Good with His Hands

by Tanya Michaels

  Meg snorted. “That’s never stopped you from giving yours. And most of your advice to me has been spot-on. Well, it’s my turn now. I’m the one with the good advice. But it’s up to you to get your head out of your ass and take it!”

  Dani blinked. “Did you just swear at me?”

  “You’re damn right I did! Extenuating circumstances. I’ve never seen you truly in love before, and I can’t stand that you let it slip through your fingers.”

  “It’s not like I broke up with him,” Dani protested. “He said he didn’t want to see me again.”

  “And you didn’t fight to change his mind? That’s what he would have done. That’s what he did do. Because he thought you were worth it.”

  Dani’s throat burned and it was tough to get the words out. “Maybe he was wrong.” She’d called him “fun,” as if he was a day at an amusement park. He deserved someone who could love him back, and she wasn’t sure she was that person.

  14

  AN HOUR LATER, Dani pulled into the parking lot of an upscale sports bar. Meg had left because she had plans with her sister, and Dani couldn’t stand to be alone in her own company right now. Plus, that damn wedding dress had been mocking her, taunting her with plans that hadn’t come to fruition and a future she might never have.

  Wanting an excuse to flee her apartment that didn’t feel cowardly, she’d called Erik Frye. There was a baseball game on tonight, and she’d suggested they watch it together and grab some dinner. She knew he was still worried about his mother and figured they could both use some distraction.

  He was already inside, having come straight from work. The sports bar was around the corner from his office. He hailed her from a back corner booth. The spicy smell of buffalo wings was prevalent. On any other day, her stomach would have rumbled in expectation.

  “The waitress already brought our waters out,” he said, pushing a plate of lemon wedges toward her. He’d once teased that with the amount of citrus she put in her water, she should just order lemonade. “But on the phone you sounded like you might need something stronger to drink.”

  “I don’t know what I need.” Maybe the number of a good therapist. “A friendly shoulder?”

  “You got it. I can just listen or give actual advice. Unless it’s legal advice,” he teased. “Then I have to bill you.”

  She managed a wan smile. “I’ve already had more advice than I can stand today. But it didn’t solve my problem.”

  “I’m guessing this problem is a man?”

  I don’t know. She was starting to think she was her problem. “Can I ask you a question about your marriage?”

  “Fire away. But since it ended in divorce, I can hardly claim to be an expert.”

  “That’s my question.” She fiddled with the straw in her drink. She wasn’t thirsty for her usual lemon water today. The taste in her mouth was bitter enough. “If you’d known how it would go, that you and your wife would get divorced, would you still have married her? That sounds stupid, doesn’t it? Of course you wouldn’t—”

  “Actually, I would.” He looked surprised by his own admission. “We had a lot of good years before things took a wrong turn, and I wouldn’t trade those for anything.”

  Though she hadn’t asked her father the question—she hesitated bringing up his wife’s death—she knew deep down his answer would be the same. He wouldn’t have sacrificed the time he had with Gina. “My dad’s a widower,” she said. “I don’t know if I ever told you that. I don’t really remember my mom, but she was the love of his life.”

  “Must’ve been hard on him to lose her.”

  “I’m not sure he’s ever been the same. He still misses her, still loves her. It seems a rather tragic way to live.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Tell me the truth, is your calling me here tonight really my secretary’s idea? Because this sounds like a very subtle intervention.”

  She laughed out loud. “I’m not hinting that you’re tragic. Trust me.”

  “Good. I hope to get over my wife, eventually. I don’t think failed love dooms you to be alone forever. I can’t know what your father’s going through, exactly, but we make choices. I choose to believe that having loved Margot makes me a better person and that maybe I learned from my mistakes and will have better relationships in the future. I’m not ready yet, but that doesn’t mean I’ll never be.”

  I’m not ready yet. That’s what she should have told Sean. She should have embraced what he said about evolving. He hadn’t asked her to love him right now, he’d only asked that she give the possibility a chance. And she’d resisted to the point of losing him.

