Sean left out the part that it was also the day when Colette had moved out and left behind a brief, heartless letter. As if she was the one who had been burdened with an ill family member.
Melinda bridged the small gap between them and brushed the back of his hand with a whispery, tentative slide of her fingers. Warm. Soft and...unexpectedly sensual.
"I stand by my earlier statement. You're a good son." She picked up her cup and the empty cardboard tray. "Enjoy your coffee and the truffles are on me while you're working on the remodel," she said over her shoulder as she disappeared into her office.
Sean stared at the froofy white sack in his hand. He shook his head and wondered about women.
They caught you doing one nice thing, and they went all to pieces. So what if he visited his mother? How did that make him a nice guy? He could still be an ax murderer, and she wouldn't know the difference.
With a swift glance at the closed office door, Sean turned away as unexpected emotions welled up. Melinda's understanding soothed his sore ego. He hadn't been the problem. Colette's shallow heart and selfish needs had. His sisters had reassured him that his ex was vain and only thought about her career, but her departure had seemed like his fault. As if he should have shipped his mother off to some distant locale where he'd only have to see her once a year.
Ridiculous. She'd lived in Wescott Springs all her adult life. Where else was she supposed to live? No, he'd done the right thing. Sean cleared his throat again. Not that it mattered what Melinda thought, but it was nice to have one outsider agree with his decision.
Sean snagged a box from the floor and filled a pouch in his tool belt with long wood screws, grabbed the drill, and headed up to the loft. He whistled a tune as he clumped up the stairs.
An image of Melinda's long, smooth legs drifted through his mind, and he chuckled. This wasn't such a bad remodel gig after all.
CHAPTER SIX
MELINDA GROANED AND rolled off the air mattress onto the hard, dusty floor. What an awful night, but here she was in the wine bar's loft, feeling like she'd been run over by a Mack truck. Ugh.
Unbelievable. She'd been kept awake by the bickering home improvers again, and once they'd finally shut up or taken it to another room, she'd drifted asleep. Then all hell had broken loose.
It wasn't a mere trickle of water dripping from her ceiling, nor the casual flow of a happy creek. It was a deluge of Niagara Falls proportions as their overflowing bathtub had busted through her bathroom ceiling and come crashing down on her vanity and toilet.
The pipes burst and liquid gushed everywhere. By the time the main line was shut off, there were four inches of standing water in the entire apartment.
After she'd moved all her stuff off the floor as best she could, she'd packed a duffel, grabbed a sleeping bag and air mattress, and retreated to the White Rose. The loft was mostly completed and the safest, cheapest spot she could think of to rest her head for the few remaining hours of the night.
She ran her fingers through her hair and checked her phone for the time. Good, it was only six thirty. That gave her time to get it together before Sean showed up for the day's work.
She shuddered at the thought of all the phone calls and insurance adjusters. She hoped her landlord would be helpful and handle most of it, but she supposed her neighbor's policy would cover it. Ugh. What a mess.
Melinda frowned at the dusty steps leading down to the main level of the wine bar. She looked around for her slippers and robe. Great. There were her pink, feathered mules, but no sign of a robe. What else had she forgotten? Hopefully not her makeup kit or a toothbrush. She had a quick thought to slide into her jeans and shoes, but her bladder told her to hurry.
She slid into her foolish footwear and tugged on the bottom of the oversized shirt that barely covered her bottom. With a quick peek to make sure no one from the street could see her in the loft, Melinda scurried down the stairs.
Thank goodness the lower half of all the shop windows were covered with paper to shield the public from the disarray within, and its barely clad owner sneaking through to the bathroom. She stepped over a stray stick of lumber, avoided snagging her foot on a power cord, and then ran smack dab into a solid, warm hulk.
Strong arms wrapped around her. "Hold on there. You all right?" A familiar, spicy scent enveloped her.
