silently. They were far from even and she seemed to be losing ground with every passing second.
“All right, when I say lift, we’re going to pick up this mattress and set it down upright on its shorter side at the foot of the bed.”
Kelly blew tendrils of hair out of her face.
Ryan Sperling, she’d discovered over the course of the past four days, was a man used to issuing commands.
Still, she knew she ought to be charitable. He’d done physical labor uncomplainingly all week. He’d helped her put up curtains, lay down rugs, move furniture and hang pictures. He hadn’t even balked when she’d announced today there was a change of plan and she wanted to put this bed in another room.
She watched now as Ryan planted his hands at his waist. “Let’s pay attention.”
“Right, sorry.” There was no way for him to know what she’d been thinking about, but nevertheless heat rose to her face.
She grasped the handles at the sides of the mattress and watched as Ryan did the same on his end.
“Lift,” he ordered.
When they got the mattress upright, he grasped it around its shorter side and maneuvered it to lean against the bedroom wall.
Kelly reflected that though Ryan’s help had been invaluable these past few days, it had come at a price: their physical proximity was beginning to wear on her.
Just this morning, she’d been aghast to discover she’d dreamed about him. And it hadn’t been a sweet dream, either. No. In her dream, he’d come to her, massaged her breasts and looked into her eyes with a look of desire. In her dream, he wasn’t Webb Sperling’s son and she wasn’t Brenda Hartley’s daughter.
And somewhat more disturbingly, these past few days she could feel his hot eyes on her when he thought she wasn’t looking.
What’s more, she’d become quite the expert at surreptitious glances herself.
It was clear, however, that his was an unwilling type of attraction. And she didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended because she felt likewise.
Of course, it made no sense for her to be attracted to him. From the day he’d walked into Distressed Success, he’d made it clear he thought she was a slut—a floozy, who, like her mother, was one step away from earning her living in one of Nevada’s famous brothels.
Wouldn’t Ryan be stunned to learn the truth! she reflected. She only wished she was having as much fun as her supposed scarlet reputation warranted.
“Now the box spring,” Ryan said, heading back toward the bed.
She sighed. “You’re comfortable giving commands.”
“Yeah, and having them obeyed,” he replied with dry humor.
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“I’d rather be respected than liked.”
“Why can’t you be both? Respected and—”
“—inspiring the warm fuzzies?” he finished for her, then shook his head. “Some of us aren’t selling romance for a living.”
“Well, I haven’t heard that one before,” she responded. “This is the first time someone has said Distressed Success is selling romance.”
He gave her a droll look. “You should use it as an ad slogan. ‘Distressed Success. We sell romance.’ You’ll have those workaholic guys beating a path to your door. Expand your demographic.”
“Helping me again?” she said, matching his flippant tone. “At this rate, I’ll be ready for the big time before your month is up.”
“High standards I can respect,” he responded. “They’re what set a good business apart from its competitors.”
“That’s how I feel,” she said in surprise.
“Then you’ve got a decent shot at making something out of your business.” He looked down at the box spring. “Ready?”
A little while later, the bed now set up in the next room, Kelly sat down and flopped back on it.
Frowning, he braced his hands on his waist. “What are you doing?”
“Taking a break,” she responded.
She surveyed him. He looked none the worse for this afternoon’s exertions. In fact, he might as well have just come in from a stroll.
He looked at his watch. “We’ve got fifteen minutes before you need to get back to the shop. We can hang those two picture frames you wanted in the bathroom.”
“Don’t you ever stop?” she asked in exasperation. “Erica accuses me of being all work and no play, but I seem like a slacker next to you.”
“Just trying to work off some edginess.”
“What are you edgy about?” she asked curiously.
His face shuttered. “Nothing.”
It clearly wasn’t nothing.
“I’ve been jogging,” he elaborated, “but I’m not getting the workout I’m used to back home.”
“Let me guess. You normally rise at five in the morning to get on the elliptical trainer.”
“And let me guess, you don’t. Instead, you’re having tea out of a mismatched cup and saucer.”
She shook her head and smiled. “Tea’s at four in the afternoon,” she corrected. “Civilized.”
Civilized, she thought, was what Ryan barely seemed, despite generations of money and breeding in the Sperling family tree. He emanated raw masculinity and barely leashed power.
He eyed her and she belatedly realized how she must look lying before him. She was wearing a sheer emerald green blouse over a snug-fitting beige tank, and had paired them with pedal pushers.
They didn’t like each other, she reminded herself. They had just unexpectedly been thrown together this month, and had reached a de facto truce so they could be civil to each other.
His gaze trailed over her. “Yeah, well, don’t worry. You’re none the worse for not hitting the gym at five. Everything looks good.”
Men, she thought, suddenly indignant. He was willing to look down at her, literally and figuratively, but that didn’t prevent him from enjoying the view.
“How can you know me so well and yet think so little of me?” she blurted.
He didn’t respond, but the look on his face was one of sexual awareness blended with irritation and it spoke of his inner battle.
All at once, she’d had enough. Enough of his scorn, enough of his disdain, enough of his attitude altogether.
