She propped her hands on her hips and surveyed her work again. “I think it’s going to look great. It’s amazing how much difference fresh paint can make.”
His eyes had turned to her again, though he was trying not to stare at her beautiful bare legs. He was unable to resist reaching out to touch one of the many strands of hair that had straggled out of her ponytail. Paint liberally dotted the strand, as well as the rest of her hair. “Did your instruction book not recommend that you wear a cap?”
“Yes, but I don’t have one. I tried to be careful, but when I stood on the ladder and reached above my head to get the top part of the walls, paint sort of showered on me.”
He still didn’t like the thought of her standing on that ladder, though he wouldn’t have minded seeing her on it, stretching to reach the highest places, her snug shorts riding high on her…
Hit by a wave of hunger that shot straight to his groin, he cleared the picture from his mind and spoke in a tone that was gruffer than he’d intended. “You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck.”
“I was careful.”
He slid his hand from her hair to her cheek, his thumb tracing a splotch of dried paint just above the dimpled corner of her mouth. “If I’d known you were going to wear a gallon or two, I’d have bought a couple more cans.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I haven’t looked in a mirror, but I can feel the paint drying on my face. I guess it looks pretty bad.”
Actually, it looked delectable. And he was battling an almost irresistible craving for peaches and cream. “No,” he muttered, lifting his other hand to cup her face between them. “It doesn’t look bad at all.”
A wave of pink tinted the fair skin beneath the paint. Her eyes widened, as if she’d just that moment realized how attracted he was to her. How tempted he was to do something about that attraction.
She had gone very still beneath his hands, her face tilted upward, her unpainted lips slightly parted, her small, perfect breasts rising and falling with her quickened breathing. He wanted to kiss her so badly that he could already taste her. He wanted to press her against the freshly painted wall behind her and touch every inch of creamy skin revealed by her enticing outfit. And then he wanted to strip away the T-shirt and shorts and explore the parts of her that hadn’t been exposed to the paint.
Her lips trembled as he stared at them. He had to either kiss her or move away.
For one of the few times in his admittedly reckless life, he chose the safer option. He dropped his arms and stepped back, shoving his hands in his pockets.
Appearing suddenly self-conscious, Annie looked downward and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
Trent cleared his throat, still not entirely convinced that he wasn’t going to lose the battle of willpower and reach for her again. “Want some help finishing up in here?”
She looked at him again. “What…now?”
He shrugged. “I’ve got a couple of free hours. Might as well finish this room since you’ve made such a good start. It’s a fast-drying paint. By the time we get this other wall painted, the rest will be ready for a second coat. We should be able to finish everything but the trim today.”
“You’re sure you don’t have something else you’d rather be doing?”
What he would rather be doing was out of the question, if not completely out of his mind. “Let’s paint,” he said.
Her smile looked almost natural. “Okay. We’ll paint. Um—by the way, why did you stop by today? Was there something you needed?”
He’d almost forgotten his excuse for coming over. Maybe because he’d known how lame it was even as he’d started his truck and headed this way. “I, uh, was going to take the measurements of those broken boards at the back of the house. Once they’re replaced, I can start getting the outside ready to paint.”
He could have taken the measurements Tuesday, of course. He really didn’t even need them at all. The boards could be measured and cut on site fairly easily. The simple truth was, he hadn’t wanted to spend the day alone. And he had been drawn to Annie’s house as if she were a magnet pulling him there.
She moved toward the paint. “I suppose we should get started.”
“I’ll be right back,” he told her, walking to the door as a sudden thought occurred to him.
He was gone only a few minutes. When he returned, he came over to her and smiled. “I’ve brought you something,” he said, showing her the Atlanta Braves baseball cap he’d retrieved from his truck. “Maybe it’ll keep you from completely covering yourself in paint.”
“I don’t want to mess up your cap,” she protested.
He settled it firmly on her head. “I’ve got plenty of caps. This one’s yours now.”
She smiled at him. “Thank you, Trent. That’s very—”
“Do not use the word sweet.”
His growled warning made her giggle. “Okay, I won’t use the word. But you can’t stop me from thinking it.”