Page 18 of The Billionaire in Her Bed

Brooke’s heart lurched, and she had to remind herself to breathe.Holy hell.Since when had she found a man’s forearms provocative?

Since about three seconds ago, apparently.

She took a few steps toward him, not wanting to get too close and risk falling under his sexy spell. “How much is this going to cost me?”

“Let me take a closer look.”

He lay on his back and stuck his head under the sink. After a few seconds, he raised his arms to adjust something, exposing a strip of firm, bare flesh between the hem of his shirt and his waistband. The strip widened as he reached father up to tinker with a section of pipe closer to the drain. She took advantage of the opportunity to gawk unobserved, letting her eyes feast on his rock-hard abs—abs her naughty fingers remembered all too well and itched to get reacquainted with.

“You need a new U-bend.” He scooted out from under the sink and stood, wiping his hands on his jeans.

She hastily averted her eyes, not wanting to get caught staring. “What’s a U-bend?”

“The pipe that’s shaped like a U. And while you’re at it, I recommend PVC instead of copper. It’s more efficient and durable, and it won’t rust or burst. Parts shouldn’t run more than thirty bucks. I can run to the hardware store and have them installed in a few hours.”

“Oh, no. I wasn’t asking you to…”

“You’re right. You weren’t asking. I was offering.”

She bit her lip. Accepting help wasn’t her forte. But she was stuck between a rock and a soggy place. “Are you sure it’s not too much trouble?”

“Piece of cake.” He jammed his thumbs in his pockets and rocked on his heels. “I’ve flipped a house or two in my day.”

She eyed him suspiciously. He might look the part, but she hadn’t forgotten the designer duds and high-end haircut he’d been sporting the night they met. “You don’t seem like a manual labor kind of guy.”

“You’d be surprised what kind of guy I am.” The damn dimples were back, making her heart flutter. “So how about it? Am I hired?”

“Only if you let me pay you,” she insisted, pressing her mouth into a thin, uncompromising line.

He considered it for a minute. “How about you feed me when I’m done? I like spaghetti.”

Dinner? At her place? Just the two of them? Money would be a whole lot easier. And a lot less…tempting.

“Couldn’t I give you cash?”

He shook his head. “Money I’ve got. Home cooking I don’t.”

“Fine.” She couldn’t screw up pasta too badly, could she? “But you’ll probably wish my sister was at the stove. She’s the chef.”

“I doubt it.” His eyes raked her up and down then flicked to his watch. “I’ll be back in forty-five minutes.”

She calculated how much time it would take her to shower and shave her legs. For her own benefit, of course. Not Eli’s. A girl was entitled to feel good about herself, wasn’t she? That was the only reason she was contemplating wearing the sheer lavender bra and panties at the back of her underwear drawer, tags still attached.

Liar.

“Can you make it an hour?” She shifted to hide a stain on her shirt. Pointless, she knew, as there were at least three more she couldn’t conceal.

“Deal.”

With a wink, he turned to leave, giving her a parting view of his fine, firm ass in those tight jeans before he disappeared out the door.

…

It was more like an hour and a half by the time Eli found himself back outside Brooke’s apartment. He balanced his toolbox and the bags he’d gotten at Home Depot in his arms and knocked.

“Come in.” Brooke’s voice wafted through the door, along with the sweet smell of garlic and tomatoes. “It’s open.”

He grinned as he turned the knob and crossed the threshold. “Of course it is.”