looked away, afraid that with his experience he might be able to guess her thoughts. “That’s okay. I had a late lunch.” Maybe he’d misinterpreted her hungry look. Food was the last thing on her mind right now.
“My plan is to dismantle this baby and take it downstairs to see if I have a replacement part. I’m not sure how soon I’ll have it back in operation, so I hope that’s not a problem.”
She couldn’t keep avoiding his gaze forever, as if she lacked any self-confidence. So instead she looked at him with the same directness she’d use with a colleague at work. “No problem.”
There were questions lurking in those green eyes of his. He probably wondered when she’d start getting personal. He might even be giving her more time to feel comfortable with him by drawing out the repair process.
She’d never feel that comfortable. Suzanne Talbot did not fall into bed with a man she hardly knew. “What’s your last name?” The question popped right out of its own accord.
“Stone.” Warmth flickered in his gaze. “Thanks for asking.”
Heat flooded her face. “I’m not sure why I did. I guess it doesn’t really mat—”
“Sure it does. It always does.” Without giving her a chance to respond, he leaned back and squirmed under the sink until his head and shoulders were nearly out of sight.
She appreciated his tact in partially disappearing so that she could pull herself together again. Now that she’d asked his last name, he probably thought it was only a matter of time before she invited him to spend the night. He might expect her to use this moment to change into something more revealing.
She wouldn’t be doing that, but maybe she’d indulge her curiosity a little more by checking him out when he couldn’t see her do it. It wasn’t every day that she had a chance to study a certified loverboy up close and personal.
He wore his navy T-shirt tucked into the waistband of his jeans, and no belt. Well, belts were an unnecessary impediment, after all. This looked like a man who appreciated simplicity when it came to clothes that might need to be shed quickly in the heat of passion.
As she watched, he lifted his pelvis and shifted to the left to get a better angle on the pipe. The front of his shirt came untucked and rode up, exposing a neat belly button. An insy.
Saliva pooled in her mouth as she stared at that belly button. Such an intimate part of a person, a belly button. A smattering of dark hair decorated the area around it. He inhaled, causing a slight gap between his flat belly and the waistband of his jeans. A gap just big enough for a woman to slip her hand into, if a woman were so inclined….
She moistened her lips. She wasn’t even remotely that daring. Besides, he wouldn’t be expecting something like that, and he’d probably sit up suddenly and bean himself on the water pipe.
But she could imagine doing it, and that was enough to get her juices flowing. His jeans were old and the denim looked soft. As he shifted his weight again, the material tightened over his crotch and she gained an excellent idea of exactly what lay behind that button fly.
Greg looked like such a bad boy, and now that Terri had confided in her, Suzanne knew that he was absolutely as bad as all that. Even if she had the courage to come on to him, which she didn’t, she wouldn’t know what to do with such powerful badness.
But Terri had said that he was understanding and very romantic. In that case, she wouldn’t have to know everything. He would know everything, just like the men in the novels she loved.
Yet if she managed to start an affair with Greg, who had become a legend in her apartment building, and she still turned out to be an anal-retentive ice queen, what then? She’d probably never date again. She’d channel all her energies into her career, become the best financial analyst in Chicago, make piles of money and live alone in some opulent penthouse with her twenty-nine cats. Rich but pathetic.
If there was the slightest chance she’d blow it with Greg, she’d be far better off blundering along as she’d been doing. The situation reminded her of when she’d had a funky Honda Civic with lots of miles on it. She’d loved that car, but one day it wouldn’t go. A boisterous jock from high school, somebody much like Jared, had talked her into letting him give her a jump. He must have done something wrong, because he’d burned out the electrical system.
Getting involved with Greg was a jump start that might blow out her entire electrical system, and she’d have to be towed in, just like that Honda. She was already feeling road-weary after two nights at the gym with Terri. In her present condition she probably wouldn’t be able to have sex without pulling a muscle, anyway.
So why, with all those considerations, was she staring at Greg’s crotch and getting damp and achy? She liked the shape of his legs, too—long and lean. He wore scuffed running shoes that were some off-brand she didn’t recognize, and no socks. His lack of pretense was very appealing, especially after she’d spent so much time with Jared, who was terminally fashion-conscious.
Sex with Greg would mean stripping the act down to its primary motivation—one man, one woman, pure lust. She could guess from Greg’s manner of dress and his general attitude that he wouldn’t care what brand of mineral water she had in the fridge or whether her sheets had a Calvin Klein label.
She didn’t know how she’d fare in the pure-lust department. In her experience, sex had always been more complicated than that. But watching Greg twist his body as he wrestled with the pipe fitting, listening to his grunt of satisfaction when he wrenched the piece free, she certainly felt as if pure lust was a possibility.
As he started to emerge from under the sink, she backed out of the doorway to give him room to maneuver. Here she was, standing conveniently in the bedroom. But even if she chose to start something, she’d have no idea what to say first.
I’ve heard good things about you, Greg. That sounded way too fake, like bad cocktail-party chatter.
I’m between boyfriends right now, Greg. Oh, that was classy. She’d appear to have a spare ten minutes where she could work him in.
I could use a friend, Greg. Better, but not true. She had friends. What she needed was a lover, a lover who would heal her bruised sexual ego.
He emerged from the bathroom holding the rusted pipe wrapped in a rag he must have taken from his toolbox. “Can I leave my tools here for now?”
“Sure.” Now was the time to tell him he didn’t have to rush the job. He could put the pipe down and find something else to do with his hands. She should have asked Terri how she’d handled this awkward moment.
“Okay. Thanks.” He walked past her and out of the bedroom. He was definitely getting away. “Lock up after I leave, though,” he said over his shoulder. “This neighborhood’s pretty safe, but there’s no need to take chances.”
Whatever she needed to say to make him turn around wouldn’t come out of her mouth. “Right.”
“See you in about ten minutes.”
“Okeydokey.” Ten minutes. Time enough to call Terri and get some advice.
The door closed behind him. She walked over and locked it as he’d suggested. He didn’t know that she was very good about locking up. Just ask Jared, who had been caught in the hall without
