His Sheltering Arms. KRISTI GOLD

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СКАЧАТЬ staircase, shaking his head. Erin Brailey liked kids. He wouldn’t have guessed that about her, but then his instincts about women weren’t always correct. Those who appeared the toughest on the surface often hid their vulnerabilities from the world. He’d learned that the hard way. But Erin Brailey wasn’t a victim.

      Zach gripped the rickety banister and took the stairs two at a time. When he reached the top landing, the acrid smell of fresh paint assaulted his nostrils and burned his eyes. He moved down the hall, glancing into each room, one newly renovated, the other waiting its turn. He paused to consider what a place like this would have meant to his mother. Maybe things would have been different if she’d had the resources to change her life for the better. Maybe he would have been different. But that was the past, something Zach couldn’t alter.

      Continuing on, Zach found Erin in the third room beyond the staircase, a small bedroom decorated in a pastel blue with yellow rabbits bordering the wall where it met the ceiling. Normally he wouldn’t notice what the room looked like, but Erin Brailey’s fitted skirt contrasted with the walls like black leather against a backdrop of sky. She was standing on the top rung of a ladder in her stocking feet, reaching up where a piece of the bunny border had obviously come undone.

      He could very well come undone if she didn’t get down off the blasted ladder. He had the strongest urge to go to her, run his hands up the sides of her sculpted thighs…

      Hold it right there, Miller. He streaked a hand over his eyes as if that could erase the image. Man, oh, man, he was in trouble. He should get out of here, go to his favorite bar and find himself a woman. Easier said than done. Erin Brailey, with the soft spot for kids and no-holds-barred confidence, held more appeal than any woman he could think of, past or present.

      “Need some help?” he asked.

      She regarded him over her shoulder. “No…I’m just about done.” She smoothed the border with one long tapered hand, then slapped it for good measure. “There. Good as new.”

      She backed down the rungs and once she reached the bottom, turned to face him. Using the ladder for balance, she slipped her heels back on and asked, “Did you get a good look?”

      Hell, had he been that obvious? “At what?”

      “Downstairs. Did you see what you wanted to?”

      At the moment he’d seen much more than he’d wanted to. Correction. Needed to. “Yeah. So if you’re through hanging paper, you could show me around up here.”

      She brushed a few golden strands of hair away from her face with one hand. “I’m through for now.”

      “Is paper hanging in your job description, too?”

      “Not exactly, but we’re lacking in volunteers. Considering the nature of this project, the fewer people who know the location, the better.”

      “I’m pretty handy with a brush. Maybe I could help.”

      Erin took two steps forward and studied him with eyes as blue as the sky blue walls. “I’m sure you have better ways to spend your time than painting an old house.”

      “Actually, I don’t. After business hours, at least.”

      She raised a thin brow. “Your wife wouldn’t mind?”

      “I don’t have a wife.” Since she had broached the subject, he might as well ask. “How about you? Husband?”

      She twisted the ring on her right hand. “Heavens, no.”

      “Sorry subject?”

      She brushed past him and stopped at the door. “You know how it is, Mr. Miller. Priorities don’t always include the husband, two-point-five kids and a golden retriever.”

      He moved to stand opposite her and braced a hip against the door frame. “Yeah, I know what you mean. But surely you don’t spend all your time at work.”

      “Lately, yes. I haven’t found anything that captures my passion like my work.”

      “Or anyone?”

      “No. Definitely not,” she said adamantly.

      Zach clenched the back of his neck with one hand and studied the semiwhite drop cloth under his feet. “That’s a shame, Ms. Brailey. A real shame.”

      “Don’t feel sorry for me, Mr. Miller. I manage.”

      Pity didn’t enter into it. She wasn’t the kind of woman a man felt sorry for. He met her gaze. Big mistake. “It’s Zach, and since neither of us seems to be occupied, do you want to grab a bite to eat? I could go over a few of my concerns.”

      She sighed. “That sounds very tempting, but I’m afraid I have dinner plans. He’s probably already at the restaurant.”

      A strong sense of disappointment assaulted Zach, not that he was one to give up that easily. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Someone special?”

      “Actually, I’m having dinner with my father.”

      He straightened on that one. “You and your dad are close?”

      In the time it took to blink, her expression went cold. “It’s an obligatory weekly dinner. That’s all.”

      Zach wondered about the sudden change in her demeanor but thought it wise not to pursue the topic. He understood all too well the complicated dynamics between parent and child. He’d hated his father and still did, even though the man was dead.

      “My father doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” she added. “So let’s go down the hall, Mr.—” Her mouth worked into a smile “—Zach.”

      She could make St. Peter sin with that smile. Which, as a practiced sinner, made Zach a goner. “At least we have the name thing straight. And let’s make another deal. We say what’s on our minds, no apologies. I think that works best with business arrangements.” He held out his hand. “Is it a deal?”

      After a moment’s hesitation, she grasped his hand. “Deal.”

      He didn’t immediately release her hand. Instead, he rubbed his thumb over her knuckles and met her eyes, surprise in their blue depths. Awareness sparked between them, keen as a razor’s edge.

      Checking back into reality, he dropped her hand. “Better wear gloves when you paint so you don’t ruin your hands.”

      She studied her hands as if she didn’t believe him. “Thanks for the advice, but I’m not that fragile.”

      No, she probably wasn’t, but he’d give up a week’s salary to find out. He might even throw in his season hockey tickets.

      Zach pushed off the door thinking he’d best escape before he did something stupid. “Well, Ms. Brailey—”

      “It’s Erin. Turnabout’s fair play.”

      He grinned. “Okay, Erin, we should look around so you’re not late for your dinner date.”

      “You’re right. Can’t keep Daddy waiting.” Her tone was laced with sarcasm.

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