Free Major Renovations (Ritter University #1) by Vanessa M. Knight Page B

mouth. The digital clock on the wall said ten thirty. Damn. She stood and tossed her napkin on the table. “I need to get home. I’m exhausted.”
    “If you want, you can stay here.”
    “That’s probably not a good idea.” She looked longingly at the clean leather couch. She wouldn’t mind balling right up and closing her eyes. What a bad idea.
    Soft leather.
    Still. Bad idea.
    With giant fluffy pillows.
    Why was it a bad idea again?
    “You shouldn’t drive when you’re so tired,” Ski pointed out. “And that wasn’t a proposition. I can make up a room for you to stay in. We have a house full of them. They have locks, so you’ll have privacy.”
    “Thanks, but I should get home.” Her eyes landed back on the furniture. So soft looking. Her eyes drooped as she thought about a nice short little nap— with the big, strong Ski sleeping down the hall. Her body sizzled at the core.
    Yeah, no. She’d never be able to sleep with him so close.
    Ski left the couch and placed a hand on Samantha’s lower back. Her skin burned as he ran his fingers up and down the pebbling skin. She stood, inches from him. Inches from his hard, strong body. Her face inches from his. His lips. She wanted to put his lips to hers. She wanted to feel him. On her. In her.
    Crap . She definitely needed to leave before she did something stupid.
    “Good night.” She tripped over her feet as she headed for the door. “And, uh, thanks for dinner.”
    “My pleasure.”
    Pleasure? Yeah, pleasure all right. She thought about arguing whose pleasure it truly was, but that wouldn’t help the situation. Or her drooping eyelids.

~»ΨΡ«~
    Chapter Thirteen
     
    Ski
    SKI SWIPED at the bee circling his head, and brown stain splattered across his cheek. He probably should have put the paintbrush down before waving his arms like a wand-waver at the airport. Damn bee was too quick, too persistent. And it wasn’t like he smelled like a flower, either.
    He leaned against the handrail. Gowno . He pulled back and twisted to see the line of brown stain across his ass. Thank goodness he was covered in the stuff or it would look like he had an accident.
    Damn stain.
    When he woke up this morning, it seemed like such a good idea to help Samantha out. Now, two stain-covered hours later, he was questioning the intelligence of the whole thing. The new wood on the ceiling and the railing were covered in stain, which was a win. But bets could be waged on whether more stain was on there or on him.
    If given the chance to bet, he’d bet on himself. He’d worn latex gloves, because, hey, that made sense, and the painters had left a box of them behind. If he had a brain in his head he would have worn long sleeves, too— he had splotches all over his arms, and the brown patches had hardened to a crusty cocoon, tugging the hair and skin every time he moved.
    He walked onto the grass and grabbed a bottle of water. Sweat was already dripping down his neck and it was only eight in the morning. There was only one way the thermometer would go. Up. By noon, it could easily hit a hundred.
    Another sweat-soaked day. Which— sort of— explained why he’d opted to get covered in stain rather than wear long sleeves.
    He took a swig and leaned his head back. The early morning sun chipped away at the dew in the air warming his cheeks. Good thing he was almost done. Then, maybe, he could talk Samantha into sitting down for lunch. Or dinner. Or breakfast tomorrow after a long night of...
    That last one was definitely wishful thinking. But he wasn’t letting go of that dream.
    He wiped the back of his hand over his forehead. The porch looked pretty damn good. If he didn't go into medicine, he had a promising future as a painter. Stainer? Whatever.
    He tossed the empty water bottle at the cooler and straightened up. The deck floor. That’s all he had left. He could do this. No sweat. Well, maybe some sweat, but it would be worth it when it was all done.
    He grabbed the handle of