"Darn, darn, darn, oh please be late," Catherine muttered as she brushed the wild mass of her hair out of her eyes and checked the clock, again. She stumbled as she got out of her bed and rushed to pull on the shorts and halter-top she had worn the previous evening, wrinkling her nose at the musty smell of day old sweat. She managed to put one shoe on and tie the laces before the doorbell rang.

Walking quickly down the hall, carrying her other shoe, Catherine answered the door, stepping back as a man looked up from the paper he held in his hand. He looked down at the small young woman, "Catherine Temple?" He looked at the metal numbers attached to the front of the house beside the door, "1207 Tremont."

"Yes, are ... are you from Rent-A-Man?" Catherine asked, looking up at the tall man in front of her. She glanced down at his feet and then slowly raised her eyes to his face. When she saw him raise his eyebrows at her inspection, she could not prevent the blush that spread up her neck and colored her cheeks.

The man chuckled and held out his hand, "Yes ma'am, my brother has a good sense of humor about the company's name. Yes, I'm the man you've rented for the day, Steve Carlson."

"Oh, well, it's a neat idea, anyway." Catherine offered her own hand, "Nice to meet you Mister Carlson."

"Steve, please." He looked down at the tiny hand in his and then back up at the light blue eyes, cute nose, and unrestrained hair that his fingers itched to touch.

"Oh, okay, I'm Catherine." She took her hand back and looked at his hand as it dropped to his side.

"What can I do for you Catherine?" He waved the paper in his hand, "This says honey-do's."

Catherine chuckled a moment and answered, "I ... ah, I didn't know what else to call them." She stepped back, as Steve walked into the house, so she could close the door. He stood quietly, folding the paper and putting it in his pocket as Catherine tried to explain.

"I just moved in. I can't do some things." Forgetting she had one shoe in her hand, she waved it toward the living room behind her. "You know, like curtain rods and filters. I mean, if someone could show me, maybe I could ... but, ah ... I don't have anyone ... you know. Oh, and light bulbs, I can't reach..." She shrugged her shoulders accepting her small stature.

Steve took the shoe from her hand and dropped to his knee, "Alright, first things first. Hold on to my shoulder and let's do this." With her hand on his hard shoulder, he held the shoe for her to put her foot in and tied the laces. Oh Lord, he could smell her, something spicy, musty, and interesting. He looked up at her as she watched and saw her breathing fast.

She stepped back, clasped her hands in front of her stomach, and swallowed hard. The two stared into each other's eyes as he stood, neither of them interested in breaking visual contact with the other.

Finally able to make his brain work, Steve asked, "Do you," he cleared his throat, "Do you have a list?"

Catherine nodded, but did not take her eyes from his. There was some kind of magnetism working between them that she was beginning to enjoy. A small smile spread across her face.

"A list? A list. Oh yeah," she nodded. "I have one ... a list, I mean. It's ah ... it's ah ... it's in the ... in the kitchen."

"Alright," he replied as he took her upper arm in his hand and half-led, half-pushed her to the kitchen he could see just ahead. He stopped beside her when she placed her hand on the cabinet top. He looked over her shoulder at the paper, which had almost a full page of neatly listed chores. The curls on top of her head tickled his chin, and the temptation to weave his fingers through the mass of curls was difficult to resist. He wanted to bury his face in her hair to see if that was the source of what he could smell.

She looked up at his face, mere inches from her own, licked her lips, and explained, "I've always had a landlord. I don't know how to do..." she shrugged again, leaving a lot unsaid.

"I understand," he nodded and started to lean a little nearer. "You need to know how to do things for yourself."

"Exactly," she answered, her hand halfway up to brush his hair back from his forehead.

For several hours, Catherine followed Steve around her house, watching him do some things and stepping forward when he indicated it was something she should learn. He checked things off the list and she wrote down tools he said she should have. Steve also began a list of items he needed to buy at a local hardware store assuring her he would add the cost of those items to the bill he would give her at the end of the day.

Neither of them counted the number of times they simply stopped what they were doing and stared at each other. Nor were they aware of the growing number of ways they imagined touching each other. Steve enjoyed Catherine's delight in learning how to change the air conditioner filter. Likewise, she watched as his shirt barely hid the muscles flexing in his arms and back when he touched something she could not reach or used his strength to remove the rusty showerhead in the hall bathroom, promising he would get a replacement and put it on before he left.

After Steve connected the hoses, Catherine cheered when she saw water running into her washing machine. She rushed through the kitchen and back to her bedroom to collect enough things for a full load. She sorted through things quickly, leaving last week's sheets and towels in a basket on the laundry room floor. Steve walked out the back door after telling her he was leaving to pick up some supplies at the hardware store. When the agitator started moving, Catherine impulsively removed her shoes and stripped off the shorts and halter-top, planning on a quick shower and clean clothes while he was gone.

Steve opened the back door to ask Catherine if she would like him to bring something for their lunch, at exactly the moment she dropped the washing machine lid. Catherine turned, took two steps forward, and tripped over the two-inch step up from the lower floor of the laundry room. She dropped her shoes and stumbled into Steve, who was standing in front of her, speechless.

As she squealed in surprise, heading toward a sprawl on the floor, Steve caught her around the waist. Catherine's hands caught at him, while he simply lifted and turned his body, holding her against the nearby wall. Her arms went around his neck while her legs went around his waist and their lips met in a hot probing kiss neither of them cared to break.

Without the need of his arms to support her, his hands threaded through her hair as he tilted her head and deepened the kiss, while her fingers began to unbutton his shirt. With one hand, he reached under her hips, unbuttoned his pants, and pulled down the zipper. The front of his pants opened as he stuck one thumb in the waist of his shorts. His stiffened cock sprang free, while his other hand probed her wetness and guided his cock toward her heat.

Her body slipped a little as his cock began to enter her and she broke the kiss long enough to mutter, "Bed."

He backed up a few feet, turned a corner, and backed through the bedroom door, moving a few feet. He fell backward on the bed as he rolled her beneath him, reared back, and slammed into her.

Catherine grunted, "Harder," so he did it again, and then again. After a few more thrusts, Catherine was trembling on the brink of an orgasm and Steve was cursing.

"Damn, baby, I'm cumming." He pulled out of her and rolled over, stroked his aching cock a few times and held it groaning while thick ropes of cum landed on his belly, his neck and across his chest.

Faster than he could defend himself, Catherine was on top of him, her hands doubled into fists, pounding on his chest, "What about me? Dammit, I didn't get there."

"Easy, easy, easy, sweetheart," He managed to capture her hands, "My God, you've got a temper."

Her energy spent, her frustration dissipated, and her ire abated, Catherine collapsed against him sobbing.

Steve gathered her in his arms, ran his hands up and down her back, pressed her hips against him, and whispered, "Come on, let's get this mess cleaned up and I'll take care of that little itch."

"It's not little," she moaned against his neck.

Steve chuckled and swatted her sweet little ass, "Then it's about the only thing about you that isn't."

Escaping his hands, Catherine scooted off the bed and walked into the master bathroom. Steve heard the shower door click open and water began to pound against the tile. It took him only moments to undress.