A Hot Winter (New Adult Romance) (The Attraction Series Book 2) (2 page)

“Yup, got it, Dad,” Matt was saying as he headed toward the corner of the hardware store that housed the paints.  “I’m picking up four more cans right now.  That should be enough.”

“No Briar paint, remember,” Joe Winter said.

“Of course, I know,” Matt said absently, suddenly taking notice of a girl in the first paint aisle.  She was perched up on a step ladder reaching for a can off the top shelf.  Her dark brown hair fell a few inches past her shoulders, and when she leaned forward, his eyes fell to her blue jeans. 

His dad was still talking.  “
Winter
White, remember.  That should be easy enough to remember,” Joe threw in with a chuckle. 

Matt just shook his head at the predictable remark; it was hardly the first time his dad had made that pun.  Meanwhile, the brunette was bending down as she started to descend the ladder.  He didn’t mean to stare, but…her curvy, sexy ass was difficult not to notice.  Suddenly, she began to wobble.  Alarmed, Matt realized she was losing her balance, with one hand gripping the shelf and her other arm hugging a heavy can of paint like a football.  “Dad, I gotta go,” Matt said quickly, shoving his phone in his back pocket as he crossed the aisle to help. 

It all happened so fast.  His plan was to offer her a hand, but before he could say a word, she yelped, “Aah!” and stumbled off her step as the ladder began to roll to the side.  Without thinking, Matt caught her waist with his hands to keep her from hitting the floor.  Instantly she grabbed his shoulder for balance while still trying to hold the paint can. 

“It’s okay, I got you,” he assured her, as she managed to grab the ladder again with her foot again, tightening her grip on his shoulder while she worked to steady herself. 

Only after the woman was planted firmly on the second rung, did they make direct eye contact.  Neither said anything for a second.  Then Matt asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” the brunette replied, sounding breathless, blinking at him.  For a moment, Matt was caught in her gaze--struck by her face, by her seductive hazel eyes, her long, dark lashes. It took another second for him to register that his hands were still on her waist; he quickly slid them off, just as she seemed to realize she was still clutching his shoulder.  Abruptly she let go of him. 

“You okay?” Matt said again. 

“Yes.”

With a nod, he stepped back, putting appropriate space between them.

“Thank you so much!” she said with a shaky laugh, clearly still flustered by what had happened, but now searching for the humor in it.

“No problem.  Here, let me take that for you,” Matt offered, reaching for the handle on her can of paint.

With both hands free now, she stepped off the ladder onto the floor, revealing her true height of 5’4”.  She smiled almost sheepishly at him.  “God, how embarrassing,” she murmured, shutting her eyes for a second.

“Not at all.  I don’t know why they put wheels on that thing,” Matt threw in to make her feel better.

“Yeah,” she agreed, as a faint blush came to her cheeks.  He felt his adrenaline spike.  Damn, this girl was pretty.  Certainly not the typical customer he saw at The Hardware Warehouse, where he inevitably spent way too much time.  Matt was always a sucker for brunettes, and this one had luscious curves and an undeniable sex appeal that seemed to reach out and pull on every male impulse he had.

Now, eying the paint can he had just set in her cart, he debated if he should say anything about it.  He probably shouldn’t butt in, but a chivalrous instinct urged him to help her.  “Hey, have you used that brand of paint before?” he asked, motioning to her cart.

“Um…no, I don’t think so, but aren’t they all pretty much the same?”

Although Matt’s immediate thought was:
Not even close
, he kept his tone diplomatic.  “Well, that depends.  Are you in the mood to do about six coats?”

In response, she scrunched her nose--in an adorable sort of way.  “Am I in the mood to torture myself?  Is that your question?”  Now there was a smile working at the corners of her mouth, so Matt grinned, too.  “No.  That sounds horrible.”

“In that case, I’d go with one of those up there,” Matt said, pointing to the rows of cans on the other side of the aisle.  “I’ve used Briar paint before.  The coverage isn’t great.”

“Okay, that’s good to know,” the brunette began, tilting her head up, as though considering how to manage another high shelf. 

“Here, tell me which one you want and I’ll grab it for you,” Matt offered.  One of the perks of being 6’1,” he supposed.  No rickety step ladder for him.