Of course. It was Sean. He released her and settled her back on her feet. Why, oh why, did it have to be Sean, right now? And why hadn't she heard the door bells?
"What are you doing here?" she asked with alarm and dismay thick in her voice.
"Me? Why are you here, and without clothes?" he replied.
As his gaze roamed over her rumpled hair, boy shirt, bare legs, and fluffy slippers, Melinda stood rooted to the floor, and heat flared in her cheeks. Sean did not look sorry to see her.
"I spent the night here. I didn't expect you so early." She tugged again on the bottom of her shirt and wished she had on a pair of granny panties instead of her lavender thong. Her flush deepened as Sean hooked a thumb in his belt loop and grinned at her.
"I thought today would be a good day to see if I could get ahead on your project," Sean said. "Must be my lucky day."
His gaze lingered on the expanse of bare leg she was exposing, and an answering flame welled up in her core. Dammit. She needed more clothes on.
"Not that I'm complaining, but why did you sleep here?"
"There was a home improvement disaster of epic proportions."
"Those upstairs neighbors?"
"They left water running or there was a leak. It filled up the bathtub and then the whole thing crashed into my apartment. The water line broke, and it was like a geyser shooting off. Half my place is flooded."
Sean barked a sharp laugh, and his body shook. His coffee cup sloshed over and brown liquid splashed on the plywood floor. "You're somewhere between no luck and bad luck." Sean wiped the coffee drip from the side of his cup.
"Lovely! As if I didn't have enough going on with my business remodel and temporary closure. My life is completely upside down right now."
Sean made a sympathetic noise, but his gaze was still flitting back to her bare legs. She stamped down on her discomfort and held her ground.
She was decently clothed. Hell, she wore more revealing clothes at the gym or poolside. There was nothing to be embarrassed about. She had all her most important parts covered, she hoped.
It was kind of like wearing a miniskirt at a cocktail party. She deliberately crossed her arms under her breasts and stood straight. This was her place, and Sean wasn't going to send her running for cover.
"Did you sleep in the loft?"
"It seemed like the best spot since the floors are at least completed up there."
Sean looked at the windows and then back up at the loft.
"Didn't have a lot of privacy last night, did you?"
"I don't think anyone got a free show," Melinda said and tried to turn the edge in her voice into a laughing rejoinder.
"One of my friends is on the police force, and he says there's been a few reported nighttime burglaries. You're lucky nothing happened."
"I hadn't heard about that." A ripple of uneasiness tickled up her spine. She recalled the noise that had woken her up at three. It had sounded like a door rattling.
Sean stared hard at her for a moment.
"Did something happen last night?"
"It was nothing," Melinda said. "I woke up a zillion times between two and dawn. One of the times, I thought I heard someone trying to open the door. It was my imagination, nothing more."
"You don't know that," Sean said. "It was stupid to stay here." There was a protective growl in his voice.
"It was for one night." She shrugged. "I'm fine."
Sean sipped his coffee and maintained a steady stare at her. Suddenly, her shirt felt extremely short and skimpy. She cleared her throat and tried not to cross her legs to hold off her freshly urgent bladder.
"I'll clear out of here fo
r a while," Melinda said as she bustled toward her office and its small bathroom. "I'm going to the gym for a shower. Shall I bring back donuts?"
Yes, it would be best to act as if nothing unusual was going on, like it was normal to stand next to her muscular, gorgeous construction guy while wearing nothing but a thong and a thin shirt.
Sean tossed back the last of his drink and lobbed the empty cup into the big, green rubber garbage can in the center of the store.
"I like the twists. Or the cream filled ones," Sean said with a suggestive leer.
Melinda curled her toes at the innuendo in his tone. How had he made donuts sexy? Sean grabbed his tool belt and strapped it low to his hips as Melinda stared, mesmerized. His snug, faded jeans hinted at a nice bulge, right where one should be.
Her breath caught in her throat and heat shot through her. She bolted the last few steps to the safety of her office.
