Chapter 2

I recheckthe email from my office secretary and look over the address. When I pulled up to the big white house, I didn't see a car in the driveway. I scan the yard as I get out of my truck, looking for the person I'm supposed to be meeting.

Normally I'm not the one to come out and meet the owner. I've got a couple of crew bosses who handle all of that, and I just manage them. But the email my secretary sent said a woman called and asked for me specifically. She said her sister and her husband had used me recently and left her name and number. I tried to call it this morning but didn't get an answer, so I thought I'd just drive on over at the arranged time.

I grab my measuring tape and notebook so I can write down what the homeowner wants. But when I get closer to the house, I see that what they need done is going to take up more pages than I've got.

"Damn," I say, as I stand in front of it and take it all in. It's a beautiful historic home that needs some love, but homes like these aren"t being built anymore. The person who bought this has definitely found a diamond in the rough, and a project like this makes me excited about what I do.

For the most part a lot of the homes I work on are regular cookie-cutter types. I rarely, if ever, get to work on something like this. The reason I got into construction was because as a kid it was a good summer job and I got to work on my tan. It didn't hurt that I've always been a big guy, and being able to carry lumber is an advantage in my line of work. But becoming the boss means you don't get a lot of hands-on work anymore. Seeing this place up close makes my mind race with possibilities, though. I know right away that this one is mine. I'm not handing this off to my guys. I want to do this one myself.

Walking over to the side, I hear the steps groan from my weight and I pull out my notebook to write it down. I take out my tape measure and write down what size boards I'll need to fix the porch.Then I check out the lights and see the electrical needs to be updated and I start writing a list.

The sound of a car engine and a door closing has me looking up. The sun is directly in my face and I have to put my hand above my eyes to try and block it out. When I do, I see the outline of a redhead walking towards me. I can't make out her face, all I see are curves, and I have to close my mouth to stop from drooling.

"Hey, are you Barrett?" she says, holding out her hand. "I'm Genevieve, but people call me Ginny."

I step to the side so I can get the damn sun out of my face and look at her. She smiles brightly up at me and she pushes her sunglasses on top of her head.

"Um, yes," I say, clearing my throat and extending my hand.

I'm a jumble of thoughts as I slip my rough hand into hers, and I'm impressed when she gives me a firm shake back. Her hand is soft and so much smaller than mine, but I have a suspicion this little thing has some moxie. I let it go and she puts her hands on her hips, drawing my attention there.

"It's okay, most people get us mixed up," she says, and I'm confused. "My sister Gabi and me. We're twins."

"Oh yeah," I say, snapping my eyes back up to hers. It's then I realize she does look similar to her, but definitely way hotter. "She's Neal's wife. Yeah, we went to college together. I did some work for them a few months ago. They had just gotten married." I wasn't thinking that she looked like someone else, I was thinking about how drop dead gorgeous she is.

"Yeah, they didn't waste any time." She smiles, and I swear it's brighter than the sun that just tried to blind me.

"Beautiful," I whisper, and she cocks her head to the house. "The house," I stammer, covering my blatant fumble of words.

"I know," she says, and there's praise in her voice, like the house is her child and it graduated first in its class.

"Why don't you show me around?" I offer, and God help me, I'm using it as an excuse for her to turn around and show me her ass.

"Great," she says, and spins around to unlock the front doors.

"Fuck," I mumble, but she doesn't catch it. I put my fist to my mouth as she walks in the door and I watch her round ass move. It's pulled tight in her jeans and I'm willing to bet everything I have that she thinks it's too big. But that's the kind of fat back end that I'd get down on my knees and worship.

Who is this woman?

"Do you think you can handle it?" she asks as she turns around to face me. Her bright green eyes are looking at me, and I see a blush tint her cheeks.

"Hell yeah," I say, not paying one ounce of attention to what she just said. I was too busy fantasizing about taking her from behind and having her sit on my face.

"That's great." She beams at me, and I would agree to anything to get her to keep looking at me that way.

