Can't Fight This Feeling

An inch.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“That was my line.”

“I’m great, thanks.”

Before she could push the button that would move the window back into place, he curled his fingers around the edge. The glass was cold against his palm and his fingers registered that the interior of the car wasn’t much warmer. “What are you doing out here?”

“Communing with nature, not that it’s any if your business.”

The nose of her convertible was pointing directly at a battered Dumpster. “Lovely view,” he said.

“I like it.”

He bit back a smile. This was new, this prickly snideness, and some piece of him liked it. Liked her. Of course, that had always been the problem. How much he wanted to like her. How much he wanted her.

How soft—well, and hard—that wanting might make him.

“Good night,” she said.

How are you really doing? he wanted to ask. What’s going on with your father? Is there anything you need? How can I help you?

Fuck, he thought. There it was again. The urge to serve and protect. Keep her warm. Feed her. Soothe her with kisses. Distract her from her woes with sex.

Okay, that last might be a more selfish wish. But God, you couldn’t blame a guy. Even in the shadows her face could stop his heart. The thought of her kiss could make him stiff even when it was thirty-four degrees outside and he was in shirtsleeves.

“Stay away, Brett.” Her whisper floated through the centimeters of space she’d left open between them.

He removed his fingers from around her window. Staying away had been his intention from the beginning. But when she insisted on it now, wouldn’t you know that the perverse side of him no longer wanted to agree. Now it clamored to do the opposite.

All his common sense, all those hard lessons he’d learned, receded in the background. He ran a hand over his face and into his hair, feeling the scars beneath his callous palms. When Angelica was around, it was as if every bit of wisdom he’d gained fled.

“Go home, Brett.”

“Your wish is my command, princess,” he said. But he still didn’t move.

As if sensing his internal struggle, she glanced at him. “Really. I’m not your problem.”

But she seemed to be his concern, no matter how hard he tried to shake that fact. Not until she rolled up her window, effectively cutting off communication, did he return to his car and drive away.

* * *

KYLE SCOTT CARRIED over the threshold of Hallett Hardware a rotund deli bag and an unfamiliar sense of excitement. Inside, it smelled of a pleasing combination of WD-40 and a light feminine fragrance. Pausing a moment, he breathed it in.

His muscles, especially those in his arms and shoulders, were sore. That was unfamiliar, too. He was more accustomed to a stiff lower back and legs frozen from time spent at a desk or at a conference table. But this pain felt good and he flexed his free paint-speckled left hand.

Looking down at his flesh peppered with green dots made him frown. Maybe he should have done a complete cleanup before his impromptu visit to see Hardware Hottie, aka Glory Hallett. But the idea had come to him like the flash of a lightbulb and he obeyed his sudden inspirations as a general rule. Over the years, they’d fattened his bank account—though at the same time draining all the life out of the social side of his world.

Anyway, he thought Glory would forgive his disheveled state. She was aware he was painting a house. For now, that was all she had to know, right?

Maybe he should feel bad he’d encouraged her impression he was a mere handyman who hoped to stay in the mountains, but the freshness of a woman being interested in him without knowing his net worth was irresistible.

He could hear her voice at the rear of the store. Clearly she was helping someone in plumbing supplies. And wasn’t that novel, too? He sure as hell didn’t know anything about angle stops and wax gaskets and he only found it more intriguing that this young woman was obviously well versed in the steps required to change out a toilet.

His father would appreciate that trait, he was sure. As a gastro-intestinal surgeon he’d likely have a lot to talk about with her.

A lot more than his father, mother, sister or brother had to say to him. They were all in medicine: two surgeons and two orthopedists, and they considered Kyle the cuckoo that had been left in their well-feathered nest. It had shocked the hell out of them that he refused to take his place in medical school.

What he did after that had left them completely flummoxed.

But now he was at Blue Arrow Lake, painting a house and bringing a woman he barely knew lunch. The idea had come to him as he was using the roller on the porch ceiling.

Bring Hardware Hottie lunch, an inner voice urged. Become better acquainted with her in the guise of Kyle Scott, home-maintenance dude. Feel out the way things are going with her and if it seems right, then hit her with the whole truth.

