Since he was painting the ceiling the same white as before, he contented himself with giving it a good rub with a dry cloth, removing old cobwebs and any loose dirt or dust that might adhere to the wet paint. He moved the ladder around, doing a quadrant at a time.

  He got Cassie washing the walls down so the paint job would look professional. He could hear the soft splash when she dipped her sponge into the water and the swishing sound as she washed the walls.

  He worked fast, wanting to get to the painting. Not that he loved painting ceilings—it always gave him a crick in his neck—but he held on to the image of the completed room and that helped him get through the tedious parts.

  She hadn’t put on music and he didn’t want to impose his choices on her, so they worked in silence. He said, “How’s it going down there?”

  “I’m sick at how dirty this water is.”

  “This whole room’s going to be clean and fresh by the time you go to bed tonight.”

  “Good.”

  “You might want to sleep in the other bedroom tonight, though. It will smell like paint in here.” What was the matter with him? Could he mention her and beds in the same sentence a few more times?

  “Good idea,” she said. “I’ll get the guest room made up.”

  “I saw a bunch of diving stuff in your garage. You’re a diver?”

  “I am. I’ve been diving since I was a kid. I grew up in Southern California, so the water was a lot warmer. I spent every second I could in the water. Surfing, diving, swimming. Still do.” He heard the slosh as she dunked her sponge and squeezed it out. “Though up here I’m in a wet suit most of the year. How about you? Do you dive?”

  “I’ve tried it. But I’m more of an aboveground kind of guy. I play hockey, basketball, stuff like that.”

  He imagined living in eternal sunshine. “Do you miss it? California?”

  He heard the sponge stop moving, as though she were contemplating the question. “I do sometimes. I miss the weather and my family. I moved up here for the job, but once I got used to all the rain, I really came to appreciate the green. The forests and mountains. I still go back a few times a year, but this is home for me now. Especially now that I’ve bought a house.”

  “A house is only as permanent as you make it. I buy and sell houses all the time. Fix them up and move on.”

  “Why do I get the impression you don’t like feeling trapped?” she said. He could hear the smile in her voice.

  He thought about that. How could a woman who barely even knew him throw out a comment like that? Was he giving off some kind of vibe? So he asked her. “What makes you say that?”

  Once more the sponge stopped moving. “I don’t know. I get the sense that you like to keep things loose. And Serena told me you won some kind of eternal-bachelor contest with your friends.”

  “Not eternal,” he corrected her. “Last Bachelor Standing. I’ll get married.” Though even saying the word caused a constriction in his throat. “Someday.”

  “So I was wrong?”

  Was she? Now his rag stopped moving as he took a moment to think about whether or not he felt easily trapped. “I don’t know. I don’t spend a lot of time contemplating the lint in my navel. I’ve been in the same job for ten years.” Though he might not have it for much longer if he wasn’t careful. “I’ve got the same friends I’ve had since I was a kid. That’s commitment. Right?”

  “Absolutely.” But she didn’t sound completely convinced. Sure, most of the guys he knew who were his age and even younger were married. Some had kids, and he always imagined he’d do it, too. The time had never been right. The woman had never been right. Or maybe he’d never been ready.

  “People change,” he said. “Adam and Max were as bad as me six months ago. Now they’re both headed for the wedding chapel.”

  “You don’t sound envious.”

  “I think Serena’s a great gal. And Claire seems like she suits Max. But no, I’m not envious. Except that I figure they’ll both have a lot less time to spend playing hockey and hanging out with the guys once they’re hitched and start having kids.”

  “You’ll have to find some younger guys to hang out with.”

  She said it perfectly seriously, but he got the idea that she might be suggesting he was immature. Which was probably true.

  “How about you? Do you feel like buying a house is permanent?”

  “I think I do. Even though I understand that people change houses on average every five to ten years, my folks are still in the same house they bought when they got married. I bought a place I could grow into.”

  “You planning to fill it with a husband and babies?” He didn’t mean to sound sarcastic but he thought it might have slipped out.

  “Sure. I hope I meet the right guy. But if I don’t, I’ve got a good career, and I’ll have a nice home as soon as you finish renovating it for me.”

  It was weird that it sounded a little lonely when she described what was essentially his own existence: a house he was fixing up, a great career and no plans to outfit a nursery any time soon.

  He climbed down off the ladder, picking it up to move it to the next quadrant of the ceiling. He heard the swish of the bucket, not registering that the swishing sound was much closer than before until he collided with a warm back. Dylan always moved fast. He was one hundred and eighty-five pounds of impatient, so when he struck an object it tended to fly.

  Cassie was no exception. With a startled cry, she tumbled. He grabbed her, all his training and instincts kicking in before conscious thought, and he tossed her to the bed, his own momentum carrying him in the same direction.

  They fell to the bed. She somehow ended up underneath him, the sponge still in her up-flung hand so a fan of water sprayed out onto the plastic-covered canvas drop sheet.

