The Nights Before Christmas

But what if Suzanne was different? What if she was the one he’d been looking for? On impulse, he broke a longstanding rule. “I haven’t seen your boyfriend around lately,” he said.

Panic flashed in her blue eyes. “Uh, he—”

“Not that it’s any of my business.” He ducked under the sink, silently cursing himself. He might imagine he knew what was going on with Suzanne, but he could be dead wrong. All he really knew was that the pipe under her bathroom sink had rusted out.

No, that wasn’t true, he thought as he applied plumber’s tape to the threads of the new pipe. He’d bet a million dollars that she hadn’t been the one who walked out of the relationship. And, as his experience taught him, now she was doubting herself, doubting her ability to attract and keep a man. Restoring the confidence of women in that position had become his stock-in-trade recently, and he knew that he did it well.

In spite of the risk, he wanted to help Suzanne, but he couldn’t if she didn’t want him to. So far she’d given no indication that she wanted his sympathy and counsel. He inserted the new pipe and tightened it down. At least Suzanne’s sink wouldn’t leak anymore. As for the rest of her problems, she’d have to decide whether she needed his assistance.

Crawling back out from under the sink, he checked to see if she was still standing in the bathroom doorway. She wasn’t. He’d scared her off with that remark about Jared. Served him right for jumping the gun.

He turned on the water valve and tested the pipe coupling for leaks. An interesting word—coupling. He hadn’t enjoyed any personal coupling in months, not since the mess with Rachel.

About a year ago he’d stumbled onto a cozy pub, a place where he’d felt instantly at home. The weekly darts tournament had soon become a cherished ritual for him.

Rachel was one of the regular participants and they’d flirted with each other for months. But they never should have gone to bed together. Deep down he’d known that, but he let a couple of beers and her sexy red dress cloud his judgment. Rachel was good-hearted, and she had an amazing body, but she had no intellectual curiosity whatsoever.

That’s when Greg had learned the hard way that if a women didn’t stimulate his mind she wouldn’t stimulate the rest of him, at least not after the first flush of discovery had passed. Rachel, as forgiving a woman as he could hope to find, didn’t seem to hold it against him. The others had obviously taken their cue from her, so he was still welcomed as part of the group. Because his job could be lonely at times, he needed that connection.

While he put away his tools and closed up the toolbox, he thought about the bind he’d created for himself. The women who attracted him, like Suzanne, weren’t likely to want a guy who was content to remain a handyman for the rest of his life. But women like Rachel, who thought his job was perfectly acceptable, weren’t brainy enough to satisfy him. He’d boxed himself into a corner, and he had no idea what to do about it.

Walking back through Suzanne’s bedroom, he noticed her suit jacket lying neatly across the end of the four-poster bed. He wondered if that was a subtle signal, and his pulse quickened.

Then he blew out a breath, impatient with himself. Talk about overanalyzing the situation. No doubt she’d decided to cook herself some dinner and didn’t want to do it wearing a suit jacket.

Still, he couldn’t quite dismiss the picture of Suzanne in the bedroom taking off her suit jacket while he was only a few feet away working on the pipe under her bathroom sink. Thinking of Suzanne unfastening buttons and arching her back slightly as she slipped out of the jacket, he experienced a distinct stirring in his groin.

That impulse had required two beers and a slinky red dress in Rachel’s case. Apparently, in Suzanne’s case, all he needed was his own fertile imagination and a black suede jacket lying across the end of a bed of roses.

He took another look at the little red devil on her bed. If only Suzanne hadn’t asked him his last name, he’d be convinced that there was nothing on her mind besides the sink. But she had asked, which made him wonder if the two of them were missing a golden opportunity to get better acquainted.

“See you later, buddy,” he said to the devil, although chances were he never would.

He found Suzanne in the kitchen stirring a saucepan full of tomato soup. By eliminating the jacket, she’d raised the seduction value of her outfit about five hundred percent. The cream-colored blouse had long sleeves with covered buttons down the front and at the cuffs. A silky blouse like that draped a woman’s breasts like nothing else he knew of. He could make out a hint of lace beneath the material, a kind of subtlety that had always driven him a little crazy.

