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Carly’s confusion gave way to pure surprise as she moved closer to the sliding glass door for inspection. The entire deck had been cut away from the house, leaving a drop off of a couple of feet between the sliding glass door and the bare, damp earth below it. Three stout-looking wooden posts jutted up from puddles of long-hardened concrete, the furthest one from the house sporting a huge split down the center. Jackson maneuvered a shovel around the edges of the old concrete, trying to loosen the packed dirt from the murky gray edges, but it barely budged.
Carly watched, captivated. His sinewy shoulders tightened and flexed beneath his T-shirt, which clung to him in just enough places that she had a flash of envy for the cotton and stitching. His face was bent in such intense concentration that she was helpless to do anything other than stare…until she belatedly realized he’d stopped what he was doing to wave at her through the glass.
Oh,crap. Now she had no choice but to open the door and face her bustedness full-on.
“Hi. Sorry to disturb you. I was just, ah, checking out the progress.” Carly’s inner voice high-fived her quick wits, making a genuine smile more manageable. “It looks like you’ve been busy.” She gestured down to the yard with one hand, watching the sunlight scatter as a lazy breeze ruffled through the trees.
“Yeah, but I can’t take all the credit. One of the guys I work with was out here with me for the better part of the afternoon yesterday. As a matter of fact, I’m waiting for him right now. Seems whoever put these posts in originally wasn’t planning on their ever being replaced. ’Fraid I’m going to have to jackhammer them out of here.”
The mention of heavy artillery quickly chased away the heat of Carly’s less than discreet staring. “Are you serious?”
Jackson’s doleful nod played against his mischievous grin. “Yeah, sorry. I was going to knock to warn you, but I didn’t want to wake you up until my buddy Micah got here.”
“Well, thanks for that,” she laughed. “Somehow I’m guessing I’d have been up either way. Is a jackhammer as loud as I think it is?”
His excitement was obvious, and it zinged a bolt of heat down her spine, finishing with a deep tingle right between her legs.
“Louder.”
Oh. Lordy.
“Do you want to have a cup of coffee while you wait?” Carly blurted out the invitation before she could stop herself. Okay, fine, so it kind of turned the whole avoiding-him plan on its ear, but there was one small fact she just couldn’t get past.
It was in her nature to feed people, and she wanted him to say yes.
Jackson’s sandy brows popped up in surprise. “Sure.”
Before Carly had enough time to acknowledge the are-you-nuts message pumping from the rational part of her brain, Jackson had disappeared around the side of the house. Come on, surely she was overreacting. There was nothing indecent about a cup of coffee and fifteen minutes of small talk.
The doorbell rang just in time to snag the not-so-rational part of Carly’s brain from imagining how many indecent things Jackson could do to her in fifteen minutes.
She blanked her expression so it wouldn’t betray the naughty images she’d just conjured up, then swung the door open, gesturing inside. “Hi. Come on in.”
Jackson bent to unlace his work boots, shucking them on the brick threshold of the porch before padding into the bungalow on sock feet. “Thanks. My last cup of coffee was ages ago.”
“Okay, you do know it’s only eight forty-five, right?” She pulled a mug that matched her own down from the cabinet, inhaling the deep, earthy scent of the coffee as she filled it. Jackson followed her into the kitchen and leaned against the rectangular butcher block island in the heart of the room, giving her a grateful nod as she passed him the mug.
“I’ve been up since six.”
“My condolences. Milk?” Carly popped the fridge open, feeling in her element surrounded by food. While she might need work in the social graces department, feeding someone was definitely something she could do with ease.
“Please,” Jackson replied. “So, you’re not a morning person. Is that a personal preference or an occupational hazard?”
Her snicker was unavoidable, and it snuck out as she passed him the milk. “Both. I’ve got some scones if you want a couple. Are you hungry?”
She’d been fiddling with a recipe for basic scones for the better part of two weeks, looking to add something versatile to the Sunday brunch menu. The results of her experimentation currently overflowed from the enormous cookie jar on the counter.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to put you out…” he started, a sip of coffee washing down the rest of whatever he was going to say.
Carly put a hand on her hip. “Is that a yes?”
Jackson held up his hands, the edges of his lips tilting upward. “You are direct, aren’t you?”
“Sorry.” She edged past him to put the milk away, but he caught her forearm with a brush of his fingers so gentle, it belied both his strength and his size.
“It wasn’t a criticism. I’d love some scones.”
“Oh.” Carly blinked up at him, unable to make her feet move. Okay, make that unwilling.Damnhis hand felt good on her skin, to the point that not even getting him something to eat could make her put one foot in front of the other.
