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

He nodded, and followed her. Her heart raced as they climbed the steps and crossed the porch. She turned the knob on the door and swung it open. As soon as he crossed the threshold, she regretted asking him inside. She felt guilty and skittish, as if someone might catch them, and found herself practicing explanations in her head. He’s the neighbor … a carpenter … temporary.

“Nice place,” he said, turning his head from side to side.

She saw the house as he might … clean, but dark and cluttered with little piles of Jason’s stuff everywhere—the overflowing basket of mail, the milk crate of shoes and belts and crushed ball caps, the laundry basket of office equipment and thick volumes of books on Florida law. “I apologize for the mess—these are my husband’s things.” She put a hand to her head and gave a little laugh. “I mean my ex-husband. We recently divorced.”

He nodded. “So I gathered.”

She was embarrassed. She should’ve gotten rid of everything after her last phone conversation with Jason. The air seemed especially stifling.

“Sorry it’s so stuffy in here. My air conditioner is on the blink. I’ve been keeping all the windows open, but it hasn’t helped much.”

“It’s helped me a great deal,” he said, his voice low and amused.

His candor shocked her—and pleased her. It was refreshing to speak honestly about a sexual experience instead of flirting around the edges. “I’m glad you think so,” she murmured, and the air between them fairly crackled with static electricity. His dark eyes seemed to pierce her, and behind the blatant physical appreciation, she could sense his mind was racing, trying to figure out why a nice girl like her would be compelled to exhibit herself in such an intimate way. Gemma broke eye contact as a wave of anxiety washed over her. Honesty came with its own price.

“I could take a look at your air conditioner unit if you like,” he offered, changing the subject easily.

“I couldn’t bother you—”

“I might not even be able to fix it,” he interrupted. “But I’d like to do something for you in exchange for your help with the details of the house.”

There it was again, the look that said he wanted— needed —her help.

“Okay,” she relented, then proceeded up the stairs. “The unit is up here in the hall closet if you want to take a look. I’ll try to locate my reference books.”

He strode to the closet with a casual authority that she admired, a man comfortable with houses and the things in them. Unlike Jason, she mused, who saw the yard work as a chore, the smallest repair around the house an inconvenient waste of time. He would often grumble that he had two college degrees, yet he was expected to know carpentry, too. He was too busy to be bothered, she’d always reasoned, hating to see him spend his precious few hours of free time on tedious tasks. Rather than bringing things to his attention, she would attempt the repair herself or call a repair service, with Jason none the wiser.

On the other hand, her mind whispered, Chev Martinez wasn’t the most powerful attorney in Florida, with the ear of the governor, making decisions every day that affected the lives of everyone who lived in the state. If Jason knew what Gemma had been doing, exhibiting her body to a relative stranger, he’d be shocked and disgusted. He’d tell her that she’d gone slumming … that he was glad he had divorced her before he realized the extent of her perversions and perhaps ruined his career. A stone settled in her stomach. The men were too different to compare, she told herself. Besides, she’d had a ten-year relationship with Jason, and had known Chev barely ten days.

Yet his presence in her house had her on edge, his big body seeming to take up the entire hall as he scrutinized the unit and touched a tube here, a wire there. He seemed to fill the house, his male scent crowding the muggy rooms, his thoughtful hum soaking into empty corners, chasing away the loneliness that had pervaded the place since Jason’s departure. Gemma allowed her heart to lift faintly and moved into her bedroom to consult her dusty bookshelves.

“I’m going to check your breakers,” he called.

“Go ahead,” she called back, struck by how domestic they seemed. Pleasure infused her chest—this little exhibitionist fling was exactly what she needed to help her push through the pain of Jason’s rejection. She was suddenly very grateful for Chev’s presence—and hoped that he didn’t press her for … more.

CHEV WAS STRUCK by the domesticity of standing in Gemma’s hallway, doing something her husband would’ve done if he’d been around. Would her ex object to him being here? Probably. He wondered if the guy had had an affair, if Gemma had thrown him out or if he’d left voluntarily. Chev couldn’t imagine a woman more exciting than Gemma, but maybe the guy was a jerk … or gay. Or just a prude.

Chev flipped a breaker and glanced around to check that the section of power extinguished matched what was written on the switch’s label. He moved through the motions of the routine repair, feeling relatively sure he could get the unit running again with a few replacement parts.

He heard Gemma moving around in her bedroom. Setting his jaw against the hunger that surged in his chest, he walked to the doorway and rapped lightly. His gaze swept past the picture window where she had undressed for him and over her unmade bed before coming to rest on the sight of her standing in front of a bookshelf, thumbing through a hefty volume.

She looked up, then flushed and gestured vaguely toward the tangled sheets. “Excuse the mess. I slept in this morning until the peacock woke me up.”

He nodded, swallowing hard to control the reaction of his body to the image of Gemma undressed and lying beneath him on that bed. But his cock was having none of his stall tactics and began to swell against his zipper. She still looked tousled from sleep and he’d bet the sheets were still warm from her hot body. No wonder the air conditioner had blown. “The compressor is working. I think you need a new thermostat.”

“That sounds serious,” she murmured.

“Not really,” he assured her, shifting slightly in an effort to reposition himself more comfortably. “I’ll get everything you need on my next trip to the home center.”

“I appreciate your help.”

He nodded toward the book she held. “I appreciate yours.”

She smiled and held up the book. “What do you want to talk about first?”

“The fireplace,” he said randomly.

“Let’s walk over so I can take a look.”

“I’ll follow you,” he said, partly because he wanted to view her backside, and partly because he wanted to hide his growing erection. She picked up a sketch pad and swept by him in a cloud of feminine scent—fruity shampoo, heady womanliness and earthy sleep aromas. Downstairs he noticed blank spaces on walls and shelves where pictures had been removed and whatnots were missing. Containers of random men’s things sat on the floor—her husband’s leavings, no doubt. The rooms were clean, but appeared neglected and unused. She seemed eager to get outside, and he wondered if his presence made her nervous—more proof that she preferred distance between them.

They picked their way across her trashed yard. “I’ll help you put things back in order,” he offered.

“I’ll do it later,” she said with a wave. “I’m sure you have plenty of other things to keep you busy. Do you have a drop dead date for getting the house done?”

“Three weeks from now,” he said. “This week is demolition and getting supplies. The serious work starts next week.”

He led her inside the musty house and she went straight to the fireplace, all business. She touched the broken clay bricks as if they were old friends. She asked Chev what he was looking for in the restoration, but he was so distracted by her he could barely think. He loved the way her brow wrinkled when she concentrated, the way she angled her head as she sized up things. He fell back on what little he knew about the Mission style, describing the fireplaces in his grandparents’ home. She made notes in her sketchbook, then some simple line drawings. He leaned in close and added his comments, getting caught up in her enthusiasm.