Good with his Hands Read online

  He’d thought wrong.

  Instead, she’d ended their relationship, telling him she needed more than what Wynhaven had to offer, that this was her chance to make a better life for herself—as if she’d agreed with her grandmother and decided he wasn’t good enough for her.

  Then she’d taken off for Atlanta, leaving him and the small town behind to pursue her dreams without him.

  The rejection had stung, especially since he’d believed his future was right here in Wynhaven with Tess. She’d been his first love, and so far, his last.

  God, what a complete and total idiot he’d been.

  Feeling restless, he stood, walked to the end of the porch, and braced his hands on the wooden rail. He stared out at the shadowed darkness beyond his front yard, wondering what the hell he was going to do now that Tess was back in town. He’d been doing just fine all these years without her, and after one brief encounter he was tied up in knots over her once again.

  She’d made it clear she was going to be around for a good month or so to repair her grandmother’s house and put it on the market. She needed help with the work, and after he’d refused her request she’d suggested using Wayne Zimmerman.

  He cursed beneath his breath. The cold hard truth was, he didn’t want any other guy, especially a known womanizer like Wayne, around Tess on a daily basis. Not when Morgan still wanted her, and not when there were so many unresolved feelings where Tess was concerned. And he knew nothing short of having her again would do.

  If anyone would be seducing Tess Monroe, he decided, it would be him.

  Instead of living the next month in pure frustration, he was going to help Tess restore her grandmother’s house and coax her back into his bed at the same time—a temporary, mutually pleasurable affair guaranteed to satisfy them both. Eight years was way too long to let a woman have a hold over him. This was his chance to finally get her out of his mind and heart once and for all, and be the one to walk away with his emotions intact this time.

  Now all he had to do was put his plan into motion, which he’d do first thing tomorrow morning, before she had a chance to talk to Wayne.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Tess reached up and plucked another ripe peach from one of the trees behind her grandmother’s house and put it into the bowl she held in the crook of her arm. It was only eight in the morning, the grass still wet with dew, and the air redolent with the sweet scent of peaches and the promise of a warm, humid summer day ahead.

  She’d woken up that morning craving peach pancakes for breakfast, just like her grandmother used to make for her. How great was it that she could step outside and pick the fresh fruit right from its tree? That was something she couldn’t have done from her small apartment in Atlanta, and the peaches at the market just hadn’t been as sweet and juicy as these grown at home.

  Since the house had been vacant and the yard untouched for the past six months, the trees were abundant with plump, juicy peaches, and the ground littered with the spoiled produce. She’d have to get that cleaned up at some point as well.

  Her stomach growled hungrily, and she smiled and grabbed another peach from a high branch, thinking maybe later, after she got some work done around the house, she’d make peach jam or cobbler and take some with her when she went to talk to Wayne. There was certainly plenty of the fruit for her to make enough jam for the entire town if she wanted.

  With her bowl filled, she stepped back to retreat to the house, and something beneath the sole of her fluffy house slipper popped then squished under her foot—the third one this morning. She cringed, knowing she’d just stomped on yet another over-ripe peach. “Oh, ugh!”

  Deep male laughter sounded from behind her, brushing down her spine like a seductive caress. Startled, she spun around and almost dropped the bowl of peaches, which she quickly steadied against her arm. She found Morgan leaning casually against the side of the house, his thumbs hooked into the belt loops of his jeans as he watched her with an amused expression on his face. How long he’d been there, she hadn’t a clue. But now she knew how it felt to be spied on, just as she’d spied on him yesterday before announcing her presence.

  He continued to stare at her, a surprisingly sexy, lopsided smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as his gaze slowly slid from her disheveled hair all the way down to her fuzzy psychedelic slippers, then back up again.

  A flash of heat zinged across her nerve endings, along with a ripple of undeniable awareness. Her breasts swelled and her nipples puckered in reaction to his hot stare, and it was all she could do not to fold her arms across her chest to hide that telltale response.

  She hadn’t been expecting company and was still wearing what she’d slept in—a pair of pink and purple plaid boxer shorts and a ribbed tank top that was made for comfort, and not to conceal her curves and erect nipples.

  She started toward him, careful not to step on any more rotten peach bombs on her way. “Morgan,” she said, her tone as cautious as she felt. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve reconsidered your request about hiring me to do the work around here,” he said, his eyes a warm, mellow shade of gray this morning—unlike the cool silver she’d encountered at his workshop yesterday.

  What an interesting turn of events, she thought, curious to know what had changed his mind. Especially after his gruff reception with her the day before. But she wasn’t about to refuse his help, and she motioned toward the back door. “How about we go inside and talk?”

  He nodded, causing a dark lock of hair to fall across his forehead. For a moment he reminded her of the bad boy she’d fallen in love with—until she remembered just how much of a man he’d become. But she didn’t doubt that he still had a reckless streak beneath all that maturity.

  “That works for me,” he said easily, and followed her inside.

  The door led into the kitchen, and she set the bowl of fruit on the Formica counter, which was old and cracked in places—one of the many items she needed to replace. “I was going to make myself some peach pancakes,” she said as she turned to face him again. “Would you like some?”

