Page 8 of Seasoned
Margie shook her head, black pigtails swinging on the sides of her head. “Grandpa gave me cereal, blueberries, and orange juice for breakfast. I’m full!”
Renee laughed. “Well if you change your mind, you let me know, okay?”
“Okay,” his granddaughter said with a vigorous nod.
Renee straightened and for the first time, he paid close attention to her eyes. They were a rich, earthy brown. Captivating. Lovely, like her.
“I’ll be in my office in the back, down that hall to the right. Call if you need anything.”
“I will.”
Clive watched her walk away and liked how the white shorts hugged her curvaceous behind and made her hips look wider. “Very nice,” he murmured.
“What, Grandpa?”
Startled, Clive cleared his throat. “Nothing. Let’s get to work.”
“Okay!” Margie said with excitement.
Clive didn’t often take her with him on jobs. It depended on the job and the length of time it would take to complete. Whenever he did, she was very excited, taking the role of helper very seriously.
He spent the morning on the door, with Margie helping intermittently. When she wasn’t, she played with her dolls. Midway through the morning, Renee came out to check on them and provided glasses of iced tea, which he and Margie gratefully drank. At lunchtime, they took a break and went home to make hotdogs and then returned to Renee’s house. It was early afternoon when he finished painting and then called Renee to take a look at the final product.
She stood back with her hands on her hips. “Wow. You did a great job. I’m impressed.”
“I’m not sure if I should be flattered or insulted. I’ve worked in construction for almost forty years—since I was practically a kid and started going on jobs with my father and older brother.”
“Take my reaction as a compliment. I’m truly impressed. There aren’t a lot of men who are good with their hands.”
Mind immediately going to the gutter, Clive raised an eyebrow and smirked. “I have been told many times how good I am.”
“I-I mean, able to do this kind of work,” Renee said, randomly waving her hand in the direction of the door.
He almost laughed out loud. He’d never see her flustered, and her reaction was adorable. Miss Grumpy might not be as tough as she pretended to be.
“I know what you meant.”
She cleared her throat and briefly turned away before facing him again. “Are you sure I can’t pay you? I almost feel as if I’m taking advantage.”
“You don’t owe me anything. I like keeping busy, and I hadn’t done one of these doors in a while.”
“Well, as long as you don’t feel like you’re being taken advantage of…”
“I offered to help, remember? By the way, I inserted a screw right here at the flush bolt, so no one should be able to slip the door open.”
She stepped in front of him and raised on her tiptoes. Clive got a good whiff of her perfume again, and his breathing became a bit shallow as he let his gaze roam over her body. He was even more tempted to press his face to her skin with her standing directly in front of him, pushing up on her toes as if offering up her body.
“Oh, I see. Is that the little trick you were telling me about?” She turned to face him, and as if suddenly noticing their closeness, her eyes widened and she stepped back.
Neither took their eyes from the other. Her breasts lifted up and down rapidly as her breathing turned as abnormal as his.
“Yes,” Clive said thickly.
She’d felt what he felt. A surge of excitement—a sudden uptick in the temperature as the attraction between them intensified and crackled.
“I…um…” She smoothed a hand down her short hair in the back. “I appreciate you doing that.”
“Well, we have to be safe out here.”
