Chapter Eleven
Chapter
Eleven
“Is there a problem with your sink?” Wyatt asked.
He stood just inside the door that Jemma hadn’t bothered to close on her way out. That was for the best, I realized. I didn’t need to be alone in my apartment with a man I’d met only twice.
I eyed him with suspicion, searching for potential signs of homicidal mania and definitely not admiring his perfectly tousled dark hair or the way his forest-green T-shirt hugged his impressively toned torso and biceps. “You’re not a serial killer, are you?”
“I accidentally drove over a box of Froot Loops once, but I didn’t think that was much of a loss. I’m more of a Corn Pops kind of guy.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, but neither my suspicious stare nor my lack of reaction to his joke seemed to faze him.
He came farther into the apartment and crouched down in front of the open kitchen cupboard. “Hmm. Hopefully it’s an easy fix. Do you want me to have a go at it?”
I snatched the wrench up off the floor before he could close his fingers around it.
“No, thank you. I’ve got it.”
He must have noticed the hint of frost in my tone, because he straightened up and backed off a couple of steps.
I tapped the head of the wrench against the palm of my left hand. “What is it you wanted to discuss?”
He gestured at the pipes under the sink. “Don’t let me keep you from your task.”
Gripping the wrench handle so tightly that my fingers hurt, I smiled—although it felt more like a grimace—and sat back down on the floor, maneuvering myself under the sink again.
The bottom edge of the cupboard dug into my spine, but I decided the pain might help to keep my mind sharp.
I nudged the plastic pail aside so I could shift closer to the pipe and got rewarded with a drop of water hitting me square between the eyes.
“I have to admit, I’m a little confused,” Wyatt said as I wiped the water off my face.
You’re not the only one, I felt like saying. I’d planned to do this job with the help of YouTube, but now I had an audience, and I wasn’t about to let on that I needed video tutorials to help me fix a simple leak. But what, exactly, was I supposed to do?
“I was hoping to talk to whoever’s in charge of Wyatt Investigations,” he continued, “but I thought you were a client, not an employee.”
“I’m neither, actually.”
The light in the cupboard dimmed as Wyatt moved closer. He leaned down to peer in at me. “Are you sure you don’t need help? I’m pretty handy.”
Oh, I bet you are! my traitorous brain purred. Not out loud, thankfully. I’d already met my daily quota of self-humiliation.
“I’m fine, thanks,” I grumbled.
Unfortunately, he kept watching.
“You turned the water off, right?”
“Of course.” I glared at him.
“Sorry.”
Thankfully, he straightened up so he could no longer see what I was doing. Or not doing.
How the heck was I supposed to turn off the water?
I started fiddling with random rings and valves. Surely it couldn’t be that difficult to figure out.
“So how do I get ahold of who’s in charge?”
“In charge of what?” I couldn’t remember what we’d been talking about. I was too focused on trying to recall which rings and valves I’d already turned and in which direction.
“Wyatt Investigations.”
I huffed out a sigh. “Wyatt Investigations doesn’t exist. It was a ruse to scare my ex into returning the money he stole from me.” Hoping I now had the water turned off, I started unscrewing one of the rings around the pipe. “You need a private investigator?”
That added a hint of mystery to his already intriguing persona.
“No, I’m looking for a job.”
So much for the mystery.
“You want to work for a private eye?” Somehow that didn’t strike me as a typical job for a member of the Hickory Hill Country Club.
“I have a background in security.”
I had trouble picturing a rich guy like him guarding a bank or working as a bouncer at a nightclub.
“Well, unless you’re looking for an imaginary job, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
I gave the ring a good twist.
A jet of water erupted from the pipe, hitting me right in the face.
I let out a garbled yell as I flailed and sputtered, trying to free myself from the onslaught of water.
I was vaguely aware of Wyatt diving into the fray.
He reached into the cupboard, right through the stream of water, and…
did something. Whatever he did, the jet of water mercifully cut off, leaving me gasping and blinking rapidly.
I managed to shimmy a few inches out from under the sink. One of Wyatt’s hands closed around mine, and he pulled me to my feet before I even knew what was happening. I came to a stop right up against his chest, one hand pressed to his pecs.
It took a good three seconds for my shock to wear off.
Then I realized I was molded against his deliciously solid body.
Beneath my palm, his soaked shirt was plastered to his chest, revealing the dips and planes of his sculpted muscles.
His body heat seeped into my chilled skin, beckoning me to move even closer.
I tipped my head up to find his eyes smoldering like hot coals, ready to burst into flame.
He inclined his head toward mine, bringing his mouth tantalizingly close to my ear.
My breath hitched and my fingers dug into the waterlogged fabric of his shirt.
“Pretty sure you didn’t turn off the water,” he whispered.
I pushed off from his chest, taking a step back that was as abrupt as my return to reality.
“I meant to, but you distracted me.” I crossed my arms over my chest, suddenly realizing that my own T-shirt was clinging to me in a very revealing fashion. I was wearing a bra, but still. My shirt was white, and Wyatt-with-no-last-name didn’t need to be getting an eyeful of my assets.
“You find me distracting?” The light in his eyes danced with humor.
“Only when you talk too much,” I grumbled.
He laughed, and I feared he saw right through my lie.
I wasn’t sure why he got my hackles up, but maybe it was because he affected me more than any other man I’d known, and that knocked me off-kilter.
Or maybe it was the fact that he’d now swooped in to help me three times.
I wanted to prove—to myself more than anyone—that I was a fully capable, self-reliant adult, but I felt like I’d been failing at that over and over again.
Silence fell between us, and the air practically crackled with electricity.
I averted my gaze from his body, not wanting my thoughts to stray into spicy territory.
A steady drip, drip, drip caught my attention. I glanced down and realized that I was standing in an ever-growing puddle as droplets of water rained slowly but steadily from my sodden clothes.
“Can I get you a towel?” Wyatt asked as he looked down at the puddle. The humorous glint in his eyes had dimmed, although it hadn’t disappeared completely.
“Please,” I replied, deciding I could assert my independence when I wasn’t in danger of soaking the area rug that stood between me and the bathroom. “And get one for yourself too.”
He’d fared better than I had, given that only his shirt was drenched while I looked like I’d been dunked upside down in a pool from my head to my knees. It didn’t seem fair that he could stand there as if artfully sprayed with water for a sexy photoshoot while I resembled a drowned rat.
“From the closet by the bathroom door,” I added as a shiver racked my body.
He kept his gaze on me for another second before turning in the direction I’d indicated. His shift of attention brought me a sense of both relief and disappointment. Which made no sense! My brain was seriously messed up.
We need to have a chat, I told my brain. You can’t be letting a man affect you like this. Remember what happened the last time you got involved with a guy?
I didn’t have a chance to continue my internal lecture.
Because when Wyatt opened the closet door, my freshly laundered underwear tumbled out and hit him like an avalanche of lingerie.