  She fully expected him to say no to her polite offer, to tell her he was there for business and nothing more, but he went and threw her another curve she wasn’t anticipating.

  “That sounds great.” He gave his rock-hard stomach a pat. “I’m starved.”

  The low, rumbling way he said the word starved, coupled with the hungry way he continued to stare at her, made her feel as though he were contemplating her for breakfast. She shivered at the thought. If he was trying to throw her off balance with this new and improved attitude of his, he was doing a damn good job of it.

  The kitchen was fairly spacious with a sturdy wooden table off to the side of the room, but with Morgan standing only a few feet away it seemed to shrink in size. Again, she became aware of her skimpy attire and knew she wouldn’t be able to carry on a conversation dressed as she was, and with his bold gaze blatantly admiring her breasts.

  “I’m going to run upstairs and change,” she said as she moved toward the doorway leading to the other rooms in the house. “I’ll be right back. There’s fresh coffee in the pot, so help yourself.”

  With a hand on her jittery stomach, she jogged up the stairs to the upper landing and the room she’d been given when she’d come to live here permanently after her mother had been killed in a car crash with her boyfriend. The master bedroom was down the hall and much larger with a connecting bathroom, but Tess hadn’t been able to bring herself to move into what had been her grandmother’s room. She still missed her grandmother, and there were just too many memories still lingering in her bedroom. Besides, she wasn’t going to be in Wynhaven long, anyway, so she’d rather stay where it was cozy and familiar.

  She changed into a pair of soft worn jeans and a loose Georgia State University T-shirt, ran a brush through her hair to restore order to the tousled strands, and returned to the kitchen in less than ten minutes. She found Morgan standing by the sink,
in the process of peeling the skin from the peaches. Two steaming mugs of coffee sat on the counter next to him.

  He looked perfectly at home in her home, and she wasn’t sure what to make of it…or where all this niceness was coming from or leading to.

  Heading to the counter next to him, she poured cream into one of the mugs of coffee and stirred in a spoonful of sugar. “You don’t need to peel the peaches for me. I can do it.” She took a sip of her coffee, certain she needed the kick of caffeine to help bolster her fortitude for whatever was to come.

  “It’s not a big deal.” He rinsed another ripe fruit then dragged the sharp knife along the surface, quickly and efficiently paring the peach and making good use of those big, capable hands of his. He placed the skinnned piece of fruit into a colander and grinned at her. “I just thought I’d help you get started on those pancakes.”

  She gathered the ingredients she needed for the batter, all the while contemplating the best way to approach Morgan about his impromptu visit. Just get right to the point, she supposed.

  And so she did. “What’s going on, Morgan?” she asked as she measured out the flour, baking powder, and sugar into a big mixing bowl. “Yesterday you didn’t want to have anything to do with me and today you’re Mr. Hospitality. And don’t give me any crap about being neighborly, because I’m just not buying it.”

  He chuckled at her outspoken manner and began chopping the peaches into small pieces for the batter. “Don’t sugarcoat things on my account, sweetheart.” That endearment… God, coming from him in that lazy, sexy drawl he’d once used to coax her into letting him do sinful things to her—with her. It still had the ability to make her weak in the knees, and damp in secret places. He’d always been able to seduce her with his voice and words alone, and he hadn’t lost the ability to do so now.

  “I guess I’m just not the genteel Southern girl I used to be,” she replied with a bit of impudence as she whipped the rest of the ingredients together in quick, frenzied motion. “So, quit beating around the bush with your reasons for being here.”

  “Alright,” he said, his tone and features turning serious. Finished slicing up the fruit, he washed his hands and dried them with a kitchen towel. “I came here to offer a truce, along with my restoration services.”

  She gently folded the peaches into the batter and slanted him a sideways glance, trying not to let her relief show. She was grateful that he was willing to put aside the estrangement between them, but she suspected there was more to this friendly reconciliation than he was letting on.

  Still, she wasn’t about to turn away such an unexpected and welcome gift. “Truce accepted.”

  “And my services?” Reaching for his coffee, he watched her over the rim of the mug as he took a drink.

  She dropped a slab of butter into the hot skillet on the stove and waited for it to melt. “Depends on why you changed your mind.”

  He shrugged. “It’s a job, and money is money, no matter who it comes from. My father always taught me not to discriminate, so I guess I shouldn’t start now.”

  She couldn’t stop the smile that eased across her lips. “Your father always was a smart man.” Mr. Kane had also been hardworking, openly affectionate with his family, always kind to her, and someone she would have loved to call her own father. Especially since she’d never known her own dad and still felt that empty sense of loss even now that she was a grown adult.

  Scooping up a cup of batter, she poured it into the sizzling frying pan, making two large pancakes. “So, this is a business decision then?”

  “And a personal one,” he admitted, but didn’t elaborate on that. “I figure the sooner I help you knock out the work on this place, the sooner you can return to Atlanta and do your thing.”

  “You mean play?” she said, teasing him.

