Good with his hands.
Kane looked at his palms, trying to imagine how his work-worn, callous hands would compare with the uppity doctor’s long, graceful fingers that meticulously saved lives. Meh.
Flannel.
He glanced at his open closet and the soft plaid shirts hanging in order by color. He had a feeling the prim Navy captain meant the man she was looking for must prefer wearing flannel pajamas or some other conservative outfit to bed.
Kane stretched out under his quilt and tried not to grin at how shocked Just Julia would be if she could see the complete lack of flannel between his sheets right now. Or the complete lack of any material, for that matter.
The sudden thought of the attractive woman seeing him naked in bed caused an unexpected response, and Kane had to shift his computer lower on his lap.
Speaking of lists, maybe he should rethink the set of rules he’d laid out for himself. Specifically, the one about him not dating his clients. Or thinking about their damp blond hair pulled back away from their high, flushed cheekbones.
Kane shook his head, trying to envision Just Julia in plain blue scrubs and an oversize white coat. If he concentrated hard enough, maybe he could imagine her green eyes looking through him, instead of being dilated from physical exertion and rounded in surprise when she’d glanced up from her cell phone and collided with him in the hospital hallway earlier today.
He slammed the laptop closed in frustration, then remembered their conversation and her plan to move into her house in a week. Kane needed to get as much work as possible done before then so he wouldn’t have to risk running into her upstairs. Near her bedroom. He opened the computer again and logged on to the building supply store’s website to place an order for the tiles.
That done, he set his laptop off to the side and turned out his lamp, knowing he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep for a long time. After a few minutes, he pulled the laptop over again, opened his email account and finally sent her a reply, using as few words as he dared.
Ordered tile. Should be in stock next Wed. Then, at the last second, he couldn’t help adding, Kitchen not done. Maybe that would stall her and he could buy himself some more time. And avoid running into the pretty doctor at all costs.
* * *
Julia carried the last box down the stairs from her officer’s quarters and shoved it into the backseat of her red MINI Cooper. How sad was it that all of her personal belongings fit into a car with the cubic space of a safe-deposit box? Well, technically, the attic at the Georgetown house was filled with family heirlooms and photo albums and her parents’ personal effects. Yet none of that had ever really felt like hers.
Still, she would have to face that mess eventually, or have one of her attorneys face it for her and send her an invoice. She looked at her watch and estimated that the sun would set before she made it to Sugar Falls. She’d purposely timed her move-in day to be more of a move-in evening. That way she wouldn’t have to see Kane Chatterson and risk him asking her in person if she’d gotten a cookbook like she’d promised her Aunt Freckles.
By the time she pulled onto Pinecone Court thirty minutes later, her stomach was empty, yet she was eager to see what progress had been made on her house. When she saw the Ford Bronco parked along her curb, now sporting a dull gray paint color instead of its usual rust spots, she wanted to throw her gearshift straight into Reverse.
Instead she took a deep breath and ordered her tummy to quit thrashing around. She would really need to become accustomed to seeing Kane sporadically. After all, she’d hired the guy to remodel her house. She couldn’t very well let her abdominal muscles get all tight and contracted anytime she saw his ugly old car.
She wasn’t some lovesick nineteen-year-old anymore, thinking an affair with her college professor was the real deal. In fact, technically speaking, she was Kane’s boss. She was a Navy officer, trained to issue orders. And she was an accomplished surgeon, known for her steady hand and her even steadier nerves. If she could command an operating room full of experienced hospital staff, Julia could certainly handle one small-town contractor who barely said more than a few words to her—even if his eyes drank her in as though they knew every inch of her body intimately.
She parked in the narrow driveway, then grabbed her leather satchel and one of the boxes out of the backseat and made her way up to the front porch and inside. She heard music coming from upstairs and smelled something garlicky drifting out of the kitchen area. She set the box down in the front parlor and climbed the newly finished stairway, uncertain if she should be walking on the freshly stained steps. But then she realized they must be dry, since someone was upstairs and had to have walked on them already.
She followed the sound of Duke Ellington—her classical cello instructor would’ve frowned at her recognizing the piece—toward her bedroom and stepped into the well-lit area, relieved that the antique chandelier had been installed already. When she got to the bathroom door, she froze. Kane Chatterson, wearing faded jeans and nothing but paint splatters on his torso, was standing behind her claw-foot tub, one well-defined muscular arm poised with a paintbrush above the top sill of the window frame.
With an effort, she ignored the weakness in her legs and drew in one ragged breath after another.
Each stroke of his hand matched the swaying tempo of the music coming from the cordless speaker propped up on the bathroom vanity. The muscles of his back moved in an orchestrated rhythm with the jazzy strains of a piano. The darkness outside made his reflection in the window almost mirror-like, and she saw the deep-set focus in his eyes, his concentrated brow and the hard lines of his set jaw. She could also see that he was completely transfixed in his own little world and had no idea she was there.
The professional in her wanted to cough or turn down the jazz music or do something to draw his attention to the fact that he wasn’t alone. Unfortunately, her body wasn’t behaving so professionally. Desire curled around her, squeezing so tightly it threatened to cut off the oxygen supply to her brain. Thank God the man was focused too intensely to witness her intrusion on his workspace because Julia didn’t think she could’ve taken a step.
