Love Transposed Read online

  Love Transposed

  by Chelsy Day and Pepper O'Neal

  Published by

  eTreasures Publishing

  Prologue

  Cupid X, Senior Cupid Extraordinaire, studied the five cadets standing at attention in front of him.

  "You will be assessed for promotion to Full Cupid by a Valentine's Day challenge," he informed them. "The Cupid who is successful in pairing off the most unlikely couple will not only earn full status, he will gain a position as my personal assistant, a fast track career move toward becoming a Senior Cupid."

  All five shiny, red-cheeked faces brightened in anticipation. Their wings beat faster, and more than one chest puffed up with determination. Remembering his own response to this same challenge, Cupid X hid his smile behind the clipboard in his hands.

  "You have until midnight on Valentine's Day to complete the mission. I will expect all reports on my desk no later than five p.m. on February fifteenth. Any questions?"

  A chubby, round arm waved from the back. "Sir, is this how you moved up from being a cadet?"

  Ten interested ears perked up to hear the answer. Cupid X's chest filled with pride. The story of how he won his first promotion was one of his favorites. He'd been hoping someone would ask so he had an excuse to tell it.

  "I did indeed move up after winning a similar challenge."

  The young Cupids were bouncing. They leaned forward, obviously eager to hear more.

  Cupid X cleared his throat and slipped into his storytelling voice. "The place was New York City, USA, on Planet Earth, the time: the year nineteen-eighty-one..."

  Chapter One

  Sunday night:

  "He's the best," Terra exclaimed with a twinkle in her eye. "The absolute best."

  "And he's easy on the eyes," her twin sister Tara added. "He is the hottest guy to work on my apartment in years."

  "You have to hire him," Terra insisted. "You absolutely have to. I mean he's the best!"

  "I promise you, he does great work," Tara said. "And did we mention, he's sexy as sin?"

  Jane's head swung back and forth, following the volley of compliments flying like a ping pong ball between her two best friends Twin One and Twin Two. They likely would've gone on for hours if she'd let them. Discussing a good-looking, available man-no matter how inappropriate he might be as a potential husband-could carry the sisters through more than just the opening credits on movie night.

  Jane cut them off before they could really get going. "Fine. He's hired. Give me his number after the show. But for now, be quiet. I want to watch Harrison Ford."

  Said actor flashed across the TV screen, leading to two hours of near silence, punctuated by sighs of appreciation.

  ***

  Sunday morning one week later:

  "Coming!" Jane hurried to the door. "Okay, I'm here. Now give me just a sec."

  She unlocked the deadbolt, pushed down on the door handle and pulled with all her strength. Grunting in frustration, she struggled to get her sticky front door open. With the amount she'd paid for the damn house, she had expected it to hold together. For a few years at least.

  The Money Pit came to mind-and Murphy's Law. The excuse the structure was more than a hundred years old didn't make her any less aggravated when she was stuck inside, unable to get the door to cooperate.

  A pop, almost like a jar opening, signaled success. And the bulging muscles and tight jeans waiting on the other side of the door were an ample reward for her efforts.

  "Are you Dan?" she asked hopefully.

  She blew her bangs out of her face so she could get a better look. If this six-foot-plus hunk was her new carpenter-slash-painter-slash-handyman, everything the twins said about him was right on. At least as far as the sexy-and-hot-eye-candy part went.

  "Ah, yeah. I, er-I'm Dan," he stammered, running a hand through his raven hair. He appeared a little taken aback. "Are you Jane?"

  "I am." She stepped back to let him in. "As you can see," she said, using her butt to force the door closed again, "my house needs some help."

  "Here, let me do that for you."

  He waved her aside, put his broad shoulder against the door and eased it into place with no visible effort at all. A little sigh escaped Jane as those imposing muscles rippled underneath Dan's t-shirt.

  God, could he be any more of a looker?

  She led the way to her living room, complete with a fireplace that didn't work and windows that didn't open. Dan made a circle of the room, looking at the century-old crown molding and window casings, the hardwood floors, bookshelves and furniture. It appeared nothing escaped his notice.