  Returning her humorous grin, he leaned his hip against the counter and slid the fingers of one hand into the front pocket of his jeans. “I was thinking more along the lines of you finding another job.”

  A sigh unraveled out of her as she turned over the flapjacks. The tops were brown, buttery, crispy, and smelled heavenly—just like her grandmother taught her to make them. “Yeah, there is that.” She wasn’t looking forward to getting back to that nine-to-five grind, the hectic pace, the traffic, the stress of having to work against tight deadlines. “I certainly can’t live on my severance and savings forever.”

  “I’m sure the money from the sale of this place will help you out.”

  “Yes, it will.” She was lucky the house was paid for, which meant a huge sum of money for her, a nest egg that would go a long way in helping her to move out of her apartment in Atlanta and finally buy a house of her own. That was her plan, anyway.

  He set aside his coffee mug. “So, what can I do to help?”

  “You can set the table while I finish making the pancakes.” She pointed her spatula toward the cupboard behind him. “The dishes and silverware are still in the same place.”

  With a nod, he gathered the plates and utensils and put them on the table, then the butter and syrup from the refrigerator. He hadn’t eaten there often, just when her grandmother wasn’t around, but he had no problem finding whatever they needed for breakfast now. Whereas his parents had always treated her like one of their own kids, Helen Monroe never did embrace Morgan or Tess’s relationship with him. They had had to sneak around to be together, even though her grandmother had been smart enough to figure out what was going on behind her back and made sure Tess knew her feelings on Morgan Kane: that he was wild and reckless and pure trouble, and if she wasn’t careful Tess was going to end up like her mother. Knocked up and on her own, with no way to support herself and her child.

  The pain of those words still had the ability to pierce Tess’s heart. She never believed Morgan would ever do to her what Tess’s own father had done to her mother. But at the age of eighteen, with her grandmother pushing her to make something of her life outside of Wynhaven, Tess had not only been conflicted and confused, but she’d felt an obligation to her grandmother after everything she’d sacrificed for her.

  And where had any of it gotten her? Educated beyond high school, yes, and working a well-paying job, and getting engaged to the right kind of man by her grandmother’s standards, but she’d given up so much in exchange for that distinction. Important, deeply meaningful things she might never be able to reclaim because of the emotional damage she’d inflicted on the one person who’d meant so much to her as a result of the choices she’d made.

  She harbored a wealth of regrets about the past and her actions, but she couldn’t change any of it. All she could do now was be true to what was in her heart and see where it led her.

  Once she finished the pancakes, she brought them to the table on a big platter while Morgan refilled their coffee mugs. They sat down across from one another and dug in, with Morgan piling four of the flapjacks onto his plate while she took just one. After buttering the pancakes and pouring syrup over them, he took a few bites of the peach confection and groaned his appreciation.

  He swiped his napkin across his mouth and glanced across the table at her, a playful gleam in his eyes. “I’m glad to see you haven’t forgotten how to cook.”

  She raised a brow, more amused than offended by his comment. “Now what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Being a working girl, I’m sure it was easier to grab something on the run, or put a frozen meal into the microwave.” He popped another big bite of pancake into his mouth and was already slicing into another section to eat.

  “It was easier,” she admitted and took a drink of her coffee. “And it isn’t much fun cooking for one person.” As for Patrick, he’d preferred to eat at his favorite five-star restaurants around town where his lawyer father had open accounts for him to use.

  She watched Morgan devour the rest of the pancakes on his plate and take the last two from the platter. She shook her head as she took a dainty bite of her own breakfast, near to being stuffed on just
one flapjack. The man’s appetite amazed her, but she was pleased that he was enjoying the meal so much. It was nice to know she hadn’t lost her touch in the kitchen, because she’d always loved to cook. Missed it, actually.

  “You’d better be careful how much you eat or you’re going to go soft around the middle,” she said, just to tease him.

  He raised his smoky gray eyes to hers and grinned rakishly. “Don’t worry about me, sweetheart, I burn off plenty of calories to make up for how much I eat.”

  He followed that up with a waggle of those dark brows of his, insinuating something of the sexual variety. Her pulse leapt and she glanced back down at her own breakfast. She wasn’t going to touch that statement, because her fertile imagination was doing just fine on its own without him adding more fuel to that fire.

  “How’s your sister doing?” she asked, as much to change the subject as to find out how Amy had fared in the eight years that had passed between them. Amy had been her best friend growing up, even after Tess had fallen hard for her older brother.

  “She’s still happily married to Jake Barber with two adorable but rambunctious little boys. Todd is six, and Gavin is four, and she’s pregnant with number three. They’re hoping for a girl this time.”

  “That’s so great.” As young girls, she and Amy had always talked about getting married and having kids, and being a wife and mother. It was what they’d both wanted, and at least one of them had achieved her dreams. To pursue her grandmother’s wishes, Tess had given up hers, along with the man sitting in front of her with whom she’d wanted to have those babies.

  She set her fork on her plate and pushed it aside. “I’ve missed her friendship.” She couldn’t help the wistful quality of her voice.