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“You better,” he grumbled. “I know where you live.”
Wasn’t that the damn truth?
* * *
The next morning I awoke with a start to the sound of a chainsaw.
At least I thought that’s what the buzzing noise was.
The high-pitched screech that could wake the dead roused me from my bed. “What the hell? Is that a chainsaw?”
I trotted downstairs, wrapping my silk robe around my waist, careful not to accidentally hurt my hands which were wrapped up. They hurt if I applied any pressure to them, so I tried not to.
The noise seemed to be coming from the back yard, so I unlocked my French doors and found the source of all the kerfuffle.
Beck Bennet.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I shouted, hand above my brow to keep the morning sun out of my eyes.
There stood a shirtless Beck with a chainsaw—totally called it—and some protective goggles which made him look ridiculously handsome. While that was a sight to see, it almost distracted me enough from the gaping hole in the fence.
Almost.
“WHAT DID YOU DO?”
Beck lifted the goggles, pushing back his hair which was starting to grow out. It was only noticeable because the man liked his military cut. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m making a gate.”
He slid the goggles back into place and turned the chainsaw back on.
I tightened my belt, and turned on my heel, charging back into the house like a bull.
I searched my drawers, looking for anything that might resemble a tool or something I could use to stop him.
Coming up short, I planted my hands on my hips, scanning the kitchen. A large pot hung in the rack above the stove and an idea struck. “Gotcha.”
Once I filled it with water, I stormed back outside, startling Beck who was busy erecting some sort of frame around the exposed ends of the shared fence.
He lifted his hands and backed up, “Whoa, whoa, whoa. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I tossed the pot of freezing cold water all over him, drenching his skintight, dark-washed jeans. Now they were even tighter around his thick thighs and my throat was suddenly parched as I took in a wet Beck.
Where was my vibrator?I’d need to give it a workout later.
“Jesus, woman,” he swore, water dripping down the planes of his chest.
I wagged my finger at him, approaching slowly. “You do not get to put a gate between our houses without asking me, Beck Bennet.”
My finger stabbed his chest, and the smell of his sweat had me closing my eyes for just a second. I had to collect myself. “Put the fence back up.”
He tilted his head down. “No.”
I gasped. “No?”
“No.”
“I’m sure this is illegal.” I gestured wildly.
Beck lifted my chin with his finger, his touch simultaneously gentle and searing. “This will allow me to help you if you fall again.”