspect Taylor of nefarious plans when he’d been so nice. I hated that he was no longer smiling and I’d made him feel uncomfortable around me.
“How long do you think it would take to get the place looking its best again?” I asked, hoping to ease the new tension between us.
He stared at me for a moment, then visibly relaxed. “If you’re talking about tip-top shape, a full historic house restoration, five to six months, maybe more, maybe less. I’ll write up a general report once we get back to the office and send you an estimate tonight. Then you should probably meet with a real estate agent to figure out a strategy to bargain with sellers.” He dug around in his back pocket and pulled out a wallet. “Here’s the card of a realtor. Haven’t talked to her in a while but Laura sells well in Fosterman and surrounding areas.”
