The Bachelor's Baby (Bachelor Auction Book 3)(14)
“Don’t take things wrong when you see how it’s set up in here,” he said as he pulled open the screen door and pushed the interior one for her to enter. “I probably won’t get to renovating the upstairs until next winter.” He flicked on the light.
“Oh!” She covered her mouth, muffling her laugh, blue eyes dancing with humor as she eyed him over her glove before she looked back at the king size bed in the middle of the living room. “At least it’s made.”
“Yeah.” He bit a fingertip then pulled off his leather glove. “Full disclosure? The sheets are clean. It was a bachelor auction,” he excused over her trill of laughter, motioning for her to turn so he could take her jacket.
“You’re quite the Boy Scout. Prepared,” she chuckled.
“Exactly.”
“Well, full disclosure, I shaved my legs.”
He liked the cheeky grin she sent him as she unzipped her boot and let it fall open around her calf before bracing on the wall to work it off her foot.
He toed out of his shoes and hung his jacket, then moved to the fireplace, not because it was cold, but to provide some atmosphere and help him keep his hands off her.
He kept one eye on her though, wondering what she thought of the place. It wasn’t a disaster, but it wasn’t as ship-shape as he usually kept his surroundings. Of course, for years he hadn’t had a real home. Just an apartment he went back to between jobs, before shifting cities and ghosting in and out of the next one.
Here, he woke up in the same place and set down the litter of daily life. The dishes were clean, but still in the drying rack. Half of the kitchen table was a semi-organized pile of tools, supplies and paint chips. The wall between the living room and his office was nothing but exposed studs and wiring. His television topped his dresser in the corner near the fireplace and he kept sweeping the sawdust he made into a pile beside the compost bucket.
“I should call Blake and tell him where I am.” She glanced around. “Do you have a land line?”
“I have satellite,” he said, offering his cell phone from his chest pocket.
“You have too much money,” she contradicted, taking the phone and placing the call. “Hey, it’s me. Have you talked to Liz? Ah. Tetanus shot.” She glanced at Linc as though filling him in. “Good idea.” A pause, then, “She exaggerated. I didn’t win, but yes. Our new neighbor. He drove me home.” Another pause. “His home. No, I don’t need you to come and get me.” She gave Linc an exasperated eye roll. “I’m helping him tape drywall, what do you think? We’re having a drink,” she allowed with tested patience, then, “I know what time my flight is. Did you seriously just give me a curfew? Go to bed, Blake. Do not wait up.” She ended the call with a maddened, “Bruh-ther.”
“He’s going to punch me in the jaw if he sees me in town, isn’t he?”
“No,” she scoffed. “He’s going to show up in about fifteen minutes with his shotgun.” She negated the threat with a shake of her red curls and moved through the ground floor, exploring how he was modifying the sunroom into an office that was open to both the kitchen and a new side door. If it had been daylight, she’d have seen his million-dollar view across his land. For all his business acumen, he’d bought this place because he’d known he’d never tire of the roll of hills, the carpet of trees and the climb of mountains against the wide, changeable sky.
The fire caught and he closed the screen, moving to the cupboards next to the sink.
“So… Coffee? Or I have a cabernet franc—no idea of the quality. It was a gift and I don’t really drink wine. Scotch. That’s for medicinal purposes. Tequila—actually, you’re going to think I’m a souse. Look at this.” He opened the cupboard all the way, falling back a step so she could see how full the shelf was. “I was given a lot of bottles from my colleagues when I was leaving. Plus I always liked to have something in my travel bag for the hotel room, even though I hardly ever drank it, so I got in the habit of accepting whatever freebies the airlines offered.” He brought out the shoebox that was overflowing with single-shot bottles of spirits. “I never realized how bad this looks. I could open my own liquor barn.”
“That’s funny,” she chuckled, coming to stand next to him so she could finger through the miniature bottles. “But I think the real sign of an alcoholic is empty bottles, not full ones.”
He watched her, admiring yet again how pretty she was. Elegant as a thoroughbred with her fine-boned features and graceful movements.
Her touch on the bottles slowed. “I should tell you something,” she said, twirling a translucent green bottle like it was a ballerina. “I’m not on anything. So, unless you kept more than alcohol in your travel bag…”
“I did. Do. Have something.” His voice, his brain, receded into some far off place. His entire awareness narrowed to her shyly down bent face, the speckles of dark brown freckles across her nose, the crackle of the fire. The smell of cinnamon and cloves that hovered in a cloud around her.
“I’m nervous,” she admitted quietly.
“Don’t be. If it doesn’t happen…” He didn’t want to think that way. “I’m not going to pressure you,” he soothed, practically hypnotized by the sheepish blue gaze that lifted to his. He cupped the side of her face, fingertips combing into the cool tresses of her ginger hair, downy warmth filling his palm. “But I do want to kiss you again.”