Smitten Read Free Page B

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    â€œWell,” he said, “if you need me, just give a holler.” For lack of a better gesture he gave her a light punch in the arm and left her alone with her can of paint.
    Two hours later Matt looked in on Lizabeth. She’d made her way up to the second floor, and she was happily singing the theme song from Snow White .
    â€œHi ho, hi ho…” Lizabeth sang as she swiped at the woodwork on her hands and knees.
    â€œWhich one are you?” Matt asked. “Dopey? Doc? Sneezy? Sexy?”
    Lizabeth stood. “There’s no dwarf named Sexy.”
    Matt searched his mind. “Are you sure?”
    â€œTrust me on this.”
    She had paint on her arms, her jeans, her shoes. It was in her hair, splattered on the front of her shirt, and she had a smudge running the length of her cheek. Matt couldn’t keep a grin from surfacing.
    â€œYou’re a mess.” He reached out and touched a drooping curl. “You have paint in your hair.” He’d meant to keep his touch light, his voice casual and teasing, but his hand lingered.
    Lizabeth’s breath caught in her throat when he stepped closer. She was scared to death he was going to kiss her, and scared to death that he wouldn’t. They watched each other for a long moment, assessing the attraction.
    Matt had always felt fairly competent at second-guessing women—until this moment. He didn’t want to make any mistakes with Lizabeth Kane. He didn’t want to come on too strong or too fast and frighten her away. And he didn’t want to make working conditions awkward. And besides that, she was a mother. He’d never before been involved with a mother. In his eyes motherhood was in the same category as a Ph.D. in physics. It was outside his sphere of knowledge. It was intimidating. And the thought of beddingsomeone’s mother felt a smidgeon irreverent. Not enough to stop him, he thought ruefully. Just enough to slow him down. He considered asking her out, but the words stuck in his throat.
    He’d heard her brief intake of breath at his touch and wondered if it was an indication of desire or distress. Perhaps he’d just caught her by surprise. Probably she thought he was a dunce to be standing here with his heart on his sleeve. He dropped his hand and managed a small smile. “You have some paint on your cheek.”
    Lizabeth blinked at him. “I thought you were going to kiss me.”
    Matt grimaced. “I was thinking about it, but I chickened out.”
    She could identify with that. She’d backed away from a lot of frightening situations in the past ten years. Now she was trying to broaden her horizons, get some courage, assert herself. It wasn’t easy.
    Well, what the heck, Lizabeth thought, this was a new age for women. There was no reason in the world why she had to wait for yellow belly here to kiss her. There was nothing written in stone that said he had to bethe aggressor. She took a deep breath, grabbed him by the shirtfront, pulled him to her, and planted a kiss on his perfect lips.
    There was no response. Matt Hallahan stood like a wooden Indian with his arms at his sides, his lips slightly parted—in shock, rather than passion—his eyes open wide. Lizabeth checked him to make sure he wasn’t hyperventilating and kissed him again. The first kiss had been sheer bravado. The second was much more indulgent.
    Lizabeth took her time on the second kiss. She slid her hands up the front of his shirt, enjoying the feel of hard muscle, until the tips of her fingers tangled in his blond hair and her thumbs brushed along the lobes of his ears. She kissed him lightly, tentatively. She parted her lips and kissed him again with more insistence.
    Matt’s reaction was guarded. There were at least twenty men wandering around on the job site with easy access to the colonial. Howie was downstairs, installing a chair rail in the dining room, and Zito was hanging cabinets in