“I’ll stop if you want,” he said.
Brett sank onto the floor. His blue eyes widened in surprise. “You mean if I say not to do any more you won’t?”
“That’s right.”
Brett glanced from the washer to Nash and back. “I guess it would be okay for you to finish up. Maybe you haven’t made it worse.”
High praise, Nash thought, holding in a grin. “Want to help me?”
“Yeah.” Brett sounded eager. Then he gave a shrug. “I mean I’m not doing anything else right now.”
Nash handed him the wrench and showed him where to tighten the edge of the casing. “Turn that there.”
Fifteen minutes later, the washer was nearly back in one piece. Brett had given up being distant and sullen and now bombarded Nash with questions.
“How’d you figure out what had happened? You ever take a washer apart before?”
“When I was a teenager,” Nash told him. “With computer chips and electronics a lot of home appliances are getting pretty complicated, but this washer’s older. That made it easier to see what was wrong. Your mom had already taken it apart. I just poked around.”
He didn’t mention that Stephanie had been trying a combination of guilt and physical abuse on the old machine. Thinking about how she’s stopped to kick it as she’d walked out of the room that morning made him smile.
“My bike chain came off once,” Brett said. “I got it back on and tightened up some stuff, but I guess that’s not the same.”
“You’re pretty mechanical,” Nash told the kid. “You handle these tools well.”
Brett pretended nonchalance. “I know.”
Just then someone cleared her throat. Nash glanced over his shoulder and saw Stephanie standing in the doorway to the utility room. The twins were right behind her, peering at him from either side of her hips. She didn’t look happy.
“I know you’re trying to help, Mr. Harmon, but this isn’t your responsibility.”
Before Nash could speak, Brett scrambled to his feet.
“It’s okay, Mom. I think Nash really fixed it. He knows about machines and stuff. We’re just putting it back together. Let’s test it.”
Stephanie’s doubt was as clear as her frown. “Brett, the washer isn’t a toy.”
“Good thing,” Nash said as he stood and looked down at her. “Because I wasn’t playing.”
Chapter Three
Had she already mentioned that the man was tall? Stephanie had to tilt her head back to meet Nash’s dark gaze. Once her eyes locked onto his, she didn’t think an earthquake would be enough to break the connection between them.
What exactly was the appeal? His chiseled good looks? The hint of sadness even when he smiled? A body big enough and muscled enough to make him the most popular guy in a “drawing the human form” class? Her sex-free existence? That voice?
I wasn’t playing.
She knew what he’d meant when he spoke the words. He wasn’t playing at being Mr. Repair. He was just trying to help. But she wanted him to mean something else. She wanted him to mean that he thought she was sexy, mysterious and, seeing as this was her personal fantasy, irresistible. She wanted him to mean he wasn’t playing with her. He wanted it to be real, too.
Yeah, that and a nod from a genie would miraculously get the piles of laundry clean, too.
“Stephanie? Are you all right?”
Good question.
“Fine.”
She forced herself to look away from his face and focus her attention on the nearly assembled washer. The scattered tools on the floor were enough to remind her of Marty, who had loved to play at fixing things. He knew just enough to be dangerous to both himself and her monthly budget. Like she needed that kind of trouble again.
“Tell me exactly what you did,” she said. She would need the information to tell the repair guy.
Before Nash could speak, Brett launched into an explanation that involved calling tools by their actual names and pointing out various washer parts on a diagram so detailed, she got vertigo just looking at it. She did her best to pay attention. Really. It was just that the utility room was sort of on the small side and Nash was standing close enough for her to inhale the scent of his shampoo and the faint hint of male sweat. It had been a really long time since she’d seen a man perspire.
And it wasn’t going to happen again anytime soon, she told herself firmly. Men, good-looking or not, weren’t a part of her to-do list. She was going to put any illicit or illegal thoughts of Nash Harmon right out of her mind.
The bad news was she’d assumed that her reaction to him that morning had come from a lack of caffeine and low blood sugar. As she’d had enough coffee to float a good-size boat and she was still full from lunch, she couldn’t blame her current attraction on either of those states. There had to be another explanation.
“Mom, you’re not listening,” Brett complained.
“I am. You got a little technical on me. I guess it’s a guy thing.”
She watched as her son tried to decide between being huffy at her inattention and pleasure at her calling him a guy.
“There’s a simple way to ease your mind,” Nash said.
Reluctantly she looked in his direction, careful not to get caught up in his lethal gaze.
“Let me guess,” she said. “You’re going to turn it on and prove to me that it works.”
“Exactly.”
He smiled and staring at that was nearly as dangerous. When his mouth curved, her stomach swooned. The sensation was more than a little disconcerting.
“Okay, let her rip.” She bent down to the twins and rested her hands on their shoulders. “You two brace yourselves. If the washer starts to hiss and shake I want you to run for cover. Okay?”
They nodded solemnly.
The three of them watched as Nash closed the lid, then pushed in the dial. There was a second of silence followed by a click. Then, amazingly, the old washer chugged to life. She heard the sound of the tub turning, followed by water gurgling down the drain.
“I don’t believe it,” she said. “It might actually be working.”
Brett grinned. “Mo-om. It is working. Nash and I fixed it.”
“Wow!” She brushed his cheek with her fingers. “I’m impressed.”
Adam tugged on her shirt. “I’m hungry, Mom. I want my afternoon snack.”
“Me, too,” Jason said.
“Meet me in the kitchen.” She turned her attention back to Nash. “I don’t know how to thank you. Of course I’ll discount your room for the work. The last time the repairman was here, he charged me a hundred dollars.”
“Forget it,” he said as he crouched down and began collecting tools. “You helped me out this morning. I’m returning the favor.”
“Jump-starting your car hardly compares with fixing my washer. I have to pay you something.”
He glanced up. “Then I’ll take an afternoon snack, too.”
That wasn’t enough, but it would have to do for now. Brett planted his hands on his hips.
“What