Page 19
A slow smirk lifted his lips. “Visual aids are always helpful.”
My cock chose that moment to perk right up. Not helpful. “That’s very territorial of you.” Jesus. I sounded so breathy, there should’ve been cheesy porn music in the background.
“You’re worth being territorial about.”
“Bow-chica-wow-wow. You gonna play the part of the pizza delivery guy?”
Deadeye burst out laughing. I liked that he got my sense of humor.
“Let’s finish the list,” he said. “Then you’re done for the day.”
There was one more thing. A loose banister on the second-floor landing. We fixed it together. Deadeye held the post steady while I tightened the bracket screws.
“Like that,” he said.
The screw turned. The banister stopped wobbling. My heart did not.
I sat back on my heels and blew a strand of hair out of my eyes. “There. Fully functional. Safe for the elderly. Mrs. Calloway will weep with gratitude.”
Deadeye crouched next to me, his flexing muscles immediately sending my imagination somewhere indecent. “She might.”
Instead of giving in to the urge to tackle him to the floor and kiss him, I stood and stretched my arms overhead. My back popped in three places. God, that felt so damn good. From the angle of the sun through the hallway window, there was still plenty of daylight left.
Deadeye closed the toolbox and straightened, glancing in the same direction.
“You want to get out of here?” He jerked his chin toward the sunlight. “There’s still plenty of light.”
“From the building? Desperately. All this manual labor is ruining my manicure.” I showed him my fingers. “Dreadful.”
There wasn’t anything wrong with them. I was being a drama queen.
“Poor baby. A ride on my bike might help bring the shine back to them.” He took my left hand and kissed it, his soft lips pulling a genuine sigh from my lungs.
“On your motorcycle,” I said like he hadn’t already made that clear. The guy was scrambling my damn brain.
“Yeah.” He winked, giving my hand another kiss.
“With you.” Holy hell. I couldn’t think for shit, sounding as if I needed it drawn out for me with crayons.
“Unless you’ve got one hidden somewhere.”
My laugh echoed in the stairwell. “I have a temperamental car and chunky boots. That’s my entire vehicular portfolio.”
“So ride with me.” His voice stayed easy, but his eyes held mine. “Nothing fancy. Just get some air. You’ve been inside all day.”
The offer was warm and uncomplicated. No catch. No suit bag. No dinner I didn’t want to attend. Just a ride with a man who’d spent his afternoon teaching me how to fix things I didn’t know how to fix.
“Give me ten minutes to change,” I said.
He smiled. “Take your time.”
I burst through the door, grabbing the first skirt I found—dark blue, mid-thigh, with a slit up one side that my father would absolutely hate. Paired it with a fitted black tank top. The chunky boots went back on. Oversized sunglasses perched on my head.
In the mirror, I looked like someone who hadn’t spent the day crouching in basements and avoiding creepy tenants. I looked like someone who could handle a motorcycle ride without embarrassing himself.
My hair was still a mess. I ran my fingers through it twice and gave up.
Deadeye was waiting by the curb when I came down. He’d parked the bike near my car, and the machine sat gleaming in the late sun. Black. Sleek. Intimidating in the way expensive things always were.
