Page 54 of Forgiving Her First Love

She waited. Rolled her wrist to insist he continued.

“I think women using tools is a very sexy look.”

“Are you still messing with me?” She looked down at her coveralls.

“No. I think it was all those power tool pinup calendars that Dad and Art used to hang.”

“The ones with women in bikinis and leather aprons holding a belt sander? They were sexist and objectifying. The tool manufacturers had to stop making them.”

“As they should. They were completely inappropriate.” His disapproval was deeply insincere. “But they made an impression during my formative years.”

“Why would you tell me this?” She was perplexed. Flattered? No. That would be wrong.

“I knew you would laugh at me. I’m not proud of it.”

“Wait. Are you saying you get turned on when you watch me work? I should take that to HR.”

“I’ve never acted on it. I don’t stand around perving at you.”

“You just did! A minute ago!”

His hammer thwack was followed by the trickling sound of gypsum falling to the floor.

“I’m not ogling. It’s like when you see a pretty woman in a sexy dress. You glance over and think, She looks hot. Then you get on with your day.”

“You think I look hot while I’m using this reciprocating saw?”

“Maybe.”

What was she supposed to do with this information?

“Don’t you enjoy seeing a hot guy doing sweaty work?” he challenged.

“Find me a hot guy. I’ll let you know.”

He gave her a very watch-me look as he replaced his mask and came to take the saw. He gave the cord a rippling snap to bring it with him to his end of the wall. The tool whined and, oh damn, his biceps flexed. His snug Raven’s Cove T-shirt strained across his pecs and shifted across his shoulders. His blue jeans were faded along the top of his thighs and the demin clung to his ass as he bent.

He was undeniably hot as he worked.

He turned off the saw and cocked a brow at her.

“Maybe if you were in a bikini?”

“Budgie smugglers? That’s what does it for you?” He set aside the saw, and his muscles bunched while he pulled away a huge section of drywall. He snapped it in half across his knee so it would fit into the bag.

She swallowed. “I’m more about good posture and legible penmanship.”

“Really,” he challenged pithily.

“No.”

“What then?”

He shouldn’t have to ask. He had been the strongest influence on her sexual interest during her formative years, practically imprinting her to only desire him.

“I don’t know how to get turned on anymore,” she dismissed, taking up the saw. “Nolan was the last guy I slept with. That was four years ago and very forgettable.”

“Sophie.” Logan paused, hammer dangling from his loose grip. “Are you serious?”

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