What a Bachelor Needs (Bachelor Auction Book 4)(15)

He came back towards her, stood at the bottom of her front step while she leaned against her front door and smiled because she couldn’t help it. “Thanks for all your hard work today.”

“If I stayed another hour I could get that stain on the floor and then it could dry overnight.”

“You want to keep going?”

“It’s not finished.”

She was beginning to get a hint as to what made this man a World Champion. “All right. Anything I can help with?”

“Good answer,” he said.

Ten minutes later, Claire played in her playpen in the hallway, in full view, while Jett showed Mardie the fine art of applying paint stain to slightly damp, pre-conditioned timber.

It was all about having the right tools for the job.

And an eye for detail.

And patience.

And music, by way of the classic rock that emanated from the battered radio sitting on the window sill.

“How did you hurt your knee?” she asked, because he was favoring it slightly as he worked the applicator mop over the floor boards.

“Couldn’t land a jump.”

“I thought you were a downhill skier?”

“Hence my aerial landing problems.”

“Do you get injured often?”

“More and more as I get older. I’ve been pushing my luck and my body for a lot of years now.” He dipped his applicator in the paint and loaded the amount he wanted. “Might need to call it a day soon. Go out while I’m on top. Try and win one more World Championship and then stop.”

“Is that even in your vocabulary?”

“Getting too old to compete is in every athlete’s vocabulary.”

“Will you miss it?”

Jett shrugged. “The competition, yes. As for the skiing, I’ll keep doing it for as long as I’m able.”

“Will you teach skiing?”

“Why? You want to learn?”

“I didn’t mean me. I can get down the side of a mountain in time for dinner, thank you very much.”

“You ski?” Jett’s face lit up like a kid’s at candy time.

“Would you think less of me if I say that I do it for the scenery rather than the physical endeavor?” she said, and waited for him to wince.

He didn’t wince.

“A perfectly valid reason to ski,” he said placidly.

“As for speed, a gentle, well-worn slope suits me perfectly… Did you just shudder?”

“Yes. With delight because I know you’re only teasing.”

“You wish.”

“Yes, yes I do.” He nodded. “Frequently. Earnestly. Please tell me that your heart doesn’t beat a little faster at the sight of an isolated mountain range covered in a foot of fresh powder. How can you not look at it and immediately want to put tracks in it?”

“I have my comfort zone, you have yours. We can’t all be speed demons.”

“Floor’s done though,” he said with no little satisfaction, and indeed they’d stained their way to the door. “What do you think?”

“I think it looks beautiful.” She’d painted the walls in this room the first week she’d moved in, back when she’d had more hope of getting rid of the carpet smell without having to get rid of the carpet. The walls glowed ivory and she’d painted the window frame white. One day there would be drapes to cover that big bay window and they would be exactly what she wanted and she’d never get sick of looking at them. She’d bring the couch and the chairs in; she’d buy an old sideboard. Scatter soft blankets and cushions around within easy reach. “How much do I owe you for today’s materials?”

He fished a receipt from his back pocket and handed it to her. It was a receipt for a four gallon tin of walnut wood stain. “So who paid for the rest of it?”

“Oh, you mean the mops?”

“Yes. And the sanding machines and the sandpaper, and the tin of whatever it is that you’re going to put on the floor next.”

“That went on my brother’s account. It’s stuff we use all the time. It’s not specific to this job at all.”

“Unh huh,” she said dryly.

“Did I mention that this brother bought me my first set of pro skis? I didn’t have the money. He did. Did I mention that he wanted to expand the business a few years back, and I bought in?”

“You’re trying to sidetrack me with information that’s irrelevant.”

“Yes, yes I am.”

“I want that other receipt.”

He took the paint mop from her hand. “I’ll try and find it.”

“Try real hard. Meanwhile, would you like a chocolate éclair? I meant to offer earlier, during the afternoon break you didn’t take.”

“You bought me a treat?”

“I did.”

There was the kid in the candy shop again. “Let me clean this up,” he said. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

“You want coffee with it?”

“If you hand me coffee, I will love you forever.”

“I bet you say that to all the baristas.”

“And you would be one hundred percent correct.”

No shame, just a smile and a view of him walking away, and, oh, she could get used to ogling that perfect rear end.