by S. E. Babin
"The paint!" he growled. "Did you see a paint tray there?"
Sure enough, his entire foot and half of his pants leg was covered in gray paint. How had that happened? "I didn't," I confessed. I’d walked past the same spot he had. The hallway light flickered off and I frowned.
Kristoff winced as he picked up his palm. Rocks were embedded into his hands.
"We need to get you inside right now so we can pick those out." His hands were already beginning to heal.
I helped him up and realized he was completely covered in paint. "Shit," I muttered. I had brand new wood flooring. "You're going to have to take your pants off."
Kristoff looked bewildered. "What? Why?"
"You're covered in paint."
He looked heavenward. "There are a thousand ways this scenario could have played out and this was not even close to being one of them."
I snorted with laughter. "Relax. Everything will be fine as long as you're wearing underwear."
There was a long pause and I looked up from Kristoff's pants to his face. "You're wearing underwear, right?"
He grinned at me.
I couldn't help it. I burst out laughing. "Wait here."
I pushed inside my house, rushed to the restroom, and got Kristoff a towel. There was no way I was going to let a grown man prowl around my house while shirtcocking. I opened the door, threw the towel out, and yelled at him to take his pants off and wrap it around his waist.
"Why? You don't like Donald Duck?!"
A hysterical giggle burst from me. "Toss your pants in the yard. I'll try to see if I have something you can wear."
Martin came into view. I rose one eyebrow when our gazes met. "A paint tray? Really?"
He had the grace to blush. "Sorry. I've been pretty careless today."
"Uh huh." I straightened and put one hand on my hip. "Do you have any extra clothing in your truck?"
His expression turned thunderous. "No."
"Martin," I said with barely concealed irritation. "You're the reason he's outside doing his best Donald Duck impression."
His lips quirked but he held in a laugh. "Fine," he huffed and headed out the front door shouting, "Make sure your naughty bits are covered and for the love of the gods, put on a pair of underwear next time!"
"No one would have known had some asshole not left paint in the middle of the walk way!" Kristoff shouted back.
The door slammed behind him and Martin was gone for a few minutes. When he came back in, Kristoff trailed after him, wearing a pair of too baggy sweatpants. I had changed out of my dancing clothes and into a tank and a pair of athletic pants. "I'll grab a bag and go outside to rinse your pants off."
"You don't have to," Kristoff protested.
"Nonsense. You'll get paint all over. I'll put them in a bag. I'm not sure if you'll be able to wear them again, but you can try."
Kristoff gave me a short nod. Martin frowned at me and reached out for the bag. "I can do it.”
I snatched the bag back. "You should, but I want to make sure it's right and nothing else jumps out at me." With a slightly overdramatic flounce, I stomped out of the house.
"She's pissed at you," Kristoff remarked.
I didn't hear Martin's response, but I could only imagine what it was. I reeled out the hose, picked up Kristoff's destroyed pants and proceeded to gently spray them to get off as much paint as I could. When I'd finished, I wrung them out the best I could and folded them into the bag. There was no way he'd be able to wear them again. Some of the paint had already dried. I left the bag by the driver's side and headed back into the house. Martin and Kristoff were glaring at each other.
"Umm, gentleman? Everything okay?"
Kristoff held Martin's gaze for a few seconds longer before he turned to me. "We're crystal clear," he said. "I'll send your pants back with Katie."
I walked him to the door and stepped outside with him. "I'm so sorry," I said. "I have no idea how that happened." Though I did. I knew exactly who was responsible for tonight's shenanigans.
"Oh, I do," Kristoff said, also seeming to know who was responsible.
"Well," I breathed. "To a weird night!" I held out my fist for a bump, but Kristoff stepped closer and gently brushed his lips across mine.
"Goodnight, Katie."
I touched my fingers to my lips, my heart beating a hundred miles per hour. "Night."
