Page 36 of Silver-Tongued Devil
She was on her hands and knees painting the baseboard, her movements quick and neat. Her baggy white overalls weren’t doing a thing for her, and the thick braid hanging over one shoulder had some paint at the end, like she’d dipped it in the pan sometime during the day. And he was glad she was there.
She looked up when he walked over, and he said, “Put me to work, boss. Painting’s in my blood.”
That made her smile. “Casual” had sure-enough been the way to go here, because she was relaxing. That was good. “I’m almost done with this,” she said, “and besides, you have to be neat to do trim. I have a feeling you’re the messy type. Exuberant painter, that’d be you.”
“Exuberant? That sounds almost like an insult. Bet you’re right, though. I tend to get into my work. You could say I put my whole self into it.”
“Uh-huh,” she said dryly. “Well, put your whole self into climbing that ladder and taking the tape off from around the windows, then. You’re taller than me.”
“I am that.”
She looked at his bare feet. “Not exactly dressed for the jobsite. You’re going to get yourself messed up.”
“Us exuberant types,” he said, “we don’t mind rolling around in it. It’ll wash off.”
“Then go do it. My paint’s drying out.”
After that, she had him taking the dropcloths off everything and folding them up, but when he finished, she was still painting. He sat on the edge of his uncovered coffee table—still unfortunately antler-intensive—and asked her, “How long did all this take?”
“The weekend and today. It’s a huge room, especially when you add the entry, and a high one. Major ladder time. I haven’t gotten to the kitchen, you probably noticed, but I’ll do that tomorrow.”
“Weekend, huh? What about that stained glass piece you were working on?”
She smiled, and as always, it gave her a whole different look. Still strong, but—shining.
Whoa, boy,he told himself, and promptly forgot it.
“My conch,” she said.
“That what it is? The thing you were working on last week?”
“Oh, yeah.” She forgot to paint for a moment, and her eyes went dreamy. “I didn’t get to finish it. It’s going to be so good.” She turned away, gave a few last careful swipes to the end of the baseboard, then set her brush down and started to gather her things. “I’ll take this stuff out to the truck, and you can enjoy looking at your living room inalmostall its glory. I’ll take the tape off from around the baseboards tomorrow, once they’re dry.”
“Mm,” he said. “I’ve got another idea. I help you load up your truck, and you come back in and help me admire your work, maybe have a beer, and tell me about your conch.”
She sighed. “I’ve got to say, a beer sounds good. I’ve been here a while. I don’t drink at Russell’s, for obvious reasons.”
He got up and picked up the paint can and a stack of dropcloths. “Happy to be your designated drinking spot. Come on, wild thing. Let’s drink a beer. We could even jump off my dock if we wanted. Did you see I’ve got one? Got your name on it, too.”
“Let me guess,” she said. “Your meeting, or whatever you went off to do in your private jet? It got boring.”
“You got that right. Besides—badasses gotta badass.”
A beer was fine, he told himself. A beer was absolutely no big deal. He liked her, that was all. She was interesting. Also an artist. He needed more people like that in his life.
Hanging out with her was fun, and if they flirted a little—well, that would be fun, too, for both of them. They could be… friends.
Yeah. Friends would be good.
Go home,Dakota told herself.Right now.
Instead, she gathered the rest of her supplies and asked, “So did you see it?”
“Uh… see what?” He headed after her into the soaring entryway, then rocked to a stop. “Oh.”
She couldn’t tell. What did “Oh” mean?
“If you don’t like it there,” she said quickly, “we can move it. I just thought, since I’d painted, I’d show you how it looked, and…” She shut her mouth on the rest. He was standing there, holding the paint can, staring at her eagle.Hiseagle. Which was hanging in the big window above the front door, looking like it would swoop down on them.