He was still standing just inside the hardware store’s door when she came around the corner. Her feet stuttered at the sight of him and she reached out to clutch an endcap featuring various sizes and colors of duct tape to steady herself. Kyle drank her in.

She was small and built on a delicate scale. Her hair was nearly platinum and cut in way that curled around her ears and showcased her triangular face. Pink lips. Dusting of gold freckles. Big blue eyes—no, turquoise—that warmed with pleasure as she looked him over, too.

His hands itched to snatch her up and kiss her. Instead, his fingers tightened on the brown bag and the crinkling sound had them both redirecting their gazes to what he held. His arm lifted. “I brought us lunch.”

“You did?” Her mouth curved and he didn’t think he was wrong that it was delight that turned up the corners of those pretty lips.

“I did. I needed a break and thought maybe you could take a little time off, too.”

She grimaced. “I don’t have anyone to take my place.”

“Oh.” Ridiculous to feel so deflated. After all, he understood what it required to build a business and keep one going.

“But if you don’t mind sitting with me by the register...” she started.

“Would love to,” he said, and followed her lead to the glass-topped counter at the side of the store.

She dragged a stool toward him, the plastic seat advertising a waterproofing product. Hers was matching except it promoted an automatic sprinkler system. “What’d you bring?” she asked, glancing toward the bag.

He scratched at the whiskers on his jaw. “I hope you don’t think this was cheating.”

Her brows rose. “Oh?”

“I asked at the deli two doors down for your favorite sandwich.” He reached into the bag. “Tuna salad on rye.” With a flourish, he set the wax-paper-wrapped package before her.

She stared at it.

“I was trying to make a good impression.” Had the clerk got it wrong entirely? Maybe Glory was allergic to fish. Maybe the seeds in the rye bread got stuck in her dentures.

Then she looked up at him, her smile dazzling, her teeth obviously all her own. “Nobody has put out that kind of effort to please me in...maybe never.”

“Not never,” he scoffed.

Her smile still digging a dimple into her now-pink cheek, she unwrapped the paper around her sandwich, neatly cut in the middle. “And two pickles!”

“You have to have two pickles, one for each half.” He pulled out his own meal—avocado, turkey and Swiss on sourdough.

Glancing over, he saw Glory was staring at him. “Nobody gets the double pickle thing. Did they tell you I always order that way at the deli?”

“Nope. It’s the way I always order at the deli.”

Her eyes narrowed, suspicious. “Are you trying to pick me up again?”

“With double-dill breath? I don’t think so.” He crunched into the first sour gherkin.

With a little laugh, she applied herself again to her meal. They ate a few bites in companionable silence until she broke it. “Still painting, I see.”

He held out his speckled hands. “Yep. How about you? How’s your day been going?”

“We received a shipment of red, white and blue bunting. I carry the decorations—but starting in May, not September. A frustrating phone call later, I think it’s straightened out.”

Kyle’s sandwich was the best he’d ever eaten. Or maybe that was the company. He grinned at her. “I heard you talking quite knowledgeably about toilet repairs.”

She shook her head. “Now that’s an image a girl wants to put in a guy’s head.”

His grin widened. “No, no. I was quite impressed. How do you know that stuff?”

“My dad. I’m hopeless at keeping our back storeroom organized—or so says my friend Angelica who works here part-time—but I’m aces when it comes to advising on how to fix things. Reps come into the store and talk to me about products and I’ve gone to a seminar or two, but the best learning begins at home. Since I could walk, I’ve been helping my dad around the house.”

“No ‘girls play with dolls and boys with tools,’ huh?”

She shook her head. “No boys in the family. I’m the lonely only.”

Kyle tilted his head. “Are you? Lonely, that is.”

Pursing her pretty lips, she shook her head. “I don’t know how I could be. I’ve got customers coming in and out of the store all day long. Not to mention my retired—” she made air quotes around the word with her fingers “—dad popping in all the time to comment upon my business practices.”

Kyle knew from experience a person could be lonely anywhere: in a packed boardroom, among the tables of a bustling company cafeteria, pounding out miles on a treadmill in a busy state-of-the-art gym.

