Chapter 5
Ginger
Though he looks delighted, I’m not delighted by what he said or his presence. “Everything’s under control.” I tip my head toward the door. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Mary called and told me to get my butt over here and help you.”
“I appreciate her thinking of me, but again, everything’s under control.”
Undeterred, he shakes his head. “Darlin’, you misunderstood. Whenever Mary or Christopher needs me to do something, I do it. No questions asked.”
I turn away from him and stride away toward the back room, calling over my shoulder, “My father is a plumber, I know how to fix a pipe.”
“My father is a rancher, I know how to ride,” he says, drawing out the last word.
I stop and whirl to face him, then flick my gaze to the front of his jeans, noting how well that area is filled out.
He shifts and I jerk my attention back to his face. “I get your insinuation. But what I don’t understand is why you’re so hellbent on getting under my skin.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you why, but you can believe I’m here to help.”
Our gazes lock. I hate that his eyes are so damn magnetic. I hate that there’s an invisible rope between the two of us and I can’t seem to drop my end.
I’m tempted to keep trying to run him off but if we work together, I can get done faster and part ways with him. “Fine. But you listen to me.”
“Darlin’ I promise to always listen to you.”
“Then wait here.” I give him a hard look, then go find a hammer to knock out the part of the drywall that needs replacing. I find an ancient one in a toolbox shoved in a cabinet and carry it back.
When I return, he’s pulling the piece of drywall down with his bare hands. He’s taken his jacket off and his back is solid and—I snap out of the appreciation stupor and begin to pull off the drywall along with him.
“I got a big piece of pipe,” he says when all of the damaged wall is removed.
“Good for you and your pipe and your dildo. You can go and be merry or whatever with both.” I put my hands on my hips.
He blinks and gestures with his hands. “A plumbing pipe.” Then he grins. “You were thinking about my—”
“No, I wasn’t,” I quickly lie.
“Lying this close to Christmas. Now who’s getting coal in their stocking?”
He looks way too pleased with himself.
I draw in a calming breath. “You go bring the plumbing pipe. I’ll find a cutter.”
“I’ve got that, too, darlin’. I’m a man who’s prepared.”
I hate that he’s handsome. And smiling at me like that. I hate that I’m finding it harder to dislike him.
“I’ll go get it. Be right back. Don’t miss me.”
I watch him go, realize that I’m staring and grab a broom to sweep up the mess. What is going on in my head? With my body?
Dallas returns and I stop sweeping to use the tool he brought to cut the damaged portion of the pipe. I remove it and hold my hand out. “Did you bring couplings?”
“I told you I’m a man who’s prepared.” He hands one of them to me. I try, and fail miserably not to notice his biceps that flash beneath his T-shirt sleeve. He’s handsome, well-built and likeable. That just…sucks for me, for my aching heart and determination not to get stabbed there again.
I finish repairing the pipe and start prepping for the drywall patch. “Once I get this taped and everything is dry, I’ll paint the wall tomorrow. I found some leftover paint in the back and it should be enough. So please let Mary know that since you’ll see her before I will.”
“You’re trying to get rid of me.”
There’s no use pretending. “Yes, I am.”
He grins. “The reason you don’t like me and don’t want me around is because you’re attracted to me. I’m what you want for Christmas.”
I roll my eyes. “Sure. You keep dreaming of me under your Christmas tree.”
“I’d rather dream of you under me.”
I turn and without thinking, swipe some of the spackle on the side of his face.
“So now you want to play?” He picks up the container of spackle and advances toward me with it.
I hold the putty knife out like a sword. “I warn you, cowboy. I know how to fight.”
“Darlin’, fighting’s not what I want to do with you.” His eyes darken with desire.
Why does he have to be so sexy? Why does my body make me want to jump him and not let go until I’m worn out and satisfied?
Still holding the putty knife, I back down the hallway leading to the bathroom.
I’m not afraid of him, I’m afraid of how he’s making my body feel, afraid of what he’s making me think.
The bathroom is large but made suddenly small by his presence. I stand on one side of the sink, and he stands on the other.
“Wash me,” he orders, his voice a sexy command.
My traitorous body translates that to ‘touch me’ and my panties dampen. I don’t do something, I’ll end up doing him right here. I set the tool down on the edge of the counter.
I turn on the water made icy cold from the outside temperature, cup some in my hand and splash it on his face. Then I quickly cup more and splash it on his chest. It runs down his body to the floor.
He sucks in a breath.
“Sorry. I thought you needed to cool down.”
He strips off his wet T-shirt without speaking and advances toward me one slow, deliberate step at a time.
I’ve awoken a wolf. Another step and my body is close to being consumed by the fire in his eyes.
I back up, slipping on the water. I fling my arms out to break my fall, but he catches me. One strong arm circles my waist and he hauls me against his hard body, lifting me like I’m petite instead of a big girl with curves.
With his leg moving between mine, he walks me backward until the wall stops the momentum.
I breathe harder, my eyelashes fluttering, my gaze on his lips. My nipples pebble and my core aches. Our bodies compress together, close but not satisfying the urge in me to feel him pinning me beneath his strength in ways I shouldn’t be imagining.
I swallow hard, my hands gripping his arms. His muscles are sculpted like a statue.
We’re both frozen, neither of us looking away.
Goosebumps pebble my skin. I’d like to blame the drafty building, but that would be another lie.
Desire flickers in his eyes then roars to full throttle. My name brushes across his lips in a whisper. His head dips toward mine.
My lips part and—in a memory flash, I see the photo my ex posted of me and read again those cruel online comments. I feel my heart ripping in two again.
“I have to work to do,” I rasp out, my voice ragged. Lowering my hands from his arms, I turn my face away escaping mentally from this moment, from this man.
“I’ll go,” he says softly. “Not because I really want to, but because you’re upset and I feel it will help you if I leave.”
I glance at him and nod.
He picks up his T-shirt bunching it in his fist. “I want to make you happy,” he says quietly.
“Whether I’m happy or not isn’t your responsibility.” My legs are shaky from the rush of emotion thanks to the near kiss coupled with the memory of my past pain.
I remain silently in place until I hear him leave the building.
Then I slide down onto the damp, cold floor and rest my head on my knees. What am I doing? I can’t get my tinsel in a knot just because my body reacts to his nearness. If I’m not careful, I’ll lower my guard and make a mistake my heart can’t afford to make.