Be My Midnight Kiss

by Jean Brashear

  “Come soon, Stephanie.” His tone edged into husky.

  She shivered a little in anticipation as she wrote down the address and ended the call.

  For a few moments, she stared out the window at a crisp, cool day that somehow seemed a little brighter.

  Chapter Seven

  Of course the woman would show up for manual labor wearing skinny jeans and a cropped tank that bared teasing glimpses of her smooth, taut belly, topped by some fuzzy sweater that probably cost the earth. On her feet were high-heeled ankle boots.

  Gavin groaned silently. She would cost him his sanity, no question.

  But oh, she did look delectable.

  “You live practically in the country,” she accused. She glanced around. “Your house is falling down, too.”

  Gavin couldn’t help laughing. “Good afternoon to you, too.” Then, unable to resist, he swooped in and placed a kiss on that sulky, sexy mouth of hers.

  Stephanie sighed one breathy little moan, and it was all he could do not to snatch her up, to bear her inside and down on his bed. Heaven help me.

  “I’ll have you know that the exterior of my house is deceptive. The paint is only a primer until I figure out what colors I want. I have in mind a stained glass in that octagonal window above the porch roof, but I haven’t yet found the right one.”

  He continued, “I’ve focused first on reinforcing the structure, then on making space livable inside. I will admit, though, that Wyatt believes I should have razed the entire structure.” He grinned. “But he’d be wrong. I found loblolly pine floors beneath ancient scarred vinyl, and there are crown moldings that were hand-carved.”

  She clung to her pose of nonchalance. “If you say so.”

  “Would you care to see for yourself?”

  She hesitated. “You really like all this stuff, don’t you? I mean—” She gestured around at his garden and the evidence of new trees he’d planted, shrubs he’d moved. “It’s all kind of Little House on the Prairie or something.”

  “You a fan of Laura Ingalls Wilder?”

  “You know who she is?”

  He rolled his eyes. “There’s more than one barn on my homeplace, but I wasn’t born in one. I went to school. I read.”

  “Sorry.” She shrugged. “I used to think they were kind of amazing. There was Pa and Ma and their kids, and they raised chickens and cows and—” She halted. “Well, anyway, you’d be right at home there.”

  He wove his fingers into hers and tugged her along. “This is how I lived back home. We grew our vegetables, my mama had hens for the eggs, Dad raised dairy cows. We all pitched in. With eight children, it was necessary.”

  She caught up with him. “Eight kids? Wow. I was an only child.”

  And didn’t that loneliness shadow her?

  “Which were you?” she asked. “Don’t tell me—the oldest, since you’re so bossy.”

  He grinned. “You’d be wrong. I’m the black sheep and square in the middle. An elder sister and two brothers, all raising families; two younger sisters, one married with a third baby on the way and one at college now. My two younger brothers are also bachelors but have at least stayed nearby, as my mama thinks I should have.”

  “At least they care.”

  “Your family isn’t close?” The pain in her voice disturbed him, and he wanted to know more.

  She snorted. “I don’t have one.”

  “No one?”

  “My sperm donor left when I was little. I don’t remember him.” She looked away. “Unfortunately, my mother couldn’t forget him. So she used whatever drug was handy until she found her way out of a life she hated.”

  “How old were you?” He was outraged on her behalf.

  “Sixteen. It was a relief, really. Nothing I did ever fixed her.”

  “You had no other family?”

  She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I made it. I don’t think about it anymore.”

  But she did, clearly, despite her bravado. Gavin’s protective instincts surged. What had she endured once she was completely alone? What had her life been like before?

  “They didn’t deserve you,” he said fiercely. When Steph didn’t look at him, he took her chin and turned her face to his.

  Her eyes widened. “You’re angry,” she marveled. “At them.”

  “Of course I am. You were a child, and you should have been cared for. Did you ever have a real home?”

