LITMIR.BIZ

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and she couldn’t tear her gaze from his dark, probing eyes.

      “Trouble?” he asked mildly. The tiny gold earring in his left lobe glinted against his bronze skin.

      She gestured toward the bird, feeling foolish. “I opened the garage door and he—it—was there. I don’t suppose it’s yours?”

      His smile revealed white teeth and pushed his cheek-bones higher. “No. It might have flown away from a zoo, but most peafowl are wild.” He looked up into the trees. “Normally they don’t travel alone. This fella must be lost from his bevy, or is looking for a new one.”

      Gemma relaxed a millimeter. “You seem to know a lot about peacocks.”

      He shrugged, displacing muscle under his T-shirt. “My grandparents used to have some on their property in Puerto Rico.”

      The exotic lineage suited him. “Does that mean you know how to get them to move?”

      He laughed, a pleasing rumble, then strode toward the bird, waving his long brown arms. The bird, apparently more intimidated by someone larger and moving faster, startled, then moved away with a ruffle of bright feathers and a protesting yelp.

      “Thank you,” she murmured.

      “Glad to help,” he said with a slow nod.

      Was it her imagination, or did his gaze pass over her? Had he remembered her outfit from the previous night’s dress rehearsal? Her thighs tingled and she was glad to have the car between her and this enigmatic man who could set her skin on fire with his searing glance.

      His mouth opened slightly and she sensed he wanted to say something, but his words fell silent on the heavy, humid air that hung between them. She knew how he felt—words would change everything. An apology would only multiply the awkwardness … a compliment could seem … unseemly.

      “I’d better go,” she said. “I’m late for a job interview.”

      His expression cleared and he stepped back with a little wave. “Good luck.”

      She swung back into the car and eased out of the drive-way,glancing in the rearview mirror as she drove away. The man was striding back to his property, head up. Gemma shivered in the heat and exhaled a pent-up breath, trying to steer her mind away from her sexy—and temporary—neighbor and back to the task at hand: getting a job.

      FROM THE OUTSIDE, the employment agency looked less than promising, wedged into a storefront in a shabby strip mall between a sandwich shop and a check-cashing joint. She hesitated before pushing open the door but forced herself to keep moving. The middle-aged woman behind the piled-high desk was on the phone, but waved for Gemma to come in. Her sharp, appraising glance left Gemma feeling as if she’d missed the mark with her prim outfit.

      “You scare off everyone I send over there,” the woman barked into the mouthpiece. “Up the hourly rate and I’ll see what I can do.” She banged down the phone, then turned toward Gemma. “What can I do for you?”

      Gemma considered saying she was at the wrong address, but the image of the bills accumulating on her kitchen table was a stark reminder that she’d already put off this day for too long. “I’m Gemma Wh—er, Jacobs. I have an appointment.”

      The woman jammed on reading glasses and consulted a large wall calendar. “Yeah, there you are.” She gave Gemma a flat smile. “I’m Jean Pruett. Have a seat, honey.”

      Gemma glanced at the mismatched chair opposite the desk that was filled with stacks of papers.

      “Just set those on the floor.”

      She did, then lowered herself onto the edge of the chair.

      “So, what kind of work are you looking for?” Jean asked without preamble.

      “Preferably something in the art field. My degree is in art history.”

      Jean winced. “What’s your work experience?”

      Gemma shifted in the stiff chair. “In college I was in work-study programs with local museums—cataloguing and preservation.”

      “I meant lately.”

      “Oh. Lately I’ve been involved in charity work mostly, fund-raising, that sort of thing.”

      “I see. Do you have computer skills?”

      Gemma brightened. “I have a computer at home.” A castoff from Jason, which she’d never turned on.

      “Do you know how to work with spreadsheets, databases or Web design programs?”

      “Er … no.”

      “Do you have a teaching certificate?”

      “No.”

      “Speak a second language?”

      “I took a Spanish class … in high school.” Which only made her think of Chev Martinez. Por dios, the man had a body. But for the life of her, she couldn’t recall any other words in Spanish.

      Jean sighed. “I’m sorry, Miss Jacobs, but unless you can give me something more concrete, I’m afraid I don’t have anything for you.”

      Gemma felt the flutter of panic in her stomach. She didn’t want to rely on Sue or Jason’s contacts to find employment. “Surely there must be something.”

      “Most of the jobs I fill are temporary, either short-term or a few days here and there. They require either specific qualifications, or no qualifications at all, meaning the jobs aren’t very desirable. And I can see from your appearance—”

      “Try me,” Gemma said.

      Jean looked dubious, but turned to her computer and clicked on the keyboard for several long minutes. “Something in the art field, you say?”

      “Do you have an opening?”

      Jean named the art museum that Gemma had called the previous day about the executive assistant position. “They’re looking for tour guides—”

      “I’ll take it.”

      Jean pursed her mouth. “It does pay pretty well for a part-time position. And it says chances are good it will become full-time. Can you start today?”

      “Absolutely.”

      “Good. Um, there’s only one catch….”

       7

      “A SEX EXHIBIT?” Sue asked with a laugh.

      “The History of Sex,” Gemma corrected into her cell phone. She checked her side mirrors, feeling self-conscious, as if someone might have witnessed her debut tour and be following her home. Thank goodness the employment agency had promised that her personal information would remain confidential, and she didn’t have to wear a name tag.

      “Do I even want to know what’s on display?” Sue asked.

      “Let’s just say that no one under the age of twenty-one is admitted. And the tours are by reservation only.”

      “Ooh, sounds intriguing. Do you get to play show-and-tell?”

      “Uh … that’s one way to put it, I suppose.”

      “What aren’t you telling me?”

      Gemma sighed. “There are … costumes.”

      “Costumes? You mean uniforms, like flight attendants?”

      “Only if the flight attendants work for Incognito Playboy Airlines.”

      “Oh? Do tell.”

      Gemma squirmed. “The guides have to wear sexy costumes.”

      Silence. Then, “Well, you certainly have the figure for it.”

      “And Lone Ranger masks.”

      Silence

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