The Haneys: What You Do To Me Part 24

"OK, how about the winter carnival? Do you want to go see the ice sculptures?"

"Again. Too cold." She sighed, and studied her nails. "Maybe tomorrow we can see the ice sculptures. It's supposed to be warmer, in the twenties I heard."

"What then?" Sam gave her a squeeze. "What would you like to do today?"

"I thought maybe we could do some of that soul-deep bonding thing you mentioned earlier." She bit her lip, and heat flooded her cheeks.

"Are you suggesting I take you to bed? Are you propositioning the handyman?"

"I am, and feel free to tell my mother if you want." She rose from her place and held out her hand. "It's a test. If you stick around afterward, you pa.s.s."

"I can do that." Taking her hand, he allowed her to lead him toward her bedroom. His cell phone pinged, and he stopped. "Wait." Sam took it from his back pocket and checked his texts. "It's Wyatt. He and Josey made me promise I'd let them know how things go with you today. Do you think you might let me out of bed later this afternoon?"

"Maybe. Why?"

He shot her an amused look. "Do you want to get together with Wyatt and Josey this evening? We can shoot some pool or play darts."

"I'd like that. Plus, I can finally get Josey's bowl back to her."

"See?" he said, texting back. "We're perfect for each other."

"Prove it."

Laughing, Sam tossed his phone on the dining room table and scooped her up. He carried her to her bedroom and laid her out on her bed, where he proceeded to undress her-slowly enough that he drove her crazy.

"I love this spot right here where your neck and shoulder meet. Mmm." He kissed her there before nibbling his way down her torso. "And this bit of skin right here," he said, swirling his tongue along the curve of her waist. "And this one." He ran his cheek over her belly, causing delicious currents of heat coiling through her.

Haley moaned and pulled him up to her for a kiss. The tenderness in his touch, the reverent look in his eyes, was a balm to her heart. Haley lost herself in his arms, reveling in the way he loved her, the way she loved him.

Running her hands down his shoulders, across his chest, she savored the feel of him under her palms. His sudden exhalations as she explored every inch of him sent her desire to new heights.

"You drive me wild, Haley." Sam cradled her head and kissed her forehead, each cheek and finally her mouth. With every touch, nibble and bone-melting kiss, he loved her fears and doubts away. When their bodies joined, he stared into her eyes, his love for her s.h.i.+ning through.

And when they were both breathless and replete, he stayed with her in a tangle of arms, legs and sheets.

"I love having superglue s.e.x with you," he said, turning on his side to wrap her in his arms.

Haley giggled. "Superglue s.e.x? Are you saying I'm sticky?"

"Exactly. I'm involved, bonded-heart, soul and body. I'm sticking to you, which means you're stuck with me. Superglue s.e.x."

"Wow. That's deep, Sam," she said, her tone teasing. "And so hot. I'll never be able to look at glue the same way ever again. Elmer's, Gorilla, t.i.tebond, talk dirty to me, baby." She sighed. "Now I want you again," she teased.

He tickled her ribs, and she giggled and tried to squirm away. Her threw his leg over hers and tightened his hold. "I don't know about you, but I'm ready for a nap."

"Me too." Haley pulled the covers up over their shoulders. "I need to rest so I can kick your a.s.s at darts later."

"Dream on, Ms. Cooper. Dream on."

Once again he wrapped himself around her. Surrounded by his heat, scent and strength, Haley succ.u.mbed to drowsiness, the kind that only happened when she was perfectly content and happy. She fell asleep, secure in his arms and certain her handyman would still be with her when she woke.

Epilogue.

Six Months Later Sam wrapped up the cord to Haley's Shop-Vac and surveyed the newly finished downstairs room. After they'd torn out the old bathroom and put in all new fixtures and tile, including a sauna, they'd started on the new family room, putting in an egress window on the west side. A wide-plank, rough-hewn pine floor, insulation, new walls, a closet and built-in bookshelves turned the s.p.a.ce into an inviting gathering place for family and friends. He'd also installed a small wet bar, and a gas fireplace.