“Thank you so much,” the brunette said on a sigh, as he took the Briar paint from her cart and set it back on the shelf. 

“Sure.  Which color?” he asked.

“Um…”  After a thoughtful scan, she said, “How about that one?  Sherwood Golden Cream.”

Matt hesitated before warning her, “That’s going to come out sort of yellow.  Just so you know.  It’s more banana than cream.”  Hell, he hated to be a know-it-all, but he had the feeling she was a complete rookie where painting was concerned.

She gave a laugh.  “Banana is definitely out.  I need it as neutral as possible.”

“Try the Sherwood Pale Stone,” he suggested.

Now she narrowed those sparkly eyes at him.  “How do you know so much?  Do you work here or something?”

Half-grinning, Matt said, “No.  If I worked here, I wouldn’t steer you away from Briar paint.  It’s more expensive than the others.”

“Good point.”

“And I’d be trying to sell you on pre-finished hardwood instead of engineered,” he added, noting the two big boxes of flooring panels that were nested beneath her cart, as he set a can of Pale Stone in her cart. 

Now she tilted her head and crossed her arms, drawing Matt’s eyes to her ample breasts, pushing against her sweater.  “So you
don’t
work here then,” she remarked.  “You’re just a nice guy?” 

“I try to be,” he said.

She stepped a little closer, smiled up at him.  “I appreciate your help.  I wish I could be as passionate as you about this stuff.”

He couldn’t tell if she was being suggestive or not.  Probably not, but
he
was going to be.  “I
do
have a lot of passion,” he told her, dropping his voice just a fraction.  “Now that you bring it up.”  He saw the faint pink return to her cheeks, and she cleared her throat, before breaking their eye contact.  He didn’t want to come on too strong, so he said simply, “Speaking of work…are you doing all this yourself?”  When she hesitated, he added casually, “Your boyfriend’s not helping you?”

After a pause, she said, “Yes--doing it myself.”

“Doesn’t sound like a very good boyfriend.”

Finally, she answered the implicit question.  “I don’t have a boyfriend.” When Matt’s eyes met hers again, her mouth broke into a playful sort of smile.  “As you can see,” she added with a sweeping gesture toward her cart, “I’m too busy with home repairs for a meaningful relationship.”

Matt grinned.  “I have the same problem.”

Just then a cell phone rang. 

“Oh, that’s me,” she said, reaching for her bag, which was sitting in her cart next to a stack of brushes.  When she saw the number, it seemed to break the flirtatious spell that had been weaving around them.  “I have to take this,” she said, then gave Matt a little wave.  “Thanks again for your help,” she told him, before pushing her cart down the aisle and rounding the bend out of sight.

Just as Emma got off the phone with the pediatrician, she reached Aisle 14, where a guy with a green Hardware Warehouse vest had told her she could find a cordless drill.  As soon as she turned her cart into the aisle, she froze.  It was him!  The cute, charming guy from the paint aisle was standing about thirty feet away, tossing a tool in his cart.  He’d shed his jacket from before; even from here Emma noticed his broad shoulders and the way his biceps strained against the sleeves of his army green tee shirt. 

Instantly, her stomach began to flutter.  They’d already parted ways; it would be totally awkward to run into him again!  Besides, what would she even say?  They’d clearly been flirting a little over in the paint section, but she didn’t expect--or want--it to go anywhere. 

Luckily he hadn’t spotted her yet, so there was still time to back her cart out and bolt.  Except…the universe seemed to have different plans. 

He suddenly glanced over his shoulder.  Just like that, Emma was caught.  Had he felt eyes on him?  Was that why he’d turned?  Either way, as soon as he saw her, he broke into a smile and he called over to her.  “Hey, it’s you.”

Feeling self-conscious, but not wanting to act like an idiot about this, Emma rolled her cart in his direction and gave him a pleasant smile.  “Hi, again.”

His mouth quirked up.  “So you’re following me, huh?”

“No, I swear. I’m not one of those clingy hardware store chicks you read about,” she said.

He gave a laugh. “Yes, I’ve done extensive reading on that.”

“That’s what I figured.”

Without realizing it, Emma continued walking toward him, and he came closer, too.  The space between them shrank in seconds.  “I suppose you want my help in this aisle, too?” he said smugly. 

