The Handyman (18+ Only) [COMPLETED]

3: In Which She Comes...to a Conclusion

3: In Which She Comes...to a Conclusion

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“Sugar?”

“Just one.”

“Milk?”

“Nah.”

“Here you go.”

“Thank you, Sofia.”

Once the coffee was relieved from me, I could finally retreat to a safe distance and observe.

Vaughn – for that was what he’d casually revealed was his name – sat at the kitchen table, a large and dark-haired boy-man, so out of place that it was almost hilarious. He wasn’t even my type and, in reality, I was just too old for him to even give me the time of day. And I was married, for goodness’ sake!

So I tried to find faults with him, if only to make myself feel better.

His hair was a little too curly, thick, and all over the place; that just-got-outta-bed look. He’d probably never heard of a comb. His nose… Well, his nose was far too pointy, too Phoenician. It stood, proud and sharp, above lips that were too plump to be considered masculine. They disappeared when he took a swig of coffee. No, Vaughn Parker wasn’t even on my radar.

But he was delicious to look at.

Dangerously delicious to look at.

“Where’s your husband?”

The question was asked as nonchalantly as possible.

I blinked, properly focusing on Vaughn. He was looking at me with interest, like we were about to have a meaningful conversation.

“Working.” My reply was curt and, if I thought about it, irritated. Was I pissed off that he was acknowledging my husband, or pissed off that I had a husband in the first place? I wasn’t about to think too hard about that.

“Yeah? What does he do?”

“He’s a lawyer.”

Vaughn nodded. “And he left you all alone.” It was a statement, not a question, and I bit my bottom lip.

“He’s probably on his way back,” I felt the need to say. If I wasn’t careful, my nose was going to grow because I knew Jack would be taking his time to get back. “Besides, we don’t have to be joined at the hip. We’re married, not Siamese twins.”

Vaughn let out a laugh. “Fair point, Sofia.”

The stirring in my abdomen grew at the way he said my name. It sounded daft, but his tongue seemed to caress all three syllables, almost like a lover would caress –

Stop right there, Sofia Harrington. Stop it! Just stop it!

“How long will fixing up the shower take?” I asked suddenly.

He set the mug down on the table. “Not that long. One day, tops.” He paused, giving me a soft look. “Thanks for the coffee. I’ll be out of your hair now,” he told me, standing up and stretching. The hem of his shirt rode up, revealing a toned bit of brown flesh – and the unmistakable line of a dark happy trail. I swallowed; instantly uncomfortable, instantly appalled by the sudden moisture in my knickers.

“I’ll be back in an hour. That all right?” he wanted to know, shoving one hand in his back pocket. He looked down at me questioningly.

“That’s fine. I’ll be here.” I led him back to the front door, eager to see the back of him.