He and Haley had worked well together, hardly any fights at all during the months they'd remodeled the bas.e.m.e.nt. And the arguments they did have, he'd pretty much started for the fun of having makeup s.e.x. Side by side they'd transformed the dark, cold s.p.a.ce into a bright, warm room, a perfect place to hang out. If that didn't mean their relations.h.i.+p worked, he didn't know what did.

"Wyatt is coming over later to help me move my entertainment center, TV and couch out of storage and into our new family room." He turned to Haley. "So? What do you think?"

She crossed the room and slid her arms around his waist. "I love it. How about you?"

"I'm happy with the way it turned out, but . . ." He sighed dramatically for effect.

"But?" Haley's eyes filled with concern as she searched his face.

"Well, I've been thinking." He kissed her forehead and wrapped his arms around her. "Once we turn the upstairs into a master bedroom suite, along with this room, we'll have added significantly to the usable square footage. We could make a nice little profit if we sold this house."

"Sell our home?" She frowned. "But I thought you liked living here with me."

"I love living with you, Haley, but this is a small house. I have money saved. I thought we could sell this place, put the profit and my money together and buy a house that will be ours. We need a home big enough for a growing family, something we want to stay in for years and years."

"Oh, Sam, I love you so much," she said, her voice hitching. "I'd like that."

"We could build new, or buy a place worth fixing up. I enjoy remodeling with you, so I'm leaning toward an older home with character." He tucked an errant strand of silky brown hair behind her ear, and cradled her face against his shoulder. His heart turned over, and tenderness for her swamped him.

The depth of his love for her grew with each pa.s.sing day, expanding him and enriching his life in ways he'd never imagined possible. She truly was his greatest adventure, and absolutely nothing in the world would ever compare to having Haley by his side. "I love you," he whispered.

She made a m.u.f.fled, soggy sound, and the place where her face rested against his shoulder grew damp. "Oh, no. Don't cry, Haley." He drew back to peer at her. "I thought you'd be happy. I got you a present. That should cheer you up."

"I'm not sad, Sam." She let out a shaky laugh. "Tell me you bought me a new miter box. If you did, you're the best boyfriend ever."

"Really?" he said. "That's all it would take?" He pulled the small velvet box from his back pocket. His poor heart pounding away in his chest, he went down on one knee. He opened the box to reveal the engagement ring he'd chosen for her. It was cla.s.sy and beautiful, like Haley. "What do you say, Haley? This handyman's heart beats for you and you alone, and it always will. Marry me?"

Squealing, she threw her arms around his neck, knocking him off balance. But then, he'd been off balance since the day they'd met, and he discovered he liked the dizzy way she made him feel. He caught himself with a hand on the wall and stood up. Haley continued to cling to him, and that was perfectly fine with him.

"Yes, Sam. Yes," she murmured against his neck.

"Good." He held her tight, his eyes tearing. "What about a winter wedding, a nice honeymoon somewhere warm, and then we can get busy making a few flotation devices together. I was thinking five is a good number."

She laughed. "I'm thinking two is enough."

"Three it is."

Proud and happy beyond belief, Sam kissed her, drawing his bundle of wonderful as close as possible. "Tomorrow, let's gather the troops and make our announcement." He chuckled. "Trudy's going to s.h.i.+t a brick."

"She's coming around. She likes you, and it ticks her off, because she can't help herself."

"Pick a date, and we can start looking for places for the reception. Grandpa Joe and Grandma Maggie will want us to get married in their church. Is that OK with you?"

"I'd like that very much."

"Love you." He wrapped his arms around her, content to spend a few more minutes celebrating. Sam closed his eyes and sent a silent thank-you to his mom and dad. He hoped they were looking down at him now, pleased to see he'd honored their memory by reaching for his own happiness. He'd asked the love of his life to be his forever, and doing so hadn't caused even a smidgeon of panic. "I'm glad I called in that morning to the Loaded Question radio show."

