LITMIR.BIZ

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was a tiny table and a couple of chairs on the porch. He could imagine having a beer or a glass of wine or even a shot of whiskey in the evening. But dinner? No way. At least the sofa in front of the flat-screen television looked comfortable.

      His cell phone rang. Reluctantly he moved back into the room and answered it. “Smythe.”

      “Adam Severn.” Severn’s frustration vibrated through the phone. “We’ll meet your deadline. Everything will be demolished and drywall installed and taped on time.”

      “Good.” Severn didn’t respond. Gray’s eyebrows shot up. Did Severn expect gratitude for meeting his contractual obligations? “Anything else?”

      “You’re all business, aren’t you, Smythe?”

      Should Gray tell him he’d helped a little boy catch rainbows? Nope. Wouldn’t want to ruin his image. “When I grant bids, I expect the work to be done as agreed.”

      “Well, the plumbers and electricians better not hold us up.”

      “Phillips will coordinate the other subs.” His manager would monitor the timelines. “Make sure you keep him informed.”

      “I won’t be held accountable for other people’s screwups,” Severn growled.

      “Get your own work done in a professional manner, and we won’t have any problems.” Gray shook his head. Severn’s company would never work on another one of his projects.

      Severn grunted an acknowledgment and hung up.

      If his time in Savannah was going to reduce the pressure he’d been under, he needed to turf problems like Severn to his project managers. Next time.

      He opened one of the complimentary bottles of water and booted up his laptop. He rolled the cold bottle across his forehead.

      Gray quickly worked through his emails. He hesitated, staring at Gwen’s familiar address. He paused with the cursor hovering over the open-mail icon.

      He shook his head and deleted the message. Why was Gwen still emailing him? He’d broken up with her. Just last week he’d asked her to stop contacting him. One of the bonuses about being in Savannah was that he wouldn’t constantly run into her.

      He worked through the rest of his mail. Nothing he couldn’t handle from here. Pushing away from the desk, he checked his watch—almost five-thirty. The B and B’s wireless connection had worked flawlessly. Excellent.

      He had time to kill before dinner. He could walk around town or have a glass of wine. What quality of wines would a B and B serve?

      The floor plan showed him a route to the library via a back stairway. As he emerged on the first floor, Abigail Fitzgerald’s voice filled the hallway.

      “Damnation, Dolley,” she said. “Why didn’t you warn me about Mr. Smythe?”

      He jerked to a stop before she could see him.

      “I should have known about his meals before he checked in,” Abigail said.

      He shouldn’t eavesdrop from the hallway, but his feet wouldn’t move. He leaned his shoulder against the wall.

      “The money is great. But—six months. Why didn’t you tell me?”

      There was a pause.

      “Whoops?” Pause. “We have to communicate or we’ll look like amateurs.”

      Not amateurs—just inept, Gray thought.

      Another pause.

      “Dolley, you owe me, big-time. The dining room’s already set for breakfast. The desk in his room is too small for meals. For pity’s sake, I was so stunned, I invited him to eat in the kitchen.”

      Invited? She’d insisted.

      “I don’t have time to Google guests.”

      Okay, that was enough. He would not listen to them discuss him like some sort of...object.

      “I will not dig into his background.” She hummed, “Na, na, na,” just like a kid. “Stop. I don’t want... He’s worth how much?”

      Enough. He moved to the doorway.

      “Dolley Madison Fitzgerald, what would Mamma say?” Abigail scolded.

      He rapped on the door frame. Loudly.

      She turned. Her mouth dropped open and then snapped shut. “I have to go.”

      Gray crossed his arms.

      “Could you schedule a family meeting?” Her hand shook, mussing her hair. “Samuel did the walk-through with me this afternoon.”

      She swiveled away from him, but he heard her say, “The third-floor remodel is going to be expensive.”

      Maybe that explained the dust on her cheek when she’d checked him in.

      Again she paused. “Next time, baby sister, talk to me.” Her low voice caressed the air, heating his body. She glanced over her shoulder.

       Yup, still here.

      “He’s eating lamb chops tonight, and no, I don’t have enough to feed you. I’m mad at you. I have to get to the wine tasting. Love you.”

      Gray waited.

      Abigail stood and turned; her fluid movements reminded him of a ballerina he’d dated several years ago. She walked around the small desk and stopped in front of him.

      “Can I help you, Mr. Smythe?” Her tone was cool, but her gaze was fixed on the wall over his shoulder.

      She couldn’t look him the eye. Interesting. His jaw unclenched. She didn’t look like the same woman who’d checked him in. Her golden red hair fell to her shoulders. The brows above her bewitching green eyes were furrowed.

      His gaze slid from the top of her head to her high heels. From what he could tell, she had a killer body. Her silky top and skirt exploded with color. Pity, the skirt reached her knees.

      “May I help you, Mr. Smythe?” Her brisk tone didn’t match her blushing cheeks.

      He waited, letting her guilt hang between them. “I guess I got turned around looking for the library.”

      “Please, follow me.” She brushed past him, and her perfume, a dark, spicy scent, curled through the hallway. His attention gravitated to the sway of her hips. A man could lose himself in those hips.

      He jerked his eyes up. He wasn’t in a position to act on any chemistry with his innkeeper. He was here to do a job. He was here to clear his head.

      “Is your room comfortable?” she asked as they entered the lobby.

      “More than adequate.” Charming, even. “If the service lives up to the room, I won’t have any problem staying here for the duration.” Some demon in him had him adding, “And I’m looking forward to lamb chops tonight.”

      Abigail’s cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red at the reminder that he’d overheard her gossiping. “I know the service will exceed your expectations. Please notify the staff if there’s anything you need.”

      He followed her through carved-oak pocket doors that she glided open. Five middle-aged women milled around the library.

      Mahogany bookshelves and paneling gleamed. The cherrywood floor included a central mosaic that echoed the stained glass above it.

      “Good evening. I’m Abigail Fitzgerald,” she announced to the other guests. “I hope you enjoyed Savannah today.”

      Gray stepped farther into the room. The curved walls ran up two stories and were topped by a stunning stained glass dome.

      As the women greeted Abigail, Gray moved next to the fireplace. He stroked a finger over the feminine lines of the white marble mantelpiece.

      Abigail

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