Husband For Hire

by Michele Bardsle

  "I’m not here to filch anything." He paused, gauging her wary gaze. "Unless I could possibly steal your affections."

  The red in her cheeks deepened. She put her hands on her hips and tossed her ponytail. "Steal anything, buster, and I’ll call the cops."

  He laughed, and she looked away, taking a sudden interest in the stove. She turned back, her expression one of annoyance. "Just don’t break anything, okay?" She spun around and stalked out of the kitchen.

  Alex watched the sway of her hips. The shorts molded her firm behind and showed off her long sleek legs. He groaned. He wasn’t going to survive. He opened the freezer and took out another ice cube.

  ***

  Maggie found Gran in what she privately called the "Home Shopping Channel Rejects" room. It used to be the sewing room, but the sewing machine had long since disappeared under the growing pile of junk: Elvis prints; neon-glow blankets; flower-shaped candy bowls; and something called The Atomizer. Gran claimed the pretzel-shaped contraption strengthened thigh muscles. Late morning sunlight streamed through the neon pink blinds, giving a rosy hue to the junk crowded into every available space. Gran pawed through a bright purple trunk, muttering to herself.

  "Alex is looking through the kitchen cabinets," announced Maggie.

  "He’s fixing the squeaky drawers." Gran tossed out an object.

  A black high heel barely missed Maggie. She jumped out of the way of a tennis racket and a crocheted doll. "Gran! What are you doing?"

  "I gotta find my lucky bingo marker. It’s Ultimate Bingo today, you know. Betty Lee’s going with me to the Senior Citizens Center. I need all the luck I can get to beat that hag."

  "Betty Lee is your best friend."

  "Hah! She’s an uppity old broad who dyes her hair. Doesn’t even look good as a blonde."

  Maggie rolled her eyes. "About Alex...."

  Gran looked over her shoulder at Maggie. "Why should I let him go?"

  Despite the fact she hadn’t suggested Alex be "let go," she bristled. "Because he’s...he’s...incompetent." After all, he did bump his head on the drawer. Handymen should know not to do that. "And have you noticed he eats ice? A lot of it."

  "Water’s not exactly scarce. We’re not going to miss a

  few ice cubes. Besides you know what they say about chewing

  ice."

  Maggie waited, but Gran only continued her frantic search. A knitting needle sailed through air, followed by a large stuffed teddy bear. She ought to cancel the cable. Her grandmother was addicted to buying useless products. Maggie sighed. "Okay, I give up. What do they say about eating ice?"

  "Ah-ha!" Gran triumphantly held up the neon green bingo marker. She rose and dusted off her hands.

  Maggie watched as her grandmother straightened the rest of her "bingo" outfit--a mauve pantsuit, short-sleeved white blouse, and low-heeled white pumps. She wore her pearl necklace and earrings. Her grandmother looked charming and fragile--someone right out of a Hallmark card commercial. Affection bubbled through her. Gran grinned. "Chomping ice is a sign of sexual frustration."

  The effervescent Love of Grandma fizzled.

  "I don’t believe you said that."

  "It’s true." Gran nodded sagely. "I’ve been an ice nibbler for years."

  "Heavens above," sputtered Maggie. "I--I don’t want to know. You’re just making that up."

  "Nope." Gran’s eyes twinkled. "What’s the matter, Maggie? You feel an urge to crunch some cubes?"

  "Certainly not."

  "There’s another cure for sexual frustration, you know." Gran tilted her head. "You do know, don’t you?"

  "I’m not discussing it with you," replied Maggie.

  "Why ever not? I was doing it long before you were born. I could probably tell you a thing or two about—"

  "Gran! I refuse to talk about my sex life or lack thereof."

  "Should I come back later?"

  Maggie whirled at the sound of Alex’s voice. The glint in his eye told her he’d heard enough of the conversation to be amused.

  "We’re just talking about Maggie’s--"

  "Feet." Maggie bit her lower lip. "They ache."

  Gran chortled. "It’s her feet that ache, all right."

  A car horn blared. Gran said, "That’s Betty Lee. I’ll see you all later."

  Maggie saw the calculating look Gran sent Alex and she wanted to trip her grandmother. Not a very granddaughterly thought, she knew. Gran swept past them and out the door. Her footsteps clattered down the hall, then the front door banged shut. Maggie clasped her hands together and stared at Alex. He wore jeans and a black T-shirt, which defined his physique in a saliva-inducing show of muscles. He hooked his thumbs through the jean’s belt loops and rocked back on his heels. She inhaled a fortifying breath, then plastered on a smile. "Well. So. I’ll just go...do something."

  The smile curving Alex’s handsome face did not reassure her. She wished he wasn’t blocking the door so she could escape without getting near him. Her knees wobbled when she got too close to him. Surely, if she attempted to slide past, her knees would collapse, she’d topple over, and break her neck.

  "You can get back to work." She shooed him toward the door.

  "I’m on a break."

  "Oh." She felt jittery. And it was Alex’s fault. She pursed her lips. "Well, I need to go..."

  "Do something. I heard you." He spread out his arms. "No one’s stopping you."

