style="font-size:15px;"> ‘It’s down here,’ she managed to say, thankful her voice wasn’t half as shaky as her resolve to hold him at arm’s-length.
‘Okay, let’s take a look.’
He squatted down, dispelling the intimate fog that had surrounded them a second earlier. However, Blaine focusing his concentration on the hinge didn’t help cool her down, not one bit, considering his crouching down on his haunches only served to pull the work-worn denim taut across his butt, and she stifled a groan.
Had he grown oblivious to the attraction zinging between them? Had her disinterest in returning his call served its purpose? If so, she should be springing over the bar and adding a high side-kick for good measure. Instead, she squatted down next to him, disgruntled and confused and totally out of sorts.
It had been so long since she’d felt this way, preferring to play it safe where guys were concerned and not date, knowing she could rely on her business—the male of the species another matter.
Right now, staring at Blane’s butt with heat licking along her veins and sending her intentions to hold him at bay up in smoke, safe was the furthest thing from her mind.
‘I assumed you have tools when you said you’d given it a go yourself at trying to fix this?’
‘Uh-huh.’
Reaching under the nearby bench, she pulled out her tool kit and slid it over to him.
‘It’s pink.’
‘Your powers of observation are truly amazing,’ she said, biting the inside of her cheek to stop herself from joining in his laughter.
‘I’ve never seen a pink toolbox before.’
She rolled her eyes and flipped it open, handing him the screwdriver he’d need.
‘That’s because you work with boys. I’m sure if you had the foresight to hire a woman to be on your work crew, you’d see pink tool kits every day of the week.’
‘Maybe.’
He grinned as he took the proffered screwdriver, his fingers brushing hers, sending shards of electricity shooting up her arm as she struggled not to yank her hand back. ‘I’m impressed.’
‘With the pink tool kit?’
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his mouth twitching. ‘With the fact you knew which screwdriver to use.’
Puffing up like a true feminist, she said, ‘I’m not a helpless female. I know a Phillips head from a flathead.’
‘Obviously.’
She knew he was baiting her, teasing her as he had too many times to recall when they’d first met, and it felt good. It felt downright fantastic to be firing right back at him, to be swapping banter without guarding her words for fear of saying the wrong thing.
‘Think you can extend those tool-discriminating skills to hand me a wrench?’
‘Here you go, wise guy.’
She handed him the wrench, being careful to keep her fingers out of contact this time, and releasing a tiny sigh of disappointment when it worked.
For someone who knew her mind, went out and grabbed life with both hands, giving it a good shake-up along the way, she couldn’t believe how contrary he made her feel. She was wavering and vacillating all over the place, wishing for one thing, hoping for another.
If she wasn’t careful, she’d find herself agreeing to spend a little time with him…and they both knew exactly where that would lead.
Directly to matrimonial trouble.
With a soft grunt, he muttered, ‘Almost there,’ and she rued the fact considering she’d been enjoying the display of bulging biceps as he held the wrench steady, his back muscles shifting under his T-shirt as he turned the screwdriver with his other hand.
‘Got it.’
With a final twist of the screwdriver, he straightened, and she dragged her eyes upward with regret.
She’d got it all right—got it bad for her husband, who’d breezed into her life when she’d least expected or wanted it.
‘Thanks. I wouldn’t have had a hope of fixing it myself, would I?’
He smiled and handed her back the tools. ‘You did great—it had bent out of shape a tad and needed a bit of muscle power to get it back into alignment.’ He winked as he flexed his arm to display the said muscle. ‘Glad I could oblige.’
‘Uh-huh,’ she mumbled, unable to drag her gaze away from the muscle play in his upper arm, the yearning she’d managed to dampen flaring in a second.
‘Want a coffee?’ she blurted, springing up from her haunches like a jack-in-the-box, needing the safety of doing a routine, everyday activity to steady her shredded resolve.
She’d made a decision not to contact him, closely followed by a need to search out those old divorce papers and put an end to this once and for all. But now she’d seen him again in the flesh—so to speak—her intentions were shot.
The sparks resurrected between them the other night were still there, had intensified if anything, and with a little fanning could burst into a raging inferno of mutual passion, the type of passion she’d only ever had with this one special guy.
‘I’d love one, thanks.’
Grateful she had her back turned so he couldn’t see her scorching cheeks, she tried to concentrate on operating the machine, letting out an almighty yell when he sneaked up behind her and placed his hands on her waist.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Apart from the fact you just scared me half to death?’
She whirled to face him, her unjustified indignation melting away as she looked into his eyes, the desire she glimpsed taking her breath away.
‘You seem jumpy.’
With his hands burning a hole through her flimsy silk top, the smell of cedar enveloping her in a heady cloud and making her wish she could work outdoors right alongside him, she tilted her chin up, willing her arms to stay by her sides and not reach up and slide around his waist.
‘Just tired.’
It sounded like the pathetic excuse it was.
‘You sure that’s all it is?’
What could she say? That he had her so physically aware of him she was tied up in knots?
That she’d barely slept all week for dreaming of him? Remembering how good it had been between them? Wishing it could be again? Yet knowing it could never be, not with her infertility an ever-present shadow looming over her, no matter how much she’d come to terms with it herself.
‘Uh-huh.’
She took a step
