She’d been just as smart when she’d dumped Nash. It’d been scary facing him and telling him she was through. That marriage to him wasn’t working for her. He’d torn her apartment apart, but he’d left. Maybe she was brighter than she’d thought after all.
“Guess it’s time I mashed those babies and turned them into lemonade then, huh?” she asked quietly.
Jameson made an adorably cute funny face. “Ewww, mashed babies. Not a good visual. No, just no.”
He made her smile. “You know what I meant. Puppies, then.”
“Not puppies!” He folded both hands over his chest, faking a heart attack. “No, no, no! We never mash puppies or bunnies or babies.”
Maddie laughed. There was that tantalizing thought again. Blind or not, this man was kissable, and he was funny. He knew how to clown around, and he actually listened. “Fruit! Lemons are fruit. I’m mashing fruit! Not children or puppies, and who said anything about bunnies?”
Jameson took hold of her hand again and laced his fingers between hers, matching their palms. “Sugarless lemonade, okay? Let me know when it’s ready. I’ll be your taste-tester. Deal?”
“Deal,” she promised, feeling lighthearted on a day that had started so, so badly. Maybe there was hope for her. “But before I show you the vault, let’s get you some clothes.”
Her mouth dried at the thought. Him. Without clothes. Needing to be dressed. Or undressed.
“I mean, a shirt.” Flustered, she added, “Office rule number two: dress code is casual. We aren’t invited to many formal affairs, so we wear whatever we want to work. You’re only required to wear a TEAM polo on active operations. Wear whatever you want otherwise.”
Leading Jameson to the storage room, she entered first so he could follow her voice. “This is where we keep TEAMwear, as in polos, tactical vests, boots, snow gear, scuba gear, skydiving equipment, and…” She took a big breath. “You name it, it’s probably in here somewhere. No charge, just take what you need. What size are you?”
She shouldn’t have asked. For some reason, the question sounded nosy. Intimate. Especially when he told her his casual shirt size. Of course. He would be extra-large.
Okay, stop, she told herself. And breathe. Yes, he’s ripped, and he’s tall, and he’s good-looking as heck, but dayum… extra-large? Really? In all departments? “Grab a few shirts so you have extras at home. You know, in c-c-case you ruin one or t-t-two or... or...”
He’d stopped directly in front of Maddie, facing her, his mouth close enough she could smell the mint on his breath. Her lungs failed, just flat out quit working at this, oh, so close proximity and the heady scent of a strong, handsome male. Jameson wore a crisp white dress shirt under a dark gray business jacket, a combination that right now was working her last quivering nerve. He smelled good enough to lick, of aftershave and dryer sheets. Of clean skin and freshly washed hair.
At the moment, he held his cane in one hand, but his other hand rested on his hip. He’d tossed his jacket out of his way, exposing half of his chest and abdomen. The way he’d tucked his shirt into his slacks. That fact that he wasn’t wearing an undershirt. There was something decadently sexy about a good-looking man who dressed professionally. Maybe it was the thought of getting him out of all those properly pressed clothes…
The air vibrated between them.
“Show me,” he murmured, his voice gone husky and thick. Like her blood.
“Show you w-w-what?” she whispered, her heart beating in her chest like a kid’s pajama-clad feet pounded on Christmas morning when he ran downstairs to see what Santa left.
That same adorable smile quirked Jameson’s manly lips, lips she wanted to touch and taste and nibble. “Where do you keep my size shirts?”
‘Who needs a shirt?’ her new-found wicked imagination asked.
Maddie could only see her wild-eyed reflection in his dark, round lenses. The woman looking back at her was still a timid girl with stage fright and no courage. Yet her fingers clenched, wanting to lift those dark glasses off the expertly carved bridge of this man’s perfect nose. To smooth the errant chunk of black hair off a forehead that lined with gentle wrinkles when he smiled. To look into his eyes and truly see him. Were a blind man’s eyes still the windows to his soul? She wanted to know.
Yet she wouldn’t, so she didn’t. Her life was already complicated, and the last thing Jameson needed on his first day at work was trouble. Taking his hand resolutely, she steered him a full step backward and to his right.
“H-here,” she said, her voice lost and her throat dry for some reason. “This bin should fit you.”
“But I don’t want to wear a bin,” he told her, his voice so damned low and sweet and adorable that she wanted to faint in his arms.
But this was their place of employment, and this wasn’t a hook-up. Okay then. Her lungs started working again. She sucked in a deep breath and muttered, “Smart ass. Bins are in. Didn’t you know? It’s all the rage. Wear one on your head or go without. Be a has-been. It’s all the same to me.”
Just as quickly as she’d found her breath, she lost it again.
Jameson had set his cane against the rack and jerked his dress shirt out of his slacks. He’d started unbuttoning it and—Good God!
Maddie closed her eyes. Then opened them. Then shut them again. But why not look? He didn’t seem embarrassed or shy being bare-chested, and he didn’t know she was staring goo-goo-eyed at his physique, and who else would know she was staring at a lean-muscled god with just the right dusting of dark, crisp, chest hairs sprinkled over two manly pecs that begged to be petted and nuzzled and—?
No. Just no. I’d never do something like that! Daring girls reached out and touched half-naked men. Sassy, full of
