Dusk darkened the sky by the time Tony finally managed to get out to the huge old mansion. His long stride took him swiftly past Chris’s beat-up Jeep, which was the only vehicle left in the parking lot. He’d been itchy all day, anxious to see Sarah after their “first date.”
God, wasn’t he beyond all this high-school crush nonsense? He was a damn grandfather, not some overly hormonal teenager. Apparently not, or why was his stomach juddering as he opened the front door? Why were his knees weak at the sight of her adorable behind stuck in the air as she… What exactly was she doing up there anyway?
“Sarah?” Tony approached the staircase where she was using a putty knife to scrape at something on the newly sanded landing.
She dropped the tool and jerked around with a gasp.
He made it up the steps just in time to catch her as she lost her balance. “I’ve got you,” he said, pivoting her around to face him while she flailed, finally settling her hands on his shoulders.
“You scared the crap out of me.” The obvious delight in her eyes curbed the accusatory tone of her voice.
Her hair, pulling out of the knot in the back, fell in curly tendrils around her face. Her flowered blouse was tied under her breasts over a snug yellow tank top that had come untucked from her jeans, revealing an expanse of taut white stomach, and she had a smudge of dirt across one cheek.
Adorable.
Tony’s reaction was as instinctive as racing up the stairs to catch her. He bent his head and captured her lips in a kiss.
Sarah slipped one hand up his shoulder to the nape of his neck, where her fingers slid into the hair curling over his collar. She tilted her head and leaned into the kiss. Without breaking contact, he tightened his grip on her hips and tugged her up off the steps to a safer position on the landing.
The kiss, gentle and yet somehow full of passion, lasted for a long moment. When he finally lifted his head, he realized his hold had left her toes dangling above the sanded surface. He eased her back down onto her feet, his hands still firmly on her waist. Letting her hands fall to her sides, she rested her forehead on his chest.
They were both breathing heavily, and suddenly, Tony wasn’t at all sure what to do with his own hands. Should he release her? Had he scared her? Maybe not—she was still there. She hadn’t bolted. His heart pounded so hard he was surprised her head wasn’t bouncing as he waited for her to say or do something.
Finally, she stepped back a few inches, staring up at him with wide eyes, a hint of a smile on her full lips. Was there anything sexier than a woman who’d just been thoroughly kissed? “Well, hullo there, Deputy,” she said, her voice soft and breathy.
Relief coursed through him. “Hi.” Resisting the urge to go in for another kiss, he reached for her hand instead and laced their fingers together as he led her to the window seat. “You’re here late. Where’s Chris?”
“Up in the master bath caulking around the tub.” When she didn’t pull away after they sat, Tony was thrilled beyond words. “Did you come to lend a hand?”
“Nope. I actually came to see if you wanted to go get a pizza, but I’m happy to help out. What needs doing?” Her hand was so small in his. Hell, she was so small. He wanted to tug her onto his lap and hold her. Given the current state of his lap, that would probably be a tactical error. Moving slow was key in this relationship. He knew because for several nights, he’d read into the wee hours about the PTSD suffered by abuse victims.
In particular, he’d Googled information about sexual abuse. Julie hadn’t given him any personal details and he hadn’t asked. Sarah’s inclination to flinch at almost any affectionate touch, his own cop instincts and Paul Prescott’s smirking mug shot were what had convinced him she’d probably been terrorized in every possible way by the bastard. One day, she might confide in him, but whether she did or not, he would progress gently no matter how desperately he wanted her.
Right now, victory was sweet as she gazed up at him, her fingers twined with his and a tiny pulse fluttering above her collarbone. “I was trying to scrape grout off the landing.” She indicated the putty knife with a brief nod. “I think someone had it on the bottom of their shoe. I’ve already done four steps and I can see a little more on the lower steps. I guess I should’ve taped the staircase with paper after we sanded.”
“We can do that. I think there’s a roll of paper down in the dining room. Unless you think it’s too late to bother.”
“It is. I need to get this stuff scraped off tonight because the guys are coming tomorrow to start sealing the floors. Chris and I are going to run the shop vacs over all the hardwood in the place and then damp mop everything before we leave.” Her voice was calm even though her hand trembled as she curled her fingers in his.
He bent down and dropped a kiss on her tousled hair. “Why don’t I order a pizza and pitch in? Three of us working will get stuff done quicker.”
“You don’t have to—”
Tony cut short her protest with a quick touch of his lips to hers. “I want to,” he said simply as he dropped her hand and pulled his phone out of his pocket.
* * * *
“God, I’m beat.” Chris stuffed a painter’s cloth into the huge box by the front door before dropping onto the bottom step, his head sagging against the newly painted wall. “It’s after midnight,” he said with a glance at his watch.
“Get your filthy head off that wall,” Sarah scolded good-naturedly before frowning. “Maybe it was mistake to have the painters in first. Everything looks amazing, but what if the floor guys scuff up the paint?”
“And what if the painters had spattered paint all over the newly poly-ed floors?” Chris sat up straight and grinned. “Look, you had to pick one or the other. Frankly, I’d rather touch up scuffed walls than scrape and sand these floors again.”
