Take Me All the Way by Toni Blake Page A

workboots. He appeared to be hammering nails into a large window frame. His skin, more tan than the last time she’d seen him, glistened with sweat. And the spot between her legs tingled hotly. Oh hell.
    Turning off the engine, she drew in a deep breath, let it back out. Looking again, this time she tried to focus on less pleasing aspects of his appearance—his longish, messy hair hung in unkempt waves and tendrils about his head. His pale beard remained gangly and ungroomed.
    Unfortunately, she still suffered an almost giddy sense of nervousness to know she’d be approaching him. It made no sense.
    Unless . . . this is what chemistry is.
    If so, it was . . . well, either something she’d never truly experienced before or she’d entirely forgotten what it felt like. Like yesterday, her mind flashed on past men in her life, from when she was younger. Maybe she’d felt this then—a certain need, a fathomless magnetism that defied logic—but had chosen to forget, given how those relationships had ended. Maybe she’d wanted to forget—maybe she’d decided nothing good could come from a feeling that stole so much of her control, in such a non-sensical way.
    Because, good Lord, if anything was non-sensical, it was that the man in the distance made her feel that. She barely knew him, she didn’t much like him, she found his unkempt hairiness unattractive, and she truly questioned whether he was a good guy or a bad one. And yet, under the surface remained a tingling that had intensified to a ridiculous degree since parking the car. Craziness.
    Okay, pull yourself together here and just go talk to him. Like a normal human being. And his boss, for that matter. And . . . see how things go. More of her conversation with Fletcher came back to her now—the part about being open, and about fun. Maybe . . . she would beopen to letting Jeremy change her opinion of him. Maybe.
    One more deep breath and she exited the car and crossed the jobsite to where he still hammered nails into the little building, which appeared to be mostly done. He concentrated on his work as she grew nearer and made no indication that he knew she was there until he looked up and asked, “What do you think? Looking pretty good?”
    He didn’t smile, but sounded proud. Almost like a guy who cared about his work.
    Upon closer inspection she had to agree. “Yes, looks great. Good job,” she added. Trying to be nice. Even though it made her feel a little vulnerable with him. Maybe because they’d gotten off on the wrong foot. Inside, she supposed she feared seeming even the least bit weak to him—and sometimes in life, nice equaled weak. Sometimes, nice made you weak.
    â€œBe ready to start painting it soon. And gotta build the doors that’ll close over the windows when the course isn’t open. We’ll need to paint those and the trim boards before I put them on.”
    She nodded.
    â€œYou have the colors picked out, right? Should I buy the paint or is that something you want to do?”
    The truth was, for someone who was usually on top of a project, Tamra hadn’t thought through any of the next steps—too waylaid by Jeremy Sheridan’s insertion into the situation. A realization that was all the more reason to get her head back in the game and just get used to having him around. Especially now that it actually appeared he was going to be a good, dependable worker, despite his other faults.
    â€œI can pick up the paint. I can start painting, in fact, while you work on making the doors and cutting the trim.”
    He returned his eyes to his work. “Never thought I’d say this, but might be nice to have some company.”
    And the comment begged the question, even if she asked it cautiously. “Um, why did you think you’d never say that?”
    He shrugged, looked solemn. “Been more of a keep-to-myself guy the last couple years.”
    Now she