Excerpt:
Abby had always been a clumsy kid with more scrapes and cuts on her legs and arms than her sisters. Her mom used to laugh and say it was a good thing she was a nurse, because all three of her daughters kept her in a regular state of applying bandages and antibiotic ointment.
Now, as Abby lay halfway in the tray of paint, the ladder half covering her, she wondered if she’d made a wrong decision about starting her own business. Clearly, she couldn’t do something as basic as paint. How could she sell her products to customers?
She scooted off the paint tray and did her best to slide out from under the ladder. Difficult, given her shorts and the right side of her lower half were drenched in paint.
Could her day get any worse?
The door jingled as it opened, and Connor appeared in the doorway. He wore a navy-blue Maguire Brothers Renovations T-shirt with khaki cargo shorts. With his hair windblown, like he’d driven with the windows down, he carried two iced drinks and a bakery bag.
She lifted her head to the sky and wondered what she’d done in life to make her have the worst luck in the world.
“Whoa, you all right?” Tossing his purchases on the counter, he hurried to remove the ladder from her.
Abby pushed a stray hair out of her face. “I’m fine. Just a new way I found to paint.”
“Uh huh.” He offered his hands to help her up.
She hesitated.
“Jesus, Abby.”
Expelling the breath she’d been holding, she let him take her hands, nearly jumping at the spark from his touch.
As he guided her to her feet, she swayed, and he placed his hands on her waist to steady her. At five feet eight, she stood only a few inches shorter than him, which lined up their bodies perfectly. And right now, standing close to him, her body responded to being pressed up against his deliciously firm one.
Traitor.
When her legs buckled, he pulled her more firmly against him. It was impossible not to feel his arousal, and despite her own good sense—which was clearly on break—she lifted her eyes to meet his. The green irises bored into hers, dark with desire, and her arms naturally held on to his shoulders for support.
God, she’d forgotten how good it felt in his arms. All she had to do was lift her chin a fraction of an inch and she’d be able to taste him. The thought of pressing her mouth to his ignited a fiery desire within her.
His lips parted, as though he was going to kiss her.
Then he did something unexpected.
He leaned his forehead against hers—as though he was trying to gain control—before taking a deep breath and stepping back, keeping a loose hold on her waist.
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