"Really?" Haley shot him an incredulous look.

"If I hadn't, Trudy never would've fixed us up. I wouldn't have met you, and I'd still be fooling myself into believing I didn't want anything or anyone tying me down. So, yeah. Really. I'm happy, Haley. Happier than I've ever been. In fact, I might write the radio station and let them know how it all turned out." He chuckled.

"Or maybe not. I do plan to thank your mother though." He would, too, from the bottom of his reformed heart. He imagined the expression on his future mother-in-law's face when she discovered exactly how well her scheme had worked out after all.

Sam twined his fingers with Haley's, every chamber of his heart full to bursting. "Are you disappointed I didn't get you a new miter box? Does this mean I'm not the best boyfriend ever?"

"Fiance," she said. "And you're definitely the best."

Acknowledgments.

The saying, "It takes a village to raise a child," is applicable also to producing a book, which to my way of thinking is a "child of the mind." I am deeply grateful to all of the folks at Montlake Romance for giving What You Do to Me a home.

I'm also grateful to my agent, Nalini Akolekar, my cheerleader and coach. My village also includes Tamara Hughes and Wyndemere Coffey, critique partners and dear friends. I also have a writing community to thank. Without a village of writers and supportive organizations, writing would be a solitary endeavor indeed.

Finally, I must thank my readers, who make it possible for me to do what I love most.

An Excerpt from

Whatever You Need

(Book 2 in The Haneys)

Editor's Note: This is an early excerpt and may not reflect the finished book.

Wyatt sat at his drawing table and worked on a new panel for his latest comic book. In the first edition, Elec Tric, his superhero, had been hit by an otherworldly bolt of lightning one sunny day. Twice. Since then, he's been able to generate his own electricity. Even stranger, an unseen world of demons and super beings became visible to him from that day forward. Tric had been forced to make a choice: join the forces of evil intending to reign supreme over the innocent inhabitants of earth, or . . . join the forces of good who kept the evil in check.

"Join me, Tric, or I will destroy you," Delilah Diabolical, the demon queen, shouted.

"Never!" Tric shot a lightning bolt at his archenemy, sending her reeling.

The first comic book in the series had been all about world building. Now Wyatt got to take his ongoing saga in new directions, adding characters, creating fresh storylines and plot twists. He colored the bolts of lightning shooting from Tric's hands and eyes, and the pesky lower-level demon, sent to distract the superhero, turned into a pile of cinders.

Of course, Tric had chosen to use his powers for good, and in this graphic tale, he would once again come up against Delilah Diabolical-DD for short. Unfortunately for the unsuspecting and unseeing civilian population, DD didn't care who got caught in the crosshairs. It was Tric's job to protect the unsuspecting public.

"Help!" the pretty blonde shouted, as two minor demons attempted to drag her off to the underworld. "Somebody, please help me!"

Wyatt's hero rushed to rescue the mysterious Ms. M again, which gave the superhero pause. Why did fate keep throwing the pretty blue-eyed blonde in harm's way? In his way? Was she another distraction sent by the evildoers to keep him from finding out what they were really up to? If not, then what did the demon realm want with Ms. M?

Cue foreshadowing dramatic music. Da-da-duhhh. Wyatt grinned. Sometimes, his stories played like cheesy movies through his mind, and when that happened, he was in the zone. Nothing made him happier than working on his comics while in the zone.

Noise at the back door leading to the parking lot pulled him out of his imaginary world. He rose from his stool and glanced out the window. There she was, the pretty blonde who lived in the apartment above his-the blonde who'd been his inspiration for the mysterious Ms. M. Her little boy carried a jug of laundry detergent, while Ms. K. Malone-he'd read her name on the mailbox more than once-lugged two large plastic tubs full of laundry, one stacked on top of the other.

