Good with His Hands - Tanya Michaels Mills & Boon Blaze

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he was out of her life now. Maybe she’d have a photographer take a picture of her scantily clad and hang that over her mantel.

      Returning to the task at hand, she led Mr. and Mrs. Cute Couple to the recently remodeled kitchen, elaborating on the house’s particulars. Two-car garage, plumbing on a septic system, great school district.

      “Oh, we won’t have to worry about school for years,” the woman said dismissively. “We’re in no hurry to have kids.”

      Her husband pulled her into his arms. “Agreed. I want you all to myself for a while.” Bending down, he whispered something in her ear that caused a happy blush to steal across her face. Then he kissed her.

      Hellooo—standing right here. But antagonizing clients was unwise for someone who worked on commission, so Dani kept her thoughts to herself. Giving the Parkers a moment of privacy, she meandered to the bay window and studied the pine trees and dogwoods dotting the generously sized yard.

      Behind her, Mrs. Parker giggled. “We’re going to check out that master bedroom one more time, just for a second. I want another look at...the closet space.”

       Yeah.

      “Feel free,” Dani said with a tight smile. The previous inhabitants had already moved out, so at least she didn’t have to worry about the frisky newlyweds hitting someone else’s mattress. She figured they just wanted to steal a heated kiss or two.

      Meanwhile, she tried not to feel bitter or envious; her neglected libido had been making itself known lately. She wasn’t usually one for casual sex, but how was it fair that she—who’d been faithful to a fault—was going without while the cheating scumbag who’d replaced her with someone who “makes a man feel needed” was getting busy with his new bride? Excuse the hell out of me for being able to open a pickle jar without assistance.

      When Tate originally called off the wedding, it had been difficult not to hope he met with some freak accident—like an anvil falling on his head. But she’d told herself to be adult about the situation. Wasn’t it better that he ended things before the wedding instead of deciding afterward that they’d made a mistake? So instead of wishing him dead, she’d merely hoped that the next house he bought had termites and mold in the walls.

      What she hadn’t yet known was that getting dumped was only half the story. Earlier this week, he’d asked her to dinner. Since she had a box of his belongings to give back to him, she’d agreed. The diamond solitaire engagement ring was not among the returns. She’d hocked that to help cover nonrefundable wedding expenses she and her dad had incurred.

      When Tate had broken up with her from the safe distance of Europe, he’d mentioned that “someone else” had helped him realize he didn’t fully love his fiancée. But Dani hadn’t expected that faceless someone to return to Georgia with him. As she’d learned during their strained dinner together, Tate and Ella had eloped last Saturday—exactly one week before he’d been scheduled to marry Dani.

      “You deserved to hear it from me, in person, before we begin announcing it to family and friends.” He’d adopted an expression of such condescending concern that she’d been tempted to punch him in the face. “I know this must be very hard on you.”

      “Not so much.” She’d risen from her chair, abandoning a perfectly yummy shrimp carbonara. “Ella is welcome to you.”

      Truthfully, after six months of living on separate continents, Dani didn’t miss him as much as she would have expected. She was almost as ticked off about the months of one-sided celibacy as she was about his defection. She’d always found serenity through physical outlets. Right now, frustrated and wanting to reclaim some feminine pride, she could really use a long night of sweaty, athletic—

      “Danica? I think we’re done inside the house.” The lanky man and his auburn-haired bride had returned. “If you’ll walk us through the yard and the garage, that should do it. Annette and I need some time alone to talk over everything we’ve seen today.”

      “Of course. Right this way.” She opened the back door, leading them out onto a narrow deck. “The deck was added on, but the owners hired a professional to build it.”

      She often warned clients to be careful of homes full of DIY projects; not all of them held up well over time. Sometimes, amateur wiring jobs went up in flames. Substandard roofing collapsed. Kind of like her love life.

      * * *

      THE CELL PHONE vibrated in the dashboard cup holder. Dani groaned. Another pitying relative or acquaintance? But then she glimpsed the picture of her best friend, Meg Rafferty, on the screen. Under different circumstances, both women would have been en route to the famous Swan House right now for a rehearsal dinner. Afterward, there was supposed to have been a bachelorette party hosted in the lingerie store Meg co-owned.

      Using the phone’s earpiece, Dani answered. “Hello.”

      “It’s officially after five o’clock,” Meg said. “A socially accepted time for booze. Want to meet somewhere for drinks?”

      It was a Friday night. If they went out, would they be surrounded by couples on dates? Showing that last house to the Parkers had been all the exposure to couples Dani could stand. A girls’ night in was a possibility, but Meg had recently moved in with her current boyfriend. Which leaves my place. When her last lease ran out and she hadn’t been able to negotiate anything shorter than six months, she’d moved into a tiny, unimpressive apartment. She wasn’t supposed to have been there this long. The plan had been for her and Tate to house hunt when he returned from Europe. Meg knew how much Dani disliked the “temporary” apartment. Every time she came over, she vacillated between sympathy and outrage on her friend’s behalf.

      “Thanks for the offer,” Dani said, “but I’m way behind on paperwork. I want to use the free evening to catch up.” Liar. She sighed. “Actually, what I really want is to get laid.”

      There was a startled pause, followed by a snicker. “I can’t help you there.”

      “Don’t worry. You aren’t who I had in mind.”

      “Wait, there’s someone specific? Why have I not heard about him?”

      “No, no one specific. I just meant...” Yet she couldn’t help envisioning Hot Architect. This morning, they’d passed again in the hall and she’d made a comically exaggerated show of watching where she was going so as not to bump anyone. Amusement had twinkled in his pale blue eyes, and his lips had twitched. She’d almost rated a grin.

      “Sorry, I didn’t catch the end of that sentence. Did you lose your train of thought or are you going through a tunnel? Or,” Meg added knowingly, “did you suddenly remember that you suck at lying? Out with it! Who is this mystery man who has you hot and bothered?”

      “You remember that time you picked me up at the office for lunch and Judy was rhapsodizing about the architect who works down the hall?”

      “Bryce Grayson?”

      Dani smacked her hand against the steering wheel. “Bryce, yes! I knew it started with a B. Thank you.”

      “I’ve caught glimpses of him.” Meg gave a low whistle. “Nice. I mean, I only have eyes for Nolan, of course, but...damn.”

      “Exactly. I worked hard not to notice him while I was with Tate, but now I am a free woman.” A free woman with a healthy sex drive.

      Bryce was going to smile at her soon, and the natural next step would be conversation. With any luck, they wouldn’t stop there.

      SEAN GRAYSON WINKED conspiratorially at the perky woman in yoga pants. Between the cartoon character on her T-shirt and her braided pigtails, she looked more like a teenager than his twin brother’s secretary. “I really appreciate your taking time out of your Saturday to

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