“Anytime you’re through ogling the help, you can pick up a shovel and get to work,” he said, bringing a flood of heat to her cheeks.
“I wasn’t staring at you,” she lied.
“Whatever you say.”
She grabbed a shovel and jammed it into the ground, turning over a chunk of rich, black soil. It was more difficult than she’d expected. By the time she’d dug up a small three-foot square, Kevin had finished a patch twice as large along the fence. His shoulders were glistening with sweat, his muscles bunching in a totally fascinating way. Her gaze locked on the sight and lingered.
“Gracie?”
“Hmm?”
“You’re staring again. Not that I mind, but it’s not getting the garden dug up.”
“I don’t think I can dig anymore,” she admitted. “I’ve got blisters.”
A stricken expression passed over his face. “The gloves,” he muttered. “Dammit, I was supposed to give you gloves. Let me see.”
He took her hand in his and turned it over, palm up. He was so close, Gracie could feel the heat radiating from his body. He smelled of sun-warmed earth, sweat, and a lingering trace of some after-shave. The scent was so thoroughly masculine she forgot all about her injured hands. It was far more intriguing than the expensive cologne Max wore. There was something raw and primitive and real about it that no manufacturer could duplicate.
“Gracie?”
“Hmm?”
“I asked if you had any antiseptic in the house.”
“What?” She blinked and tried to focus on Kevin’s face. “Antiseptic?”
He grinned. “Yes. Do you have any?”
“There’s a first-aid kit in the bathroom, I think. I’ll get it.”
“No, you sit down over there,” he insisted. “I used to play with a couple of kids who lived here. I know my way around inside. I’ll get it.”
He came back after several minutes with a pan filled with hot, soapy water and the first-aid kit.
“Aren’t you making an awful lot of fuss over a couple of blisters?” she asked, eyeing the first-aid kit warily. She had a pretty good idea whatever was in there was going to hurt worse than the blisters.
“They’re broken. They could get infected. Now, hold still. This is going to sting.”
With her hand cradled in his and his head bent in concentration, he poured half a bottle of peroxide over the wound.
“Holy moley!” she yelped, jerking her hand away.
“Don’t be such a baby,” he chided, taking her hand back and dabbing on the much cooler antibiotic cream.
“You have a lousy bedside manner,” she grumbled.
“Darlin’, you haven’t let me near your bed. How would you know?” He covered the injury with a bandage, then brushed a kiss over it. “That should make it better.”
“Or contaminate it with more germs,” she said.
“Let me see the other hand.”
She tucked it behind her back. “It’s fine.”
“Gracie…” he chided.
“Oh, for goodness sakes, you’d think I’d slashed it open,” she complained. “It’s just a couple of teensy little blisters.”
“Let me see.” He held out his hand and regarded her patiently.
Finally, reluctantly, she put her other hand in his. She heard his sharp intake of breath, then the muttered curse.
“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” he demanded. “This hand’s even worse. You should have quit when the first blister popped up. I hate to say it, darlin’, but it’s pretty obvious you’re not used to a lot of manual labor.”
“And you are?”
He grinned. “Is that it? Were you trying to compete with me?”
She shrugged. “What can I say? I have a very competitive nature.”
Kevin shook his head and bent over her hand. This time she managed not to cry out when he poured on the peroxide. When he was finished with the bandage, though, he didn’t let go of her hand. The gentle way he kept on holding it, the light caress by the pad of his thumb sent a very different kind of shock wave crashing over her.
How could that be? she wondered, trying to distance herself from the sensation so she could analyze it. Other men had made far more overt passes without stirring so much as a blip in her pulse rate. Kevin was barely touching her and her heart was thumping away as if she’d run a mile, which was several thousand feet farther than she’d ever run without panting.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m starved,” Kevin said in a way that suggested he was interested in something other than food.
“Me, too,” she responded, a disgustingly breathless note in her voice.
“You stay put. I’ll fix something.”
He abandoned her so quickly, he left her head spinning. Gracie had the distinct impression he was anxious to get away. For a man who’d been making all sorts of provocative hints, he was very lackadaisical about follow-through.
“Now what do you suppose that was all about?” she murmured, staring after him. Since her own pulse was still scrambling, she supposed it was just as well. She wasn’t interested in anything more than lunch. She couldn’t be.
In no time at all, Kevin brought out a tray with two thick sandwiches and two glasses of milk. He took his and sprawled on the ground in front of her. He looked so thoroughly relaxed, Gracie couldn’t help pondering if she’d imagined that instant of awareness that had shimmered between them.
“Have you given any thought to how you want the flowers arranged?” he asked.
“Not really.”
“Are you in favor of the neat, symmetrical look or a wilder, more natural look?” he asked. “Let me guess. Neat, right?”
Because he sounded so blasted sure of himself, she snapped, “Wild. I want everything in there helter-skelter.”
He stared at her. “That sounds mighty daring. You sure about that?”
“I said it, didn’t I?”
His gaze narrowed. “Did I miss something here? You seem upset.”
“I am not upset. I’m…”
“Frustrated?” he suggested, suddenly grinning.
“Oh, go to hell.”
“That’s it, isn’t it?”
“I really could grow to dislike you,” she warned.
“You wish.” He scrambled to his feet, dropped a kiss on her forehead and
