The Wrong Man

“You’re going to paint?” he asked, surprised.

Talia placed a fist on her hip. “Why do you sound so shocked?”

He raked his gaze over her, from the top of her head—where a tortoiseshell clip held her long hair in a low ponytail—to the pumps on her feet. “You’re not dressed like the typical do-it-yourselfer. See the way I’m dressed?” He waved a hand over his paint-spattered T-shirt and jeans. “This is what normal people wear when they work on their houses.”

“I’m not working on my house right this minute,” she said in a crabby voice, which was oddly attractive. For some reason he couldn’t help digging at her every chance he could. “When I get home, I’ll change into something more comfortable.”

The thought of seeing her change into something more comfortable had him conjuring images of skimpy, lace-edged lingerie. She looked like the type to have drawers overflowing with teddies, negligees, and matching bras and panties. He shifted from one foot to the other to ease the ache blossoming in his crotch.

“Have you ever painted before? Do you know what to buy?” he asked.

Uncertainty flitted across her features. “I…”

“I thought so. Let’s start at the beginning. What color did you decide on?”

“Um…I like the reds. This one.” She pulled a card marked red passion.

He studied her bent head. “You sure you don’t need help?”

Her head snapped up. “I want to do this myself.” Her voice held a steeliness he hadn’t expected, and he admired her determination.

“Okay, then you need the right tools.”

“Are you going to tell me what they are or stare at me all day?” She cocked a brow.

Had he been staring? He did a mental headshake. “All right, Miss Personality. Come this way.”

He spent the next few minutes walking her through the process. He suggested which paint to purchase, and based on the description of the walls she planned to paint, told her how much paint to buy. While a store employee mixed the color, he steered her toward the aisle of supplies. They added a drop cloth, painter’s tape, and brushes to the cart. She paid close attention to his advice and did this cute thing where she wrinkled her brow and placed a manicured nail between her teeth, concentrating hard and interrupting with questions every now and again.

“Remember,” he said, wrapping up, “the key is to be organized and take your time. Keep a damp rag handy so if you mess up, you can wipe off the paint while it’s wet.” Tomas picked up a brush and added it to the cart. “You should get one of these, too. It’s an angle brush for the corners and edges.”

Talia pursed her lips. “There’s more to painting than I thought.”

“It’s not hard, but you have to know what you’re doing. Now you have all the right tools.”

She took stock of the items in the cart and then picked up a roller from one of the shelves. “I’m sure there’s a technique for using this thing, right?”

“This thing will save you a lot of time.” He snatched it from her hand and she playfully wrinkled her nose at him. “This is what you do. First of all, do not dip the roller in the paint or you’ll get too much paint on one side and it’ll clump on the wall. What you want to do is slowly slide the roller into the paint and use the back of the tray to roll the color along the brush for an even coat. Then, you do this.” In the air, he demonstrated how she should roll the color onto the wall.

“Okay, let me try.” She took the brush. “Like this?” She did a poor job of mimicking the movements.

“Make a W and then fill it in.” He scooted behind her, getting all up on her. Completely unnecessary, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He grasped her wrist, and a charge ricocheted through his blood, shaking him to the core. Her skin was so soft, he thought the contrasting roughness of his hand could bruise her delicate flesh.

Her enticing smell teased his nostrils, a bouquet of rose and jasmine from the fragrance she always wore. But standing so close the floral notes were even stronger, and another scent invaded his senses. He concluded it came from her hair. More subtle, layered under the perfume. Rosemary and…mint? He bent his head for a better whiff when she looked over her shoulder at him.

“I’m ready.”

His gut clenched. A perfectly innocent remark, yet powerful arousal lanced through him. She looked up at him through curled lashes, her unconsciously seductive expression wreaking havoc with his libido. If she was ready, he was ready to give it to her.

He swallowed past his parched throat. “Okay…so…use this motion.” He didn’t recognize the sound of his own voice, it was so raspy.

If she stepped back she’d encounter the hard granite between his legs. He didn’t know how he managed to concentrate enough to give her proper instructions, but he struggled through.

“Thank you,” she said when they finished. “You’re not so bad after all.”

“Wish I could say the same.” She stuck out her tongue and his shaft jumped. He picked up the filters from a shelf where he’d laid them and held the package in front of his crotch. “Next time, come appropriately dressed. This is a hardware store, not a fashion show.”

“These are old clothes.” She looked down at the outfit.

He took a good look at her. “I’m not fooled. Those shoes probably cost more than half my wardrobe.”

“Can’t argue with your comment, since most of your wardrobe consists of T-shirts.”

“They’re multi-purpose and comfortable,” he informed her.

“And cheap.”

“That, too.” He laughed. “One of these days, I’ll let you wear one.”

Where’d that come from?