Page 20 of Fixing to Be Mine

I shift my gaze to her. “Ya sure about that? They say look where you want to aim.”

She creates space between us, laughing. “It was an accident!”

I dip my knife into the bucket, giving her a look.

“No,” she says, eyes wide. “Don’t you dare.”

“I told you this gets messy.”

“Colt.”

“Sorry, darlin’. You brought this on yourself. What’s fair is fair.”

She squeals and dodges, but I swipe a line of compound across her arm before she gets away. She stares at it, eyes narrowing, then lifts her chin like she’s about to charge.

She lunges toward me, bright laughter spilling from her. I catch her by the waist before she gets too far. My grip locks firm as I spin her around, pinning her gently against the unfinished wall. Her hands land on my shoulders, and she’s breathing harder now.

There’s compound on her cheek, dust smudged across her tank top, and when I glance down into her pretty green eyes, I forget about the drywall, the house, or that we’re strangers.

“You look good, covered in my mess,” I say before I can stop myself.

Her breath hitches, but her hands don’t fall away. The laughter fades enough for the tension to take its place. I don’t pull back as her lips part. I don’t think I can.

“I bet you say that to all your handy-helpers,” she whispers.

“Only the ones I don’t want to let go of.”

We let the electricity buzz, the moment stretching between us. It’s full of desire and excitement, the mutual attraction almost too much to handle.

She chews on her bottom lip, almost as if she’s daring me to kiss her, but I take a step away, creating much-needed space. I don’t want to rush whatever this is.

“We should probably finish up here, then call it a day. We can start painting tomorrow.”

“Good idea,” she says, and I notice the chill bumps creeping across her arms.

I crank the country music, and we work for several more hours until every screw and seam are covered. Afterward, Sunny sweeps stray dust into piles as I put away tools. She hums under her breath as she bends down for the dustpan, her ass cheeks showing.

I catch myself staring and force my eyes away, needing to be a gentleman. When she rises, she stretches, arms lifting overhead until her shirt shifts and reveals the bare slope of her waist. My eyes drag over that exposed inch of skin like it might answer every damn question I didn’t mean to ask. She’s doing this on purpose, to tempt me, and I’d be a fucking liar if I said it wasn’t working.

There’s drywall dust in her hair, a streak of spackle on her forearm, and she manages to look like every good decision I haven’t made yet.

“If you keep it up, you might become my permanent handy-helper.”

Or my wife. But that part I keep to myself.

“This is day one. You won’t be saying that for long,” she says. “No one keeps me forever.”

I shoot her a smile. “Give me a chance.”

She arches a brow. Her eyes are warmer, even a little dangerous. “You’re relentless.”

“You’re right,” I tell her.

Once everything is picked up, my eyes scan over what we accomplished, and I’m proud.

She watches me for a long beat, her eyes dancing with mischief as I zero in on her.

“I can’t believe we finished so much.”

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