She had no idea how long she stood there, just as absorbed in his movements as he apparently was in his painting. A softer, slower saxophone-based song switched on the moment his eyes met hers, and Julia wasn’t sure if the dizziness in her head was from the paint fumes or from the way he looked at her.
Chapter Four
Kane was so engrossed in what he was doing, he had no idea how long Julia had been standing there waiting for him. He struggled to get those old feelings of embarrassment in check before turning away from the window and pretending not to care that she’d caught him completely off guard. Noting her surgical scrubs were covered by a soft purple cardigan sweater, he let out a breath, equally relieved and disappointed that she wasn’t wearing her exercise outfit.
“Hey,” he said, before coughing and clearing his throat. He set the paintbrush down in the tray and walked over to his iPhone to turn off his playlist. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”
“It’s seven o’clock,” she said, her green eyes round and fringed with spiky lashes.
Kane pulled his late Grandpa Chatterson’s antique gold watch out of his pocket and snapped it open—more as something to redirect his focus than to actually check the time. “Wow. I must’ve really been in the zone.”
At least, that’s what his dad called it whenever Kane would tune out the rest of the world to the point that someone could ask him if he wanted a million dollars and he’d ignore the question. His mom called it hyperfocusing. He called it a pain-in-the-butt symptom of his ADHD.
“I, uh, didn’t mean to startle you,” she said, but he noticed she wasn’t looking at him when she spoke. Correction: she was definitely looking at him, just not at his face. The skin across his bare chest tightened
, causing his pectoral muscles to flex slightly. He remembered her list and wanted to suggest she add something about physical attraction as a quality she might appreciate in a man. Not that he considered himself all that attractive, but after several years of playing professional sports and living out of hotels, plagued by groupies and jersey chasers, he knew when a lady was sizing him up. Or at least when he hoped she was.
“That’s a decently sized incision, there,” she said. Not cut. Not wound. Incision. So maybe the doctor wasn’t sizing him up so much as taking a professional interest in his anatomy. An unexpected feeling of disappointment washed down his torso. “When did you have a full shoulder replacement?” she asked.
He squinted at his shoulder before looking at her doubtfully. Maybe she did know who he was after all. She’d have to be living under a rock to not know, but the few times he’d met Just Julia, he’d gotten the impression that was where she liked to keep herself hidden. “So you heard about my surgery?”
“No. I can tell from your incision.”
Of course she could. Otherwise she wouldn’t have asked when he’d had it. Rather than making himself look like more of an idiot, he tried to concentrate on her words as she kept talking. “Your surgeon used the extended deltopectoral approach, which is normally only suitable for total shoulder replacement with an open reduction and internal fixation of a proximal humeral fracture.”
He ran his hand across the lower half of his face, but that didn’t make him resent her easy use of fancy medical jargon any less. “You sure like to use a lot of big words, doc.”
“Here,” she said, walking toward him. He tried not to flinch when she traced her finger along the pink scar tissue. “Your incision extends from the outer end of your clavicle to the coracoid and follows the medial edge of the deltoid muscle.”
She must’ve mistaken his annoyance for a lack of understanding since she was now restating the obvious as though he hadn’t been the one to undergo the procedure. However, he couldn’t be sure since he could barely hear her voice over his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. The soft caress of her cool finger was making gooseflesh rise on his exposed skin.
“Why would someone your age need such an extensive surgery?” she asked, and he could feel the warmth of her breath.
Would she believe him if he said “car accident”? Probably not. Dr. Smarty-Pants was proving to be too damn intelligent for Kane’s own good. But right this second, with her finger still tracing his scar and sending shockwaves throughout his body, he really didn’t want to think about the pissed off player who’d charged the mound and attacked him with a Louisville Slugger. “Random baseball bat injury.”
“Hmm.” His eyes were drawn to her mouth. She didn’t wear an ounce of makeup, not even lipstick, but the pink fullness of her upper lip was enhanced by the deep bow in the center. “That must have been quite a baseball bat. Still...”
When she shook her head, Kane caught a whiff of her shampoo, and he was reminded of the coconut and mango smoothies he’d loved as a child when his family used to vacation in Hawaii. He leaned in, his face hovering closer to hers. “Still, what?”
“It’s just that even blunt force trauma from a bat wouldn’t necessitate a full shoulder replacement. Usually a humerus fracture is associated with pathological fractures and osteoporosis. You must’ve been diagnosed with early-onset osteoporosis.”
It was as if she’d dumped a bucket of cold Gatorade over his head. He immediately took a step back, already regretting how close he’d let her get. Of course his shoulder had already suffered extensive damage just from the long-term wear and tear he’d put on it as a professional pitcher, but he hadn’t been willing to listen to the professionals. He had no one to blame for that but himself. Arturo Dominguez and his temper were the icing on Kane’s arthritic cake.
