Donna Clayton - Her Dream Come True

Hannah paused, her head cocking at the sound of hammering coming from nearby. She frowned, wondering where it was coming from. She hadn’t seen a house for at least a mile as she drove up the main road. But then, she guessed there could be other houses hidden among the trees, just like her father’s was.

There was a pause in the hammering. Then it started again. The sound was closer than she first realized. Very close.

The tall grass made walking across the yard difficult in her high heels, but she eventually made her way around to the back. By the time she got there, however, the hammering had once again stopped. She looked around, even scanned the line of thick trees at the edge of the woods.

When her gaze swung back to the house, a movement caught her attention. She looked up toward the roof.

Sunlight glinted golden off tanned skin stretched taut across a broad expanse of muscular back—bare, male muscular back. The man’s weight rested on one knee, the other leg bent, his foot planted on the roof for balance. He dipped his hand into his carpenter’s apron, where, Hannah guessed, he reached for more nails. In a flash he leaned over, positioned the nail on the roof shingle and raised the hammer in a short arc. His arm, shoulder and back muscles bunched tight, then stretched, bunched and stretched with every swing of the hammer. His movements were precise, strong and forceful, yet at the same time graceful. Almost beautiful. And his one-knee, bent-over stance was the perfect posture to show off his taut, jean-clad gluteus. The professional in Hannah refused to think of those tight muscles as anything other than what they were: the gluteus maximus. But, Lord, she’d be lying through her teeth if she said that wasn’t the most perfect male butt she’d ever laid eyes on.

She inhaled a short, sharp gasp at the thought—however, her gaze didn’t waver from the sight of him up there on the roof. What was the matter with her?

Again he paused, this time actually setting down the hammer and reaching into his back pocket for a handkerchief. He swiped the square of white cotton across his forehead, and Hannah gawked as the sun caught the planes and curves of tendon and sinew of his powerful upper body.

It was then that she noticed his hands, imagining the hard calluses that must surely come with such physical labor, wondering how the rough surfaces of the pads of his fingertips might feel against a woman’s soft skin.

Her eyes widened at the thought, and at the same instant, the erotic idea caused saliva to pool in her mouth.

She swallowed and tried to look away. But she simply couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Could his chest be as perfectly formed as his back and rear? she wondered. The question had her taking an unwitting step meant to better her view of him. But the long grass caught at her heel, tripping her up, and she let out a tiny squeal of surprise. She was able to catch her balance, and most naturally, she swung her gaze back up to the top of the house only to find the carpenter looking down at her.

Suddenly she was overwhelmingly grateful for her misstep. If he’d have caught her ogling his body, she’d have been mortified.

“Hello,” he called down to her.

The corners of his mouth curled upward, his cheeks dimpled and his eyes lit with a friendly warmth. The sight of his handsome face, his charming smile, made Hannah’s mind go completely blank. The reasons for her trip south slipped from her thoughts as if her mind had mysteriously become riddled with a thousand sieve holes. If she were asked something as simple as her name, she doubted at the moment if she could provide the information.

Luckily, speaking wasn’t immediately necessary as the man picked up his hammer, slid it into a loop on his tool belt and then made his way over to the ladder leaning up against the side of the house. It took him several moments to descend to the ground, crucial moments Hannah used to calm the fluttering of her heart, steady her trembling hands, cool her most unseemly and inappropriate thoughts.

This was silly, she told herself. Her job as a nurse put her in the presence of naked male bodies nearly every day. Patients couldn’t be examined with their clothes on. So why should the sight of this bare upper torso wreak such havoc on her central nervous system and conjure such sensual thoughts?

She hadn’t time to ponder the answer before he was standing in front of her.

The man was more handsome close up than he had been way up there on the roof. The color of his eyes was an intriguing mix of blue-gray, his dark lashes making thick fanning frames. His brows were black slashes just below a strong, high forehead that was feathered with light worry lines that told Hannah he must be in his mid-to-late thirties. Perspiration from his hot work on the roof dampened the roots of his coal-black hair and glistened on the strong curve of his neck and his tanned chest. However, even though his skin had been tinged golden by the sun, the dusky disks of his nipples stood out in dark contrast.

Without conscious thought, Hannah’s tongue smoothed over her suddenly dry lips, and she blinked twice, forcing her gaze to rise to his face. The humorous glint in his eyes told her in no uncertain terms that he realized her blatant appreciation. She felt her face flush hot.

“Excuse me a minute,” he said, and then he moved past her. He picked up the end of the green garden hose coiled in the grass, turned on the spigot, bent over and doused his upper body with water. He ran his free hand over his chest, shoulders and the back of his neck. He rubbed at his face and combed his fingers through his hair, washing away the sweat from his body.

The blue jeans and work boots he wore kept his state of undress from being described as anything near indecent, still Hannah felt like some kind of sexual voyeur watching a very intimate act. A vivid image flashed through her mind, and she imagined her dream self taking the garden hose from his hand, directing the water to sluice over his chest as she smoothed her fingers over the massive shoulders.

The daydream came and went in a fraction of a second; however, she found it so utterly shocking that she squeezed shut her eyes and murmured, “You are going out of your mind.”

“Pardon?”

He’d turned off the water and tossed the end of the hose aside. Hannah watched him dry off his face and chest with his handkerchief, and then he reached down and picked up a T-shirt that lay in a heap on the lawn.

Say something, Hannah, she silently ordered. Talk about the weather, anything, just say something that won’t make this man think you’re totally insane.

“I said the day is just fine.”

Sunlight sparkled like jewels off the fat water droplets that clung to his hair. One particular liquid pearl ran along the outside edge of his ear, hovered for a moment on the bottommost curve of his sexy lobe, and then the sheer force of gravity caused it to splash onto his sun-bronzed shoulder. The instant the droplet hit, Hannah actually started, her blinking gaze lifting to his face.

Amusement twinkled in his eyes, and Hannah was left to wonder just how long she’d studied that glistening pellet. Her embarrassment grew, prickling every inch of her skin with a heated self-consciousness. And she could tell from his expression that he was enjoying her discomfort—very much.

What in heaven’s name was wrong with her? She was normally a serious, no-nonsense kind of person. A woman who would never gawk at a man. Not under any circumstances.

However, it wasn’t entirely her fault, she decided. If he’d get himself dressed, cover up that broad expanse of bare skin he was exposing, then she could keep her mind on more important issues like...his identity and what the heck he was doing here working on her father’s house, and who had given him permission to—