  “Lots of people don’t, Gavin. You just…deal.” She glanced around her. “Nothing like this, that’s for sure.” She met his gaze and laid her palm against his jaw. “But thanks for being upset for me.” Her eyes were as soft as he’d ever seen them.

  Upset? He was horrified. Furious because she was still so alone. He wanted to sweep her up in his arms and shield her.

  Before he could, she turned away and studied his house. “So…explain to this city slicker exactly what you’ve done.” Her tone made it clear she was done talking about the past.

  He’d let it go for now. He already understood her well enough to know she wouldn’t appreciate his pity. So he made himself turn his own attention to his house, but he didn’t relinquish her hand. “Allow me to introduce you to my lifetime home improvement project,” he gestured with his free arm. “Please place a donation in the jar by the door at the end of the tour, should you be so inclined. The homeowner is constantly in jeopardy of impoverishment.”

  Steph grinned up at him and managed a passable curtsy. “Do lead on, my good man.”

  “Certainly. But mind your step, miss.” Though Gavin realized that the advice might more properly belong to him. What he’d learned still had him reeling.

  And every glimpse of the heart behind the brittle façade made keeping his distance a little more difficult.

  “So what about the project you mentioned?” Steph asked at the end of the tour as she stared at a piece of equipment Gavin called a router. She could barely imagine how the crown molding above their heads had come from this tool. Or what creating it had required. “Don’t you need to get back to it? Should I go?” In truth, however, she was more intrigued than she’d expected. She’d never given a second thought to how a structure was built, much less that all the pieces hadn’t come from some factory.

  Plus focusing on this meant he wouldn’t be asking her more about her past.

  Or feeling sorry for her.

  “There’s time,” he replied. “Want to see what I’m doing?”

  “Why not?”

  He led her outside to a frame building, a sort of garage that was also only painted with primer.

  “So will the primer be enough to protect the house and this? Isn’t the weather hard on them?”

  “It is, but the primer will serve for now. I have to choose my priorities. There’s only me, and I don’t want to borrow money, so I have to earn as I go. I’ll need several days together to paint the place all at once, and doing so is critical to get the best effect.”

  “But it doesn’t drive you crazy that everything’s not done?”

  “Anything truly worthwhile often needs patience.”

  “You have a lot of it, don’t you?” She frowned. “I don’t get that. My view is that you have to grab for everything as soon as you get the chance. You never know what will disappear and never come back.”

  He’d taken her hand again, and she found that she liked the sensation of his big hand swallowing hers. “Perhaps what’s available for the grabbing isn’t worth keeping,” he said. “Slow is better.”

  Not to me, she was about to say when he opened the door to his—well, obviously not a garage. Tools of all sizes and descriptions were placed strategically around the floor or arranged on the walls. “Wow. What is all this?”

  “The instruments of my trade. This,” he indicated one that had a wicked saw blade sticking out of its flat surface, “Is a table saw. That is a band saw, and over there is a lathe.”

  “What’s a lathe do?”

  “Do you recall the missing balus
ters in the staircase? I’m replacing them with matching ones I turn on this.”

  “Really? How?”

  He reached for a block of wood about three feet long and square. “I begin with this.”

  “I can’t picture how that could become like the ones I saw. Would you show me? I mean, is it too much trouble?”

  His eyes warmed. “Not at all. First put on these—” He handed her a set of goggles, then donned his own. “And these hearing protectors.”

  Once they were both armored, Steph’s own voice sounded odd to her as she stepped up beside him and watched him fasten the long piece at each end. Then his hands went unerringly to a tool with a wooden handle and a curved metal shaft. On the end, it was rounded.

  “This is a spindle gouge.” He pointed to a spot on the other side of the machine. “You stand over there. This—” he indicated a flat metal edge he adjusted to come closer to the block “—is called a skew.”

  When Steph was in place, he flipped a switch and the wood began spinning. Gavin rested the handle of the tool at an angle on the skew. With deft hands, he leaned the tool in and out, and wood shavings all but leapt off the block in long curls. Beneath his hands began to appear graceful curves she could never have imagined creating from a block of wood.

