Chapter Three
“Show me what you need.”
I closed the tall windows and turned on the air-conditioning. Then I looked from Titus to the two cabinet doors resting on the drop cloth. The doors were safer.
“Those go back on the built-in.”
“Which one goes first?”
“Let’s start with the left one. I marked the backs so I wouldn’t have to trust my memory after four hours in this heat.”
He crouched, found the small pencil L near the hinge edge, and glanced up at me. “You planned ahead.”
“I occasionally have a good idea.”
“I’ve noticed.”
The compliment was so matter-of-fact that I nearly missed the first step of the ladder.
Titus caught the side rail before it shifted. “Watch the step.”
“I’ve got it.”
“You’re blushing.”
“It’s ninety-eight degrees.”
“The air-conditioning’s on.”
I gripped the screwdriver. “Then stop saying nice things while I’m on a ladder.”
His smile appeared slowly. “I’ll try.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It wasn’t a promise.”
He lifted the door, and I climbed another step. Together, we brought the hinges into place. The old brass had cleaned up beautifully, its darkened edges still showing nearly a century of use against the bare wood.
Titus held the weight while I started the first screw. His knuckles brushed my wrist when he passed me the second one, and my pulse jumped.
I concentrated on the hinge.
Mostly.
The door settled into position without a scrape or wobble. I tightened the last screw, climbed down, and swung it closed.
The reveal was even.
I opened it again just to make sure.
“Once wasn’t enough?” Titus asked.
“Trust but verify.”
“Mayor Luttrell could put that on a campaign sign.”
“Daddy’s version would be longer and include his name twice.”
Titus laughed, low and unexpected, and I forgot all about checking the hinge a third time.
The second door went up faster. He lifted while I lined up the hinges, and neither of us mentioned the way his chest brushed my shoulder when I reached across him for a screw.
When the doors met evenly in the center, I stepped back and folded my arms.
“I’m trying to decide whether they’re perfect.”
“They close.”
“That’s a low standard.”
“They close evenly.”
“Better.”
Titus opened one, checked the edge, and shut it again. “They’re perfect.”
“You’re learning.”
“I knew before you did.”
I turned to him. “You watched me check the first one twice.”
“You were busy.”
The built-in still needed primer and paint, but it stood square in the old recess with its original doors and darkened brass hardware back where they belonged. Late sunlight reached through the western windows and laid long gold bars across the unfinished hardwood.
I drew a slow breath.
It stopped halfway when Titus turned toward me.
I carried the drill to the tool table before I did something reckless while standing beside a stepladder. Titus folded it and set it against the wall, then helped me gather the loose screws, shims, and scrap wood without asking where every piece belonged.
I swept the living-room side while he rolled the furniture dolly onto the porch. By the time he came back, the extension cord was coiled, the tools were clear of the kitchen, and the last of the plaster dust had disappeared into the shop vacuum.
Titus glanced around. “Do you always clean before you quit?”
“I don’t like starting tomorrow with yesterday’s mess.”
“You’re coming back tomorrow?”
“Not until later. I have to work in the morning.”
His phone buzzed against his hip. He checked the screen, typed a reply, and slipped it back into his pocket.
“You were supposed to be at Sin & Tonic before opening,” I said.
“Duane has it covered.”
“I didn’t mean to keep you from work.”
“You asked me to stay. I stayed.”
My nipples tightened beneath the faded coral cotton.
I set the broom against the wall. “I need to wash up.”
“So do I.”
The bathroom at the end of the hall was one of the few rooms that no longer looked like a project. White tile cooled the air, the old cast-iron tub had been refinished, and a fresh stack of towels waited beneath the restored medicine cabinet.
I washed the dust from my face and arms, tightened my loose knot, and studied myself in the mirror.
My cheeks were pink. My shirt clung between my breasts and along my waist. A small smear of primer marked one knee of my jeans.
I gripped the edge of the sink when I remembered how close Titus had been in the kitchen.
Then I dried my face and went back to him.
Titus stood at the kitchen sink washing his forearms. He’d pushed the sleeves of his dark T-shirt higher, and water ran over the muscle beneath his tanned skin. His hat remained on the drop cloth across the room.
I took a fresh towel from the counter and held it out.
“Thank you.” He dried off and nodded toward the built-in. “You said there’s a next property.”
“There might be.”
“The sixth spreadsheet.”
I smiled. “You remembered.”
“You made it sound important.”
I ran the cloth over the quartz where our lunch had been. “It is.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
I folded the cloth over the faucet. “I plan to buy places like this, renovate them, and sell them. Not as something I squeeze into weekends. I want it to be my business.”
