LITMIR.BIZ

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as they slid roughly against hers. Lauren stared down at their intertwined hands and felt her control slipping a tiny notch. Warm, rough and electric, his gentle grip seemed to pour pure energy into her body.

      It must be all that coffee she’d had at breakfast, she thought suddenly as she pulled her hand away and took one involuntary step back. “It’s been nice meeting you, Mr. Travis,” she said, shoving her tingling hand into the pocket of her jeans and forcing a wobbly smile to her lips. “But as I said, I’ll have to interview some local tradesmen before I decide.”

      He shrugged. “Suit yourself. But I promise you, you won’t find anyone better.”

      “Can you fix the swing?” Jem asked as he ran over to the creaky old wooden swing that was hanging precariously on its chain at the end of the porch.

      “Sure could,” Cole said as he walked over and tested the swing’s chains with a gentle tug. He looked back at Lauren. “Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll give you a free sample. What harm is there in that?”

      Lauren frowned. She wasn’t sure, but something about that slow, lazy smile was giving her the strangest feeling that he was making the decisions, like he was making the rules.

      “And Jem can help,” Cole said and the boy’s face lit up like the night skies on the Fourth of July.

      Her son glanced over at her with that same guaranteed-to-work grin, an unspoken plea to let him help beaming at her like a floodlight.

      Common sense warred with her need to get Cole Travis as far away as possible. She was uncomfortable around him, and not just because the way he looked at her made her feel like her knees were made of rubber.

      On the other hand, she did need a thousand and one things done around here and unless she wanted to miss the beginning of the summer tourist season in just under two months, she couldn’t afford to lose any more time. So what if she was attracted to him? she thought, mentally cracking the whip on her awakening hormones. Getting her business up and running was Priority One, dammit, and she wasn’t going to let her simple attraction to this man stand in her way. In no time at all, he would cease to be a temptation. She was sure of it. Absolutely sure…

      Cole Travis leaned his head back and laughed at something Jem had said. Low, deep and heartfelt, the mere sound of it sent a shiver of pure, unalloyed longing careening through her.

      She mentally shook it off, then reminded herself that if, for some unlikely reason, his appeal did fail to wane, certainly she could get a grip long enough to find The Old Man of Valle Verde—couldn’t she?

      She wrapped her familiar control around her like a superhero’s cape before she spoke. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you an hour. If the swing’s fixed before the hour’s up, I’ll hire you for the weekend.”

      Cole Travis hesitated only a moment before that lazy smile appeared and he said, “You’ve got a deal.”

      She nodded, then looked back at Jem, who was now grinning from ear to ear, clearly anticipating his own participation in Cole’s work. “As for you, young man, didn’t you promise you’d help me clean that train wreck you call a bedroom?”

      Her son’s expression went from sixty to zero in one second. He looked down at his feet and nodded, his voice holding about as much enthusiasm as if he were going to the guillotine. “Uh-huh,” he said.

      “When you’ve finished,” she said, softening her tone, “we’ll come and check Mr. Travis’s progress.” She slanted a look at Cole. “Then we’ll see how good he really is.”

      Amusement—and something else she couldn’t put her finger on—flickered in the eyes that met her gaze. His voice was soft and almost sensual when he spoke. “I think you’ll like what you see.”

      Too late for that, she mused, then checked herself mentally. Lauren gave him a smooth nod, turned the key in the ancient lock on the front door and waited for Jem to precede her inside. Hopefully that gray-haired old man would show up soon, she prayed as she followed her dejected son, and then she could get started on the things that really mattered: making a house and business that would sustain her and Jem for the rest of their lives.

      Cole watched as Lauren let the rickety screen door close with a wheezing clatter behind her. He made a mental note to fix the screen door next. He breathed in deeply, noticing how the sweet, citrusy scent of her lingered—as did the vision of her tossing her deep, dark-red mane of hair and sashaying away in a flurry of perfectly shaped behind and long, long legs. She reminded him of a glamorous 1940s-era pinup girl he’d fallen in love with as a boy when he’d seen her on a calendar in his grandfather’s garage.

      And Jem—whether it turned out the boy was Cole’s son or not—was an inquisitive, engaging child who obviously adored Lauren, and she him. But while something about the boy might look familiar, it wouldn’t help for Cole to start imagining the boy as his own. If Cole had learned anything while he’d investigated the previous two leads, it was that until he knew for certain, it would be best to avoid any attachment.

      To either of them.

      But as he walked down to his truck, he still couldn’t help remembering how Lauren had looked a few minutes before. She’d gotten all feisty, crossing her arms, forcing up those amazing breasts that just about every red-blooded male in America had dreamed of at least once.

      Lauren Simpson was one of the world’s most beautiful lingerie models, with absurdly full lips and dark green eyes that slanted up at the corners and teased men from the printed page. But that wasn’t what had surprised him. What had surprised him was that she was also smart, confident and incredibly spirited for a woman he’d assumed would be as one-dimensional as she appeared in print.

      And that was not to say that he hadn’t noticed her actual dimensions, too.

      He wiped beads of sweat from his forehead. Why in the hell was he so hot? He looked up at the sky, expecting to see that the reason for the heat pouring through his body was just the sun, blazing overhead. But it was still midmorning, and the feeble, pale sun was still lying low in the eastern sky. He couldn’t deny it. Lauren Simpson was making him sweat. And he didn’t like that fact one bit.

      He’d come here with one thing in mind, Cole reminded himself as he grabbed a toolbox and threw the necessary tools into it with a clatter, and he wasn’t going to stray from it. To get what he wanted, he needed this job. And he’d do a lot better work if his mind wasn’t filled with images of her in the silky, flimsy, barely there stuff she wore in that damned catalog.

      He cursed under his breath as he grabbed a hacksaw. Knowing just what she looked like under her harmless frayed jeans and blue T-shirt wasn’t going to help him find out what he needed to know. Nor would it help him to stay focused on finding what had been taken from him, prove it was his and head home.

      Toolbox filled, he walked back to the house and took the swing down. In less than twenty minutes, he’d filled the damaged holes where the threads had been stripped, drilled new holes for a stronger chain he’d found in his truck, attached the chain with sturdier bolts and hung the swing back up.

      He sat down to test the swing’s strength and was surprised by the satisfaction he’d taken in performing the simple task. Obviously it had been too long since he’d put his hands to actual labor. He sized up the front of the house and made a mental list of what needed to be done with an eye trained by over fifteen years in the construction business. The roof leaked, the porch boards were warped, the paint was peeling, the windows needed glazing—and that was just what he could see from where he sat.

      He sighed as he got up and pulled a big, flathead screwdriver out of his toolbox. He was seriously over-qualified for this job, he thought as he began to unscrew the screen door’s hinges. But Lauren would never know that. At least not until it was time for her to know.

      Suddenly, Jem peeked around the doorsill, his smile shy. “Whatcha doin’?” the boy asked as he inched his small frame outside the house.

      An odd turbulence rocked through Cole as he remembered

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