What a Bachelor Needs (Bachelor Auction Book 4)(13)

And failed dismally.

He blew Claire a raspberry and watched her eyes widen in delight, and then she was trying to blow one right back at him.

“Nearly,” he coaxed. “Like this.” And did it again and this time she laughed and added her fingers to her raspberry attempt. “That’s it, sweetheart. Keep practicing. And when you turn two, we’ll get you some skis.”

“Don’t listen to him, Claire. The crazy man’s dreaming.”

“Nothing wrong with dreaming. Add ambition to dreaming and you can go a long way.”

“Is that what you did?”

“More or less, but there’s one other ingredient.”

“Skill? God given talent? A body made for—” She stopped abruptly.

“Speed?” he prompted silkily. “Endurance? Admiring?”

“You even flirt with yourself.”

“Now you’re getting the picture. There must always be flirting.”

“Why?”

“Because I need it.” It counteracted the relentless drive and self-focus that went hand in hand with reaching any sporting pinnacle. It acted as a balm in times of failure and heartache. Because if he couldn’t take the time to appreciate another person, what point was the rest of it?

“Is this another balance thing?”

“Yes,” he said firmly and followed through with an angelic smile. “Flirting is fun. And fun is essential.”





Chapter Five




?


There was a rule in the Casey household about going to the hardware store and buying only what you needed. Jett’s mother had instigated it as a way of managing farm finances. That or she’d done it as a way of honing her menfolk’s debating skills when it came to justifying their purchases.

Mardie needed decent locks on her windows and her doors, no question. A simple safety issue and he couldn’t, in all good conscience, leave the store without them. He also needed to rent two types of vacuum sander to do the floor properly, and buy three grades of sandpaper and enough walnut wood stain and satin polyurethane to cover the room, the hallway, and more than likely the kitchen floor as well, because who wouldn’t want the color of their floorboards to match throughout the house?

Yes, a great deal of wood stain and sealer had to be purchased, and if there was any remaining after he’d finished, well, Mardie could use it to coat the boards on the porch, some of which needed replacing.

He wondered if he could justify replacing all of them.

He needed a decent sponge applicator or three because no one liked streaky floors, and no way was he getting down on hand and busted knee to apply the stain. Even his sainted mother would agree that not having the right tools for the job was false economy, and this place was full of the right tools, all shiny and beckoning. He scooped up a couple of bags of quick-dry putty, a couple of packs of face masks, methylated spirits, and when he got to the cashier, put all but the smallest tin of wood stain on his brother’s building account. Separate receipts.

Jett didn’t like moving slowly. Never had. When it came to this week, he wanted to get as much done as possible by way of home repairs and renovations and screw the expense, he’d pick up most of it, and he could justify that because…

Because…

Because he’d know Mardie was in a safe place, a nicer place than the one she’d once been in, and maybe, just maybe, when he dreamt of her, there would be less blood and violence and uncomfortable desire for her regardless of the ugly circumstances, and a whole lot more cavorting puppies and rainbows.

He could coax a kiss from that Mardie easily, and his dreams would be good.

Justification sorted.

He was good at this.

*

Mardie stayed away from the house for as long as she could. She wheeled Claire to the park and then on to Main street. They looked in the window of Sage’s chocolate shop and resisted temptation, only to stop by the bakery five minutes later and buy two sugar-dusted puff pastry fingers filled with custard and freshly whipped cream. She needed something tempting to take her mind off the handyman doing heaven only knew what back at her house. She needed to look at Jett Casey and not see every good thing a person could be. A body made for worshipping. A charm offensive that made her want to bask in the teasing heat of it. Self-awareness. Adaptability. Tolerance. Even after she’d told him how she’d bargained her way free of her marriage, he’d kept listening. He hadn’t turned away from the ugliness or from her.

Trust him with a key to her home because he’d earned it.

Treat him like a champion because he was one, and not just on skis.

How on earth was she supposed to survive a week of him and not fall hopelessly in thrall?

Slipping the éclairs into her bag, she drew out her phone and dialed Ella’s number.

“Help me,” she said when her friend answered. “I’m having handyman fantasies. Or maybe they’re Jett Casey fantasies. Either way, I’m having them.”

“Very healthy.”

“He was ripping up the carpet in the front room and all those muscles were straining…and there was bending… and rolling, and wanton sighing on my part. Have you seen that man’s butt?”

“I’ve seen it. And you are right to be impressed.”