Titus leaned against the opposite counter. “What has to happen first?”
“I finish this one. I sell it for what the numbers say it should bring. Then I use what I’ve learned—and what I make—to do another.”
“You’ve already started looking.”
“I’ve started researching.”
“Researching is looking with more spreadsheets.”
“It’s a respected method.”
His attention moved through the kitchen, from the widened opening to the restored trim waiting along the wall. “How much of the next one would you do yourself?”
“Enough to protect the budget. Not anything that requires a license or risks bringing the roof down on my head.”
“Good rule.”
“I have several.”
“I read eight of them.”
I pointed the cleaning cloth at him. “Those weren’t rules.”
“No. They weren’t.”
His voice roughened on the last word.
I lowered the cloth.
Outside, cicadas filled the bright evening. The ceiling fan turned above us, moving air across my damp skin.
“Monday wasn’t how I meant to meet you,” I said.
Titus’s expression stayed steady. “You told me what your father said.”
“I still walked into your bar and delivered it.”
“It was your job.”
“That doesn’t make it right.”
“No.” He straightened from the counter. “Telling me it was wrong mattered.”
I looked down at the pale stone between us. “Daddy expects me to make everything easier for him.”
“Did you make it easier?”
“Not for him.”
“Then you made sure I knew what you thought.”
The knot beneath my ribs loosened.
His attention dropped briefly to my lips.
“Which one are you thinking about?” he asked.
I didn’t need to ask what he meant.
The answer had followed me up the ladder, into the bathroom, and back down the hall.
I set the cloth beside the sink. “The wall.”
Titus stayed where he was. “Tell me.”
The ceiling fan clicked softly overhead.
“I want you to kiss me against that wall.”
I crossed the kitchen before caution could catch up and caught the front of his shirt. “Now, Titus.”
Then I kissed him.
For one second, he didn’t kiss me back.
He held my waist.
“Are you sure?” he asked against my lips.
“Yes.”
His grip tightened, and he kissed me back.
The rough brush of his stubble scraped my skin as his tongue swept over mine. I slid my arms around his neck. Titus lifted me just enough to turn us, walked me three steps, and pressed my back to the finished wall beside the kitchen opening.
The plaster was cool through my shirt.
He braced one arm beside my head and kissed me until my knees softened exactly as advertised.
I laughed into his mouth.
Titus drew back barely an inch. “What?”
“It’s working.”
He smiled against my lips. “We just started.”
He kissed my jaw. His breath moved over the sensitive place beneath my ear, and I gripped his hair.
“Still want this?” he asked.
“I want more.”
“How much more?”
I looked into his blue eyes. “I want your mouth on me. I want to touch you. I want you to fuck me over that counter.”
The humor left his face.
“Say it again,” he said.
“Which part?”
“The part you want most.”
I slid one hand down his chest, over his hard stomach, and pressed my palm to the thick ridge beneath his jeans.
“All of it.”
Titus exhaled through his nose. “Before we go any further, we need to talk.”
“I have an IUD.” My voice came faster, then steadied. “I was tested after the last person I slept with, and I haven’t been with anyone since.”
“I was tested after my last partner. No one since.”
“Do you have condoms?”
“In my truck.”
I kept my palm where it was. “I don’t want one if you’re comfortable without it.”
“I am.” His gaze held mine. “Only if that’s what you want.”
“It is.”
“And if you change your mind?”
“I’ll tell you.”
“Good.”
I pulled him back to me.
This kiss was slower for all of ten seconds. Then Titus’s tongue swept over mine, and his body pressed mine against the wall. He slipped a hand beneath the hem of my shirt, his palm hot against my bare waist.
I tugged the shirt over my head. One small gold hoop caught in my hair, and I laughed when Titus helped free it.
“Very smooth,” I said.
“You’re the one undressing in earrings.”
“I didn’t plan this morning around you.”
He took in my bra and the curves above it. “You planned fine.”
He unhooked the bra and lowered the straps from my shoulders. Air swept over my nipples before his lips closed around one.
I gasped and pushed into him.
Titus sucked harder, then eased back when my breath broke. His thumb stroked the other nipple while he watched my face.
“That feels good,” I said.
“I can tell.”
“Do you want the compliment or the instruction?”
“Both.”
I smiled. “Keep doing that.”
He did, switching sides until my hips pressed against the hard line in his jeans. Then he opened the button of my jeans.
I caught his wrist. “Boots first.”
Titus glanced down at our feet. “That’s practical.”
“I’m capable of learning from experience.”
We separated long enough to pull off our boots. My jeans and panties followed, then his shirt.