Moist heat from the stove had steamed up the small window over the sink, which seemed to close them into their own private world. If they were lovers, he’d put down his toolbox and walk up behind her to wrap his arms around her waist. Then he’d cup her breasts. He swallowed, nearly able to feel the warm silk against his palms. Gradually he’d begin unfastening the buttons…

He cleared his throat. “You’re all set,” he said. “No leaks.”

She glanced up, a wary look in her eyes. “Thank you so much.”

Had she seemed more relaxed, he might have searched for a reason to stay, but she was as uptight as ever. “I’ll be taking off, then.” He started to leave.

“Would you…”

He turned back. “What?”

Her cheeks were pinker than the roses decorating her comforter. “Would you like some soup?”

He hesitated, unsure if the offer was made from courtesy because he’d caught her in the act of preparing it, or if she genuinely wanted him to stay.

“It’s out of a can,” she said. “It’s not homemade or anything. And I’m keeping it simple.” She nodded toward a cheese board holding a wedge of cheddar and a cheese slicer. Next to that was a basketfull of assorted crackers. “Just crackers and cheese to go with it.”

That decided the issue. No way would he turn down her soup and make her think he cared whether it was canned or not, or whether he was picky about having a full meal. “Thanks. That would be great.” He looked around for a place to put his toolbox.

“Over there by the pantry is fine.”

He set the box down, shoving it out of the way as best he could.

“I’ve never seen a wooden toolbox like that,” she said. “Aren’t they usually made out of metal?”

“The newer ones are,” he said. “This one belonged to my dad.” He couldn’t remember any of the tenants commenting on the box, and he was pleased that she had. The toolbox meant a great deal to him, but to most people, it was only a big wooden carrying case. “Can I help with anything?”

She shrugged. “Not much to do but stir.”

The kitchen was small and narrow, with the stove and refrigerator on one side, the sink and cabinets on the other. He wanted to wash his hands before he ate, but if he stood at the sink, he’d be crowding her, invading her space. Still, going back into the bathroom to wash his hands seemed sort of ridiculous.

“I’d like to wash up, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure.” She didn’t look up from her vigorous stirring of the soup.

The space between was barely big enough for two people. He was careful not to brush against her as he moved in front of the sink. In such proximity he could smell that rose fragrance of hers, and when he leaned over to wash his hands, his hip brushed against her. He imagined he heard a quick intake of breath and wondered if she’d felt the same jolt of awareness he had.

“Sorry,” he said. He tilted his pelvis toward the sink.

“Not a problem.”

He was a skilled listener, and he heard the tremble in her voice. “They didn’t build these kitchens with two people in mind.” In reality he thought this was the best kind of kitchen for cooking with your lover. He thought large spaces were highly overrated.

Pulling a paper towel from a rack, he noticed that the screws on the rack were loose. “Your towel rack needs to be tightened up,” he said. Yeah, sure. He was looking for an excuse to keep occupying that space.

“Later, maybe. The soup’s ready. If you’ll take the crackers and cheese into the living room, I’ll bring the soup.”

He reached over and picked up the cracker basket and the cheese board before going to stand near the kitchen doorway. “We’re eating in the living room? On that white sofa?” He had a vision of tomato soup all over it.

“It’s stain-proofed.” She turned, reached into the cabinet and took out two large stoneware mugs. When she did that, she grimaced, as if raising her arms hurt her.

“Are you okay?”

She turned in surprise. “I’m fine. Why?”

“You looked as if you were in pain just then.”

“Oh. I’ve been going to the gym with Terri, and my muscles aren’t pleased about it.”

Now he had a new picture to contend with—Suzanne in tight workout clothes. “I don’t think you’re supposed to get sore working out. Do you stretch?” He wondered why anybody with a body like hers felt the need to go to the gym. No body-sculpting machine would be able to improve on those measurements.

“I stretch.” She took the pan from the stove and started pouring the soup into the mugs. “I get in the hot tub. I take herbal baths when I get home.”