Jeanie London - Real Men - Rugged Rebels - Watch and Learn / Under His Skin / Her Perfect Hero

Dismissing the thought with a mental shake, she walked into a once-grand foyer that even in its state of decay, served up a soaring welcome, from the wrought-iron chandelier to the curved staircase that led to the second floor. Terra-cotta tile at their feet, much of it now cracked and dull from dirt and age, stretched in both directions.

“Wonderful,” she breathed.

“I’m going to have to replace most of the tile inside and out,” he said ruefully, then led her to the left into a long kitchen/keeping room.

“It’s huge,” she observed. And it wasn’t hard to imagine a family gathered here, laughing and passing heaping platters of food. Regret pinged through her chest. The holidays this year would be an awkward, lonely affair with only her and her frosty parents.

“I’d like to put in oversize appliances,” he said. “What do you think?”

Gemma’s eyebrows climbed. “About appliances?”

He shifted from foot to foot. “From a woman’s point of view. It’s been my experience that the kitchen usually makes or breaks the sale.”

She hesitated. “Well, I’m not much of a cook … lately. But I’d say anyone who recognizes what a great kitchen this is will want appliances to measure up. Personally, I’d love a firebrick oven.” She turned her head and smiled at the colorful picture that, with an inset wood frame, appeared to be built into the wall. “A mural, how lovely.”

He made a mournful noise as he fingered the worn, moldy piece of canvas. “Unfortunately, it’s so deteriorated I’m going to have to tear it out and fill in this area of the wall.”

“That’s too bad,” she murmured, then turned to the end of the room. “Look at the fantastic natural light.” She walked to the windows that faced out onto the dry, cracked pool in the backyard. “Are you going to restore the pool?”

He nodded. “I’m going to have it retiled.”

He showed her two rooms that could be bedrooms, one of which he’d turned into a makeshift office with a card table and a folding chair. A box of files and a legal pad of paper sat on the table, with stacks of product brochures scattered all over. She noted the stark contrast of this man’s workspace compared to Jason’s home office, which had to be furnished with the best of everything before he could even inhabit the space.

“Do you have another home nearby?” she asked.

“Another home?”

“Do you … live in Tampa?”

“Oh. No. I move around a lot for commercial carpentry jobs. The reason I have so little time to flip this house is because I have a job lined up in Miami in a few weeks.”

Why did the thought of him leaving plant a seed of worry in her stomach? She studied Chev’s unyielding profile as he led her up the circular staircase. His strong nose, his high cheekbones, his chisled jaw. He exuded power … and sex appeal.

“Some of the woodwork is in bad shape,” he said, shaking the wooden banister and watching splintered chunks fall to the floor below.

“Plaster ceilings,” she exclaimed, glancing up at the fissures around the iron light fixture.

“Expensive to repair, but worth it, I think.”

“Do you already have interested buyers?”

“An auction date is set, and several agents have said they’ll have clients here. Assuming I can do justice to the original architecture, of course. She was a beauty.”

Gemma murmured her agreement, especially when the second story opened into a master suite and bath that even in its state of disrepair, took her breath away. The wood moldings alone were a masterpiece. Her focus went to the cot set up in the corner of the room, then to the shuttered round window that was opposite her bedroom window.

“This is where I sleep,” he said unnecessarily. “The bathroom up here is the only one working at the moment.”

She nodded, hugging herself against the awkwardness that seemed to swamp the stuffy room. Wondering what was going through his head, she decided, was worse than knowing. “Awfully warm up here to have the window closed, don’t you think?”

“I was just trying to give you some privacy,” he said mildly. “This window looks into one of your upstairs rooms.”

“My bedroom,” she confirmed.

He nodded. “I, um, gathered that.”

Feeling bold, she asked, “You don’t like what you’ve seen?”

His mouth opened slightly, then his eyes turned smoky and he stepped in front of her. “On the contrary.”

He was standing so close, they might as well have been touching. His full, sensuous mouth was almost familiar to her. She could see the stubble of a patch of whiskers that he’d missed that morning shaving, could smell the lingering scent of his minty shaving cream. His powerful chest rose and fell quickly, his breathing as rapid as hers. He lowered his head and claimed her mouth in a motion so natural she didn’t realize it was happening until she felt the shock of his warm tongue thrusting into her mouth.

Gemma moaned and opened her mouth to accommodate him. Her arms slid around his waist as if she were comfortable kissing a virtual stranger. The kiss went from hot to scorching as he pulled her roughly against him, his hands skimming up and down her back. Gemma gave up the kiss to let her head loll back in pure pleasure as his hands explored her body. He groaned in her ear as his erection pressed into her stomach, and he jammed his hand into the warm juncture of her thighs. She squeezed her legs against his fingers, her knees weakening as desire swelled in her midsection.

His hands felt so good on her body … too good—

Her eyes flew open as the reality of where they were headed crashed down around her. This was where touching led … to a dangerous, vulnerable place … much safer to watch, and to be watched.

She stiffened and withdrew from his embrace. “I … can’t.”

Chev’s breath rasped out as he visibly tried to rein in his libido. “I guess I misunderstood.”

Gemma started backing away, stumbled, and caught herself before he could get to her. “No, you didn’t. But I need to keep things … at a distance.”

Before the expression on his face could turn from puzzled to something worse, Gemma turned and fled.

CHEV PAUSED in the sweltering midday sun to shout instructions to one of the many tile workers who was replacing the hundreds of broken squares in the driveway. He pulled a bandanna from his back pocket and wiped his brow before tying it around his head. For the hundredth time that day, he glanced toward Gemma’s house, wondering if he’d scared her off completely with his advances two days ago. He half hoped he had.

Then he lifted his gaze to his bedroom window that he’d unshuttered to let her know that he was interested in seeing her, even if it was only, as she’d put it, “at a distance.” He scoffed at his hypocrisy—he missed seeing her to the point of distraction. Yet he didn’t have time for a fling, and she didn’t seem to have the heart for it.

Obviously she was still hung up on her ex-husband.

He grimaced, realizing he’d worked up yet another erection that would go wasted unless he went back to the bar tonight and looked for the conjoined brunettes. Gemma Jacobs had made it clear that she had no intention of getting involved with him … so why couldn’t he get her and her performances off his mind?

“Chev!”

He turned his head to see a frustrated foreman trying to get his attention. Back to work.

Whatever Gemma was doing, he decided, she certainly wasn’t thinking about him.

“ONE OF THE FIRST historically documented instances of a dildo,” Gemma told her rapt audience, “is in Ancient Greece. The earliest dildos were made out of natural materials, such as wood or stone, and sold in public marketplaces. This particular example,” she said, pointing to a crude yellowed phallus mounted on a pedestal under glass, “is made from human bone.”