Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
“Dylan . . .”
The door closing is his response.
I look at the sky. “I love him. I love him. I love him.”
Jay chuckles.
“I hope he wasn’t so moody with you—whoa!” I lean forward and grip the rails so tight that my knuckles burn.
Jay’s gaze is hot on the side of my face. I don’t dare look at him.
“Why don’t you come down from there?” he asks carefully.
I take a deep breath and twist to the gutter again. “Because I’m cleaning the gutters.”
“I’m sure it can wait a few minutes.”
“Nah, I’m already up here.” I drag my hand through the sludge and dump another handful into my bucket. My stomach turns at the smell. “Gosh, that reeks.”
“If you come down, I’ll finish the job for you.”
“Thanks, but I got it.”
“Gabrielle . . .”
It’s the way he says my name that does it. Gabrielle. Like he’s exasperated that I won’t listen to his direction.
Well, Mr. Stetson, screw that.
“Look,” I say, turning until I can see him. But either I move too fast, lean too far away from the house, or the ladder is lopsided . . . Or maybe it’s a combination of the three. For whatever reason, the ladder begins to tilt backward. I slam my chest against the rungs and force the top rungs to lie snugly against the roofline. “Ho-ly crap.”
My heart thunders. Sweat dots my back. I calculate how many broken bones I might wake up with tomorrow if I don’t start remembering I’m ten feet off the ground.
When I glance down, Jay’s hands are on the ladder. Judging by that heavy scowl on his face, he’s displeased.
This shouldn’t be that hot.
I don’t tell him that this isn’t helping. Maybe he’s keeping the ladder from rocking, but that won’t stop me from falling if my knees turn to gelatin from the heat in his eyes. His grip on the rails isn’t going to stop me from sliding straight down the metal as I melt into a puddle of orgasmic need.
He smirks.
I didn’t say that out loud, did I?
“Look, I’m sure you can do this on your own,” he says. “But taking a little help when it’s offered isn’t a sign of weakness. It’s a sign of strength.”
I roll my eyes.
“Come on, Gabrielle.”
“Come on . . . what?”
I return his smirk as the innuendo hits him in the face. His eyes darken.
Yeah, Jay. Imagine me just like that.
“Don’t worry,” I say. I slide my gloves off and drape them over the side of the bucket. “I don’t expect an answer. I already have it.”
“Answer it, then.”
I watch him over my shoulder. His features are severe, his jawline so sharp it could cut granite. It would be so easy to let him win this battle of wits . . . if I were willing to lose.
“I can come on whatever I want as long as it has nothing to do with you.” I grin, lifting a brow. “Right?”
His eyes narrow.
“Oh, stop it,” I say, sighing dramatically as I move down the rungs. “Calm down. I know you don’t want me.” Or so you say.
He barely steps back enough to make room for me to get down.
My butt, then my back, brushes against him as my feet drop to the ground. A blast of heat burns through me and pools in my belly. Turning around is going to be akin to fireworks—I know this. But I also know I can’t refuse to face him either.
I brush my hands off and sidestep away from Jay. “So was Dylan a pain in the butt, or did he remember some of the manners I’ve worked hard to instill in him?”
“He was fine.” Jay’s words are strangled. Tight. “He learned a few things.”
“It’s always a good day when you learn something new.”
He clears his throat. “Looks like you got the spindles out. But what in the hell happened to the stairs?”
“Oh. Those.” I focus on the spot where steps once stood. “They weren’t level, and I about fell through the right side yesterday afternoon while carrying groceries. I figured I’d rebuild them tomorrow when I put in the new spindles.”
I wait for him to respond. Once it’s clear he’s not going to, I finally look at him.
A grin graces his lips. His arms are folded across his barrel chest. Amusement plays across his features in the most relaxed, carefree way I’ve seen him.
It’s a sight to behold.
“Let me get this straight,” he says, shifting his weight. “You’re going to fix the railing. Build new stairs. Clean the gutters. What else?”
“Well . . .” I turn to the house. “I think there used to be a ceiling fan on the front porch. So I’m going to see if I can figure that out. I’m going to install security cameras. Those are on their way from an online store. I want to do a little painting and fix a toilet that won’t stop running. Oh! And some of the outlets in the house need to be replaced. They’re on a dimmer switch, and it’s going bad. So the lights just kind of pulse in some rooms, giving us a headache.” I point at Jay. “But you can’t tell Cricket that.”