  "I need the windows in here unstuck and the walls painted," she told him. "The fireplace needs something done to it so it doesn't fill the house with smoke every time I try to light a fire. But redoing the floors in a maple finish will be the biggest job. At least in this room."

  Taking out a notebook and pencil, he started scribbling furiously. Then he walked to the windows and inspected the casings. He scribbled some more before looking over at Jane.

  "I assume you want your front door fixed as well?"

  "Oh, God, yes. If you would, I'd be eternally grateful."

  Dan grinned, sending Jane's mind straight down to play in the gutter.

  "There is more to see in the kitchen," she said, heading in that direction. Why were inappropriate men always the hottest?

  ***

  Thursday Morning:

  'I'll need a key to get in and out. Oh, and I'll start to work early tomorrow.' Dan had said early, hadn't he? Early was seven a.m. Not a quarter to six in the morning. No, Jane decided, five forty-five wasn't early. It was ungodly!

  The hammering was bad enough, then someone started sawing wood. Over and over again. Fifteen minutes after being rudely awakened, Jane was done-her patience gone, her thoughts edging toward homicidal. Slipping on a thin robe, she hurried out of her bedroom and down the stairs. Her tired body demanded she get some retribution for her lost sleep.

  "What the hell are you doing here at this time of..." Her words trailed off. Four pairs of virile-male eyes gawked at her. All work stopped, making her realize she was practically naked. A silk tank top and tiny shorts under an ultra-sheer robe hid next to nothing.

  Dan stepped forward, blocking her from the other men's view with his broad back.

  "Ma'am, perhaps you'd like to get dressed."

  "Get dressed? No, I wouldn't like to get dressed," she snarled. "What I would like is to sleep for another two hours!"

  "I apologize, but this is a big job. These guys are excellent carpenters. But they're only available for the next three mornings. And only from five thirty until ten thirty." He stroked his jaw with his large, labor-roughened hand, but it didn't hide the smirk as his eyes roamed down her body. "You might want to think about going to bed a little earlier tonight."

  Jane gritted her teeth to hold back the very un-ladylike language Mr. Fixit inspired. She did an about-face and stormed out without another word.

  ***

  Friday Morning:

  "We'll be starting with the kitchen tomorrow," Dan had told her on Thursday evening. "It'll get loud."

  Loud was an understatement.

  Jane dragged herself out of bed. Her headache pounded in time with the hammers downstairs. Showering sounded good. Coffee, necessary.

  Ten minutes into her shower, the hot water disappeared. She tried to get it back and only succeeded in dripping shampoo into her eyes.

  "Shit!"

  A cold shower in January wasn't an experience she wanted, and certainly not one she'd forgive. Her hair was going to be fried by the blowdryer without conditioner or flat as a pancake all day. Someone would pay.

  A few freezin
g minutes later, she swept into the kitchen, her hair wrapped in a towel and her body in a warm fluffy robe she hoped would help her regain some heat.

  "There's no hot water," she accused.

  "Yep. John shut it off." Dan tossed her a grin. "Problem with the pilot. Should be back on by tonight."

  "You let him turn it off? Didn't you hear me in the shower?"

  His face turned serious. Good thing. If he'd smiled or joked, she'd have punched him.

  "Figured after fifteen minutes, you had to be about done," he said, his voice matter-of-fact.

  She ignored his comment. "And what do you mean it should be back on tonight?" The words hissed out past her clenched teeth.

  He shrugged. "Well, we had to get started since John's the only one who knows what he's doing when it comes to plumbing. If the pipe repair isn't done by the time he needs to leave today, you'll have to do without hot water tonight."With an absent shrug, he gestured toward her range. "Or heat some on the stove."

  "Heat some... Me? Heat water on the stove to bathe?"

  She exited the room shell-shocked. A tight ass, however excellent, did not make up for the suffering Mr. Fixit was putting her through. A hysterical laugh bubbled up. And she was paying for this torture?

  ***

  Sunday Evening:

  "He's horrid," Jane told the twins. "Perfectly horrid."