  * * *

  “NO.” BRYCE GRAYSON scanned the hallway nervously as if searching for exit options. But to get to the elevator, he would have to get past Dani. “Meg said you might come to me seeking help, but the answer is no.”

  In the week since Dani’s dinner with Erik, she’d done a lot of thinking. About Sean. About love. About being braver and trusting her heart. But since Sean wasn’t returning her phone calls, she hadn’t had much chance to tell him. She’d shown up at the Magnolia Grove site once, ambushing him the way he had in her office so long ago, but he’d said there was a foundation emergency that required his attention. Then he’d told her Alex could answer any questions she had about the housing development.

  Alex’s sympathetic eyes and soft “give him time” were kind but hadn’t made her feel any better. It had been Meg’s suggestion that they ask Bryce for help, but he was proving uncooperative. If there was a silver lining in any of this, it seemed to be that Bryce and Sean were closer than they’d been in years.

  “I know you don’t want to be disloyal to your brother,” she said, “and I applaud that. But I’m having a hard time getting through to him.”

  “Oh, you got through to him. You wrecked him. Guys have a lot of pride,” he said. “He put himself out there—”

  “Bryce.” She held up a hand. “I love your brother. I am going to tell him that with or without your help, but I’d like to do it in a way that doesn’t involve my leaving it in a voice mail or in front of an audience. He said once that you didn’t understand why he kept fighting for me, why he didn’t just give up. But he was stubborn.”

  The corner of his mouth kicked up in a reluctant grin. “Always has been.”

  “Well, I am equally stubborn. It’s one of the things that is going to make us a great match. Now that I’ve, um...”

  “Pulled your head out of your ass?” he supplied, eyes dancing with humor.

  “Meg mentioned that, huh?” She smiled back at him, feeling a burgeoning sense of camaraderie. “Bryce. Please. If you can help me get five minutes alone with him, I can say what I need to. After that, if he decides...” She blinked furiously. The past week and a half without him had sucked too tremendously to contemplate his continued absence from her life.

  Bryce considered her plea. “Around a month ago, my brother got help sneaking into a locked room to leave me a gift. It occurs to me now,” he said mischievously, “that I never returned the favor.”

  * * *

  FRANKLY, SEAN DIDN’T want to go home, but after Alex and several other friends all canceled plans at the last minute, he couldn’t think of where else to go. He wasn’t stupid enough to go drinking without a designated driver, he lacked the charm and energy to flirt with women and he was avoiding his parents, not ready to tell his mom he’d broken up with Dani. He’d tried calling Bryce, who’d been surprisingly supportive lately, but his brother hadn’t answer the phone. No doubt his twin was canoodling somewhere with Meg.

  A sharp pain twisted inside as Sean unlocked his front door. He was screwed if Bryce and Meg got married, because he couldn’t see her or think about her without being reminded of Dani. Of course, working in the Magnolia Grove subdivision also reminded him of Dani.
Maybe he needed a mini vacation somewhere out of her daily sphere. Like the Yukon.

  He knew she’d tried calling him, but he didn’t trust himself to pick up the phone. He was caught between wanting more than she had to offer yet doubting he could resist her if she tried to seduce him. He stepped inside the town house, surprised by the spill of light from upstairs. He didn’t remember leaving that on, but he’d been in a preoccupied haze. Maybe that was why Alex’s plans had suddenly—and unconvincingly—altered; Sean was such an easy mark that it wasn’t even fun to beat him at pool these days.

  But then Dani appeared at the railing that overlooked the first floor. He stared hard, seriously hoping he wasn’t hallucinating. He didn’t think he was that far gone.

  “Sean.” She made his name an endearment, and he regretted ever telling her to call him Gray. That was for people like Alex. The casual nickname was far too impersonal for this woman who’d wrung out his heart.

  “How did you get in here?” It was the simplest question. He wasn’t ready to voice his others.