On a sigh, Glory touched a finger to the nearby revolving display rack from which hung floatable key rings. “Take this stand for example. In summer, two rows of the chains are fine, they’re very popular. But now that winter’s coming on, on the lower rung I added a selection of miniature flashlights that you can hook to your ring. Dad did not like it.” She made a stern face and lowered her voice. “All the flashlights are situated in Aisle F and always have been.”

Kyle could commiserate. His own parents hadn’t liked change either, especially the changes he wanted to make to his life. He’d been on the Scott-beaten path to a medical career and then diverted to go his own way. He’d tried to explain his interests to them, but they thought their field was the only one of value, and at best they’d been bored by his shop talk.

Most women he’d tried dating hadn’t understood about business, either. They’d been impressed by money but not the man. Of course, he’d not had a chance to meet them as Kyle Scott, house painter, but still, he thought this instant connection he felt with Glory was...special.

She reached over and plucked one of the spare pennies sitting in the ashtray next to the register. “For your thoughts,” she said, sliding it close.

He put his hand over hers. At her jolt of reaction he almost lost his hold, but he curled his fingers under her palm and gently squeezed. “I’m thinking I like you, Glory Hallett.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Are you sure, or are you just trying to butter me up?” she asked, her voice light. “Tell me the state of the toilet at that house you’re painting.”

“As far as I know, my ballcock is in prime working order.”

Her face turned pink even as she laughed. “Do you even know what a ballcock is?”

“Sweetheart.” He gave her a look of gentle reproof.

“Oh, you.” Now her face went really red. “You’re being so bad.”

“Not in the slightest,” he protested, enjoying himself to the utmost. “I didn’t say a word when you asked about buttering you up.”

She laughed out loud now. “And I thought the double dill had lifted my mood. I’ve got to admit it’s in the stratosphere now.”

“Yeah?” He smiled at her.

As if suddenly shy, Glory glanced down. Then her chin came up and her turquoise eyes were aimed right at his. “Yeah.”

God, she enchanted the hell out of him. He let go of her hand so they could return to their lunch. But they continued to talk, him asking questions about the products he could see on the nearby shelves. She gestured with her pickle and munched on her tuna-and-rye and he watched her every gesture with an avid gaze.

Glory, Glory, his inner voice commented. Hallelujah!

Then a customer came in, interrupting their private bubble. With an apologetic look, she slid off her stool to help the older gentleman who wanted parts for his pond pump. Kyle finished up his sandwich and finally, reluctantly stood. The house wasn’t going to paint itself.

Glory waved the customer out the door and looked over. “Time to get back to work?”

“Yeah.”

She walked with him toward the entrance. They lingered there. He flattered himself that she didn’t want to end their interlude any more than he did.

“I have something for you,” she said. “A gift. A little payback for lunch—which I’ll get next time.”

“No—”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “And after that we’ll be splitting the checks.”

Kyle stopped himself from saying any more. Her concern about his finances was so damn uncommon and so endearing...and the fact that she was talking about next times wasn’t something he wanted to halt.

“Okay,” he conceded, holding out his hand and wiggling his fingers. “Gimme my present.”

From the front pocket of her butcher apron, she pulled out a soft cap of lightweight material. A painter’s hat. “Here’s a secret. You cover your head and you won’t be combing Evergreen out of your hair every night.”

“Thanks.” He took it from her and put it on at a jaunty angle. “How do I look?”

She was smiling as she pretended to consider the question, but as her gaze roamed over him, he saw the smile die and her body still. In the air between them, sexual tension hummed like a happy bee.

Kyle leaned close and spoke in a low voice. “I have a secret, too, Glory.”

“What?” she whispered back.

“I might need your help with my ball cock after all.”

And when she began to laugh, he kissed the sound off her lips. At his first touch she went serious again, and he did, too, because it had never been like this for him before. This sense of excitement, of rightness, of connection.

When someone passed on the sidewalk beyond the front window, they broke apart, both breathing hard.

“This isn’t the place, the time,” he said.

“Yes,” she agreed. “But come back soon? I’m really liking getting to know you, Kyle.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” he said with a smile. Then he left, taking the spurt of guilt he felt with him. There was an important part of him that she didn’t know and that he was intentionally keeping from her. It could have come out at the bar. It should have come out today.

But damn, everything was going so well. If he spoke the whole truth now, it might ruin what they were just beginning to build.

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