Mr. February Read Online Free PDF Page A

me.”
    “Well, my father’s version failed miserably. And, don’t forget, Chelsea’s pregnant.”
    There was that. “You aren’t your dad. You could try out the conditions and consequences idea on JR.”
    “I supposed so, but it’s not my thing.” Jillian glanced at the clock above the stove and jumped up. “Look at the time. If I want to finish painting before dark, I’d better get back to work.”
    To Rafe’s astonishment, they’d talked nearly an hour. He didn’t mind—he’d learned a lot about Jillian Metzger. Including that she was every bit the free spirit he’d imagined.
    Still, what a knockout. Big, smoky-blue eyes and that great mouth… He thought about kissing her, to see if she tasted as good as she looked.
    But the way they approached life was too different. And as Hank had pointed out, there was no sense getting involved with his neighbor when things would just turn sour later.
    *
    By the time Jillian finished the trim, the sun had tipped toward the horizon, and the temperature dropped into the shiver zone. After setting down her brush, she admired the building, which looked bright and cheerful and even better than she’d imagined. She squinted up at Rafe. “It’s getting late. Time to quit.”
    “As soon as I finish the last little patch, up top.” He strained toward the very peak of the building, his arm muscles flexing and his T-shirt hugging his strong back.
    Jillian sucked in an admiring breath. As she’d worked on the trim, she’d thought a lot about their earlier conversation. Unlike most men, Rafe excelled at listening. She really liked that. Liked him. Even if he was a so-called stud.
    She owed him for giving up his entire afternoon to help her. “You and Calvin should stay for dinner,” she said. She’d been going to open a can of soup for herself, but Rafe needed heartier food. “I’m thinking about a pizza from Harvey’s, and a nice can of dog food for Calvin.”
    “Pizza from the best place in town and food for my dog? That’s a tough offer to turn down.”
    “Then, don’t. You worked so hard, and feeding you is the least I can do. What are your favorite toppings?”
    “Anything but pineapple.”
    “I happen to love pineapple. How about a compromise—half with, half without?”
    “Deal.”
    Forty minutes and two bottles of beer later, Jillian set the extra-large pizza between them on the kitchen table. “Help yourself.”
    Rafe licked his lips and did just that. For a few minutes, they both concentrated on eating.
    Before long, he slowed down and sat back. “How did you get into pottery?”
    People rarely asked, but he seemed genuinely interested. “My sophomore year of high school, I needed an elective,” she said. “My father pressured me to sign up for advanced math.” She couldn’t help making a face. “But the art teacher, Miss Patterson, suggested I enroll in her class. That sounded a lot more fun, so I fudged the truth and told Dad I needed a credit in art.”
    “He never checked your story?”
    “Why would he? I was Miss Obedient—I would never make something up. That was my one tiny, rebellious act.” Samantha smirked. “Besides, he fighting with my mother kept him too busy to look into the matter.”
    At the time, Jillian had been ripped apart by the strife at home and was lonely and miserable. The observant art teacher had taken her under her wing and made her feel valued and talented. “Miss Patterson mentored me. Under her wing, I blossomed. She taught me the basics of drawing and painting, but I liked throwing pots best. I loved taking a blob of clay and making it into something beautiful. Pottery became my passion. It still is.”
    “Passion is always a good thing.”
    Rafe’s eyes darkened with unmasked desire. Jillian’s most private places noticed. Self-conscious, she brushed crumbs from the tabletop into her palm.
    After a minute, he cleared his throat. “What do you do when you’re not making pottery, teaching pottery