His pretty neighbor did her laundry every Sat.u.r.day morning. Wyatt knew this because he took the opportunity to observe her as she left, and every Sat.u.r.day morning he wondered the same thing: How would K. Malone react if he ran downstairs and out the door to help her with her heavy load? Would she turn her thousand-watt smile his way, introduce herself and ask if he'd like to get together with her soon? He wished.

Longing filled him, and he moved back from the window-as if K. Malone might be able to see him from the parking lot. "Curse this wretched shyness," he muttered in his best cartoon character superhero voice. He wanted so badly to talk to her, to introduce himself and maybe ask her out. He'd even tried a few times, but the words stuck in his dry mouth, his face turned to flame, and his lungs refused to do their job. He was a hopeless mess.

Wyatt peered out the window until mother and son drove off to the Laundromat. Letting loose a heavy sigh, he returned to his drawing table, immersing himself in his made-up world of alter egos and heroic deeds.

Forty minutes later, he got up to stretch. The panel he'd been working on was finished, and his stomach rumbled. Lunchtime. He walked to the kitchen to make a sandwich, when he smelled . . . smoke? A second later, the fire alarm shrieked in the kitchen above his.

"d.a.m.n." K. Malone's apartment was on fire. Wyatt took his cell phone from his pocket and dialed 911. As he gave the dispatcher all of the pertinent information, he grabbed his fire extinguisher from under the kitchen sink. s.n.a.t.c.hing his keys on the fly, he dashed out into the hall and down the stairs to the caretaker's apartment.

He pounded on the door and listened for any signs of life from inside. No movement. Not a sound. He tried once more just to be sure. "Floyd," he shouted. Nothing. Wyatt took the stairs three at a time, racing to the top floor. "Fire. Get out!" he pounded on doors and shouted. "Fire," he called, making his way through all the floors. In old buildings like this, fires could spread quickly. Extinguisher still in hand, he followed the last person out the front door.

The blare of sirens reached their quiet street, and by the time he made it to the sidewalk, the engines were close. Two trucks with lights flas.h.i.+ng pulled up to the curb next to the hydrant on the corner. Wyatt stepped forward to meet the firefighter who seemed to be directing the crew. "The fire is in the apartment on the southeast corner of the second floor."

"Your place?" a fireman asked, as the rest of the crew scrambled with gear and attached a hose to the hydrant on the corner.

"No, my neighbor's. She's not home, and neither is the caretaker, otherwise I would've tried to put it out." He lifted his extinguisher. "I'll open the security door." Wyatt ran to unlock the deadbolt. He held the door wide as two firefighters rushed in, dragging the hose with them. "It might be electrical," he called out.

"Got it." Two more men followed, canisters strapped to their backs and gear in hand.

"Stay out of the building until we give the all clear," the firefighter in charge yelled.

Wyatt cringed at the sound of Ms. Malone's door being hacked open, but what choice did the firefighters have? Floyd had the master keys, and he was nowhere to be found. As usual. The guy was so lame. He did a p.i.s.s-poor job of keeping the place up, and Wyatt often smelled pot smoke coming from the bas.e.m.e.nt apartment. He'd turned the caretaker into a really stupid demon character in his comic books-and then he'd killed him off.

Another point against the caretaker, Wyatt had complained to him about the wiring in the building, and asked him to contact the owners. He'd noticed right off the building didn't even come close to meeting code. When his requests failed to produce the much-needed improvements, Wyatt had resorted to sending letters to the city. He'd also researched who owned the complex and sent letters himself to the holding company in California. That got him nowhere either.

If his suspicions were correct, and the fire started because of faulty wiring, something had to be done. What if a fire broke out in the middle of the night when everyone was sleeping? There was no guarantee all the ancient smoke detectors were in working order. His hand went to the scars on his neck and jaw. Burns were excruciatingly painful, and things happened so fast. He didn't wish that kind of misery on anyone.