How to Love Your Neighbour(26)

She laughed, enjoying this more than she had anything else in a long while. “It’s not cheating to outmaneuver your opponent. Neighbor.”

“You’ll paint the one that’s mostly window and I get what equals about one and half times the wall space?”

Putting on a pretend sad face, she nodded, then made the mistake of patting him on the chest. Good lord. She could lose chunks of time running her hands over that chest. Pulling her hand back, she went to retrieve the stool from the hallway. When she came back, he was still scowling.

“If it makes you feel any better, I have the disadvantage of height. It’s going to be a lot harder for me to trim the edges and do it right.”

“Fine. Game on. When you lose, you’ll have no excuse.”

“If I win, you can’t claim it’s because of the window. The walls are the same size.”

His grin should have scared her with how it made fire dance in his gaze. Instead, all it did was spur her on. Mr. Money thought he could beat her at this? She had something, in this case, he didn’t—experience.

“Just remember, you started this.”

She couldn’t remember who’d started it but at the moment, she didn’t care.

They didn’t say go until the paint had been poured, they were each set up, and music was blasting through her Bluetooth.

Whether it was the feel of his gaze on her from time to time, the energy between them, the spirit of competition, or just the unsettling attraction she felt for him, Grace felt like she’d drunk a case of Red Bull with a Jolt Cola chaser.

Sweat dotted her neck where little hairs escaped from her bun. She heard him rolling, moving, whistling but stayed focused on her own wall.

She hated doing the edges, around the windows and outlets, but it was a necessary evil. Moving up and down the ladder was going to have her thighs screaming tomorrow; advantage him. Stupid tall people. She glanced out of the corner of her eye to see he was adding more paint to his tray. And . . . his wall was almost finished. What the actual hell?

“How did you?” She stopped to stare.

He hadn’t cut in anything. He’d taken the damn roller and covered most of the wall. He wasn’t sweating.

“How did I what?”

Sure, the rolling didn’t take long but cutting in was first. It was always first!

“You’re supposed to cut in the edges!”

His toothy grin made her stomach tumble. “Says who? My wall is almost done. I’ll get the edges. Don’t you worry.”

He would but it’d be supereasy because between the length of his arms and the extender on the paint roller, he had hardly any area to cover.

She turned back, refusing to give in. Grabbing a roller, she worked to beat him at his own game. Which would have worked better if she’d remained calm and cool. Collected. Instead, she rolled over the window ledge by accident and lost valuable time cleaning it up.

Even with her switching to his method, he was finished before her. He never said a word about being done, just moved on to the small fragments of wall that divided the routes to the hallway.

When she set the paintbrush down, pushing her hair out of her face with the back of her hand, she turned in a circle. She might have lost but her living room was painted.

“Looks good,” he said, his voice low as he all but stalked toward her. The heat in his gaze pushed everything else away. The challenge, the paint, the small room, and life in general.

“It does,” she agreed when he stopped right in front of her, so close the tips of their toes touched.

“You’ve got paint on your cheek.” He brushed his thumb over it but all she felt was the way the rough pad of it felt on her skin. His fingers curved around her neck, tilting it just enough that they were at the perfect angle.

“Is it gone?” Why the hell was she whispering?

“I have no idea,” he said, not breaking eye contact.

No. Nuh-uh. Just because he was sexy didn’t mean he could smooth . . . what? Gaze? Smooth-gaze her and she’d flutter her damn eyelashes. How had he beat her?

“You look mad,” he said. His lips remained flat but his eyes smiled. They might have even laughed.

“Not mad. A deal is a deal.” Really, she hadn’t lost anything. As far as bets went, this one wouldn’t make her lose any sleep. He could keep asking all he wanted. She’d just keep saying no.

Her breaths were more ragged than they should be and when Noah’s gaze landed on her mouth, a look of interest mingling with heat, she backed up.

“I’ll help you with your office.” Because it’s not an important room. Jerk.

They cleaned up in silence, working side by side. She was glad he didn’t gloat and sort of wondered if she would have. You so would have. But he didn’t, and even though he could be bristly about a lot of things, this earned her respect.

When she walked him to the door, he turned, hesitating in the threshold.

“That was fun.”

She let out a huff that could have been a laugh or a sigh. “Sure.”

“I’ll stop asking,” Noah said.

It took her a second but when she realized what he was saying, she was too surprised to comment.

“Night, Grace.”

She stared after him, wondering how long she’d have to live next door to him to actually understand Noah Jansen.