Kyle stepped down from the ladder and moved back to stand beside me. “Holy shit!”
“It’s not just me, then?”
He shook his head. “Not you. This color is truly horrible on this wall.”
“What was it called, again?”
“Persimmon.”
I glanced at him. “You seem to have a thing about products named after fruits.”
He scowled at me. “That’s enough out of you, smartass. But this is bad.”
“So bad, we should never speak of it again.”
“So bad, I’m going to the garage to get a can of primer so I can cover it before dinner.”
“Good,” I said, “because we can see that wall from the kitchen table and I don’t think it will help our digestion.”
While he covered the color disaster with a new layer of white primer, I sat at the kitchen island with my computer. I checked my email, reviewed and approved invoices, and signed off on the schedule of temporary vets who were covering my hours. Gina and Darla had done it without even being asked. They were both treasures and someday when I could afford it, I would give them each a nice bonus.
Kyle finished priming the wall, cleaned up the paint rollers, then asked if he could shower before me so he could start dinner when it was my turn.
“Are you saying I need a shower?” I joked. “Is that your way of telling me I smell?”
“Yep.” He grinned. “And also, you have persimmon-colored paint in your hair.”
“No! Do you think it will stain?” I looked at my reflection in the oven door to see it.
“It’ll be fine,” he said. “But if not,” he wrinkled his nose, “that would suck for you because even you can’t pull off that color.”
“Are you serious right now?” I couldn’t see the paint in question, and when I ran my fingers through my hair, I didn’t feel it, either. “You ass! Are you lying to me?”
He burst out laughing. I considered reopening the can of persimmon paint and dumping it on him in retribution, but he took off up the stairs. I could follow him, sneak up on him in the shower, catch him naked again.
I wiped the dirty thoughts from my mind. The more time we spent together, the more it was apparent that I’d gotten the initial signals wrong and this attraction only worked one way. It was disappointing and sometimes damned frustrating. And every now and then, when Icaught him with that smoldering look in his eyes, it became downright confusing.
Fifteen minutes later, he returned to the kitchen and I went upstairs for my shower. I was rinsing shampoo out of my hair when something he’d said that morning came back to meYou take the lead. Yes, he’d been talking about Bella’s leash, but what if it applied to our attraction? Maybe he was being a gentleman, and waiting for me to express my interest in him.
There was no time like tonight to find out. And I had just the outfit to test my new theory. I would wear my white, halter-top sundress with the small, pink embroidered flowers, a pair of lacy pink panties, and nothing else. I’d make an extra effort with my hair and make-up, too. Nothing extravagant, but more than my no make-up, ponytail style of the rest of the week. Then I would flirt with him relentlessly, back him into a corner, probably metaphorically but hell, maybe even physically, offer him a kiss, and see if he took the bait.
If he did, lucky for him, because the rest of me was up for grabs, too. If he didn’t, too bad for me, but I’d have to let go of the fantasy of having him and admit that I’d misread the situation from the moment we met.
13
KYLE
When Cami came downstairs for dinner, something was different. She was beautiful as ever, with glowing skin, and clear blue eyes that sparkled when she laughed. I worked hard to make her laugh because I loved to see it.
But tonight, she smiled without me coaxing it out of her. Her hair fell in golden waves to her shoulders. She wore a short white sundress dotted with pink flowers instead of shorts and a T-shirt. I was a huge fan of Cami in a T-shirt, but that sundress was almost enough to make me lose control. It didn’t help that it was obvious she wasn’t wearing a bra under the haltered top. When I flirted with her and she caught her lower lip between her teeth, one of her tells that I was having a physical effect on her, her nipples pebbled into sharp peaks and the clingy fabric left little to my lascivious imagination.
She pulled plates out of the cupboard and silverware out of the drawer. She chatted as she set the table and I practiced deep breathing as I worked on the salad, glad for the distance between us. Then she bent to lean across the tableand her skirt rose up in the back, exposing the sexiest pink lace panties I’d ever seen. Then again, plain white cotton would be sexy as fuck covering that ass.
I was getting used to living in a constant state of semi-to-full arousal with her in my house, but that didn’t mean it was anywhere close to easy. I concentrated on the vegetables in front of me to try to calm my raging hard-on.
She joined me at the island. I moved around the kitchen, checking the chicken casserole in the oven, taking down water glasses, doing everything I could to avoid touching her. Otherwise, I’d be tempted to run my hand down her exposed back or cup my hand over her firm ass in that pink lace or—God help me—untie that halter top and palm her luscious tits. But she followed me, talking as we had the last two nights, only this time, occasionally touching my forearm or brushing against my arm or nudging her knee into my leg.
She laid her hand on the small of my back. “Is there anything else I can do to help?”