"If you're taking orders, that is," Sean said.
As she slammed the door behind her, an air compressor roared to life. But not before she was sure she heard him laugh.
CHAPTER SEVEN
MELINDA HAD BEEN avoiding Sean all day long. She wasn't mad at him, but she was a little afraid of him. She didn't know what to do with that tingling awareness in her body that shot to life each time she laid eyes on him.
Why was he being something almost approaching nice to her? And now, she'd caught him in the act of being caring and sensitive. Seriously, how much sweeter did it get than a son delivering his mother's favorite French truffles to her while she was lost in the quicksand of her dementia?
It rankled that he wasn't the first-class jerk like she'd assumed. Melinda leaned back in her desk chair and stretched to peek out into the wine bar where she could hear the rhythmic whir-purr of the power drill.
She caught sight of Sean's thick dark hair and his strong, broad shoulders. A few moments turned to many, and Melinda was mesmerized by the flex of his biceps as he drilled one screw after another into the underlayment on the floors.
His green plaid shirt was barely tucked into the back of his jeans. Each time he bent forward, she held her breath hoping it would pop out, and she might catch a glimpse of the bare skin on his back or the teasing curve of his butt cheek.
She pinched her lips together and quashed a laugh. Sean McMallory did not have the dreaded plumber's crack. Oh no. She was eager to catch a free peep. She blushed and scooted her chair back.
What was she thinking? As much as she was attracted to Sean, it was foolish. They had nothing in common and he'd certainly done enough since their first meeting to show her that he wouldn't give her the time of day.
She bent her head back to her computer and clicked open an e-mail from a new rep at one of her distributors.
Thunk. Thunk. Knuckles rapped against her office doorjamb.
"I'm wrapping things up for the day, but I have a question for you," Sean said.
"Of course, what can I help with?" Melinda schooled her features into a bland, business-y smile.
Sean's eyebrows pinched together with a questioning look but then gestured for her to follow him. "Over here, on the main wall of shelving," Sean said with a wave at the opposite wall. "The plans call for a solid wall of identical wine racking, but the measurements are off, so we can't do them all in the exact same size."
"Have you told Jill? She's not going to be happy with a change to her plans."
"I've sent her a text. I'm still waiting to hear back, but this is your place, and I want your opinion."
"You sound like you have a suggestion?"
"They don't have to all be the same size," Sean said. "Why don't we do two shelving units that are floor to ceiling and then one extra wide unit that is only about five feet tall and then do a mirror above it. Then repeat the pattern on down the wall to the back?"
"And the extra wide, but low units would all be the same size?"
"Exactly. I figure the mirrors would make it seem more expansive in here since it's a little on the narrow side."
"It would be a lot airier, but I'm worried that I would lose too much storage and display space." Melinda tingled with building excitement. She could almost envision what he was describing.
"We could add more units upstairs."
"I don't know." Her smile deflated. "It would be a pain to drag cases of wine up there constantly."
"That's where I can make it easier for you," Sean said. "I uncovered a surprise behind the wallboards in the back corner. A dumbwaiter."
"A what?"
"You know, a small elevator on a pulley system. It's only meant for supplies."
"I know what one is. I just can't believe it." Melinda scowled at him. "Does it work? Who put it in?"
"I'm guessing whoever built this originally used to store things up in the loft, so this was how they got things up there instead of lugging it up the old ladder."
"How cool is that? Let's see it."
"It's back here. Some sad Seventies paneling was covering it up. Check it out."
Sean showed off a hole in the wall about three feet wide and almost as tall with some dusty, elderly fiber ropes rising into a dark shaft. Melinda poked her head through the opening but only saw darkness.
She backed up and bumped into Sean. He placed a steadying hand near her waist. His warm, manly scent sent a thrill of awareness through her body. She leaned closer to Sean for a moment, but then moved a few steps away.