Sarah chewed her lower lip as she turned a complete circle in the high-ceilinged foyer that gleamed with fresh paint the color of buttermilk. She’d chosen the soft pale color for all the walls in the house and a slightly darker shade called Oats and Honey for the woodwork, which they’d chosen to paint instead of refinish. Julie and Carrie had agreed that washable paint would be easier to maintain, plus the lighter surfaces lent an airy ambiance to the whole house. They weren’t trying to register with historic landmarks, so keeping the hardwood floors was true enough to the era of the house. Color would come in with whatever they could find the way of art, rugs, furniture, and accessories.
“Okay, this is the last of them.” Tony sauntered in with another huge box of drop cloths and set it by the front door. “Shop vacs are stowed in the mudroom and Chris here has volunteered to empty the buckets and rinse and wring out the mops and hang them up.” He stared pointedly at the young man, who rose with a weary sigh and saluted.
“I’m going, I’m going.” Chris headed for the kitchen.
“Make sure the back door is locked and that you get all the dirt out of the laundry tub.” Tony called after him.
Sarah’s heart swelled at the sight of her deputy, clad in a faded Led Zeppelin T-shirt over slightly baggy jeans and sporting a backward baseball cap over his salt-and-pepper hair. Ordinarily, she’d be the first to tell any male over fifteen to spin the damn cap around right. However, on Tony, the look was all him—natural and easy. Nothing at all like the men she’d known in Georgia, who were always immaculately dressed in designer suits or expensive casual golf or tennis togs.
Wait. My deputy? When had she started taking ownership of Tony Reynard in her mind? That was dangerous territory, although watching him fold the flaps on the boxes of drop cloths made her heart speed up at the memory of his warm lips on hers earlier. That kiss was every bit as delicious as she’d fantasized it would be. She wanted more, but the thought of more made her stomach clench and an acid taste rise in her throat.
“We should probably take that leftover pizza with us,” Tony said, stretching like a big lazy cat when he finished with the boxes. “Once Greg starts the floors, we’ll be banned for a few days while they dry. Did they say how long we’d have to stay away?”
Sarah turned away to stop herself from staring at his brawny form. “Why do you wear your hat backward?”
“Huh?”
“Why do you wear your baseball cap backward like a kid?” The question came out snippier than she intended, but she needed to get her mind off his hands and his lips and how much she wanted them on her again. Back in some measure of control, she faced him and said in a gentler tone. “I’m curious.”
His brow furrowed. “It’s a seeing thing,” he said, pulling the hat off and running his fingers through his thick hair before replacing it correctly. “The brim shadows the floors in here and I wanted to make sure I mopped up all the dust. And when I drive the boat, I need to be able to see the water and everything around me.”
A frisson of disappointment shot through Sarah as the hat hid Tony’s eyes. Without a second thought, she crossed to him and reached up to switch the cap back-to-front again. “Leave it. I like to see your face. It’s a nice old face.” The last words came out in a whisper.
Tony’s smile lit up his toast-brown eyes and he brought one hand up between them slowly, cautiously. “Yours is just fine too,” he said, his voice husky as he stroked her cheek with one finger. “Even all covered in sanding dust.”
She needed to explain. Before things went too far between them, she had to tell him why they could never… “Tony, I need to tell you—”
“Shh.” He touched her lips for a brief second and shook his head. “Not right now.”
“But—”
“We’re good, okay?” He dropped his hand and pressed his lips to her forehead as Chris called from the dining room.
“Hey, you want me to bring the pizza from the fridge? Greg said we aren’t gonna be able to get back in here for at least a week.”
Tony stepped back and gave her a grin. “And there’s the answer I was seeking.” He headed for the dining room. “Yeah, find a grocery sack and let’s take anything that might not last for a week.”
Sarah stood still for a moment, savoring the memory of Tony’s lips warm on her skin. Wishing she could take her imagination beyond kisses without feeling physically ill or unbearably sad or being terrified of where every touch might lead.
Maybe Jules was right. Perhaps she should bring the sex thing up with Dr. Benton.
What a hideous thought. Nonetheless, the idea niggled at the back of her mind because, dammit, she wanted Tony. There was no question about that. Yet, every time she thought of making love with him or making a life with him, despair washed over her. Overwhelming sadness made her cringe at his touch.
This morning, she’d had what Julie would call an “ah-ha moment”—one that she needed to face, because if she didn’t, she’d never know another moment of happiness. Damn. Damn. Damn. Her heart pounded and her mind raced. Okay, this was not the time to take that crap out and examine it.
“Hey lady, get in here and tell us what you want from the fridge.” Tony’s deep voice hailed her from the butler’s pantry, rescuing her from her own train of thought.
Shaking her head, she scurried to the kitchen. “Guys, we need to make sure we take the trash bag out, too. Otherwise, it’s going to stink to high heaven when we do get back in here.”
Tony met her at the door of the pantry with the kitchen trash bag, already tied up and ready to go, clutched in his hand. “Great minds,” he said with a grin that set her pulse racing.
You have no idea, my friend. No idea at all, Sarah thought, deciding right then and there what her next session with the therapist would entail.