  She was ready to pull out her hair-her apparently overlarge and over-fluffed hair. She blew her bangs out of her face and threw a cartoon on the table between her two friends.

  "What's this?" Tara smoothed out the drawing.

  Terra squinted and switched on the lamp beside the couch. "Is that you?"

  "No, it can't be her," Tara said. "Her hair isn't that big."

  "It's definitely supposed to be Jane," Terra insisted. She grinned at her sister. "The artwork's terrific. See how he's drawn a perfect rendition of her face when she's totally pissed."

  Looking from one twin to the other, Jane sighed. If she hadn't wanted honesty, she should've taken this conversation to someone else.

  "I found a whole bunch of them in a sketchbook he left under the coffee table," she said. "This was the most flattering one."

  "The others were worse?" Terra picked up the cartoon and studied it from a different angle, as if that would make it less offensive.

  Tara jumped up and rubbed a comforting hand down Jane's back. "Well, at least he insulted you with quality artwork."

  "That's true, Jane," Terra agreed. "He could've done stick figures. With boobs."

  "I'm not sure being recognizable isn't worse." Jane plucked the paper out of Terra's hands and wadded it into a ball. It mortified her. All morning she'd paced the house, fixated on the stupid handyman and his opinion of her. "If it was a stick figure, I could pretend it wasn't me."

  "There is that," Tara said.

  "Yep, no denying this is you." Terra took the crumpled drawing away from Jane and smoothed it out again. "But it could be worse."

  "Worse?" Jane had a hard time visualizing how.

  "Tomorrow's his last day. You have to see him one more time then he's gone."

  "Terra's got a good point," Twin Two said. "Shove the sketchbook in his face then boot his sexy ass out the door."

  Tara was right, Jane decided. Saying goodbye would be the highlight of this terrible ordeal. She could hardly wait. The minute she got home from work tomorrow, Dan was gone.

  ***

  "The woman's got no taste. And she's a pain in the ass." Dan sipped his beer then gestured with the bottle. "She went so far as the give me the hexi-whatcha-ma-call-it for the paint color. I don't have any real problem with painting the living room the dreadful color she picked out. But can you believe that she wants me to redo those beautiful cherry-wood floors to match her fake maple furniture?"

  "Hey, man, haven't you heard the old saying that the customer's always right?" John clapped him on the back. "Besides, there are some nice perks. She looked really hot that day she stormed into the kitchen in that sheer robe and those skimpy pajamas." He heaved a lusty sigh. "Man, I'd like to get a piece of that."

  "Shut up," Dan growled, a red haze obscuring his vision at the thought of any other man touching her. "Stay away from her. And don't talk about her like that."

  "What? You don't think she's hot?" John asked, all innocence. "I'm just telling it like I see it." He grinned. "Look on the bright side. You only have to work on her place. You don't have to live there."

  "Thank God for that," Dan said with feeling. He shifted the magazines on his coffee table. "Hey, have you seen my sketchbook-the ones with all the cartoons in it?"

  "Not since you pulled it out of your pack to show Kevin the one of Jane as a dumb blonde. Why?"

  "Because I can't find it." Dan raked a hand through his hair. "I just hope to Christ I didn't leave at Jane's. If she sees those sketches, she's really going to be pissed."

  "So, what's a little more fuel on the fire? Yes!" John jumped to his feet and cheered, doing a little boogie in front of the television when Richard Todd threw a touchdown, putting the Giants ahead by ten hard-won points. "She can hardly get anymore pissed," he continued, dancing back to the sofa, "than she did when I turned off the hot water on her shower."

  "Oh, I don't know about that." Dan headed into the kitchen for another beer. He needed something to help him face the prospect of tomorrow. "I have a feeling that we've only gotten a glimpse of how terrifying she can be when she really gets going."

  "Well, if you left your sketchbook there and she finds it, I bet you're going to see a whole lot more than a glimpse."

  "Yeah." Dan took a long gulp of Budweiser. "That's what worries me."