Melinda cleared her throat and prayed Sean hadn't noticed. Sean blinked as if off in his own world, but when she made eye contact, there was a glint in them. Melinda clasped her hands behind her back and waited.
"Let's see if it still works." Sean pulled on the thick rope, and a platform slowly squeaked up through the shaft. "Pretty slick for all that it's elderly. I bet with a new rope or a chain, it would easily handle two cases of wine."
"It does allow us to take advantage of more storage up there in addition to the extra seating for customers. I like it."
"Now, if we can get Jill on board with our idea."
Melinda liked the ring of that. Their idea. She shook her head at her temporary foolishness. Sean acting as if he tolerated her for three seconds was far from him getting along with her.
He turned away and gathered up his tools. Without conscious thought, Melinda let her gaze follow him, noting the tightness of the denim on his thighs as he kneeled and the ripple of his cut shoulder muscles as he maneuvered the large, round air compressor cylinder.
He parked it next to the wall and out of the way, and turned with a questioning look. "Any progress on cleaning up your apartment?"
"I got a huge form e-mailed to me from the insurance company. It may take a week to fill it out."
"Joy."
She nodded agreement as Sean folded his plaid-encased arms across his chest and had a stern look gleaning in his eyes.
"Where are you staying tonight?" he asked.
"I'm not sure yet. I'm still working on it." Pleasure teased at the corner of her awareness even as irritation flared. Why was he all up in her business? Did he care that she was comfortable?
"You can't stay here another night," he said. "It isn't safe. You're way too beautiful to be sneaking around in a construction zone with a sleeping bag and hoping to avoid any Peeping Toms staring through the front windows."
"Don't be ridiculous." Melinda's temper sparked at his bossy tone. "It's perfectly safe around here. It's a small town, and we don't have too many creeps hanging around. I'll be fine."
"It's still jammed with tourists and transients. It is risky. You haven't called anyone, have you?"
"No, and it's none of your business, really."
"Well, it will be my business if I come to a jobsite tomorrow morning and find your dead carcass littering up the loft."
"And I thought you were concerned about me. Silly me. I'd hate to inconvenience you."
"Or put my paycheck in jeopardy," Sean said with a tart undertone, but a laugh was lurking in his expression
.
Melinda cracked a smile. "We can't have that now, can we?"
"Seriously, you're not staying here again."
"My apartment is still a mess, and the cleaning crew isn't coming until tomorrow morning." A warm, fuzzy glow built in her stomach. Sean did sound genuinely concerned.
"You should really get a hotel room."
"I called around this afternoon, and everything is booked. There are two different conventions in town." Melinda frowned at the thought of all the lost revenue from a hoard of conventioneers. But, no use crying over spilled milk. "I'll stay here. I'll be fine." She pressed her lips together in a thin line. It wasn't as if she was rolling in spare cash for some lengthy hotel stay.
"Don’t stay here again. There’s got to be one room available," he said. "I'm sure the insurance will reimburse you."
"It's like camping. I think it's kind of fun to pitch my tent here. Besides, there's no commute to work, and who knows when or if I'd ever be able to recoup the costs. I don’t want to count on some homeowner policy."
"Stay with friends then," Sean said.
Perhaps she should couch surf with her friend, Lena Anderson. No, Lena was still in Australia with her handsome beau, Jax Prince. That wouldn't work. What about Esme? Melinda prickled with pride. She hated being beholden to anyone. She did not have her hat in her hand asking for favors or sympathy. She didn't want anyone to feel sorry for her or think she couldn't handle herself.
"No, I don't want to be a burden on anyone, and it's only for another night or two. Nobody's likely to rattle on the door again." Melinda hesitated. Was it dangerous?
"Stay with me, then."
"With you?" Melinda froze.
"I've got plenty of room, and you shouldn't stay here. What if that mystery guy from last night shows up tonight?"
Kiss Me at Last (A Wescott Springs Novella) Page 4