“Not at all,” Emma insisted.  “For your information, I happen to be an old pro at…um…”  She squinted as she surveyed the nearby shelves. “Those metal twisty looking things.”

His grin widened.  “I never doubted you.”

She couldn’t help smiling.  He was just so charming.  A moment like this could make her fantasize about being younger, freer…basically a different person in an alternate reality. 

“Well…listen…” he said, stepping another half a foot closer to her.  Emma’s heart kicked up and started doing a fast dash against her ribs.  With anticipation and vague fear, she let him continue.  “If you’re not following me,” he went on, eying her with interest, “then it must be Fate, right?  And I wouldn’t want to blow off Fate.”

“No, Fate hates that,” Emma remarked before she could stop herself.

“Exactly,” he agreed.  “So…maybe we could go out sometime?  Or, you know, get a coffee when you’re done here?” 

Emma’s breath caught for a second.  Obviously it took self-assurance to ask a girl straight out like that.  And yet, he’d asked her with a certain reserve, a respectfulness.  There was no cocky swagger about him--there was quiet confidence.

She would say no, of course. 

But she didn’t want to be rude about it, especially after she’d already admitted that she didn’t have a boyfriend.  Surely a little lie wouldn’t hurt since she was never going to see him again.  “I’d really like that,” Emma said.  “Unfortunately…well, the truth is…I’m leaving the country tonight.”  His mouth fell at that.  “I’m moving to France.”  Without a word, he glanced questioningly at her cart, and Emma felt compelled to justify the contents and keep talking.  “It’s only for three months,” she explained.  “I’m doing one of those house swap things.  You know, like in that movie
The Holiday
?” 

Though he nodded, she could tell by his face that he didn’t know what she was talking about; obviously he was nice enough to humor her.  “All this stuff I’m buying is for the woman who’s coming to stay at my house.  See, she’s going to do the renovating and I’m going to live at her house.  Enjoying the countryside, you know, and baking bread.  She runs a little patisserie out of her house,” Emma fibbed.

“In France,” he said.

“Right.  Well it’s more of a
chalet
, I guess,” she improvised.  “If you want to be technical.” 

“I see.” He was obviously disappointed, but being polite about it.

For some reason, Emma added: “But listen, if I weren’t going to France tomorrow, I’d love to go out with you.  It’s just…not realistic right now.”  At least that part was true.

“Sure, I understand.”  With an easy smile, he added, “All right, well, good luck in France.”  When he turned to go, Emma’s heart sank, like a balloon deflating.  He’d given up.  It was settled.  She could hardly be disappointed since that was what she was pushing him to do.

“Hey, I just wanted to say that if…if circumstances were different,” Emma began feebly.  Pointlessly.  “Sometimes it’s just a timing thing.”

“I guess sometimes Fate make mistakes,” he joked.  “Take care.”

“Bye.” 

As soon he rolled his cart away and she was left alone in Aisle 14, Emma wondered if she’d made a mistake.  Should she have made an exception this time? 

No--what?  Of
course
not.  What on earth was she thinking?

Shaking her head, she silently scolded herself for getting so warped over a good-looking guy, a sexy voice, a helping hand and some killer biceps.  It wasn’t even like her. 

Now…back to real life, she thought, as she searched for a cordless drill.

As they walked into their apartment, Andy shucked off her coat and hung it on the rack, while Tragan paused with his arms full of bags.  “Where do you want this stuff, babe?”

“Um, just set everything in the kitchen for now,” she said.  “I’ll sort through it.”

Once Tragan set all the bags down on the table, Andy started separating the groceries from the bags with decorations.  Then she cast him a smile and assured him, “Trust me, you’re going to love it.  I’m going to get the apartment all Christmassed out.”

“Cool.” 

“But I won’t make it
too
crazy,” she promised.  “No life-size reindeer statues.  I don’t care how hard you beg.”

Tragan chuckled as he opened the refrigerator and reached for a bottle of water.  “Hey, babe, do your thing.  I’ve never had Christmas decorations here, so I’m not picky.”

As she pulled a carton of eggs out of the bag, Andy said, “How can you have
never
decorated your apartment?  Don’t you like Christmas?”

“Love it,” Tragan replied, before taking a swig of the water.

