And I’ll make some toast…” By the time she was done cheerfully telling him what she was going to fix for him, she had it ready, and carried it out to him. “Careful, it’s hot.”
“Thanks,” he muttered.
She smiled as if she knew how hard it was for him to say that.
“If you fix hot-water heaters as fast as you do soup, you’ve got a job,” he heard himself saying.
Taking his toolbox in hand, she said, “I’ll go check it out. Is it in the basement?”
He nodded, his mouth full of soup.
“Don’t worry. I’ll find it,” she said with a confident grin.
Don’t worry? Michael was worried plenty. What on earth had possessed him to offer her a job if she fixed the damn water heater? Desperation, that’s what had possessed him. Combined with a lack of food and lack of sleep.
Michael set his empty plate and soup bowl on the floor next to his chair. He didn’t remember closing his eyes, but when he opened them again, he found Brett standing before him—a triumphant smile on her face as she waved a wrench in the air. “I did it! Your hot-water heater is working just fine now.”
For some reason, Michael’s heart sank at her declaration. He’d only felt that way once before, when the Bears had fumbled a critical play that had ended up costing them their play-off bid. Michael couldn’t help wondering what hiring Brett Munro was going to end up costing him.and he wasn’t thinking of her salary. His ad had clearly stated what he was willing to pay, and it wasn’t much, but he had tossed in a rent-free basement studio apartment into the deal.
“You won’t regret giving me this job,” Brett was excitedly saying, ignoring the fact that he hadn’t actually said she had the job yet. She wasn’t about to let him wiggle out of their deal.
“What was wrong with the hot-water heater?” Michael demanded, lurching to his feet. “On second thought, don’t tell me.” He stalked into the kitchen and flipped back the faucet. Hot water poured out. Damn.
He knew he should be counting his blessings as he heard the muffled cheers of Mr. and Mrs. Stephanopolis coming from upstairs. He’d finally found a handyman—only she was a woman, one who seemed to have the strangest affect on him.
But it could never be said that Michael Janos wasn’t a man of his word. He’d promised her the job of building supervisor and by God he’d keep that promise. But he doubted she’d be able to keep the job. Once she saw how many things were wrong with this eccentric building, she was bound to quit. Any sane person would.
“The studio apartment isn’t very big,” Michael warned her as he unlocked the door in the basement.
“That’s okay, I don’t have much stuff.”
“It needs work,” he added before giving the stubborn door a hefty nudge.
“I’m a whiz with a paintbrush,” she replied.
What did it take to make this woman discouraged? Michael found himself wondering. Then he got distracted by the sight of the sunlight hitting her hair, reminding him of that moment upstairs when she’d been standing in the kitchen doorway and the light had shone behind her head—creating an image that had left him shaken and breathless.
She wasn’t the type of woman who usually got his attention, if there was such a thing. He’d dated all kinds, but never one who had the passion for life that this one seemed to have. She was a whirlwind of activity, flying around the room—moving even when she was standing still. He could practically see her thinking as she sized up the room’s dimensions.
“This is great!” she exclaimed. “You’ve got south exposure on the windows down here. It adds a lot of light, even though the windows are high up.”
“They’re small,” Michael said.
“Size is in the eye of the beholder,” she said defensively, hugging her down coat to her chest and tucking her hands under her arms.
“Yeah, well…” Michael heard himself stumbling over his words and decided to pause and regroup. What was it about this woman that affected him so? As she’d just pointed out, she was not amply built, although the soft sweater that matched her blue eyes curved nicely around what nature had given her. She had a sweet face. Sweet big eyes, sweet lips.full and sensual. She was nibbling on her bottom lip as she looked away from him, focusing her attention on the kitchen appliances in the compact kitchen.
“They all work,” Michael stated as she opened the fridge and peered inside. “They’re just about the only ones in the entire building that do,” he added in a muttered aside. “I’m told that awful color of green was popular at one time.”
“Avocado,” she replied.
“Never eat them.”
“I was referring to the color of the appliances. Avocado appliances were very popular in the sixties.”
“Which probably makes that refrigerator about as old as I am,” he said.
She turned to study him with the same thoroughness she’d given the fridge. The brief animosity she’d felt toward him when she’d been in the vestibule earlier had evaporated. Now she was intrigued by him. That wasn’t necessarily a good thing. After all, he was her boss for the time being.
Not that she felt intimidated by him. She was confident of her abilities. She knew she’d do a good job here, in a building just crying out for tender loving care.
TLC was something Brett specialized in. She fixed things for a living—stoves, hot-water heaters, men who needed understanding, stray animals who needed food. She worked with them all until they were well enough to function on their own. Michael Janos didn’t look like the kind of man who needed any fixing, however. He was the epitome of a loner. A lone wolf. But even wolves mated for life, she reminded herself. The lone ones were the ones who had lost their mates. Had that happened to him?
Tilting her head, she gazed directly into his eyes, searching for a few answers. Instead she found a matching curiosity. He had incredible eyes, striking flames in her soul with their mysterious combination of light and shadow. She felt as if she could look into them forever, as if at some point in her past she had spent a lifetime looking into them—which was ridiculous since she’d never met him before today. She’d never have forgotten a face like his. There was a noble elegance mixed with a raw power in everything from the curve of his high cheekbones to the thrust of his jaw. There was nothing traditional about him, except for the chauvinistic fact that he didn’t think a woman could do a handyman’s job. Reminding herself of that, she tore her gaze away. It was like ripping an adhesive bandage off a wound.
Tempted though she was to return her attention to him, she forced herself to concentrate on other things, imagining where she’d place what little furniture she had. The apartment—with its single narrow main room, tiny kitchen area and bath—might be considered a decorator’s nightmare. Brett considered it to be home.
Michael recognized that expression—the nesting look. Whenever he saw it in a woman’s eyes he got nervous.
“You should meet the tenants,” he stated abruptly. Okay, so the basement flat