Kristoff bounded down the steps in his weird ass too large pants and drove off into the night. I stood there for a few moments more until I finally stepped back into the house.
Martin had his bag over his shoulder and was preparing to leave.
"Was that really necessary?" I asked him.
The look of innocence on his face was astounding. "Was what really necessary?"
I rolled my eyes. "You left a tray full of paint in the middle of the walkway. Really?"
"I did no such thing," he said and headed to the door.
"Then how do you explain what happened?"
He turned with his hand on the edge of the door. "Katie, I can assure you I did not leave a paint tray anywhere someone could step in it."
The memory of the flickering curtain caught in my brain. I crossed my arms over my chest. "So you moved it when you saw him then?"
His face went carefully blank.
I walked over to him, so close our noses almost touched. I pressed a finger into his hard chest. "What kind of powers does a Romani have?" I studied him, breathing him in. "I don't know much about you or the Romani's. I know you read leaves, can tell fortunes, have different magics than most of the other creatures here." I leaned in even closer until his nostrils flared with the scent of me. "But can you move things? Manipulate things?" My hand splayed against his warm chest and I felt his thunderous heart beat.
Mine was pumping rapidly at the close proximity to him. His face was so close to mine, any sudden move from either of us could change the dynamic of our relationship in a heartbeat.
Martin moved a hair closer. "I can do things you wouldn't believe, Katie Harper." His hand caught a loose strand of hair and he toyed with it as he tugged me even closer. "Do you want me to show you?"
I swallowed hard and stepped back. "I'm assuming you'll be here tomorrow."
His smile was wolfish. "Bright and early."
I watched him as he walked away, like a predator deciding his prey wasn't worthy. Yet.
Lord. Have. Mercy.
17
Martin
I needed to find a white tank top. Stat.
Katie wanted to know what I was capable of?
Game on.
18
Martin entered the house the next morning whistling a jaunty tune while I did my best to avoid him. It felt like he was taking up all the space in my house, now that I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was attracted to him. I gritted my teeth to keep from yelling at him because it wasn't his fault I hadn't realized exactly how sexy he was. I mean, I knew he was hot, but he had always been untouchable. Just my contractor. After he’d failed to tell me about Harry our relationship had gotten a little weird. Less friendly and more like we were nervous cats tiptoeing around each other.
But yesterday, I felt like when I touched him my hand was on fire. And from the way he stared at me with those deep eyes, he felt the same way.
But he seemed awfully nonchalant this morning. I came out from the back and stopped in my tracks. Holy Mother of All Things Hot, Martin was wearing a...tank top. A snug one that he tucked into jeans that could be considered just a smidge too tight and highlighted all the -
Good gracious.
I quickly looked away from what seemed to be a pair of socks stuck in the front of his pants, swallowed hard, and quickly went back into my bedroom to compose myself.
"What the hell is happening?" I squeaked to myself. I turned on the fan and stuck my head in front of it to cool down. After a few minutes, the blush had faded from my face and chest, and I stepped out of my room again to get a cup of coffee.
> As I went over to my cabinets, I realized all of my mugs were dirty and I'd forgotten to start my dishwasher. I was just about to get a stool to reach the older mugs at the top of the cabinet, but Martin strolled over, came up behind me, pressed up against me and reached over my head to get a mug for me.
"Here you go," he said cheerily.
I spun around and my entire body froze.
"Oh, sorry about that. Not a lot of room in here." He chuckled and his breath lifted my hair.
There was plenty of room in here and the insufferable man knew it. My face was back to being beet red and it was right at rock hard chest level. There was way too much man candy in here right now. Also, I wasn’t wearing that much clothing so the proximity between us in addition to my small sleep shorts and tank top made it so that I could feel every inch of him against me.
"Martin," I said, cursing inwardly at my hoarse voice.
He grinned, a Cheshire cat smile.
I glared at him. "Thank you."
"My pleasure." He made a little bow and his toolbelt rattled. A new toolbelt. That hung low on his hips and accentuated all of his wonderful goodies.
