Rogue Wave by Isabel Jolie (reading eggs books txt) 📕

it adds so much. Paint. Sometimes we replace fixtures. Depends on how dated they are or if they’re rusted.” She looked up at the light in the center of the room. “You’ve got rust. It’s a lot, but at the same time, it’s not. Paint. That’s the big piece on these cottages. Sometimes a new roof. Does this place need a new roof?”

She’d been scouting for nails as she checked the downstairs out, and I’d been focused on the way she filled out her cut-offs. My cock twitched, threatening to come to life. Christ, it had been too long since I’d been near a woman. She caught me staring, and I stepped past her to open the window further. The whole place felt too warm and stuffy. There wasn’t enough ocean breeze coming through, and the mold smell remained trapped inside.

“Have you checked the roof yet?” she asked, skepticism leaking through her words. Like she was wondering if I knew what I was doing. Like maybe somehow she’d inspected my floorboard project and discerned I’m a renovation amateur.

“No.”

“What all are you gonna do?”

“Don’t have much of a plan.” I’d started ripping up the boards because it needed to be done and it felt good. “Someone—I think Alice, maybe—had most of the furniture moved upstairs before the storm. So, I figured I’d start down here. Fix it up. Then move upstairs.”

“Did you have damage upstairs?” The innocent girl did not understand what kind of loaded question she just asked.

“Only down here. Whole place needs a fresh coat of paint.” The bathrooms could probably use a refresh too, but they were palatial compared to a plank with a hole in it.

Without asking, she charged up the stairs, and I followed along in her wake. Whereas downstairs was one sizeable room with a kitchen and living area, the second floor had a hallway with three doors, and the stairs continued up to the third floor. Two doors led to bedrooms, one door to a bathroom. A standard configuration for these cottages.

She opened the doors, glanced inside, then charged up to the third-floor bedroom.

I rolled my head back, stretching my shoulder muscles, and followed. By the time I caught up with her, she was running her fingers along the windows. The view of the ocean from up here was breathtaking, but you couldn’t see it so well, as years of salt spray coated the glass panes.

“You need to replace these windows,” she said with the air of a seasoned renovation expert.

“What?”

“Yes, you see how they’re bowing in? And come here.” She waved me closer.

I reluctantly stepped forward. She grabbed my hand, and shockwaves cycled up my arm. No one had touched me in…I couldn’t remember.

Her fingers wrapped around several of mine, and she held them over a gap where the double-hung window joined, then along the perimeter.

“Feel that?” she asked, referencing the air flowing in freely from the outside. But I was still hung up on my physical reaction to another human being’s skin. She was close to me, watching as she moved my hand, searching for a sign I felt the breeze as she directed my wrist around the window’s perimeter. I breathed in her coconut sunblock. I envisioned coating her back with the white lotion, lifting her hair out of the way and stroking her smooth, flawless skin.

I snatched my hand back and moved to the center of the room.

“You replace these windows, and you’ll see a huge improvement in your electric bill. Not to mention, look at all the corrosion.”

My heartrate quickened, and I placed my hands on my hips.

“Look at all your fixtures.” She pointed at the overhead light. “Rust.” She stepped forward, into the small bathroom. “Yeah, come see. Everything here is rusted or corroded.”

This room happened to be my favorite. The room I stayed in as a kid when I spent summers here. Water dripped from the ceiling vents. One problem she hadn’t yet identified. Troubling water stains marred the ceiling.

“I’ll be happy to help you. I can make a list for you of what you need done. Laura and I have helped with the redesign on over a dozen island homes. I have references. I can get Mr. Baird to come by, too. He can tell you about the roof or any structural issues.”

“Alice already had him come by and check it out.”

“Did he mention if it needs a new roof?”

“No.” If I recalled correctly, he only checked out the electrical after the hurricane. I ran my hand through my hair and found it hanging loose and wild. I pulled it back with the extra strap I’d worn on my wrist.

Luna paused, watching me. She swallowed, and I watched the movement in her throat and let my gaze wander farther down, to the tiny starfish perched over the dip in her clavicle, to her breasts bound today by her tummy baring halter top, and down those long, golden legs.

“I’ll be happy to help you out,” she said, more slowly this time, as if she knew where my thoughts had strayed. She sounded tempting. Willfully so.

I shook my head and led the way down the stairs, escaping the stuffy, too hot attic room and the mildew and rust. I heard her footsteps following me as she continued speaking.

“I can get you deals on materials through Laura and Mr. Baird. And, like I said, I think you can get a killer deal on the floorboards. I can bring over some paint samples and get an idea of what you like.”

I spun around, and she held out her phone to me.

“Look at these photos of some work we’ve done. If you see something you like, we can go off that.”

I took her phone and flipped through several shots of cottages. Clean lines, muted colors. Nice. Expensive. I handed her phone back.

“I can’t afford you. I’m sorry.”

“I’d be happy to help you for free.”

“Free? You work for free?”

“Well, no, that’s what Laura’s done with her company. I help her out, and