  “That’s incredible.”

  “What?” He flipped the switch.

  “Sorry.” She stepped back, but she couldn’t help wanting to touch. “I hope I didn’t interrupt at a bad time.”

  He studied her and the hand that was rising by her side. “Come over here. You can help.”

  “Me? Oh, no, I couldn’t—”

  “I know you’re curious, and there’s no substitute for the feeling of the wood under your hands.”

  “But it’s beautiful. I’ll mess it up.”

  He shrugged. “I have more material.”

  She was torn between longing and fear. “I won’t be good at it.”

  “Do you only do things you’ve already mastered? I think not. You weren’t born an executive.”

  “Some would say I was born to be bossy.”

  “And there I won’t disagree,” he said with a smile. “Still, surely you’ve attempted the unfamiliar.”

  “I learned kickboxing,” she admitted. “I’m really good at it—want to see?”

  “Maybe later. For now, let’s find out if there’s a woodworker lurking within you.”

  “Okay.” Truth be told, she really did want to try it. She assumed the place he indicated in front of him and tried to imitate his two-handed grip, one beneath and one over the tool, guiding it.

  “Hold it firmly but keep your body relaxed.” He arranged himself behind her, his big body both a comforting and disturbing presence. “You’ll need to be both flexible and vigilant. No piece of wood is uniform throughout. Its textures and composition differ from spot to spot. Keep the spindle gouge slightly loose in your fingers, but clasp it carefully enough so that the turning doesn’t dislodge it. I wouldn’t want to see a scar in this lovely exterior of yours. Notice the edges of the tool. They’re wicked sharp.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t…”

  “Here, place your hands in mine, and we’ll begin together so you can acquire a feel for this.”

  She fought past her awareness of his big, warm hands, of his hard body a shelter around her. She narrowed her eyes, staring hard and steeling herself.

  Gavin kissed the side of her neck, jolting her.

  “What was that for?”

  “Don’t tense up. Light on your feet, fluid in your motions.”

  Steph inhaled one good, deep breath. “Okay, I’m ready.” I hope.

  Gavin flipped the switch and drew her hands with his closer until the blade touched the wood. Steph gasped and jerked. The spindle gouge slipped, goring a crooked line in the wood before he pulled her hands back. “Sorry.”

  “You’re doing fine. There’s an entire forest sacrificed to my learning. Now relax against me, and let’s begin again.”

  Relax. Against him.

  Yeah, right. But she tried, and he was a good teacher. Soon her fascination was great enough to overcome most of her extreme awareness of his body touching hers. She focused and watched the curves form under her hands—

  It was her hands doing this, she realized with a jitter. Gavin had let go, though he still stood right behind her, his body big and warm and—

  Another crooked groove. “Sorry.” Focus, Steph. She redoubled her efforts and moved the tool along the wood as she’d watched him do, weaving in and out and fashioning a curve not nearly as beautiful as his own, but not a total loss.

  She pulled away and studied the piece still whirling in front of her. “Not bad, huh?”

  Gavin leaned into her to flip off the switch. “Pretty damn good, in fact.”

  “For a beginner?” she asked, turning toward him.

  His eyes were hot on her mouth, then flicked to hers. “Accept your due, Stephanie. You did well.”

  Though her insides jangled, her rush of triumph overrode them, and she had to smile, throwing her arms wide. “I loved it!”

  “Careful, now.” He plucked the instrument from her hand, but just as she would have retreated, he took a step toward her, and she lost her breath.

  She hastened to cover her intense reaction to him. “Can I do another one?” Then she experienced a moment of unfamiliar shyness. “If you can spare the wood, I mean.”

  Those blue eyes saw too much. As happened so often, she had the sense that Gavin O’Neill understood her in ways that disturbed her.

  Fortunately for her, he stepped away then, just before she could decide whether to yield to the kiss they were both obviously dying for or to run for her car before things got out of hand.