  You are,she wanted to shout. She took a step forward, but Alex blocked her.

  She stopped. "What?"

  "Your feet. You shouldn’t walk on them if they ache."

  "They’re fine. Much better now, thank you."

  "I couldn’t let you ruin your insteps or your soles," said Alex in a too-sympathetic voice. His blue eyes gleamed wickedly. "I’ll be happy to assist you."

  "How?" she asked. "I mean--no."

  "I give really great...foot," he whispered, leaning close to her. "It’ll cure your aches."

  Maggie wondered who’d cured his aches, then remembered they were talking about feet. Weren’t they? She shook her head, hoping the motion would realign her thought processes.

  She opened her mouth to tell him no, then caught his gaze. Blue fire dared her to get burned.

  Her mouth went dry. Her knees wobbled. Oh hell. "My feet are off-limits. So are my aches."

  He smiled. The dimple appeared. Maggie briefly wondered about tasting that dimple, then realized she barely knew the man. She wasn’t putting her lips anywhere near that darn indentation. Instead, she tossed him an impatient look.

  "I’m hungry." She saw his eyebrows rise. "For food," she clarified. "C’mon, I’ll fix sandwiches."

  Alex gestured for her to go through the door first, but gave her little room to maneuver. Her breasts brushed against his chest as she edged out the door. Her nipples hardened and her skin tingled and her breath shallowed. She hurried to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator,

  hoping the cool air would revive her. As she grabbed the lunch fixings, Alex leaned against the counter. "You’re grandmother said you were a painter."

  "I’m good at slapping on a coat of paint." Maggie intentionally misunderstood him. Her artistic endeavors were intensely personal and she wasn’t about to discuss them with Alex. Harrison had glanced at her abstract painting of a garden and had said, "Very nice. What is it?"

  Maggie felt Alex’s gaze on her, but she concentrated on the sandwiches. She spread mustard on the bread slices, then unwrapped the ham. "So what did you do before becoming a handyman?"

  "This and that." An emotion flickered in Alex’s eyes as he took the sandwich Maggie offered him. Guilt, she thought. Alex looked guilty. Of what? Maggie didn’t want to believe he’d do something reprehensible. But then she hadn’t believed staid and proper Harrison would dump her, either. She renewed her vow: She would not be a doormat. She opened the refrigerator and took out a couple of sodas. "In a glass or straight from the can?"

  "I’d like mine with ice," said Ale
x. "Lots of it."

  ***

  Alex entered the office, rounded the corner of the one-of-a-kind oak desk, walked past the chrome bar that housed expensive wines, and dodged the mini-conference table with its comfortable wingback chairs. He paused before the large curtainless window. Working on the thirty-second floor had scenic advantages. He looked at downtown and watched busy ant-like people scurry around corners and rush into buildings. Cars turned left or right into the one-way streets that criss-crossed the area. It was Friday, his official day off as Victoria’s handyman.

  Alex returned to the desk, sat down, and leaned back the brown leather chair. He propped his feet on the cherry wood desk. He scanned theDaily Times, and began the morning ritual he’d developed over the years. His orange juice and bagel sat untouched next to the pile of office memos and file folders. Morning sunshine filtered across the huge, dark-paneled office. The soft light crept over his desk as he spread out the folded newspaper. Alex read the same paragraph three times before he gave up. The image of Maggie hanging upside down from the ladder

  intruded on his thoughts. She’d probably never forgive him for seeing her underwear. Lacy red. A seductive color that had become his favorite. He grinned as he remembered t he way she’d plopped on top of him and threatened him with that pitiful karate chop to the throat as if she were a Titan instead of a munchkin.

  Even with mud spattering her face, he’d seen the freckles on her nose. Her red hair had been in a ponytail. In fact, he hadn’t seen her with it down. He wondered how she’d look with it down around her bare shoulders. Alex reigned in his thoughts. Don’t go there, he warned his libido. He would not think about how close her luscious mouth had been to--damn. His blood stirred, pure lust claiming him. Red underwear, sassy lips, and fathomless green eyes should not be enough to justify the raw heat coursing through him. Had it been that long since he’d been with a woman? He looked down at the newspaper, staring at the print. She’d probably use that fake karate chop if she found out he wasn’t really a handyman. He didn’t like being in Victoria Simms’ home under false pretenses. But he had no intent to harm--only the desire to observe. To research.

  Alex heard the click of the doorknob turning, then the door crashed against the wall. His brother entered and stalked toward him.

  Splaying his hands on the desk, Simon leaned forward. "What the hell are you doing, Alex? My secretary just told me the infomercial was canceled."

  "I’m yanking the product, Simon."

  "Are you crazy? We just spent six months and thousands of dollars coming up with the damn thing!"

  "I started this company so I could invent things that help people. America does not need another version of an ice cream scoop."

