Come On Over by Debbi Rawlins Page B

was his mug, anyway? He turned and saw it on the counter near the stove. After replacing the cold brew he resumed his post.
    â€œWow, this pipe is old.” With her arms stretched back, the shirt’s worn fabric cupped her breasts. “And stubborn.”
    He refrained from commenting, too busy watching her and thinking things he shouldn’t be thinking.
    A thud cut him off. Metal clanged against metal.
    â€œShelby?” He dropped to his haunches, sloshing coffee everywhere, including her jeans.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou okay?”
    â€œFine. I told you, it’s this old pipe...” She muttered a curse. “Why are you still here?”
    This was his house and he’d leave when he was darned good and ready. She shifted, giving him a glimpse of smooth toned belly just below her navel. His splashed coffee had gotten her T-shirt. A wet spot had spread across her hardened left nipple.
    Trent shot to his feet. “I’ll be outside. Watch out for the disposal. I put it in myself.”

8
    B Y MIDAFTERNOON S HELBY was disappointed that she hadn’t seen Trent. Having fixed the leak, she’d wanted to gloat. Nothing too obnoxious. Just a smug nod of her head would be fun. Or a perfectly intoned “well, yeah.” She’d even decided she might not be above a plain “duh.”
    Although, the reason he’d made himself scarce was most likely to avoid her. So, no, she’d keep her mouth shut. Her trip to town had confirmed her worst fear about the Eager Beaver. Her inheritance was worthless. Of all the stupid times to have acted impulsively. Returning to Denver wasn’t an option.
    Her gaze automatically went to her cell where it sat charging on the nightstand. She hadn’t checked it once this morning. She’d lost count of Donald’s texts and voice mails. It wasn’t as if she would never speak to him again. She just wasn’t ready yet. In truth, there was little left to say. But she’d return his calls at some point. If only to make certain he understood it was over between them.
    She sat on the edge of her bed and sighed at the grime she’d had little luck removing from under her fingernails. Between living out here and making her own jewelry, no more manicures for her. She wouldn’t miss them. Just like she hadn’t missed her luxurious studio at Williamson Jewelers.
    Oh, she’d gotten used to having her mini-fridge stocked with mineral water, diet sodas and fruit juices. Anything she or a client consumed was replaced overnight. It wasn’t something she’d miss, though, not like daily lunch delivery and having her dry cleaning picked up in the morning and hung behind her door that same afternoon, if she wanted. Mrs. Williamson had made it clear from the beginning that Shelby’s sole focus was to be on her exclusive designs and the super-rich customers who paid outrageous prices for them.
    One week Shelby had been a struggling college student about to graduate and hoping to get a job in marketing. The next thing she knew she’d been swept into the posh and glamorous world of Tad and Anastasia Williamson. They’d been nice, if a bit too reserved, though not in their effusive praise of her work. Their job offer had come with a salary so huge Shelby had been speechless. Something they’d mistaken for hesitancy and tacked on more money.
    Eight months later she’d met their son Donald, a prominent Denver attorney. She couldn’t say it was love at first sight, but with his good looks and smooth moves, her head had turned plenty. At heart, Donald wasn’t a bad person. It simply had never occurred to him that the world truly did not revolve around the Williamsons. His class-conscious mother was mostly at fault. But Donald was a bright guy. It was past time he figured it out.
    For Shelby the dream had begun five years ago. But she had never belonged in that world. Turned out her large salary hadn’t