  He glanced down into her face, surprise and shock registering. Then he noticed that she was warm and soft beneath him on the bed and all the attraction he’d been pretending he didn’t feel roared to the surface. He didn’t even think, because if he thought before he acted he wouldn’t do half the things in his life that he did.

  He leaned down. Not too fast, not wanting to take his mouth where it wasn’t wanted. But he’d felt the answering attraction and he felt it now. She didn’t roll away or push him off. She opened her lips in a kind of breathless sigh. When he kissed her he felt the moment their lips touched that it had been inevitable from the second he’d walked into her house.

  She was gorgeous, sweet, single, and they were together a lot in a small house. He kissed her, going deeper than he’d intended until she moaned deep in her throat. When she started to move against him, he felt his arousal shoot up.

  He pushed a hand into her hair, changed the angle so he could kiss her more deeply. She reached for his arms. Not to stop him, but to run her hands up his forearms, over his elbows and up to his biceps. Then she did a funny thing. She wrapped her hands around the thickest part of the muscle and squeezed as though she were putting a blood pressure cuff on him.

  She muttered something he couldn’t understand. Then those wet hands kept moving, leaving damp patches where she touched him through the T-shirt.

  He wanted so much and he wanted it all now, but dimly an alarm began to ring as his thinking brain finally caught up to his prehistoric brain. What the hell was he doing? He was supposed to be fixing up this woman’s house, not jumping her luscious bones.

  He pulled away slowly, feeling stunned. He stared down at her, finding her lips wet and swollen from his kisses. Her eyes were unfocused, but as he stared down at her, he saw the awareness flood back.

  He felt turned on, awkward and clumsy all at once. “We should, uh,—”

  “Get back to work,” she finished for him, her voice a little husky.

  “Yeah.” He rolled off her. Decided there was no way he could continue working in this room with her in the same small space and that kiss between them. He stood up. “I’m finished prepping the ceiling. I’ll get the roller extension and give the paint another stir.” And find a few other things to keep him busy until she was clear.

  She scrambled to her feet right after him, pulling down her T-shirt self-consciously. “I should finish the walls.”

  “Great. Give me a shout when you’re done.”

  “I will.”

  They didn’t look at each other. He wondered what she was thinking. Wondered what he was thinking. Decided he didn’t want to know.

  He headed out of the room with his stepladder and a raging case of unrelieved lust.

  7

  “I’VE NEVER FELT more foolish in my life,” Cassie said over her second glass of merlot at the wine bar the three women had adjourned to on Monday night while the three guys took to the ice to practice for Badges on Ice.

  Claire hadn’t needed to be kidnapped. She’d been delighted to hang out with the other women while her fiancé played hockey with the boys.

  Cassie liked her right away. She was down-to-earth, funny and pretty rather than beautiful. She didn’t look anything like the kind of trophy bride Cassie assumed billionaires always mated with. The ring on her finger was surprisingly tasteful. The solitaire was certainly sizable and no doubt the diamond was flawless, but it suited the hand of a woman who flew planes in Alaska for a living.

  By the end of the first glass of wine the three women were well on the way to becoming fast friends.

  Cassie had had no one to talk to since the kiss had happened on Saturday, and to her surprise, she felt comfortable discussing it with Serena and Claire. It wasn’t as if she had much else to talk about. She seemed to be obsessed with a very short tumble on the bed that had consisted of nothing but some deep, heavy kissing. She couldn’t believe she was making such a big deal of it.

  “I think a lot of women would use another word than foolish to describe rolling around on the bed with Dylan,” Serena said.

  “See, that’s the thing. Do I want to be one of the many women Dylan’s rolled around on the bed with?”

  “Has it happened again?” Claire asked.

  “No!” That was the worst part. Not only had she and Dylan never referred to the steamy scene again, but he’d gone out of his way to make sure he was working far away from her whenever they were both in the house. “Does he think I’m dogmeat?” she finally exploded.

  Serena bit back a smile. “I doubt he thinks you’re dogmeat. Maybe he felt it was inappropriate to make a move on a woman he’s working for.”

  “It was. Wildly inappropriate. But it was one of those crazy moments that just happen.”

  “Indulge me,” Serena said. “Describe your close encounter with Mr. June for me one more time.”

  “Stop it!” Cassie said, laughing in spite of herself.

  “You have to admit, it sounds like something out of one of those meet-cute movies.”

  “Except that this is my life and the man is in my house every day. Not acting like he’s smitten by me. Acting like he deeply regrets kissing me.”

  “What are you going to do?” Claire asked.

  “Keep drinking.” She raised her glass.

  “No. Really.”

  “I guess I’ll continue to pretend it didn’t happen. Maybe spend more time at work so I don’t see him so much.”

  “You can’t let the man keep you out of your own home. That’s ridiculous.”

  “You could talk to him,” Claire suggested.

  She popped a peanut in her mouth. “What would I say?”

  “I don’t know, but maybe a frank discussion would clear the air.”

