“I don’t need help,” she said.
“I don’t much care what you think you need, Miss Bloom, so you’re going to have to put up with me.”
“Aren’t you meant to be at work?”
“I’m the boss. I can be wherever the hell I want to be.”
“Yes, sir,” she mumbled.
“That’s more like it.”
“Ha! Don’t get used to it, buddy.”
“Hmm, the day I do will probably be the day we’re done.”
She flinched as if he’d slapped her. Then schooled her face as if nothing was wrong. He wanted to slap himself.
He couldn’t help himself. Since the blow-out in his conference room, when he’d had the perfect chance to end things amicably and hadn’t, he’d been all over the shop. Wanting her with a ferocity he couldn’t contain, while at the same time constantly reminding her, and himself, of their imminent demise.
He peeled her hand from the door handle and slammed the door. Then he led her past the newly painted hallway—where did the woman find the time?—into the kitchen, to find a disaster area.
Bits of vinyl torn up all over, bits still stuck, a few gouges out of the floor as if she’d taken to it with a mallet and a chisel.
He looked over his shoulder to find her frowning at the floor. “We seem to have met an impasse.”
The magnitude of the job hit him. Along with the fact that she ran her own business, and that he’d been stealing every spare moment she had, while hampering her work by refusing to help her out by being her lab rabbit.
He’d thought he worked hard, but the woman didn’t rest. And as he watched her frown at the floor, as if her entire self-worth was wrapped up in whether or not she could strip vinyl, it occurred to him why. The loser boyfriends, her distant father and getting things done were all she thought she was good for.
It put his own reasons for working his ass off to shame.
“It’s a big job, Saskia. Maybe you should call a tiler—”
“I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can,” said Nate. “I get the feeling you’ve done just that your whole life.”
Looking into those big bedroom eyes, over that soft pink mouth, twisting sideways as she tried to deny the undeniable, Nate said, “Today it’s my turn.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a promise. And after only the slightest of hesitations Saskia nodded, her eyes melted and she let him.
* * *
With a tear in the front pocket and a stain that might or might not be dog food on his knee, the pants of his lucky suit were officially ruined. But the vinyl was gone—every last dot of the damn stuff—and, covered in the sweat of a job well done, Nate felt amazing.
He’d ditched his shirt an hour before. Saskia’s overalls hung from her waist, leaving her in a tank top. Her hair was plastered to her neck and cheeks with sweat and her cheeks were smudged with dust.
When she realised they were done she brushed her hands together and let out a great sigh. She looked up at him and grinned.
“Happy?” he asked.
“Delirious! Thank you,” she said, shaking her head as if she was amazed at herself for having let him help at all.
He ran a thumb over a smudge on her cheek. “Partners in grime.”
She laughed again, the sound husky. Her big, dark, sooty-lashed eyes blinked up at him. Filled with more than thanks. Filled with so many things he’d barely pinned one down before it floated dreamily to the next. And even while he was smart enough to understand them, and hard enough not to want them, using a finger to tilt her chin he kissed her.
Her hands fluttered to his bare chest, the soft touch searing him. And like that they kissed—gentle, sweet, exploring kisses—for so long he lost track of time.
Her hands slid over his shoulders, deep into his hair, and she lifted onto her toes, taking the kiss deeper. He lifted her, desire pouring through him like a relentless waterfall, and pressed her back till she hit the bench. He tore her overalls down her legs, lifted her tank top, fell to his knees. He kissed her belly. Her salty taste hit the back of his throat and he groaned. Her fingers drove tracks through his hair as his teeth found her hipbone. His tongue her belly button. His mouth her centre.
With such sweet sensuality she melted in his arms, coming with a shudder he felt mirroring his own.
Then he lifted her into his arms, her slick skin sliding against his as he took her into her bedroom. He peeled off her damp clothes. Pressed her hair from her face. Wiped away the grime with her tank, leaving her clean and glowing. So fresh and beautiful he felt it pierce his heart.
“What will you do when you don’t have me around to do that to you?” he asked, steeling himself against the sensation, against her. Brutal as it was, he wanted to know she’d miss him. Needed to know she’d feel it when he was gone.