  “Your brother said to tell you that turnabout is fair play. Are you coming up, or should I come down?” she asked, trying to sound in charge. Even from this distance, her vulnerability was unmistakable. She was afraid of being hurt. If she’d been less afraid, they could have had something special together.

  He shook his head. “I should probably turn around and leave.”

  “Well, it’s your place. You’d have to come back eventually. And there’s something up here I want to show you.”

  “If it’s rose petals on the bed or something lacy from Meg’s shop, you should know I’m not sleeping with you.” He was glad he sounded more resolute than he felt. Because, damn, she looked good in that green wrap dress, her hair spilling over her shoulders in untamed waves.

  She flinched at the verbal rejection. “It’s not rose petals or anything lacy,” she promised solemnly. “I’m here to talk, not lure you into bed.”

  Yet she wanted him to come to the bedroom for this little chat? Filled with suspicion, he went up the stairs. As he got closer, he noticed the shimmer in her eyes and recalled Meg warning him not to make her cry. That had never been his intention. He’d wanted to spoil Dani rotten. He’d wanted to satisfy her every sexual need and pamper her with attention outside the bedroom. She made him want to be chivalrous, unless they were in a pool hall. He respected her enough as an opponent to kick her ass without holding back.

  “I miss you,” she said huskily.

  He missed her, too, with an unparalleled ache. He could bash his thumb with a hammer repeatedly and never achieve the kind of pain she’d caused.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t more gracious about the dinner you cooked me,” she began. “I’d love to make it up to you. But more important, I’m sorry I didn’t trust us. You said once that trust was earned. You’ve been there for me, winning my trust, winning my heart. And I didn’t think I was ready for that.”

  The words were a balm to his pride, but he’d spent weeks trying to woo this woman. A guy could only get rejected so many times before learning his lesson. “I know you’ve been through a lot. Losing your mom.” Even if she didn’t remember her, she’d had to deal with the aftermath of her father’s loss. “That idiot Malcom cheating on you. Me lying to you. So I get it, intellectually. But I can’t sit around hoping you feel differently someday, being your diversion in the meantime.”

  She reached out to grab his hand, and the sweet familiarity of her touch went through him like a shock. “You were always more than a diversion. The first night together, even when I thought you were someone else, I wondered how I’d face you again in a platonic way. I may have been looking for casual sex, but there was nothing casual about what we shared. Not ever.”

  When she turned and led him toward the bedroom, he wasn’t sure he should believe her claim of only being here to talk. That thought filled him with more excitement than it should.

  Hadn’t he promised never to lie to her again? “Dani, I want you. So damn badly. But I’m not happy about it.”

  She actually grinned. “I remember feeling exactly like that. I forgave you. I’m hoping you can do me the same courtesy.”

  To his surprise, she didn’t go anywhere near the big king bed. Instead, she turned toward the bathroom. If she offered to live out any of his shower fantasies about the two of them, he was toast.

  She stopped in the doorway, glancing nervously from him into the room. He followed her gaze. On the marbled vanity, his things had all been moved to one side. On the other side of the sink were cosmetics, a toothbrush and a curling iron.

  “I brought some things over,” she said shyly. “Like you suggested. There’s a book I’m reading in the living room and some fresh lemons in the kitchen. Obviously you can tell me it’s too late. You can kick me out, but I’m not telling you where all my stuff is,” she threatened, gaining confidence. Or at least bravado.

  “You’ll run across a ceramic fairy on a shelf or my favorite nightshirt tucked into a drawer somewhere and you’ll miss me. I know how horrible that feels because I’ve been missing you every single day. I want to spare you that. Because I...” Her lower lip quivered, and her eyes glistened. She lifted her chin. “Because I love—”

  He claimed her mouth in a scorching kiss. Later, he wanted to hear her say it, that she loved him. Over and over, preferably when he was inside her. But for now, he couldn’t wait any longer to kiss her, couldn’t let her wonder any longer if he would forgive her or send her away. Never. Her body was plastered against his, her breath ragged as his hands roved her curves.

