“I can help you hang those in the window. I hid the hooks above the molding last year so we don’t have to remove them every year.”
“Clever.” Her sarcastic tone couldn’t be mistaken, but he ignored it.
“We’ll need a ladder,” he determined. “I’ll get it from the back, then you can hand me the balls and I’ll attach them.”
She slitted her eyes at him. “I want to hang the balls. You can do something else.”
“Fine. But it takes two for this job. You don’t want to be going up and down the ladder each time you hang a ball. It’s inefficient.”
He had a point. She’d have to bury her reluctance to work with him at the risk of coming up with some other childish excuse.
Once Dean brought the ladder to the window, she climbed up three steps and took the first ball from him. Not a well-thought out plan, since her butt was now at his eye level.
“Can you stand over here please?” She pointed to the other side of the ladder.
“It’s better if I stand behind you, to spot you. In case you lose your balance.” His grin emerged without any attempt to hide it, and she gritted her teeth to prevent a growl.
Inhaling, she reached up to tie the ribbon on the hook. Her sweater inched over her midriff giving him a view of her torso. This day just couldn’t get any better. If she hadn’t been so stubborn in demanding that she hang the ornaments, she’d have the pleasure of staring at his physique, not the other way around.
She aimed to accomplish this job in record time, so she could move onto the next task—something solitary and away from the man who had her brain scrambled. Each time he handed her a ribbon, his fingers grazed hers, as if on purpose, and warm tingles shot up her arm. When she deigned to take a glimpse into his eyes, they held hers—as if his captive—for a moment too long, scattering all thought. When she reached over a little too far, so as not to have to move the ladder again, his warm hands encircled her bared waist, causing a riot in her core.
“Can’t have you falling,” he said, his voice raspy. Sexy.
She closed her eyes for a moment. “You can let go now. We’re done here.”
Instead of releasing her, he guided her down the steps. Although her back was to him, his familiar scent—leather and sandalwood—had her reeling. How could this fragrance from so long ago affect her like this?
Refusing to turn and look at him, she pulled away, tugging at her sweater. “Thanks. I’ll put the snowflakes on the windows. You can help my dad with the lights.”
She started to walk away, but he grabbed her arm and spun her around. “What’s going on, Bella? It’s like you don’t want to be near me. Did I offend you in some way?”
As the blood rushed from her head, she took an unsteady breath.
She could feel his eyes study her, but she couldn’t look at him, afraid a stray, uncalled for tear would slip out.
“We better get back to work.” She extricated her hands from his, and a chill immediately took over. “I’ll go get the window decals.”
Disappointment cast a shadow over his eyes.
“Okay then.” He exhaled. “I guess I’ll help your dad with the lights.”
She turned, berating herself for not stating her problem with him. Keeping things bottled up was not good for her mental health, and she’d not only missed her opportunity to confront Dean head on with her gripe against him, she’d been tiptoeing around the truth of her current predicament with her parents.
Since when had she lost her courage, her moxie, her grit?
She must have left it all in the managing partner’s office when she was fired.
The time had come to get it back.