Just Once Read Online Free PDF Page A

required is a screwdriver. I think we’ve got a few tools and a stepladder in the supply closet. A bead of sweat trickles down my back, and I make up my mind.
    I’m braless beneath my tank top, so I pull on a sweater before slipping into my sneakers to run downstairs in the dark. I let myself into the supply closet and dig around until I find a rusty old screwdriver. I scoop up the stepladder and race back upstairs, weaving a little, but arriving safely.
    I cast aside my sweater and sneakers and set up the rickety wooden stepladder beneath the post for the ceiling fan. When the lodge was built, this entire level was one open space, and when they divided it into staff rooms, they built them fairly carelessly. Each room has a window and a light, but not necessarily in the center of the room. In the case of this room, both the light and the fan are at the end of the rectangle, in front of the door.
    At length I get the fan assembled. I heave the contraption onto my shoulder and climb the shaky ladder until I can reach the ceiling. I’ve got the screwdriver clamped between my teeth, and it takes all my strength to heave the fan onto the post. Once it’s centered I climb even higher so I can hold it up with one hand while attempting to screw it in place with the other.
    The combination of the heat, my proximity to the light, and my unaccustomed exertion makes me sweat even more. I can feel rivulets of water creeping down my back and between my breasts, and my armpits are damp. Much more of this labor-intensive work and I’ll—
    I shriek as the door flies open and crashes into the ladder. I pitch forward, leaving the ceiling fan dangling precariously from its two screws, and topple onto the massive stranger. He’s huge, but thanks to the ladder I’m taller, and when I fall my slick armpit smashes straight into his face. I feel his nose press into my skin, his muffled shout of surprise, and then my entire limp, sweaty body slides down his front until I crumple to the floor. He falls backward, landing on his ass with a thud and a grunt, and then a faint creaking sound has us looking up, just in time to see the ceiling fan come loose and fall to the ground, cracking into several jagged pieces.
    Breathing hard, I sit up to stare at the man glaring back at me. Clad in a black T-shirt and cargo pants, he’s got tousled dark hair and even darker eyes. He’s not beautiful like Brandon, but there’s something powerful about him. The smooth plane of his nose suggests it’s been broken, there’s a hard line to his jaw. Something south of the border clenches instinctively. What? It must be the alcohol. And the heat.
    “What the hell are you doing here?” he finally asks, dusting himself off and standing. Almost as an afterthought he reaches down and grips my arm, pulling me unceremoniously to my feet.
    I jerk away and check myself for injuries. With the exception of my wounded pride and a few bruises, I appear to be fine. “I’m not hurt, thanks for asking,” I reply. “And I’m here because this is my room. A great question would be what the hell are you doing here?”
    His eyes flash, and he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a handful of small papers I recognize as requisition notices. “I came back to this,” he says. “Apparently someone named Kate is in dire need of a ceiling fan.”
    Thanks, Brandon. “You’re Shane.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “Do you normally walk into rooms unannounced in the middle of the night?”
    He smirks. “Never been a problem before.”
    What an asshole. I gesture to the broken fan. “Well, it’s a problem now. I need a new fan. And I need you to knock before you come in to install it.”
    “Seems like you know what you’re doing.” He shrugs. “I don’t think I need to come back at all.”
    “Are you always an asshole?”
    He raises an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”
    “You heard me. You barge into my room, nearly kill me, break my fan, and apologize for nothing.”
    His dark