Free Sweet Surprise by Candis Terry

to touch it and see if it was as silky as it looked.
    “I came to help,” he added.
    “Help?” Confused, she shifted her weight to one hip. “But we agreed your debt was paid off.”
    “Yeah. Not so much.”
    “What do you mean not so much ?”
    He tucked his thumbs into the leather tool belt around his lean hips as he paced slowly around the room, checking out the supplies she had spread out all over the floor. Her heartbeat picked up speed. Dear God, what was it about a man in a white T-shirt, jeans, construction boots, and a tool belt?
    “There’s a lot to be done here,” he said.
    The T-shirt that hugged his body was a complete distraction. She couldn’t stop wondering what he’d look like without it. Couldn’t stop wondering . . . boxers, briefs, or the ever-sexy combination of boxer-briefs? She didn’t even want to contemplate that he might go commando. Her heart wouldn’t be able to take it.
    “And . . . your debt is paid,” she reminded him.
    “Do you really think Jana is going to pay that huge sum of money for me to just move a few boxes?”
    “You didn’t just move them. You helped unpack them and put the contents in place.”
    He jacked up a sleek brow.
    “Didn’t you tell her to use your skills for something else?” This whole ordeal was starting to make her feel very uncomfortable. Clearly, by the look on his face, he wasn’t much happier.
    “I told her.”
    “And?”
    “And I’m here, aren’t I?”
    “She wouldn’t let you off the hook?”
    “Have you ever won an argument with that woman?”
    “Not that I can remember.”
    “So what makes you think I would?” he asked, the gruffness in his tone displaying his displeasure loud and clear.
    Decidedly uncomfortable.
    Both of them.
    Well, at least the score was even. But where to go from there? It didn’t take a genius to figure out neither of them really wanted this forced alliance. Even though their specific reasons were probably vastly different.
    “I see you got the painting started,” he said. “What other projects do you have on the list?”
    He shifted the tool belt around his narrow hips. The movement drew her eye right to where the soft cotton of his shirt lay against that rock-hard stomach like a second skin and below the belt . . .
    When he cleared his throat, she knew she was busted.
    Eyes up, girl.
    “So . . . are you thinking cabinets?” There was a definite hint of amusement to his tone. “Maybe some shelves?”
    Thinking?
    She was supposed to be thinking?
    “I . . . ummm.” Was it even possible to get her mind off him and back onto business? “Exactly how good are you with your tools?”
    Oh yeah. That comment would do the trick.
    Not.
    One corner of his mouth kicked upward. “Very good.”
    She managed to keep a long sigh from escaping her lungs. No doubt with a body like that he’d be . . . memorable. But then she’d meant the tools hanging from the belt, right? The hammer, pliers, screwdriver. None of those consisted of words like zipper, pecs, or six-pack.
    “I do construction on the side,” he said in a completely businesslike tone. “In fact, I’m a licensed contractor.”
    “So you know your stuff.”
    “Let’s just say that when it comes to putting things together, I know what I’m doing. Knowing what skivvies are, that’s a different matter.”
    Yeah, like she needed to be thinking in that direction again. And yet her head tilted of its own accord as her mind again pondered boxers or briefs. “They’re underwear.”
    “Ah. My Avó would say calcinha. ”
    “Is that Spanish?”
    He shook his head. “Portuguese. My mother’s family comes from Brazil.”
    That explained his gorgeous dark looks, deep mystical eyes, and naturally tan skin. “And your father?”
    “He was as all-American as they came.”
    “Was?”
    “My father was a firefighter in Los Angeles. He was killed in a warehouse fire when I was twelve.”
    “I’m so sorry for your loss.” She knew the pain