  He turned back with another piece of wood. “All right. Let’s try this one. It’s oak, not pine. You’ll want to pay attention to the difference in them.” He went on to discuss those differences as he removed the turned piece and replaced it with the block.

  And Steph couldn’t decide whether to be miffed or relieved that she’d dodged that bullet.

  “Why would you need a wife?” Steph asked much later after a delicious dinner. “You’re a really good cook, too. What can a woman do for you that you can’t do for yourself? I can’t believe you actually baked that bread.”

  Gavin settled beside her in the porch swing, looking down at her with a knowing grin on his face.

  “Well, sex, sure, but you don’t need marriage for that.”

  He chuckled and rested his arm behind her. “Man was not made to live alone.” He glanced over at her. “Woman, either.”

  “You’re wrong. I prefer to be on my own.” She lifted a shoulder. “Some of us just aren’t meant for the long term.”

  Gavin smiled indulgently, then set the swing in motion with a shove of one foot. “For an intelligent woman, you don’t make one lick of sense sometimes.”

  Steph elbowed him in the belly, but that didn’t faze him.

  “Protest as you will, sugar, but you know I’m right.”

  “I do not.” She frowned and glanced over at him again as the feel of his belly registered. The man had a six-pack, she would swear. Suddenly she really, really wanted to see him out of that flannel shirt and the t-shirt beneath.

  “What has that lovely brow so wrinkled?”

  “You. You weren’t supposed to be sexy, damn it.”

  “What?” He did a double-take, then guffawed. “How is one man supposed to keep up with that odd mind of yours?”

  “You’re big,” she accused.

  “I am. Exactly what am I supposed to do about that?”

  “Nothing.” She crossed her arms over her stomach and harrumphed. “My type is lean and dangerous.”

  Gavin sighed and set them swinging again. “You have no idea what your type is.”

  “I suppose you think it’s you.”

  He captured her chin. “Why on earth would I want to make myself miserable, getting involved with a diffic
ult woman like you? Last I looked, I hadn’t taken leave of my senses.”

  Stung, Steph didn’t respond. How could she argue? She was difficult. And okay, maybe sometimes she was tired of being so on edge all the time, but… He was so not her type, she reminded herself. A man who worked with his hands, who gardened and cooked. Who wanted some country girl type and had no taste for night life, for the dangerous edge of risk.

  “What’s going on in that serpentine brain?” he asked.

  “Nothing. I should go,” she said abruptly. “I never meant to spend the whole day here.”

  “Coward.” His face was deadly serious.

  “I most certainly am not.”

  He merely arched one eyebrow. “You know there’s something between us, and you run rather than face it.”

  “Face what?” she scoffed. “You won’t even kiss me. Who’s the coward?”

  His normally affable manner vanished completely. In a blink, he’d plucked her from her seat and settled her on his lap. Slid one big hand to cradle the back of her head.

  And kissed the living socks off her.

  For a second, she froze.

  Then she dove in. To take control, she’d thought—but control wasn’t in the cards. She dug her hands into his sides and felt muscles even more impressive than she’d realized. For all that Gavin looked stocky, he actually had great muscle definition. She’d had a fling with a bodybuilder once, and Gavin’s torso and arms, not the product of steroids, she was sure, would have made that guy jealous.

  Within seconds, she found herself surrounded by arms made of iron, snug against a big, warm body that felt like the haven she’d been seeking all of her life.

  Gavin groaned and deepened the kiss, and Steph followed him into a special, private place she’d never visited…never even imagined. She slid her arms around his neck and pressed closer against him, wondering if she’d ever kissed a man before who’d taken her on such a rollercoaster ride of emotions, spanning the spectrum in seconds.

  But she knew the answer already. There was only one Gavin. And she didn’t know what to do with him.

  Finally, it was Gavin who drew away, and Steph who whimpered and pulled him back. He resisted, though she felt his body’s vivid response to her. He set her back a few inches, both of them breathing hard, then leaned his forehead against hers.