“A woman after my own heart. And, yes, I know,” he added, laughing. “You aren’t after anyone’s heart. But I still think you’re very cool.”
She was cool, Cecilia thought as she hung up the phone a few moments later when Geoff reluctantly disconnected so he could prepare for his business meeting. It wasn’t exactly a flowery or poetic compliment—and he had definitely been speaking tongue-in-cheek—but still she found herself beaming with pleasure.
She really wasn’t after Geoff’s heart, she assured herself, but she suspected he had already taken over a little corner of hers.
Cecilia rarely took an entire day off work, but she had scheduled Tuesday as a stay-at-home day. She had accumulated two weeks’ vacation from the clinic, and she preferred taking it a day or two at a time rather than all at once. With the support of her supervisors, she had arranged her summer schedule so that she wouldn’t be away from her patients for very long, yet would still have periodic breaks.
Though she had made no secret of her plans for the day, even mentioning them to Geoff, she wasn’t expecting company Tuesday morning. It was with both surprise and curiosity that she heard what sounded like a motorcycle pulling into her driveway, followed by the musical peal of her doorbell.
Climbing down from a stepladder in the tiny front bedroom of her house, she automatically smoothed a hand down her hot-pink T-shirt and denim shorts. Her hair was up in a loose ponytail, and she had applied just a touch of makeup that morning—a habit too strong to break even when she planned a day at home alone. Could this be a delivery of some sort? She wasn’t expecting anything, but she supposed it was possible.
Checking the security window before unlocking the door, she reached quickly for the dead bolt. “Geoff,” she said a moment later. “What are you doing here?”
He smiled, and she had a moment to reflect on how unfair it was that he could look so breathtakingly handsome even with his hair all tumbled and wearing a plain gray T-shirt, faded, worn jeans and scuffed boots. “You said you were going to spend the day doing home maintenance projects. Since I didn’t have any pressing business, I thought I’d give you a hand, if that’s okay with you. I’d have called first, but it was sort of an impulse.”
She looked behind him toward the big black-and-chrome motorcycle sitting in her driveway, a black-and-silver helmet dangling from the handlebars. “You came on that?”
“Yeah. I don’t get a chance to ride it much, and it needs to be taken out occasionally to keep it purring. Maybe you want to go for a ride later? I’ve got a second helmet strapped to the back.”
“Er, uh, thanks, but I’ll probably have to wash my hair or something this afternoon.”
Geoff laughed. “You sound like my family. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of my bike.”
“I’m just not really the motorcycle type.”
“Maybe you’ll give me a chance to change your mind about that.”
Cecilia truly doubted that was going to happen. She didn’t even like the idea of Geoff careening around on that dangerous-looking machine. Pushing some painful old memories to the back of her mind, she held the door wider.
“Come in,” she said, turning her back on the motorcycle. “Can I get you anything?”
“I didn’t come to be entertained.” He closed the door behind him. “I came to work. What’s on the agenda?”
“Painting. I just finished taping off the front bedroom.”
“Painting, huh?” He looked momentarily doubtful, then nodded. “Okay, lead me to it.”
Planting her hands on her hips, Cecilia tilted her head to study him. “Have you ever actually painted a room before?”
“I scribbled on my bedroom wall with felt-tip markers when I was five. I thought it looked pretty good myself, but my mother wasn’t as enthusiastic about it.”
She couldn’t help laughing. “You must have been a handful.”
“Actually, I was a model child. I just indulged in small rebellions every once in a while.”
“I think you still indulge in the occasional rebellion,” she murmured, thinking of the motorcycle. Not to mention his present arrangement with her.
“Me? Nah. I’m still a model child.”
Smiling, she took his arm and tugged slightly. “Come on, I’ll show you how to paint a room the proper way.”
He put a hand on her wrist and tugged her into his arms, covering her mouth with his for a long, hungry kiss. She was practically panting by the time it ended.
“Now,” he said, looking rather proud of himself, “I’m ready to learn how to paint.”
After that mind-emptying kiss, Cecilia just hoped she remembered how.
Chapter Nine