A little sweaty.
And reaching high to the light fixture in the ceiling.
“Oh my God,” she breathed, running her eyes down the length of his cut abs and tan skin. Her previous question was now answered: he definitely would taste the same. She could tell that just by looking at him. Paired with his chiseled chest and arms on full display, she couldn’t help but fasten her gaze on the black leather belt that was making his crisp jeans ride a tad low. Enough to see where his happy trail disappeared . . .
“Honey, you’re home,” he said.
Hannah’s eyes snapped up to meet his face, and he was smiling wide.
“And judging by the little bit of drool on your mouth, you must be hungry,” he said. Knowing well and good she was just staring down at his package. Damn it. So much for avoiding him.
“You changed,” she said. “I was just noticing you’re not in city wear anymore. That’s all.” Good save. She gave herself a mental high five.
“Uh-huh. I own jeans.”
“And what about shirts?”
“You don’t like my chest? I thought it was your mouth that couldn’t stay off it—”
“That was six months ago. Get over yourself,” she said. Wanting to get under him. “What are you doing?” she asked, trying to focus on taking her boots off at the front door. Nice thing about her house was that it was small and open. Simple, one bedroom, with the living room and kitchen open and everything visible from the doorway.
Bad thing about her house was that now that Grant was in it, she could see everything, including his eight-pack abs, from about anywhere in the house.
“Just my husbandly duties.” He smiled and reached back up to twist the light fixture again.
“Is that my screwdriver?” she asked.
“Yep,” he said, his focus on the light. “This was loose, so I’m fixing it.”
“I can do that,” she insisted.
He glanced at her and smiled. “You’re a bit petite to reach all the way up here, baby.”
Hannah glanced down at herself. She was smaller but had curves. In no way tall by any means. Still, she was capable.
“Petite or not, I can handle myself.”
“I’m aware,” he said, the edge of his voice holding praise that caused a blush to threaten to creep up her cheeks. But she tamped it down.
“I also fixed the garbage disposal and adjusted the hot-water heater,” he said.
She frowned, finally kicking her second boot off, and stomped in his direction.
“I don’t need any of your help. I can take care of my home—”
“Our home—”
“And I’ve just been busy working, anyway. So don’t bother. I don’t need you.” She didn’t know if all her rage was pointed at him or the fact that she’d just had yet another run-in with her drunk father, or both. She just felt annoyed and crazy and . . . needy.
But she didn’t need the way Grant was being useful. She wanted to claw at him, bite him, fuck him . . . she needed him in the way she remembered. The same way she’d needed him the night she met him. And the two weeks following . . . He made her crazy in the worst—and best—ways, and now that he was here, she could use a dose of his brand of medicine.
She couldn’t let her needs get in the way of the bigger picture. She needed to stay strong and get through these two weeks before her life could back to normal.
Is normal so great, though?
She shook her head, officially done with her brain. She closed the last inch between herself and Grant and reached for the screwdriver, but he held it out of reach and she tumbled into his hard chest. She instantly smelled his spicy skin and even tasted the hint of salt. Her mouth pressed against the upper set of his abs, and she instantly got wet.
And damn Grant for noticing. Because she felt his whole body turn on like a humming generator.