“I certainly hope not,” he said in a mild tone that quickly shifted to serious. “What kind of neighborhood do you live in that you’d have to ask if you’re about to get raped or invaded before opening the door?”
“The kind guys like you don’t usually frequent.” She took him all in. Blue-striped button-down with sleeves rolled up to his elbows and tucked into mustard . . . “What are those pants called?”
He looked down. “Chinos?”
“I don’t know what those are but you pull them off.” She crossed her arms and bit the tip of her pinky, enjoying the sight of him. Must have been the confidence in his stance and the way his eyes didn’t waver when he returned her assessing gaze. No guys like him at the public school she went to. In fact, guys like him got punched in the face where she went. Well, maybe not Caleb. He looked like he could hold his own in a fight. She’d have to feel for herself to make sure, but from the way the clothes sat content on his frame, she could tell he sported a tight, lean body girls drooled over. Her mouth certainly watered. She wasn’t ashamed to admit it. No harm in appreciating God-given beauty. She was a painter; she should know.
“What are you wearing?” he asked.
“My painting clothes,” she answered, still admiring him. How could she convince him to pose for her without seeming creepy?
“You paint?”
His tone confused her. “You’re surprised?”
“Yes. It’s something I didn’t expect.”
“There are many unexpected things about me.”
“I’m starting to realize that.”
“Should I even ask how you found me?”
A sheepish grin lifted the corners of his lips. “I asked Tony at the country club.”
“Ah.” Direct. She liked that about him too. She dropped her arms in favor of tucking her paint-smeared hands into her pockets, hiding the rag as she did so. “Since you’re here you should know what my next question will be.”
The grin turned into a fuller smile, but no teeth. “I have a proposal for you.”
“A proposal?” Her eyebrow twitched. Any normal person would have slammed the door in his perfectly symmetrical face for being so weird. In her case, she found herself intrigued. Why not? It wasn’t like she had anything better to do that day besides painting and cleaning.
And job hunting, of course. But honestly, that wasn’t going so well. People just weren’t hiring. All the summer part-time gigs were taken already. Hence her being home.
“Can we talk inside?” he asked, pushing forward as if expecting her to give way.
She stood firm, barring him entrance. The house needed a general cleaning, and her paintings were drying in the living room. So, hell to the no. Hanging out inside for this proposal of his? Not gonna happen.
Her stomach growled, making the decision for her. She stepped out, forcing him back.
“I figure if you want me to listen to your ‘proposal,’ you at least owe me lunch,” she said, pulling the door closed.
He raked those gorgeous eyes over her body again. He might as well have touched her from the way her skin pebbled from a single look. “Don’t you want to change first?” he suggested.
She looked down at her paint-stained overalls and tank top underneath. Even without a bra on she had considered herself pretty much dressed. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
“I believe restaurants have a no flip-flop policy.” He pointed at her choice of footwear.
Lifting her foot, she examined the bright pink slipper. “These are my favorite pair too. And here I thought glitter was considered formal wear.”
“So you’re going to change?”
The hope in his voice made her want to mess with him. “Who said anything about restaurants? I don’t have to change for where we’re going.”
“And where is that?”
With a cheeky grin, she walked past him to . . . Jesus, even his car was gorgeous. White with black racing stripes, the Mustang was all hard lines and lean muscle. Just like its driver. Sometimes money wasn’t half bad, she caught herself thinking. Caleb ran past her and opened the passenger door. She paused, eyebrow inching up.
“A gentleman,” she said.
He dropped his gaze. Was that pink on the tips of his ears? Her eyes brightened. Oh, he was hiding a blush. She made a mental note to make it a point to unsettle him whenever she got a chance.
Assuming she would get another chance.
“My mother always said it’s a man’s duty to make a woman happy,” he said, locking gazes with her again.
“And you think opening doors will do that?”
“Just get in.” There was that equally sexy frown she was growing fond of.
“My, you’re pushy.” She blew him a kiss before taking a seat. And just as he pushed the door closed, she added, “I like it.”