"Christ," I whispered to myself as he sauntered away. I needed to get some clothes on. A parka. And a pair of ski pants maybe.
Perhaps a chastity belt was in order.
I rushed back to my bedroom, threw on a pair of jeans and a modest top, braided my hair and flipped it over my shoulder and swiped on a nude lip gloss right before the doorbell rang.
I was officially sick of that door bell.
With a sigh I slid on a pair of flip flops and rushed to open the door. Kristoff stood there, grinning widely, and holding a box from Sam’s Bakery.
My eyes lit up. “Oooh, I hope you brought me a Bavarian Cream!”
Kristoff waggled his eyebrows. “Only the best for the lady,” he said and let himself in when I swept the door open wide. He brushed past me and I noted I didn’t freeze up and want to scream in frustration when he touched me.
That...might not have been good.
Kristoff walked into the kitchen, gave Martin a cheery wave, and set the box down on the countertop. “I brought some for you, too, if you wanted one.”
Martin’s brows knit together and a weird look passed over his face, but he stood and washed his hands before snagging one of the donuts from the box.
Plain glazed. Figured.
I, however, dug through the entire thing until I found the Bavarian. “Thanks!” I said through a mouthful of it.
He shrugged and pulled out a whipped cream filled. “Martin,” he called, “I think my mom knows you.”
Martin, who was just bending down to start work again, paused and straightened. “Oh yeah?” His expression was positively mutinous. Kristoff was not on his list of favorites, apparently.
Kristoff nodded. “Martha Franklin.”
Martin’s face cleared. “Really? She seems like a great lady.”
“She is. She said you did a wonderful job.” Kristoff’s gaze narrowed. “Though she also said you were in and out pretty quickly.”
I glanced over to Martin and noticed his neck was a little bit flushed. “She had a pretty easy job. Not like this.” His gaze flickered over to me and I just watched him curiously.
Kristoff nodded. “Huh.”
Martin turned away and went back to the sunroom. I watched as he brought out his paint and wondered how many times someone could paint the same post.
I might have to talk to him tomorrow about his timeline because I was starting to get suspicious. Kristoff and I munched down a couple more donuts in companionable silence.
"What are you doing today?"
I sipped my coffee trying not to think about the press of Martin behind me. "No plans right now. I wanted to go to the bookstore and get the sequel to something I've been reading, but other than that it's been a pretty long week and I just wanted to kick back at home."
Disappointment flickered in his gaze. "I could take you to the bookstore if you wanted."
A smile played over my mouth. "Yeah?"
A grin widened his mouth. "I know. I sound like a puppy. But yeah."
"Let me finish my coffee. I don't think they open until nine so we have some time."
"Mind if I get a cup?"
I waved at the cabinet. "The mugs are kind of high up there, but Martin can help if you can't reach." I heard Martin stifle a laugh.
Kristoff gave me a weird look over his shoulder. "I think I got it."
Twenty minutes later Kristoff and I were on the way to the local bookstore. It wasn't much to look at from the outside, but the inside felt like Mary Poppins' purse. It was massive. Definitely bigger on the inside. The smell of old books and warm cinnamon buns hit me as soon as I walked in. Mrs. Graves had been the owner of The Book Crypt for as long as I could remember and every Saturday morning she baked fresh cinnamon rolls and brought them downstairs to the store. I don't know how large the apartment was upstairs, but this was the only place she'd ever lived. She was getting up there in years, but I couldn't bear to think about what might happen to this place if she ever passed away. But...the good thing about Midnight Cove was that a lot of us lived unnaturally long life spans, so I hoped she was one of them.
Mrs. Graves caught up with us just as we turned into the Epic Fantasy section. She was holding two plates loaded up with her rolls.
I'd already had two donuts, but I still accepted her plate. "Thank you," I said and grinned at her.
