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Stop acting so silly.
Everything’s fine.
However, as she strode down the hall, keeping a tight grip on her purse’s shoulder strap, the anxiety remained. It was weak and muffled, like a bee trapped under a glass dome, but still it fluttered in the pit of her stomach. It was only a quick five–minute drive to Sean’s house. All she had to do was get there.
Chapter Seven
The smell of burnt popcorn overwhelmed every cubic inch of air in Sean’s kitchen and living room. While his converted firehouse home was drafty enough that a continuous breeze swept across the exposed brick walls and over the hardwood floors, it was no match for the stench.
“Great,” he muttered to himself as he threw open the window over the sink.
The night’s chill rushed in, freezing the hairs inside his nose, and he shoved the window closed again. As soon as he did, the stink hit him square in the face. He was weighing the benefits of freezing versus being a mouth–breather when the doorbell dinged.
He whipped around and stared at the front door. She probably never burned popcorn. Hell, she probably hand–popped her own organic kernels in something vintage for the prescribed five–point–two minutes.
Diiiiiiiiiing!
Longer this time. As though she knew he was inside trying to stuff the last pair of dirty Jockey shorts under the bed. In reality, he’d rolled all the clothes from his floor into a ball and crammed them into the dryer fifteen minutes ago. God, he was pathetic. It was as if his life had turned into a chick flick and he was the permanently friend–zoned, no–nuts whiner character.
Well, he hadn’t played that kind of guy when he was in Hollywood, and he sure wasn’t going to start now. Pulling his head out of his ass, he marched over to the front door and yanked it open.
Natalie stood shivering in the soft glow of his front porch light, hopping from foot to foot. “Thank God, I thought you were ditching me again.”
“Nope.” He stepped back so she could enter, feeling suddenly warmer despite the cold wind following her inside.
“Wow. This is not what I expected.” She completed a full circle in the middle of his great room. “Not at all.”
Sean looked around the converted firehouse, with its cavernous great room that flowed into the kitchen without any interior walls, and all he saw was work. He’d painstakingly finished the hardwood floors and filled in the brick’s mortar where time had chipped it away, but his mental to–do list went on for several pages.
She brushed her palm across the uneven, exposed brick walls. “These are awesome.”
Having seen her pristine, white, dirt–never–stood–a–chance office, he had a hard time believing the unfinished, raw house did anything other than give her the heebie–jeebies. “They’re the original firehouse walls. Same with the metal staircase that goes up to the loft.”
“But not the floors,” she mused.
Sean looked down at the still shiny hardwood floors. Each board represented the best money he’d ever spent on therapy—also the only money he’d ever spent on therapy. “I added them. It was just concrete before.”
“It’s beautiful.” She turned on the full force of her brighter–than–a–Klieg–stage–light smile. “But it’s missing something.”
“An air freshener,” he quipped.
“Nothing kills burned popcorn smell but time. I know that from personal experience.” She laughed. “No, you’re missing a fireman’s pole. This was the old East County Firehouse, right?”
“Yeah, Ruby Sue bought it at auction. I’m renting it from her. It never had a pole.”
“That’s too bad, I would have loved to have given it a try.”
Just the mental picture of Natalie sliding down the pole with her skirt flying up was enough material to fill the spank bank for a decade.
He clenched his jaw so tightly it made his temples ache. Down, boy. She’s your boss. The one who wants to change everything about the brewery. Plus she doesn’t even like you, let alone want to sleep with you.
His stubborn dick ignored the advice as he stood by the closed front door and watched her stroll around the open space, looking as if she fit right in.
Stopping next to the big–screen TV he never turned on, she shrugged off her puffy winter coat, revealing a pale–blue cardigan with a row of tiny buttons sparkling in the light. Sean jammed his hands into his jeans pockets to keep from reaching out for her.
He’d never understood the naughty librarian thing some guys had—not until he met Natalie Sweet.
All he wanted to do was unwrap her.