“I guess so,” he said and pivoted on his booted heel. Not wanting to talk about his career-ending injury or the preexisting condition trainers had warned him about, and definitely not wanting to breathe in the heady fragrance of her tidy blond ponytail, Kane walked over to the corner where he’d left his tool bag and pulled on his discarded T-shirt. “I was just finishing up with the bathroom so it would be all set for you to move in. As you can see, the rest of the house is still a work in progress.”
He grabbed the tray of paint and almost slammed his finger shut in the ladder before hauling it out of the room, bumping it on the banister as he hurried out. He didn’t have to turn around to know that she was following him downstairs, to a less intimate part of the house. Thankfully.
“The master bedroom and bath are perfect,” she said, and he tried not to let the compliment go to his overthinking head. “They’re way better than I could’ve hoped for. You even got the stairs done, so I won’t have to worry about my clogs falling through any of that rotted wood.”
He looked back at her purple shoes, thinking those things needed more than a hole in the floorboards to cover up their ugliness. Instead, he asked, “Do you need some help carrying your stuff inside?”
“No, that’s okay. I only have a couple more boxes in my car. Besides, I saw the pizza sitting on that table thingy in the kitchen and I wouldn’t want to keep you from your dinner.”
“Actually, that’s your dinner,” he said, following her gaze toward the plywood-covered sawhorses and the white cardboard box with the name Patrelli’s stamped on top. “Your aunt picked it up from the Italian restaurant in town and dropped it by here a while ago. She said to keep it warm in the oven for you, but as you can see, no oven yet.”
Julia didn’t respond and he hoped she was rethinking this whole move-in-while-he-was-still-working-here idea. Not that she needed an oven to heat things up in here. Kane doubted his body could take any more intense encounters like the one in the master bathroom a couple of minutes ago. Her face had been inches from his, her mouth way too close for comfort. His blood was still on fire from the way she’d been staring at him.
Leave, Chatterson, he thought. Get out before you do something else you’ll regret. He dropped off his supplies in the mudroom and, on his way back through the kitchen, gestured toward the custom-ordered cabinets wedged together under a few drop cloths. “I planned to start installing the cupboards tomorrow, but you’ll still need to pick out the appliances before it’ll be up to Freckles’s standards.”
She squished up her nose, making the bow shape of her upper lip more pronounced. “I’ve been putting that off because I’m really not much of a cook. Yet. But I guess a refrigerator would come in handy.”
Was it cockiness that made her think she could master cooking just as easily as she mastered his orthopedic diagnosis? Playing baseball professionally, he’d encountered his fair share of arrogance, and something about Just Julia’s demeanor didn’t give him that impression about her. Still, her aunt had suggested Dr. Smarty-Pants wasn’t used to failing at anything, and because Kane knew firsthand what it was like to fall from grace, he didn’t say anything else on the subject.
He walked over to the small cooler he kept near the pantry. “Can I offer you some water or a Gatorade?”
It sounded odd for him to be offering the woman anything in her own home. But judging by her man list, she probably wasn’t used to entertaining male guests. Yet. No doubt that was simply another task Just Julia would attempt to master.
The thought of her bringing a guy here made his fingers squeeze the extended water bottle so tightly, the sealed lid threatened to pop off.
“No, thank you. I have a bag of drinks in my car.” Then, as if a lightbulb had popped on in her head, she asked, “Would you like some of this pizza? I won’t be able to eat it all.”
His stomach answered with a small rumble, and Kane realized he hadn’t had anything to eat since before noon. Another side effect of his attention deficit disorder—forgetting to stop and take breaks usually caused his body to punish him lat
er.
Plus, he had a sneaking suspicion, probably fueled by Freckles’s pointed comments, that Julia might be a little lonely. Not that he’d expected a moving truck and a parade, but it seemed kind of sad that on a Friday night, nobody was here to help her move into her new place. “Sure. Why don’t I help you get the rest of your stuff out of your car, and we can eat after we unload.”
“I’d appreciate that. Thanks.”
It was asinine to stay another minute under the same roof as the woman, let alone share a meal with her. But if Julia was determined to live here during the remodel, then Kane would have to get used to seeing her and not acting upon this impulse to pull her into his arms and show her exactly what her presence did to his self-control.
He followed her outside and almost tripped on a cardboard box partially hidden by the overgrown grass. “Damn, it’s the showerhead I ordered for the master bath. I was going to install it this afternoon, but I must not have heard FedEx delivering it.”
Julia shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. At least the tub is working. I was actually looking forward to taking a long, hot bath tonight, anyway.”
And with that seemingly innocent statement, Kane was again brought back to that moment in her bathroom a few minutes ago when he’d caught her reflection in the window above the tub. His body hardened before he could command his brain to relax. He had absolutely no business imagining Just Julia stripped down naked, submerged under a cluster of bubbles. He had no business imagining her in any way at all.
“Here,” she said, handing him a small grocery bag. “This should be light enough for you to handle.”
He immediately felt the sting to his pride. “I can carry more than this.”
“But what about your shoulder?”
“My shoulder’s never been better.” To prove his point, he grabbed another box and a bag of what he assumed was more hospital scrubs. “Where’s the rest of your stuff? Is it coming later?”
The Makeover Prescription Page 5