  ***

  Monday Evening:

  The house was quiet when Jane walked in. But she smelled fresh paint, and Dan's truck was still outside.

  So where was he?

  She dropped her briefcase on the table near the front door, wandered into the living room and-gasped.

  "Oh my God! What has he done?" Instead of the lovely blue color she'd requested, he'd painted the room a hideous purple. "He did this on purpose. There's no way he could've messed up this badly by accident."

  "What the hell are you talking about?" Dan growled. He swaggered out of the kitchen, drying his hands-on one of her new white towels. "I'm not the one who picked this god-awful color."

  "I didn't choose this color. I chose blue. A lovely, muted-grayish-with-a-touch-of-green- blue." She strode over to look at the empty paint cans under the window. "This isn't the number I gave you at all. I distinctly told you to buy color number six-six-nine-zero-A.D." Snatching up one of the lids, she shook it in his face. "This is nine-nine-six-zero-A.B."

  "That's the number you gave me. I wrote it down in my notebook."

  "This notebook?" Her blood boiling, Jane moved to the desk and pulled the sketchbook out of the drawer. "The only thing in here is some poorly-done caricatures I assume are supposed to be of me." She threw the book at his chest. "I sure hope you don't expect to get paid for any of this..." Her words trailed off as she gestured at the walls. Then she noticed her coffee table. "Oh, God, no. What did you do to this?"

  Stunned, she hurried over to inspect it more closely. "You idiot! I told you to redo the floor, not the furniture."

  Dropping the sketchbook, Dan threw up his hands. "You're the idiot. Anyone stupid enough to even consider stripping this gorgeous old floor and redoing it to look like maple is too stupid to live. The floor is made of cherry wood, you dumbass. Cherry, not maple. It would've looked ridiculous if I'd stained it the color you wanted."

  He paused to throw a disgusted glance at the coffee table then continued. "And since your furniture is pine that's stained to look like maple, it made more sense to redo the furniture and not ruin this beautiful floor."

  He took a deep breath, retrieved his sketchbook and, glaring at her, flipped it open to another page that showed her as the classic dumb blonde.

  "And if you can't figure somethi
ng like that out on your own, you deserve to be portrayed like this." Grabbing the edge of the page, he ripped the caricature out and slapped it into her hand. "Poorly done, my ass. You just don't like them because they're accurate."

  "Accurate?" she screeched. "You arrogant son of a bitch. You're so stupid, you can't even get the right color of paint when you're given the number and brand name."

  "I wrote down the number you gave me." He pulled out the notebook she'd seen him scribble in the everyday he'd worked for her. Rifling through it, he showed her a number sitting all alone on the page. "There's the number you gave me," he growled. "Nine-nine-six-oh-A.B. I wrote it down just like you told it to me."

  "Let me see that." She grabbed the notebook and looked through it, turning her back to him when he tried to snatch it back. "That number is the only thing written down in this notebook," she said, tossing it back to him in disgust after seeing the other pages contained more caricatures of her. "And you couldn't even write it down correctly. It's obvious you transposed the numbers."

  "What's obvious is that you're a cast-iron bitch who has absolutely no taste." Dan shoved the notebook back in his pocket. He picked up his toolbox and backpack. "You don't like my work, fine. Pay me what you owe me, and I'm out of here."

  She laughed, but felt no humor. "You don't really think I'm going to reward you for ruining my furniture and my living room walls, do you? Oh, and insulting me. Let's not forget that." Marching over to the door, she yanked it open, refusing to acknowledge how much easier that was to do since he'd fixed it. "Now get your sorry ass out of my house."

  He stared at her a moment, his face harder than she'd ever seen it. His eyes burned with a heat so intense it started a fire in her core. Then his expression smoothed out, and he shrugged.

  "Suit yourself." His voice calm, he headed toward the door-and her. "I'll let my lawyer deal with getting me my money."

  He stopped on the threshold and set down his toolbox, backpack and sketchbook. Moving so fast she never saw it coming, he hauled her against him.

  "But in the meantime," he murmured and crushed his mouth to hers.