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A smile curved his insolent mouth. Clearly the question didn’t shock him. Maybe strange women propositioned him daily. A man who came with such sturdy tools couldn’t be that easy to find. She should know. “Would you accept if I did?”
Would she? It was one thing to consider doing something crazy. Something else to go for it.
“The air mattress is okay,” she muttered. So close and yet so far. Wuss. “Not that it matters. This is just temporary. Barely a pit stop.”
“Oh yeah? On your way to bigger and better places?”
Though it took effort, she held his gaze as she gave him a firm nod. She’d probably just imagined that quiver in her chin. He certainly couldn’t have seen it.
“You know, I think we might just get along, Alexa Conroy.” She had only a moment to panic at his knowledge of her full name—first which apartment was hers, now her name, what was next?—before he flashed a dazzling grin that bumped up his looks from intriguing to holy hell, Batman, too bad these panties aren’t flame-retardant.
When he knelt to open his toolbox, she smothered a sigh. What hands he had on him.
God, she was losing it. Now hands were turning her on. If the sex bus didn’t make a stop in her valley soon, she might just lower her standards to the level of a whiskey fix. As in, she wouldn’t remember the guy once the whiskey wore off. Not that she’d ever done that, but first time for everything.
As if he could hear her thoughts, his smile grew. “Now, about that leak of yours…”
Unless Dillon was mistaken, the princess wanted more worked on than her pipes.
He still hadn’t quite figured out why she was there. Why would someone wearing designer clothes and with a bunch of pricey furniture rent a rundown studio apartment? Apparently she planned to slum it while she drew her haughtiness around her like a cloak full of holes.
No wonder she seemed so tense.
Hell, if she was stressed now, wait until she found out the guy she’d been flirting with not only wasn’t the plumber, but actually owned this building and several other income properties in downtown Haven.
More accurately, his parents owned them, but that was virtually the same thing since he and his brother, Cory, were already in the process of taking over more of their family’s holdings while their parents prepared for early retirement. Those holdings included the aforementioned income properties and the chain of Value Hardware stores throughout Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and Ohio his parents had grown from two stores to ten.
Not that Dillon wanted to take over anything. Not that he held one whit of interest in being some corporate whiz kid. That was his brother’s excuse for megalomania. Cory’s latest project to take over the world included a lifestyle magazine that would supposedly solidify Value Hardware’s position in the home beautification business. The guy probably wouldn’t stop until the letters VH were embroidered on every luxe bamboo doormat across America.
He took a perverse pleasure in offering his seeming compliance with most of his older brother’s plans, and then twisting them from the inside out. That included making whatever upgrades were needed to their rental properties—and not just the bare minimums either. The tenants would appreciate the new floors and improved air-conditioning, even if Cory suggested cutting corners. He had a role in the family, in the business, and he didn’t shirk his duty. Or skimp on putting his wallet where his mouth was.
“Is it fixed yet?” Alexa demanded, leaning forward so that her mile-long dark hair spilled over her shoulders. She’d taken it down a little while ago, and he’d caught himself fantasizing about dragging his fingers through the tumbled brown strands more than once. Preferably while sampling her pouty raspberry lips.
“Not yet. I’ll let you know.”
Her indignant huff of breath made him grin. She’d asked several times already. He should find her annoying. That he didn’t probably said something detrimental about his character. But along with the cute nose wrinkle she got, she had sad eyes. There was more to Alexa Conroy than what was on the surface, and already he wanted to peel back the layers.
“Are you in a hurry or something?” he asked, drawing his attention from her to the sink.
“I just don’t like leaving my store in other people’s care for too long.”
“Because you don’t trust them?”
“No, because it’s my responsibility, not theirs.” When he stole another glimpse of her, her expression had turned determined
. She might’ve been willing to flirt before, but now that he hadn’t managed to work miracles in minutes, she was all business.
Except for those lingering looks she occasionally coasted down his body…
Maybe that was why he was enjoying playing the part Alexa had so neatly slotted him into. Something about being in her bathroom, fixing stuff while she watched, felt right. It was also the most enjoyment he’d had in too long to remember.
Dillon James, notorious ladies’ man, would have no trouble charming her into bed, and he probably wouldn’t have a whole lot of remorse, either. But that wasn’t who he was in Alexa’s eyes. Which was exactly the problem—she didn’t know the score.
He’d just fix her sink and get gone, no matter what naughty messages her now-bare, lilac-tipped toes wiggled his way as she bounced one long shapely leg over the other from her perch on the toilet. A thin chain encircled her narrow ankle, dangling charms. Purple, of course. That was her signature color. Just as that aromatic lotion she’d talked about was apparently her signature scent.
And holy shit, was it hot.
Not that it made one whit of difference. Despite her flashing blue eyes, stubborn backbone, and occasionally snide remarks, he wasn’t about to blur the lines. He knew she owned the store on the first floor—and he may or may not have spent time accidentally painting windowsills in her apartment while she’d been hanging a potted arrangement from the light post in front of the building—but she had to be struggling financially if she’d moved in to the Rison.
