Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 156145 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 781(@200wpm)___ 625(@250wpm)___ 520(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156145 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 781(@200wpm)___ 625(@250wpm)___ 520(@300wpm)
No, that was reserved for the barefoot woman teetering on the top of a stepladder—above the sign set into the step warning not to stand above that point—her curly blond hair tied back in a haphazard knot that looked like a bird’s nest. He started forward, belatedly realizing she still wore the outfit she’d had on earlier, a simple black skirt that hugged her hips and ass and a loose pink blouse in the same startling shade as the heels she’d worn.
This is Aaron’s little sister. Get your eyes off her ass.
It was a great ass, though. As she went onto her tiptoes, the muscles in her lower half flexed and he had to bite back a groan. At least until she wobbled and overcompensated. Cameron jumped forward and caught her. He was a bastard and a half because he let himself enjoy the feeling of her in his arms for several seconds before he set her back on her feet.
Trish shoved the cloud of curly blond hair that had escaped its knot back and gave him a blindingly bright smile. “Thanks! I thought I could do this without scaffolding, but those nine-foot ceilings are no joke.” Her smile wobbled. “Crap, I’m sorry. I got paint on you.”
Cameron looked down to the streak of green marking his shoulder and then back at her. “You just took a nosedive off a ladder and you’re worried about my shirt?”
“Well...yeah.” She shrugged and leaned over to set the paint roller on the tray perched precariously on the ladder. “I fell. You caught me. Thanks again, by the way. But there’s no reason to dwell on it.”
He stared into those guileless blue eyes. She truly looked more worried about his shirt than any injuries she would have suffered if his timing had been a little off. “What would you have done if I wasn’t here and you broke your leg?”
“At that angle, I’m more likely to break an arm.” When he just glowered at her, she huffed out a breath. “My phone is right there, within easy reach.” She pointed at the ladder. “If I didn’t topple the ladder when I fell, and for some reason I wasn’t able to stand, I would have kicked it over, retrieved my phone and called for help. Happy?”
Fuck no, he wasn’t happy. The woman was obviously crazy, because she didn’t seem the least bit concerned with that scenario. Cameron crossed his arms over his chest. “If I leave right now, you’re going to climb right back up that ladder and finish painting, aren’t you?”
“No?”
He growled. “If you’re going to lie, at least try to pretend you’re not fishing for the right answer.” He gave up his happy thoughts about the pizza place down the block from his apartment. There was no way he could leave this woman unsupervised. He’d spend the rest of the night worried that she’d fallen again and he hadn’t been there to catch her, and there would be no rest and a whole lot of indigestion in his future. Cameron stalked around the ladder, testing its stability. Should be fine as long as no one stands on the top of the damn thing. He pointed at the untouched brush near the paint can. “You’re on edges.”
“Actually, I—”
“You’re on edges,” he repeated, staring her down. “I’ll handle this.”
Trish opened her mouth, drawing his attention to her pink lipstick. He’d never had a thing for painted lips before, but the bright pigment made the sharp Cupid’s bow of her top lip stand out against her skin and... For fuck’s sake, she’s got freckles. She was downright adorable, and that should be enough to banish any thoughts of getting his hands on her perfectly rounded ass or kissing her until she forgot about whatever argument she was obviously debating delivering.
It wasn’t.
He wanted her, and hell if that didn’t complicate things.
Cameron hadn’t bothered to date in longer than he cared to think about. It was so much goddamn work getting to know another person. Most of them ended up storming off before the second date because he said something wrong. Or he didn’t talk enough. Or he talked too much about work because, God forbid, that wasn’t a safe subject, either. It was exhausting just thinking about it, and he hadn’t met anyone tempting enough to make him want to run that particular gauntlet. Easy enough to scratch the itch in loud bars where talking was the last thing on either his or his prospective partner’s mind, but even that had gotten tiresome recently.
If he’d run into Trish on the street, he might have asked her out. Might have let her obvious enthusiasm and sunny attitude wash over him.
But she worked for him. What was more, her big brother was one of the few people in this world who not only put up with Cameron’s bullshit without expecting him to change but also was a genuine friend.