“Then it makes zero sense,” Andy commented, then paused with a bunch of kale in her hands.  “Oh, wait--yes it does.”  Tragan lifted his brows, waiting.  “You’re a guy,” she finished.

With a confident grin, he agreed, “Well, there you go.” Then he passed her the water bottle and she took a long drink, before setting it down on the table.  “I just can’t believe I’m starting so late.  We only have a couple weeks left, but I’ve had so much school work.  Time just evaporated this year.

“Listen, don’t stress yourself with this decorating stuff,” Tragan told her, coming up behind her and sliding his hands around her waist.  Immediately, she turned in his arms, then lifted her hands up to run her fingers through his short, messy hair.  “The holidays are supposed to be fun, so no worries, okay?”  His lips brushed hers--gently at first, then more romantically, purposefully.  He murmured, “Hey, you want me to order food for us tonight?”

“Of course not,” Andy replied, leaning into him, “we just bought groceries.”

“Yeah, but you’re not gonna have time to cook anything.”  With both hands he turned her around and started nudging her out of the kitchen, with him very close behind. 

Andy smiled and allowed him to push her in the direction of the bedroom.  “I see…oh, wait.  Actually…”  She turned her head and looked up into his eyes.  “I wanted to take a shower first.”

“Okay.  The way I see it, you have two choices.  Choice A: I go in there with you.  Soap you up, rub you down--and then take you against the shower wall.”

“What’s choice B?” Andy asked a little breathlessly. 

“B involves me being a gentleman and waiting in the bedroom for you.  And then ripping your towel off as soon as you get there.”

Licking her lips, Andy sighed and said, “Decisions, decisions…”

“Your call.”

“Hmm…I like the idea of you being a gentleman,” she admitted.  “
But
…”

“Yeah,” Tragan said, cutting her off, nodding and now nudging her toward the bathroom door.  “Choice A, totally.  Let’s go.”

Just then Andy’s phone buzzed.  She pulled it out of her pocket and looked at the screen.  “Oh, I missed a call from Emma.  By the way, that reminds me, is her job all set up?”

Tragan nodded.  “Yeah.  Bill Thompkins is gonna do it.  He told me he’s stopping by her house later to go over everything and give her a quote.”

“Good.  So what’s he like?  Just so I can give her a heads-up when I call her back.”

Confused, Tragan said, “Like what do you want to know about him?”

Andy didn’t bother asking if the guy happened to be a creepy lurker with a penchant for banal small talk.  Instead, she shrugged and said, “Just give me his basic profile.  Emma’s paranoid about having a guy in her house she doesn’t know, so a quick sketch of whoever is coming would probably set her mind at ease.  Believe it or not, she was actually going to attempt the whole job herself!  That’s how stubborn she can be.”

“Stubborn?” Tragan said, surprised, as he pulled his tee shirt off and tossed it.  “She doesn’t seem like that.”

“Well, Emma is deceptively mellow.  To the average person passing through, she seems acquiescent.  But trust me, she can be really stubborn.”

As he stripped off Andy’s sweater, Tragan said, “All right, let’s see.  Thompkins is in his mid-forties.  Married with kids.  I’ve known him about three years.  He’s a good guy--all about his family.  He won’t bother Emma.  I can guarantee he’ll be all business.”

“Perfect!” Andy said, wrapping her arms around him.  “Thanks, you got the perfect guy to do the job!”

“Good.  Now enough about Thompkins. I’m dying for you right now,” Tragan said, before leaning down to nuzzle Andy’s neck.

Andy sighed and pressed her body against his.  “I’ve missed you, too.  I know it hasn’t been that long, but--”

“Are you
kidding
?”

“It’s been three days!” she said with a giggle.

“An eternity, like I said.”

“I’ll admit…school’s been crazy…” she murmured between kisses.  “…and I’ve missed you so much…”  In seconds he had them both naked.  “I love you.”

Tragan’s voice was low and rumbling when he replied, “I love you, too,” gently sliding his palm over the nape of Andy’s neck, and kissing her again.  “Now hurry up and bring your ass over here,” he said, abruptly hoisting her up and carrying her into the shower.  

Clinging to him, Andy rested her cheek on his shoulder.  “What a poet,” she remarked and Tragan just laughed.