Page 9 of Her Candy Cane Cowboy
“Lying this close to Christmas. Now who’s getting coal in their stocking?”
He looks way too pleased with himself.
I draw in a calming breath. “You go bring the plumbing pipe. I’ll find a cutter.”
“I’ve got that, too, darlin’. I’m a man who’s prepared.”
I hate that he’s handsome. And smiling at me like that. I hate that I’m finding it harder to dislike him.
“I’ll go get it. Be right back. Don’t miss me.”
I watch him go, realize that I’m staring and grab a broom to sweep up the mess. What is going on in my head? With my body?
Dallas returns and I stop sweeping to use the tool he brought to cut the damaged portion of the pipe. I remove it and hold my hand out. “Did you bring couplings?”
“I told you I’m a man who’s prepared.” He hands one of them to me. I try, and fail miserably not to notice his biceps that flash beneath his T-shirt sleeve. He’s handsome, well-built and likeable. That just…sucks for me, for my aching heart and determination not to get stabbed there again.
I finish repairing the pipe and start prepping for the drywall patch. “Once I get this taped and everything is dry, I’ll paint the wall tomorrow. I found some leftover paint in the back and it should be enough. So please let Mary know that since you’ll see her before I will.”
“You’re trying to get rid of me.”
There’s no use pretending. “Yes, I am.”
He grins. “The reason you don’t like me and don’t want me around is because you’re attracted to me. I’m what you want for Christmas.”
I roll my eyes. “Sure. You keep dreaming of me under your Christmas tree.”
“I’d rather dream of you under me.”
I turn and without thinking, swipe some of the spackle on the side of his face.
“So now you want to play?” He picks up the container of spackle and advances toward me with it.
I hold the putty knife out like a sword. “I warn you, cowboy. I know how to fight.”
“Darlin’, fighting’s not what I want to do with you.” His eyes darken with desire.
Why does he have to be so sexy? Why does my body make me want to jump him and not let go until I’m worn out and satisfied? Still holding the putty knife, I back down the hallway leading to the bathroom. I’m not afraid of him, I’m afraid of how he’s making my body feel, afraid of what he’s making me think.
The bathroom is large but made suddenly small by his presence. I stand on one side of the sink, and he stands on the other.
“Wash me,” he orders, his voice a sexy command.
My traitorous body translates that to ‘touch me’ and my panties dampen. I don’t do something, I’ll end up doing him right here. I set the tool down on the edge of the counter.
I turn on the water made icy cold from the outside temperature, cup some in my hand and splash it on his face. Then I quickly cup more and splash it on his chest. It runs down his body to the floor.
He sucks in a breath.
“Sorry. I thought you needed to cool down.”
He strips off his wet T-shirt without speaking and advances toward me one slow, deliberate step at a time.
I’ve awoken a wolf. Another step and my body is close to being consumed by the fire in his eyes.
I back up, slipping on the water. I fling my arms out to break my fall, but he catches me. One strong arm circles my waist and he hauls me against his hard body, lifting me like I’m petite instead of a big girl with curves.
With his leg moving between mine, he walks me backward until the wall stops the momentum.