  “Serena?” The woman was a professional business coach. Shouldn’t she have some ideas? Somehow, Cassie felt that her good friend wasn’t taking her embarrassing intimacy with Mr. June as seriously as she should.

  “It’s a good idea,” she said after a moment. “You could tell him that you want to clear the air and you don’t blame him for what happened.”

  She stared at her friend. “Is that what you think he’s feeling? That I blame him?”

  Serena shrugged her elegant shoulders. “Who knows what he’s thinking or feeling? That’s why Claire has a good point. You won’t make things worse if you bring it up.”

  Oh, what she wouldn’t give to go back to the Time Before the Kiss when she and Dylan were easy around each other. She’d made him coffee in the morning; he’d carried the kitten around on his shoulder and made her fixer-upper a little closer to a real home each day.

  * * *

  “HERE, HERE, HERE,” Max bellowed as Dylan hooked the puck away from a winger who couldn’t seem to skate and pass at the same time.

  He heard his buddy and, understanding he was signaling that he was open, took a quick glance in the direction of the voice, set up his shot and passed the puck to Max.

  While this was going on, Dylan was speeding toward the opposing net. They’d practiced this a million times as a drill; it was always so sweet when it worked in a game.

  Max sent the puck sailing toward Dylan, who slammed that baby so hard the goalie was on his ass before he realized the puck had sunk home.

  The rush of adrenaline that always soared when a play went down so perfectly spiked through Dylan’s blood. The three guys surged together, along with the rest of their team and celebrated the goal with manly hugs and backslaps.

  He loved this game. He felt the cold air on his face as he took his position for a face-off, knowing he was exactly where he was supposed to be. There were so few times in his life that he felt that, especially these days, with his suspension keeping him from his job and that stupid kiss keeping him from the ease he’d formerly enjoyed with his sexy client.

  As the game progressed, he gloried in the feel of his skates carving into cold, clean ice, his muscles working hard as he sped around the rink, at moments feeling as though he was flying. He fell into the zone, where all that mattered was figuring out where the puck was, where his key teammates were, how to get around the opposition. They were so ready to take Badges on Ice this year. So very ready.

  And because he was in the zone he was rewarded with one of those magical moments when he was in the right place at the perfect moment to catch a breakaway. He scooped up the puck with the same ease and familiarity with which he scooped up the kitten he carried around with him so much of the day. He protected the puck from anybody who thought they might like to take it off him and turned on the jets.

  He glanced around to see if he had a passing opportunity and what he saw instead was a scoring opportunity. The goalie came out, eyes gleaming behind his helmet, trying to guess Dylan’s next move. In his peripheral vision he saw the defenders race to catch him. He faked right, and in a move that was all about fast-twitch-muscle control, one of the things he worked on every day at the gym, shot the puck left.

  Goalie almost got to it.

  Almost.

  His goal won them the game.

  The usual backslapping and manly hugging ensued. There were never tons of spectators at their games, but he did a victory pose anyway for their small cheering section—mostly the benched guys, the coach and a few wives, girlfriends and work buddies. For a moment he wished Cassie were there, giving him her big smile. Then he shook the thought off.

  He was getting soft.

  * * *

  “HOW’S THE RENO project going?” Max asked as the three men relaxed in the dressing room, their usual cold postgame beers in hand.

  “Fine.”

  “You don’t sound very happy. Usually you love home renos.”

  Dylan scowled down at his beer. “I screwed up, okay?”

  “What did you do?” Adam suddenly leaned forward, all attention. Dylan knew his cop buddy felt responsible that he’d told Cassie to hire him, so he hastened to reassure him. “It’s nothing to do with my work. I’m doing a great job.”

  “Then what?”

  “I kissed her.”

  There was silence from both his sandbox buddies. Finally he glanced up. “Well?”

  Max and Adam exchanged glances. They both had the red cheeks and sweaty hair of men who’d skated hard for the better part of two hours. Max spoke. “I was waiting for the rest.”

  “That’s it. There is no rest.” He put his beer down on the bench. Picked it up again. Took a pull. “I was prepping her bedroom ceiling, she was washing walls. It was nothing. Then I don’t know what happened. I wasn’t paying attention. I got down from the ladder and moved one way and she must have picked up her bucket to move to a new section of wall, and we collided and ended up falling on the bed. Together.”

  “And you kissed her,” Adam prompted.

  “Yeah.”

  “Then what?” Max asked.

  “Then nothing. I’m not going to hit on a woman I’m working for. It’s crazy.”

  “Crazy doesn’t usually stop you,” Max commented.

  “Well, this time it does.”

  “So you kissed her and then what?”

  “Did what any sensible man would do. I pretended it never happened.”

  Adam and Max shared another glance. Both nodded. Being sensible men.

  “So there’s no problem, then.”

  This was why he’d brought the kiss up in the first place. “It’s kind of weird, you know?”

  “Has she said anything?”

  “No. But we’re different with each other now. I feel like I need to keep my distance and she is acting the same way.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it. Get on with your work and you’ll both put it behind you and move on.”

  “You really think so?”