"You knew it was Saturday," she said, but she winked at me and passed the other plate to Kristoff. "And who is this handsome young thing here, Miss Katie?"
I blushed. "This is Kristoff, Mrs. Graves. He's just accompanying me to get the newest Kingdom book."
She eyed him up and down. "You seem like a nice boy." Mrs. Graves reached over and patted him on the cheek. "Now don't you go leaving her at the altar, you hear?"
I pressed my lips together to keep from bursting out laughing at Kristoff's horrified expression.
"Errm," he said, floundering for a response.
"We aren't getting married, Mrs. Graves. But thank you for thinking of me."
"Oh you're welcome, darling. Have fun looking." She gave Kristoff one more looksie and let us be.
I let out the laughter I'd been holding. "Did you hear that? Don't you dare leave me at the altar!"
He shook his head but couldn't help but smile. "That shouldn't even be funny."
I let out a sad sigh. "Yeah. But it kind of is. One day, I suppose. If not, maybe they can make a documentary about me."
"Wouldn't that be something?" Kristoff trailed away from me and began to peruse the fantasy shelves. I headed over to grab my sequel, but I was also content to browse for a little while as well.
We both walked out of there with over fifty dollars in books. Neither one of us could help it. Bookstores were our Kryptonite. "What did you get?" I asked as we walked out.
"Some how to not leave a girl at the altar guides and The Kama Sutra."
My mouth dropped open before I caught his slight smirk. "Ha! You're such a jerk."
"Maybe I just got the second one."
I swallowed hard and was quiet for most of the ride home.
19
Martin
Watching Katie leave with Kristoff killed me. I wanted to punch something but contented myself with smearing the paint I'd already redone four times on her sunroom post. I knew I was affecting her. I could tell it in the way her voice went an octave deeper when she spoke to me, the way her already dark eyes went even darker when she stared at me, the way her pulse fluttered like a rabbit against her neck. I had to get her to see me.
Really see me.
For me. Not as her contractor.
I could do this.
Katie came back in around noon and pronounced herself starving. I had done all I could do in the sunroom without rousing suspicion, so it was time for me to move on to something else. I had a checklist, but I couldn't decide what to do
next.
I discreetly watched her as she pulled out bread, eggs, cheese, cream, and a bunch of various spices from her pantry. After that she got out a cast iron skillet and plopped a large hunk of butter inside and turned the stove on.
"Want a grilled cheese?" she asked me.
"Of course I do," I said. If Katie offered me food, I was eating. She was an incredible cook. Plus I got to watch her mostly unnoticed while she puttered around the kitchen.
I pulled a bottle of water out of my cooler and sat down on one of the barstools. "Did you get your book?"
She cracked two eggs in a bowl before she answered. "Mmm hmm. I plan on reading quite a bit tonight, but I have to run to the brewery to check the stock first." She looked up from the bowl. "How long are you going to be here tonight?"
Think, Martin. Think. "Not sure. Maybe until 8? If that's okay?"
"It's fine." She added garlic, salt, pepper, thyme and cream to the egg mixture. What the heck kind of grilled cheese was this?
"I finished up your sunroom if you want to look at it later."
She looked up and grinned. "Really?"
I'd finished two weeks ago. "Really. Some areas were a little trickier than others, but it all worked out."
"What's next?"
"I need to look at the list, but there's the guest bedroom and the flooring in your bathroom."
A slight frown came and went.
"Do you have a preference?" I asked.
"Probably the guest bedroom. I need to get my bathroom cleaned up before you work in there."
Not to mention it was connected to her bedroom. That was probably what made her uncomfortable. "Okay. No problem. I can start on that first thing."
She layered a slice of Muenster cheese on top of a thick slice of Brioche and then a slice of provolone. She covered it with the other slice of Brioche and dunked both sides into the eggy mixture. Quickly, she dropped it right onto the sizzling cast iron.
Holy crap. I was drooling. And possibly going to walk out of this house with high cholesterol.