The Majors' Holiday Hideaway. Caro Carson
when holiday dinners called for a mammoth turkey. The man with the buff shoulders opened the door and took out a beer. He wore a leather tool belt around his waist, a hammer hanging from it. Someone in construction, of course.
She was an idiot and she wanted to go to bed, but she supposed she’d have to make small talk with this contractor and hope he was almost ready to leave for the day. She opened the door and practically fell out of the cab, dropping the foot from the cab to the ground, landing with all the grace of a tired elephant. She slammed the door. This man was all that stood between her and a soft bed with fluffy pillows.
The man in the tool belt turned around.
Oh, my.
India abruptly felt awake and alert. Just the sight of that man, that tall, dark and handsome man, sent a jolt through her system better than a whole roll of peppermints.
* * *
Aiden had shaken his head as he’d watched his neighbors’ pickup drive by, drive by and drive by again. She couldn’t read the numbers on the mailbox, maybe. Poor little old lady, he’d thought.
Aiden looked at the woman standing in the driveway.
Poor drop-dead gorgeous woman.
He didn’t let the beer bottle slip out of his grasp. That was something, anyway, but he sure as hell was knocked speechless. This woman was the definition of a knockout. Literally, the sight of her knocked the sense out of his brain—because she looked rumpled and sleepy, and all his brain could think about was that he’d like to be rumpled and sleepy with her.
Enjoy being a bachelor, his sister had written.
He’d thought about milk cartons and sippy cups.
He wasn’t thinking about sippy cups anymore. He was thinking about the brunette standing in front of him, looking at him with gray eyes. Gray. Beautiful. All grown-up and beautiful.
Okay. Right. He should speak now. Right.
“Are you almost done here?” she asked. “I’m dying to get in bed.”
The beer bottle in his hand slipped an inch.
Okay. Right.
She tilted her head at his silence. “I’m going to be staying here while Tom and Helen are on their honeymoon. Did they tell you that?”
“Right.” One word. He sounded like an idiot. It may have been a long time since he’d been a bachelor, but he was thirty-four years old and a battalion S-3, not thirteen and in middle school. He gestured toward her with the bottle in his hand. “Would you care for a beer?”
He’d meant there were more in the garage fridge since he’d just put a six-pack in there, but she huffed out a tired sigh and plopped her overnight bag on the concrete floor, then took the beer from his hand. “Actually, I would.” She wiped off the mouth of the bottle with a quick swipe of her sleeve, then tilted her head back and chugged the whole bottle right down that graceful, womanly throat with long, sure swallows. She finished it and gave him a polite, sleepy smile. “Thanks.”
Okay. That was...provocative. “I take it you like beer.”
She scrunched up her nose a bit. “Actually, that tasted horrible. I just ate a peppermint.”
He laughed.
Her smile turned a little more genuine, but still tired. “I needed the calories. I haven’t eaten much more than airplane snacks for the past twelve hours. That beer was my dinner, because I will be asleep in two minutes. I suppose Tom and Helen gave you a house key?”
“Right.”
She pondered that for a moment. “I won’t ask for it back, but could you make yourself scarce for the next ten hours?”
“Okay.”
“Make that twelve.” She turned her head away and put the back of her hand to her mouth and burped the tiniest, ladylike burp. “Sorry.”
He laughed—again—and took the empty bottle from her. She was all grown-up and beautiful, but also surprising and adorable. And rumpled and sleepy, which was a sexy damn look on her. Oh, hell yeah. It’s all coming back to me now.
She picked up her overnight bag. “I’ll be here all week, so even though you have a key, knock first. I’ll let you in.”
“Promise?”
“I—Oh.” She looked at him, startled.
He winked. Just joking. For now.
She looked away, but her lips quirked into a smile. She had just a touch of a dimple in one cheek. How easy it was to imagine her smiling at him as they shared a pillow.
“So.” She gestured toward his truck. “If you’re done here...?”
“I can come back. I just have to have this project finished by Christmas.” He nodded at the planks he’d stacked on the floor.
“What are those for?”
“Bookcases.”
“Nice. Well. Goodbye.”
But they stood there, staring at one another. He unbuckled his tool belt without breaking eye contact. She bit her lip.
He shook his head to himself a little bit as he turned away to set the belt on the stack of planks, trying not to be bowled over because a sexy woman had done a sexy thing like biting her sexy lip.
He’d been asked to leave; time to go. He stopped at the small security box on the wall just outside the garage and punched in the code that lowered the double-wide door. It started rolling down. He looked over his shoulder at her, savoring his last glimpse of rumpled and sleepy. “I’ll see you later.”
The chain and motor were loud as the door lowered, but Aiden could have sworn he heard a one-word answer: “Definitely.”
The contractor was so hot. Like...lava hot.
Helen hadn’t even dropped a hint about that. Maybe she’d thought India would be heartbroken over Gerard-Pierre. She hadn’t sounded heartbroken when they’d chatted, had she? But fresh from a breakup or not, a woman would have to be dead not to notice that contractor. And he’d flirted with her.
She curled her toes into the plush carpet of the master bedroom. She felt great. She’d slept without the sounds of a TV coming from another room. She’d slept without having her service uniform all laid out on the chair by her bed, a fresh white blouse and sheer nude hose ready to make their demands the second her alarm clock went off. India wriggled her pantyhose-free toes. Without setting an alarm, she’d slept until seven in the morning in this time zone. Fifteen blissful, uninterrupted hours.
That would probably not happen again, though. She had to get the dog back from the neighbor’s today. She was no expert on dogs, since she’d never owned one, but she doubted any dog would let her sleep for fifteen hours without needing to go out. She wandered into the kitchen, where Helen had left her a long note with all the information she’d thought India might need. Wi-Fi password—check. Veterinarian’s phone number—check. Neighbor’s phone number—check—followed by a list of the workers that had already been scheduled before Helen had said it was fate that they could swap houses.
Helen had left the general contractor’s name and number as the person to call if anything went wrong with the house. Nicholas Harmon. The boss. Nicholas practically oozed testosterone. She had no doubt he could keep a bunch of subcontractors in line with ease. He was probably former military. He had that posture. The haircut, too.
Nicholas had the dark coloring of many Italians, the square jaw and strong bone structure that made her think of Germany, but he was unmistakably