  He broke off their kiss but didn’t lift his head, saying the words against her lips. A different kind of kissing. “I love you, too.”

  Her hold on him tightened, and she swallowed convulsively, battling back tears. But her smile was full of sly mischief. “Then can I admit that I actually am wearing something lacy under this, picked out just for you? I should warn you, it’s kind of complicated, though.”

  Scooping her up, he strode toward the bed. “That’s okay.” He smirked. “I’ve always been pretty talented with my hands.”

  He would happily spend hours demonstrating that. But he would spend years demonstrating how good he was with his heart.

  * * * * *

  Read on for an extract from DEEP FOCUS by Erin McCarthy.

  1

  SOMETHING WAS WRONG. Nearly everyone in the airport was naked.

  Melanie Ambrose glanced around and frowned before rounding on her boyfriend. Dang it, he had broken their deal. “You said you were done working! We’re on vacation, Ian, as of midnight last night. Our flight to Mexico is in an hour.” She flung a finger out to point at the group of men and women sitting bare-assed on the hard plastic chairs in O’Hare’s Concourse B. “This looks like work.”

  She shouldn’t have trusted him to get to the airport on his own. She should have swung by his apartment and scooped him up, but it was out of the way and Ian hadn’t wanted to stay at her place because he hated her bed. She’d agreed to arriving separate and now this. So annoying. Absolutely and utterly annoying. The whole reason their relationship was crumbling was because Ian worked all the time. She understood that his photography business was commercially successful beyond his wildest dreams, and that there were responsibilities and expectations, but this vacation was supposed to give him a much-needed rest. And her, a much-needed orgasm.

  He held up his hands and gave her an apologetic shrug. “Mel, baby, I couldn’t resist. I’ve not shot at the airport before, and what a perfect opportunity to capture the shuffling of humanity. It’s brilliant. And I owe the idea to you.”

  She was not falling for that, or for his sexy New Zealand accent. “Whatever.” She let go of the handle of her carry-on and looked down at her toes. The fifty dollars she’d just spent on a pedicure better not have be
en wasted. “We’re not missing our flight,” she told him flatly.

  “Don’t be so churlish,” he reprimanded, pushing his glasses up. He looked past her, flagging someone down.

  She turned and noticed one man in a suit, looking absolutely out of place amongst all this exposed flesh. The poor guy was probably just trying to catch a business flight and had wandered into Art. In the form of breasts and butt cheeks.

  Melanie turned her attention back to Ian, giving him a glare. “It’s nine in the morning! Our flight is supposed to leave at ten.” She considered herself incredibly reasonable. She never complained about his schedule or questioned him about the company he kept. She respected his art, and as the PR rep for his company, Bainbridge Studios, she worked hard to make sure his climb up the ladder of success was smooth. But they’d been planning this trip for two months.

  Escaping Chicago in December for the beach was bliss enough, but she’d been looking forward to the opportunity to rekindle a bit of romance.

  Apparently, he wasn’t in as much of a rush to drink wine and knock boots as she was. It was a bit deflating. A lot deflating.

  “I’ll find a later flight. You go ahead as planned. Hunter will go with you.”

  Um. “Who the heck is Hunter?” Melanie’s Southern accent was resurfacing as she became agitated. “And why on God’s green earth would I want to fly to Mexico with him?”

  “This is Hunter.” Ian gestured behind her. “He’s your new bodyguard.”

  Melanie turned and saw the man in the suit standing a discreet distance behind them. He nodded briefly. She was officially confused.

  “Ian, why do I need a bodyguard? You’re the one being stalked.” Some woman who had never even met Ian fancied herself in love with him and had been bothering him for over a year. At one point, Savannah the Stalker had been charged and Melanie had thought that would be the end of it, but a jury had found her not guilty and almost immediately she’d gone back to sending alternating love letters and threatening emails. “She doesn’t even know about us. That’s part of why we’ve kept our relationship on the down low.”