The Firefly Cafe (Billionaire Brothers, #1)(3)

Setting the lid down with a clang, he twisted at the waist to consult his phone again, pulling that T-shirt tight across his chest.

“Is that for me?”

The deep voice startled Penny into bobbling the glass. Ice sloshed and cold tea dripped onto her hand as she dragged her gaze up from the mesmerizing play of muscles under his clothes.

He was smiling at her again, the devil grin that heated Penny’s blood and sent it racing through her body like a runaway horse. When he reached to take the glass from her, their fingertips brushed. A jolt of electricity zipped up her arm, and the slippery glass dropped and shattered on the floor.

“Oh, shoot!” Penny grabbed the hand towel from sink and moved to wipe up the spilled tea before realizing most of it had drenched the front of his T-shirt before dripping down onto his jeans. She’d actually been about to cop a feel, with only thin terry cloth and wet, clinging denim between her hand and his—

“I’m so sorry,” she gasped, feeling her neck and face go hot with embarrassment. Okay, embarrassment and lust, but the lust was a little embarrassing, too, so, yeah.

“No big deal.” He smiled and raised her core temperature by another ten degrees when he reached for the hem of his soaked T-shirt and drew it up and over his head. “I was due for a shower, anyway.”

Penny blinked. Granted, it had been a few years since she’d been face to chest with a half-naked man, but even considering that, she was pretty sure she’d never seen anything to compare to the golden-tan planes and ridges of this man’s perfectly sculpted torso. He looked like a movie star or an underwear model, one of those guys whose whole job rested on their ability to strip down and render ordinary women speechless with desire.

Well, being a handyman required plenty of heavy lifting, she reasoned dazedly, her eyes glued to his pecs. And a flexible schedule that probably left plenty of time for the gym.

Mmm, flexible …

“If you bring me another glass of tea, I promise I won’t throw it on the ground.”

Penny’s gaze snapped up to his face. He sounded repentant, but the look on his face was anything but. Wicked amusement danced behind his shockingly blue eyes. This man had a very clear understanding of his body and its effect on women.

Natural contrariness stiffened Penny’s spine. She wouldn’t be another notch on this gorgeous handyman’s tool belt. “Sorry, no second chances,” she said, the words as automatic as breathing. “House policy.”

Confusion narrowed the sky-blue eyes. “House policy?”

Kneeling to carefully pick up the larger pieces of sharp glass, Penny snorted. “Okay, no. Not house policy, as in imposed by the rich folks that own this place. From what I’ve heard, they’re pretty permissive when it comes to family members misbehaving. No, the one-strike-and-you’re-out stuff is all me. Call it a personal philosophy.”

A lesson she’d learned well and thoroughly, at heavy cost.

“Sounds like a tough way to live. Everyone deserves a second chance, now and then.”

His low, husky voice startled her out of her reverie. Finger jerking, she nicked herself on the corner of a glass shard and pressed her lips together as a droplet of blood welled to the surface. “Not everyone. Trust me.”

Glass crunched softly under his black motorcycle boots as he crouched down to her level. “Okay, you win.” He smiled easily, a man used to using his charm to get what he wanted. “I’ll live without the iced tea.”

Right, they’d been talking about spilled tea, not her life story. Cursing the riptide of her memories for sucking them into these deeply personal waters, Penny smiled back and let him help her to her feet. “Thanks. Give me a second to grab the broom, and I’ll get the rest of this cleaned up.”

Every inch of her was so hotly aware of his smooth, hard body a mere breath away from hers. Shivering, Penny backed toward the door and the relative safety of the hallway.

He stopped her with another quick smile. “What you said about the family that owns this place. How much do you know about them?”

“The Richie Riches?” Penny blinked. “Not much, except that they have enough money to leave this gorgeous old place sitting empty for years on end. Such a waste. At least they cared enough to hire a caretaker.”

His face cleared as if she’d slotted the final piece into a jigsaw puzzle. “Right, a caretaker. That’s you.”

She laughed. “Of course! What—did you think I was squatting? No, I’m paid to stay here and make sure the house doesn’t fall down while the Harrington boys live the high life in New York City.”

“The high life.” He said it absently, turning back to the partially dismantled toilet, but Penny caught a glimpse of his slight frown in the sink mirror. He looked upset, maybe annoyed.

She could sympathize. “I know. When you work hard for a living, it’s aggravating to be reminded there are playboy types out there who can afford to do nothing but drink and dance the night away. I’ve even heard … oh, listen to me gossiping! Never mind, I’ll get that broom.”

“Wait. What have you heard?”

Thoroughly embarrassed, Penny winced, but when she made reluctant eye contact with the handyman again, there was no judgment in his lean, handsome face. Instead, he looked curious, if still a little tense.

She unbent enough to quirk a half-grin. “Well. I’ve heard one of the Harrington brothers is actually so famous for his partying that he has a nickname in the press: the Bad Boy Billionaire.”