"Before we get started, is there anyone else we need to consult with?" I ask, making a show of pulling out my notebook. "Husband, boyfriend? You know, just to get their ideas in before I get started." I'm a terrible man, but if she's married I can't do this job. I can't be here surrounded by her and not try to break up a marriage. A boyfriend? Yeah, fuck whoever that might be. But I like to think I'm a good guy.

"Nope, it's just me," she says, and there is a shyness to her voice I hadn't caught earlier.

"That's good." My voice is a little too deep and I try to clear it again. I'm acting like I've never been around a woman before, but this little thing has me shook to my core. And the fact is, I'm relieved she's single. "Why don't you take me through each room and tell me what you want, Genevieve?"

Why does her name sound so dirty in my mouth? Suddenly my mind is like a thirteen-year-old boy's and I'm thinking about what I'd like to do to her in every room.

"Look, Barrett," she says, and I can't take my eyes off her mouth as she moves her tongue. Fucking hell, I might not survive this meeting. "My sister told me that you did great work for her, but I'm on a super-tight budget right now. There's a long list of things, but only one or two I can afford right now. So maybe you could take a look at what needs to be done first?"

"Your wish is my command," I say, and I mean that in every sense of the word.

"Just like that?" she asks, and she looks so sweet and innocent. "You're like a dream come true." As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she puts her hand over it and begins to apologize. "That's not what I meant—"

I can't help but chuckle, secretly loving the way it warms my stomach. "It's fine," I say, and I mean it. Being anything that belongs to her would be a gift. "Let's see the bedrooms."

Watching her ass as she walks upstairs might be my new favorite pastime. I have to grip the railing to keep from falling forward and landing face first in it. My own jeans are too damn tight right now, and I'm going to have to unzip them on the ride home.

She shows me all the rooms upstairs and the bathrooms, too. She talks nonstop about everything she wants to do, and her excitement is clear. This is her dream project, and seeing how happy she is makes me want to do all of it. Today. But everything needs work. Every inch of this house needs love, but something about it feels like home. Like this is a place for a family.

"This place is perfect," I say, leaning against the master bedroom doorframe. "And it's just you all by yourself?"

"Yep, just me. My sister and I used to live together in an apartment, but she and Neal got married pretty quick and then I started looking for a house. I always wanted to own my own home, and this place popped up and it was meant to be. I just love it so much. It feels like a home, doesn"t it? Like a place to raise a family?"

Her words echo my thoughts like she was reading my mind. I smile back at her as we go down to the kitchen.

"Would you like a drink?" she asks, going to the fridge. "Sorry, but all I have is water."

"Yeah, that would be great," I say, thinking of an excuse to stay.

She grabs a glass from the cupboard and goes to the sink to fill it up. When she twists the tap, there's a loud groan from the pipes and then dirty brown water comes out of the tap.

"Shit," she curses, trying to turn it off.

She struggles with the handle, then it breaks off in her hand. Water suddenly sprays out of the snapped pipe, and she screams as she gets soaked. I run over to the sink and open up the space under it, then turn the valves to shut it off.

It takes a second for the stream to stop. When I turn around I'm staring at her white T-shirt, completely drenched, and it leaves nothing to the imagination. Her pink nipples are hard and pointy against the see-through material, and I can make out the delicious curves of her breasts. All I can do is stare at the erotic scene in front of me with my mouth open.

"Shit," she hisses embarrassedly and crosses her arms over her shirt.

"Sorry," I say, and I lick my lips to keep from drooling. But I'm not sorry in the least. That was a sight a priest couldn't look away from, and it's burned into my mind for eternity. "Why don't you get cleaned up and I'll take care of this?" I offer, trying to protect her modesty in some way, even though all I want her to do is pull that shirt up and let me suck her nipples dry.

"I'll be right back," she says angrily as she stomps from the room, and I hate myself for how I reacted.

I should have been a gentleman about it, and maybe I should apologize when she gets back. But I didn't have the strength not to look. She's too damn beautiful and has the body of a porn star. Not to mention the sound of her voice has been driving me crazy. I can't get enough of it.

I grab some tools out of my truck and get to work on fixing the pipe in her kitchen. If I can't bring myself to give her a real apology, the least I can do is fix her sink so it doesn't happen again.