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She glances back at me, undisturbed by her state of undress.
"Thank God you're here," she says. "I'm just...okay, clearly I'm grappling with a crisis."
"What's wrong?" I ask, stepping towards her.
"I don't know," she says, sounding panicked. "It won't turn off. I don't know how to fix it."
I step closer to her and try to look at the sink, but all I can see is her. The bra doesn't have any liner—dear lord, it doesn't have anything but lace, and that pink lace clings to her perfect tits.
I quickly look away, feeling embarrassed. This girl just lost her grandfather, and here I am, checking her out.
"I'll take a look at it," I offer, trying to sound helpful. "Do you know where the shut-off valve is?"
She's quiet for a second, then shakes her head.
"Just...under the sink, I think," she says. "But I can't seem to find it."
"Okay, I'll find it," I promise. "You just...uh...why don't you go get changed?"
I sound like a moron, but she doesn't seem to notice.
"Thank you," she says, turning away from me. "I really appreciate it."
My eyes follow her, taking in the way her hips sway with each step. And I can't help it—I blush furiously. I'm sure she can feel me staring at her, and I have no idea what to do.
She disappears into the next room, and I wait a few seconds before turning my attention to the sink.
I spot the water shut-off valve, and reach in to turn it off. That was an easy fix, but I guess it wouldn't be easy for someone who's never fixed a damn thing in her life. Before she left, I know Dave took care of everything around the house.
So she’s a typical city girl...but I'm willing to forgive her, since she looks like a goddamn goddess.
I start cleaning up while I'm waiting for her, grabbing the mop from the closet. She comes out a few minutes later dressed in a yellow sundress, this time bra-free—which somehow makes it worse than when she was half-naked and drenched. Her hair is tied up in a messy bun, revealing the elegant slope of her neck, a little tattoo of a heart beneath her ear.
And...fuck me. Her eyes are so blue that I can't see anything else.
"Thanks," she says. "My superman. I owe you."
"It's nothing," I say. "Although...Iamgonna charge for the renovation."
"Oh! Right," she says. "So you must be Gray?"
"I'm Gray," I grin. "Grayson Cooper. And you must be Claire Sawyer?"
"That's me," she says. "Uh...if you just want to follow me, I'll show you the place."
I don't mention that I've been here a million times. I don't know how it would feel that I probably knew her grandpa better than she did. And besides, I don't mind following those swaying, voluptuous hips up the stairs.
Chapter three
Claire
Okay,sothehandymanis smoking hot.
...which I should have expected.
He has a muscular frame, broad shoulders straining the fabric of his dark jacket. His jawline is so chiseled it could cut glass, the start of a beard framing those perfect angular features.
He wears his dark hair short, probably so it’s out of the way when he’s working.
