Free Luring a Lady by Nora Roberts

thought frantically. Maybe he’d imported plumbers from the mother country.
    â€œCan I help you?”
    â€œNo. Yes.” She pressed a hand to her heart when she realized she was completely out of breath. “Mikhail.”
    â€œHe is just outside.” Intrigued, he watched her as he jerked a thumb toward the window.
    She could see him there—at least she could see the flat, tanned torso. “Outside. But, but—”
    â€œWe are finishing for the day. You will sit?”
    â€œGet him in,” Sydney whispered. “Please, get him in.”
    Before he could respond, the window was sliding up, and Mikhail was tossing one long, muscled leg inside. He said something in his native tongue, laughter in his voice as the rest of his body followed. When he saw Sydney, the laughter vanished.
    â€œHayward.” He tapped his caulking gun against his palm.
    â€œWhat were you doing out there?” The question came out in an accusing rush.
    â€œReplacing windows.” He set the caulking gun aside. “Is there a problem?”
    â€œNo, I…” She couldn’t remember ever feeling more of a fool. “I came by to check the progress.”
    â€œSo. I’ll take you around in a minute.” He walked into the kitchen, stuck his head into the sink and turned the faucet on full cold.
    â€œHe’s a hothead,” the man behind her said, chuckling at his own humor. When Sydney only managed a weak smile, he called out to Mikhail, speaking rapidly in that exotic foreign tongue.
    â€œTak” was all he said. Mikhail came up dripping, hair streaming over the bandanna he’d tied around it. He shook it back, splattering water,then shrugged and hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. He was wet, sweaty and half-naked. Sydney had to fold her tongue inside her mouth to keep it from hanging out.
    â€œMy son is rude.” Yuri Stanislaski shook his head. “I raised him better.”
    â€œYour—oh.” Sydney looked back at the man with the broad face and beautiful hands. Mikhail’s hands. “How do you do, Mr. Stanislaski.”
    â€œI do well. I am Yuri. I ask my son if you are the Hayward who owns this business. He only says yes and scowls.”
    â€œYes, well, I am.”
    â€œIt’s a good building. Only a little sick. And we are the doctors.” He grinned at his son, then boomed out something else in Ukrainian.
    This time an answering smile tugged at Mikhail’s mouth. “No, you haven’t lost a patient yet, Papa. Go home and have your dinner.”
    Yuri hauled up his tool chest. “You come and bring the pretty lady. Your mama makes enough.”
    â€œOh, well, thank you, but—”
    â€œI’m busy tonight, Papa.” Mikhail cut off Sydney’s polite refusal.
    Yuri raised a bushy brow. “You’re stupid tonight,” he said in Ukrainian. “Is this the one who makes you sulk all week?”
    Annoyed, Mikhail picked up a kitchen towel and wiped his face. “Women don’t make me sulk.”
    Yuri only smiled. “This one would.” Then he turned to Sydney. “Now I am rude, too, talking so you don’t understand. He is bad influence.” He lifted her hand and kissed it with considerable charm. “I am glad to meet you.”
    â€œI’m glad to meet you, too.”
    â€œPut on a shirt,” Yuri ordered his son, then left, whistling.
    â€œHe’s very nice,” Sydney said.
    â€œYes.” Mikhail picked up the T-shirt he’d peeled off hours before, but only held it. “So, you want to see the work?”
    â€œYes, I thought—”
    â€œThe windows are done,” he interrupted. “The wiring is almost done. That and the plumbing will take another week. Come.”
    He moved out, skirting her by a good two feet, then walked into the apartment next door without knocking.
    â€œKeely’s,” he told her. “She is out.”
    The room