LITMIR.BIZ

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around him, she felt everything with a new intensity. It was as if she were supercharged. She’d never been so aware of herself as a woman and him as a man. But did she like him? Did she particularly like feeling this way? No. But then again, it was a rhetorical question. “That’s really immaterial, isn’t it?”

      “I don’t see it that way. We’re going to be working closely together on the remodel.”

      Working closely with him on anything struck her as a lousy idea. He turned everything in her world topsy-turvy and Natalie didn’t like topsy-turvy. “Once we get the dates down, it really doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

      “That’s not the way Caitlyn sees it.” He looked altogether too smug. “She said that’s what she was paying you for.” His voice dropped and slid over her like the play of velvet against naked flesh. “She assured me you’d be at my beck and call.”

      Her. Him.

      Naked. Needy.

      Wet. Hot.

      Beck and call.

      The very idea sent a shiver down her spine and a rush of slick heat between her thighs.

      “Within reason,” she managed to say.

      “Reason’s not part of the deal.”

      WHAT THE HELL? He liked women. He liked spending time with women, but he never got caught up in them. But that’s exactly how he felt about Natalie Bridges. Caught up. Tangled. Intrigued.

      Interested…aroused, even…was fine, but that wasn’t what all of this was about, he reminded himself. Caitlyn was going to make a big mistake and it was up to him to make sure she didn’t, by whatever means possible.

      Beau rounded the last curve beneath the arch of overhanging oaks and Belle Terre spread before him. Son of a bitch. Cash Vickers would have to show up with a harem and light a crack pipe to get his baby sister to walk away from this.

      Set on prime rolling Tennessee hills, even with its vague air of neglect reflected in sagging and missing shutters, Belle Terre was spectacular. The house itself boasted an imposing front of soaring columns and two stories of floor-to-ceiling windows with a second-story balcony overlooking the front door.

      “That’s a helluva tax write-off, wouldn’t you say?” he said.

      Natalie pushed her hair back over her shoulder. Thick and shiny, it was the kind of hair that left a man itching to run his fingers through it—or hungry to feel it teasing against his bare chest, his belly and finally his thighs as it followed the trail blazed by her lush mouth over his body. She quirked an eyebrow in inquiry. “You haven’t seen Belle Terre before? Not even the video?”

      He pushed aside a ripple of guilt. Videographer was Caityln’s professional calling, but it wasn’t his deal. “Nope. I don’t spend a lot of time watching music videos.” Apparently the video—Caitlyn’s project and her intro to Cash Vickers—that went with his hit song “Homesick” had been shot at Belle Terre. According to Caitlyn, Vickers had bought the place because she’d fallen in love with it. “First I heard of it was when he gave her Belle Terre and a ring. I’ve been meaning to get out here but I’ve been busy.”

      He glanced over at her. The dying sunlight slanting in through her window picked out red threads in her hair.

      “You know, Caitlyn has her heart set on having the wedding here,” she said.

      He had the oddest feeling that they could have been discussing their own child, years from now. It was the first time he’d ever felt someone really understood the level of responsibility he felt for Caitlyn. “I caught that.”

      “Then it’s a good thing we’re sequencing out the remodel today. It’s a bit of a tight timeline.”

      Yeah, if they were actually looking at an August wedding. And he caught on right away that she was taking him to task. He was quick that way.

      He parked in the circular driveway that fronted the stately columned home. “My sister is obsessed with Gone with the Wind.” He didn’t need a psychology degree to figure out that she’d identified with Scarlett O’Hara losing everything. He’d figured her latching on to an iconoclastic heroine was better than developing a drug addiction or identifying with some goth singer who looked like the Grim Reaper and wore makeup. His sister, however, was amazingly well-adjusted considering her childhood. “It’s a wonder she hasn’t tried to change the name of the place to Tara.”

      A spontaneous smile—as opposed to her usual I-have-to-be-nice-to-this-asshole smile—curved her lips and lit her eyes. “She did.” It left Beau with the oddest feeling that he and Natalie shared a bond. “Cash put his foot down on that. He said they had to respect the history of the place.”

      He nodded. Much as he didn’t want to, he felt a measure of grudging respect for Vickers on that. Beau knew from experience that telling Caitlyn no wasn’t easy. He also gave Vickers points on standing behind Belle Terre’s history.

      “Beautiful Land is certainly a fitting name.” The house sat on a knoll with gently rolling green hills beyond it. The Miscanauga Creek lay at the foot of the slope to the right rear of the house.

      “It is, isn’t it?” She pressed the button to release her seat belt. “Shall we start with the outside since we seem to be losing daylight?”

      “Sure, sugar pie.” That ought to grit her teeth and kill the camaraderie he felt squeezing in with the sexual tension that was thick enough to cut. Sexual tension he could deal with—revel in, in fact. Camaraderie was outside his realm of experience. “You’ve got something to take notes on?”

      Her smile tightened around the edges but she kept it in place. She held up a notebook. “Right here, sugar pie.” Touché. “Just let me know when you’re ready.” She tugged at her seat belt, a frown blooming between her delicately arched brows. “It’s stuck.”

      He very seldom had passengers but he recalled that belt had wanted to stick the last time Scooter rode with him to the parts store. “Come to think of it, it’s been kind of temperamental lately.”

      “Temperamental?”

      “Yeah. You know, a little stubborn. Difficult. Let me see what I can do.” He grinned. “It just needs the right touch.”

      “Oh, and you have it?” Something hot and sexual and exciting danced between them.

      “It’s worth a try since you’re not doing such a hot job releasing yourself.” His voice came out all warm and gravelly because he’d just painted a picture in his mind of her stretched out on his bed, her head thrown back, that mane of thick hair hanging over the side of his mattress as her fingers delved between her spread thighs, stroking, her brown eyes hot and sultry, her breath coming in short, quick pants as she sought gratification.

      He reached across the expanse separating them and his fingers encountered hers. She jerked her hand away, as if she felt the same rush he did. “There’s a button…” he said, the backs of his fingers pressing against the curve of her hip. “You have to touch it just right—not too hard.” She turned her head and her delectable mouth was right there. His jeans seemed to shrink, growing tighter across his crotch.

      He pressed the button. Nothing happened. He pressed again. He shifted. “Got to find the sweet spot.” The tip of her tongue peeked between her lips and left a moist glistening trail between the plump pinkness of her lips. Did she know she was slowly killing him? He was pretty sure she didn’t. Still stuck. “C’mon, baby, let go,” he coaxed.

      The seat belt, if anything, pulled tighter against her chest, throwing her breasts into distracting relief.

      “Can you, uh, see what you’re doing?” She sounded breathless.

      He was damn glad to hear it. Breathing was an increasing challenge on his end.

      “I don’t have to see. It’s all in the touch.”

      “Well,

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