Second Time's the Charm

Except he didn’t seem to be wearing any cologne.

Holding the door frame with both arms spread wide, he braced the wood with his head and one thigh and reached for the tape measure clipped to the front pocket of his jeans.

Reached, and missed.

“Let me get that.” Lillie jumped forward, before the precariously balanced frame could come down on him, and removed the heavy aluminum tape measure from its resting place.

It came loose easily. And she refused to acknowledge where the backs of her fingers had brushed. Stepping through the wooden frame, she opened the tape and, facing Jon, held it up. “It’s seventy-two inches.”

“I know.” His face was inches away. His gaze directly on her. Intense. “They come in standard sizes.” He licked his lips. Swallowed.

“Oh.” She meant to move. His big brown eyes compelled her to stay, to come closer, as though the door frame were some kind of bizarre magnetic field. “I thought you were reaching for the tape measure,” she said.

“I was,” he said, still staring straight at her. “I have to square it up.” He was still holding the door frame balanced with his hands and one thigh.

“I have no idea how to do that.”

He said something about measuring from the corners.

“Give me the edge of the tape.” Jon’s voice sounded dry. Maybe holding the frame so long was hurting him. Maybe she’d imagined the whole episode between them. “I can hold it up here while you take it down to the bottom left.” Placing the bent metal edge of the measuring tape in his fingers, Lillie pulled the tape with her toward the bottom left corner of the frame.

What in the hell was the matter with her? She was ready to strip off her clothes and have sex with the father of one of her clients.

She worked in the health field. And didn’t ever have unprotected sex. Nor did she have any condoms hanging around.

“One hundred and nine inches,” she said from below. If her face was red, he could put the heated look down to her bent position.

“Okay, hold on.” Jon’s voice was easy, granting her a few more seconds to get her bearings. His jeans met the laces of his leather shoes perfectly.

The frame tilted a fraction, changing the angle slightly. “Try it now.”

His thighs were right there, an inch from her face. If she wasn’t careful, her shoulder was going to brush his knee.

Twenty-eight was too young for hot flashes.

She looked down. “One hundred and ten point five.”

“Fine. Now let’s try the other side and make certain that we’re even.”

She was glad that he was thorough. Not the least bit surprised that he’d do the job exactly right. Knew he was conscientious. She just wasn’t sure she had what it took to see this task through.

* * *

“I WAS GOING to have a steak salad for dinner. Would you like to join me?”

Jon was kneeling in front of her newly installed French doors, picking up his tools and returning them to the proper compartments in his toolbox. He reached for the piece of plastic coating that he’d peeled off one of the new doorknobs. So did Lillie.

“I owe you dinner, remember?” she went on. “You paid at the pub.”

Fighting the instinct to snatch his hand back, he remained still. Outwardly calm. Waiting for her hand to drop away. “I’d like dinner,” he said, willing to give up the clandestine fast-food trip he’d promised himself earlier that day if it meant spending more time with her.

“Good.” She held on to the plastic. And licked her lips as she looked over at him. They were both still on their knees. “I’ve got some French bread I can heat up.” The plastic was slipping. Jon held on. She chuckled, sounding more like a schoolgirl than the medical professional he knew her to be. “French bread to celebrate my new French doors. Seems appropriate...”

A shadow passed over her face. And just before he dropped the plastic, he reached for her hand, catching both the plastic and her fingers in his grasp. “French bread is completely appropriate,” he said, the husky tone to his voice barely recognizable to him.

His grasp was loose. She could easily pull away. Jon leaned forward. Without making a conscious choice or giving any thought to the consequences, he moved until his lips were touching hers. Lightly. Gently.

Sitting back on his heels, he looked at her, while taking her other hand in his. “I’ve been needing to do that,” he said.