  Simon’s blue eyes widened. "An ice cream scoop? It’s more than an ice cream scoop." His face smoothed into the buy-this-product-because-I’m-handsome look. That look was why Simon had taken over the public relations and advertising of the business. Simon possessed the uncanny ability of turning every disadvantage into an opportunity. Alex knew his brother’s competitive

  nature had pushed the company to the industry’s forefront. "Alex, this scoop is the next thing in kitchen convenience. The interchangeable cups make it unique. You can use the small one for melon balls and the large one for ice cream. The attachment is pure genius! One click of a

  switch--"

  "I invented it," interrupted Alex. "I know what it does."

  Simon studied him, concern lighting his blue eyes. "Okay, you’re burned out. You need a vacation. Look, I’ll re-authorize the infomercial--"

  "No."

  Alex sighed. Restlessness gnawed at him. He’d lost touch with "average." He’d lost touch with his roots, with himself. "I haven’t lived an ordinary life since...."

  "Don’t glorify the macaroni-and-cheese days, bro. Remember the basement apartment we lived in? The cockroaches were the size of Buicks."

  Alex rubbed his jaw and realized he’d forgotten to shave this morning. Alex turned and met his brother’s gaze. "How’s Danielle?"

  Simon’s frown smoothed at the mention of his wife’s name. "Tired. Happy. Ready to give birth." He smiled. "A few more weeks and I’ll be a papa."

  An emotion snaked through Alex. Oh man. He was jealous. Jealous as hell of his brother’s happiness. The kind of happiness that continued to elude Alex. He wasn’t interested in marriage--or even in finding a wonderful woman. But he still wanted...what?

  "I’ll keep the Automatic Scoop De Loop on wraps--for now." Simon leaned on the desk. "So where have you been this past week?"

  "I’ve been doing research for a new product." Alex crossed to his desk and picked up the newspaper. "I took a job as a handyman."

  "You did what?"

  "It started a couple of weeks ago. I was in the grocery store and I noticed the trouble the elderly had reaching items on the high shelves. I know who I want to help, but I’m not sure how."

  "And being a handyman is going to help?"

  "I saw this old woman--Victoria--post an ad. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to do hands-on research."

  Simon shook his head. "We pay people to do research."

  "It’s important to me. I can’t explain it. I need...inspiration."

  "Geesh, Alex. Why can’t you go to Mexico, drink margaritas, and look at half-naked women for inspiration?"

  "Not every man thinks giggling airheads with big breasts are inspirational," Alex drawled.

  Simon’s blond eyebrows rose in disbelief. "You do need a vacation. You’re delusional."

  Alex smiled. "Just wait and see. Taking this job is the smartest decision I’ve made in years."

  He looked at the paperwork on his desk so Simon wouldn’t see the doubts niggling him. Convenience Unlimited’s next product would be its greatest. After finishing his research, he would not only return the income Victoria insisted on paying him, he’d give her an idea fee

  of some sort. A large fee that would assuage his guilt, delight Victoria, and prove to Maggie his intentions had been honorable all along. Alex relaxed, and shelved the rest of his concerns. As

  soon as he found the perfect convenience product, he’d get out of the house and away from Maggie. Then he wouldn’t have any problems with his conscience...or his libido.

  * * *

  Chapter Four

  "I’ll take the cuckoo clock and the punch bowl set," Gran said into the phone. Her gaze was glued to the home shopping channel blaring on the television. "Give me one of those apple corers, too."

  Alex watched in fascination as Victoria ordered a potato peeler and a cubic zirconia ring. He hoped she was spending her bingo winnings. He frowned. How could she afford all this stuff?

  He’d joined her in the living room, which was adjacent to the parlor where he’d been "interviewed" a mere ten days ago. Victoria occupied the comfy pink wingback to the left of the equally pink couch, where he was stretched out. Maggie had spent the last three days avoiding him. He didn’t mind...much. She’d apparently decided him trustworthy enough to leave him alone for a while. Unfortunately, his concentration was shot to hell because he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

  How could he devise the next best thing for the American household if he couldn’t even think straight? He sighed.

  "Ooh," squealed Victoria. "I need a set of Kookie Kutters."

  Alex straightened and looked at the television. Kookie Kutters was his product. He’d designed them over a year ago in a fit of whimsy. They were cookie cutters with a "theme." He’d created several different kinds, but the Birthday Bonanza was his favorite. The largest cutter,

  about the size of a cookie sheet, was a birthday cake. The smaller cutters included shapes of balloons and presents. The idea was to introduce a bit of fun and "art" into parties. Once decorated and arranged, the cookies beat the hell out of plain old cake and ice cream.

  "I want the Wild Wedding set," said Victoria. She slanted a look at Alex. "Better include the Baby Bunches set, too."

&nb
sp; Unease skittered up his spine. He shifted on the couch, wondering why he had a sudden urge to pack his bags. He shook off the feeling. Guilt did that to a man. He looked at Victoria, who still gleefully ordered items. Why didn’t he just tell her and Maggie the truth?

  Victoria would probably understand. Maggie probably wouldn’t. He shouldn’t have let them believe he was a handyman. He should have just asked outright if he could do research in their home. In his experience, though, the minute someone found out he was an inventor, they had an idea they wanted to run by him. People aware of his project would have all sorts of suggestions, he was sure. He knew he wouldn’t find inspiration around people who acted either self-conscious or overly helpful.