Part 9 (1/2)

He surveyed the ladder placement with satisfaction, put his foot on the first rung, and started climbing. He was about halfway up when his fear of heights checked in with a heave-ho of his stomach. Refusing to let an irrational anxiety deter him, he got through the nausea by focusing on his hands as they gripped and regripped.

When he got up to the gutter, he was relieved to discover he probably could solve the problem. It wouldn't be as efficient or pretty as the turnaround he'd preformed on the chicken that first night in Frankie's kitchen. But at least he could reattach the holder-thing that kept the gutter close to the house.

The sound of a fan had been droning while he'd been climbing and now he was curious. Going down a few rungs and leaning to one side, so that he could look into an open window, he realized he was staring into Frankie's bedroom. And then he saw her.

She was laying on her back in bed, an arm and a leg hanging off one side and the covers on the floor. She was resplendent. In the process of flopping around, her s.h.i.+rt had ridden up, exposing one perfect breast and her flat stomach. His eyes traced her skin and lingered on her white cotton panties.

Which were somehow s.e.xier than the lace and satin numbers he'd seen on other women.

Staring into her room, struck dumb by attraction, knowing that he was a Peeping Tom and feeling badly about it, he hoped like h.e.l.l she didn't wake up. But sure enough, it was about then that Frankie started fidgeting in her sleep.

Not about to get caught, Nate took a quick step back into thin air.

Frankie was awoken by a howling noise and she shot out of bed. The next thing she heard was the sound of something like a tree hitting the side of the house right outside her window.She ran across the room, threw up the screen.

And looked into Nate's horrified face.

”What the h.e.l.l-” she stuttered.

”Am I doing up here?” He was hugging the ladder he was on. ”I'm trying to fix the gutter.” Moving gingerly, he reached into the pocket of his cutoffs and took out a screwdriver. ”See?”

”But why?”

”I thought it was better than you having to do it.” He was clearly trying to recover from scaring himself half to death and determined not to show it. The smile he gave her was the same easy, wide one he used on the ground.

But his face was the color of pea soup.

”And this is because you're so scary brilliant with the Mr. Fix-It stuff?” she chided gently.

”All I need to do is just screw in that thing. Up. There.” He let go of the ladder long enough to gesture with the tool and push at the gutter. Two seconds later both hands were back on the rungs.

He was scared of heights, she realized. And doing his d.a.m.nedest not to show it.

”Why don't we get you down from there?”

”Naw, don't worry about me. I'm fine. I'll just finish what I started.” But then he made the mistake of looking down and squeezed his eyes shut. ”Ah, Jesus.”

”Nate?” He opened one eye. ”I really think you should get down on the ground.”

”I can see your point.”

But he didn't move.

”Why don't you just try one rung down from where you are. I'm right here. I'll talk you through it.”

”I'm fine.”

”You're scared of heights and you're stuck twenty-five feet up in the air. I don't think I'd call that fine.”

”I'm not scared of anything.”

Tell that to your adrenal gland, she thought.

Frankie sat on the windowsill and considered the options for helping him down. Distraction. That was what he needed. Distraction and a little motivation.

The solution was obvious. Enticing. Dangerous.

”So you can go back inside,” he was saying to her. ”I'm just going to catch my breath for a sec and then-”

”Nate?”

”Hmm?” It was a pleasant enough noise. He didn't open his eyes, though.

”I have a feeling that if I leave you here, you're still going to be on this ladder at noontime.”

”Untrue.”

Could she really do this, she wondered.

Frankie leaned out and put a hand on his cheek. It was clammy, as if he had a fever.

Her touch got his attention. His lids flipped open.

She refused to think about what she was about to do. She just leaned forward and pressed her lips to his firmly. A shocked hiss come out of his mouth as she pulled back.

”You're a sick woman,” he said softly. ”Why do you wait until I'm completely freaked out and stuck on the side of your house before you'll kiss me?”

”Shhh.” She dipped back down and this time he was ready for her. His lips responded instantly, moving against hers. His tongue snuck out and the kiss deepened.

G.o.d, he felt good.

Frankie buried her hand in his hair, feeling the lush texture. He kissed like a real man, she thought. Hungry, hot, demanding.

There was a sc.r.a.ping noise as the ladder s.h.i.+fted against the siding and they broke apart sharply.

Ho, boy. The idea was to get him down to the ground in one piece. Not kiss him into a dead fall.

”There's more where that came from, Nate. But only when you can take me into your arms properly.” Her voice was shaky. From the scare. From the heat between them. From the fact that she didn't mean what she said. She just wanted a way to get him back on the ground.

Nate, however, obviously took her at her word. He started down that ladder like he'd been trained by a fireman.

That was when she realized she was halfway out her bedroom window, wearing nothing but a T-s.h.i.+rt and panties, having kissed a man for the first time in...heck, she couldn't count that high this early in the morning.

Frankie threw on a pair of jeans and rushed downstairs, hoping like h.e.l.l he didn't get stuck again. She rounded the corner and was relieved to see that he was safe, on the ground.

But coming at her with an unmistakable look of intention.