LITMIR.BIZ

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man would be gone within a month, and forgotten.

      With a mental shake, she reminded herself that she had too much to do around her own house to be thinking about the goings-on of the man next door. Especially since he had likely dismissed her from his mind.

      The grass was deep from neglect, necessitating two passes with the mower, one on a high setting, and one lower to the ground. But the physical exertion felt good, and the aroma of fresh-cut grass never failed to lift her mood. Before long, the tiny back and side yards were neatly shorn, and she had worked up both a sweat and a powerful thirst.

      Retreating to the relatively cooler temperatures of the kitchen, she wet a paper towel and dabbed at her forehead and neck. From the refrigerator she retrieved a bottle of tea. Hearing a vehicle arriving next door, she glanced out the window over the sink to see a large flatbed truck back onto her neighbor’s property. Its cargo appeared to be columns—many of them, in different shapes and sizes. The driver sounded his horn, then jumped down from the cab. When Chev Martinez didn’t appear, the driver gamboled to the door but still received no answer. He returned to the truck and appeared to check a clipboard against information stamped on the bottom of the columns. After much head-scratching, he looked utterly confused.

      Finally, he set aside the clipboard and unloaded a column that caused Gemma to frown—it was clearly Corinthian, probably not the style that Chev had ordered to replace the ones that had once supported the arched entry porch. After a few seconds’ hesitation, she went outside and walked next door, signaling the driver.

      “Maybe I can help?”

      “Are you the owner?”

      “Uh, no. But I know something about the house, so if you’re confused about which columns to leave, I might be able to offer some guidance.”

      He looked relieved. “That’d be great. If I leave the wrong ones, I can’t come back until next week. The numbers are smudged, so it could be any of three different kinds I got here.”

      Gemma looked over the wood columns stacked on the flatbed like thick slabs of lumber and pointed out the pair that Chev had likely ordered. “The twisted ones.”

      The man unloaded the columns in a cleared spot alongside the driveway, then came back to where she stood and extended his clipboard. “Will you sign for these, lady?”

      She hesitated, suddenly nervous at having made a decision about something that was none of her business. She was saved from responding by the arrival of a silver pickup truck. “Here’s the owner now.”

      Chev pulled up next to the bigger vehicle and swung down from the driver’s seat. His gaze swept over Gemma and she was suddenly conscious of her sweat-soaked,stained work clothes. Remembering the shuttered window, her heart thudded in her chest.

      “Is there a problem?” Chev asked.

      The man pointed to the column he’d first taken off the truck. “Your neighbor here saw me unloading this column.” Then he gestured to the pair he’d unloaded. “She said those were probably the ones you ordered instead.”

      Chev’s gaze flitted back to her, molten in his appraisal. “She’s right.”

      “Sign here,” the guy said.

      Gemma stood there until the driver pulled away, feeling awkward, her vital signs heightened. “I didn’t mean to be nosy,” she said in a rush. “But the driver looked confused and I was relatively sure you weren’t going to install a pair of Corinthian columns on the front of a Mission-style house.”

      His slow grin melted her apprehension. “You’re right. I owe you. That one mistake could’ve set back the entire project.”

      She shrugged, ridiculously pleased. “It was nothing. Besides, you’ve come to my rescue more than once the past couple of days.”

      He glanced around. “Any sign of our resident peacock?”

      “Not today.”

      “Maybe he’s moved on.”

      She nodded. “Well, I should be getting back to my yard work.”

      He nodded, but his gaze darkened and his lips parted, as if he wanted to say something … about last night? The tension in the air vibrated between them like a taut wire, but Gemma couldn’t bring herself to look away.

      “How about taking that tour we talked about?” he asked, nodding towards his place. “Actually, I could use your advice on a couple of other things inside the house since you know about the architecture.”

      “I’m no expert,” she protested, shaking her head.

      “Still,” he said, coaxing her with a smile.

      Between that smile and her burning curiosity to see the inside of the building, Gemma relented. “I’d like that.”

      He led the way, and she fell into step next to him, a tingle of anticipation in her stomach both at the prospect of seeing the interior of the house and at spending time with the vibrant, exotic man. He was dressed in work clothes that were, at this time of the day, relatively clean. She touched her hair self-consciously. “I must look a fright.”

      His sexy smile enveloped her in its radiating warmth. “You look great to me.”

      She blushed and chided herself for sounding coy when last night she’d climaxed in front of him, not caring—hoping, even—that he’d been watching.

      He seemed to drag his gaze away from her. “The columns are meant for here, of course,” he said, sweeping his arm toward the covered porch, whose roof was being held in place with several planks of wood that had been nailed together as a makeshift support system.

      “They’ll be perfect,” she murmured.

      He stopped at the front door. “I should’ve asked—have you ever been inside?”

      “No. But I’ve peeked through the windows a few times.” Then she blanched. Peeking through windows was becoming a theme where the two of them were concerned.

      From the way he looked at her, she knew that he’d noticed her gaffe. Heat suffused her face, but his brown eyes glinted with the light of a banked fire. “It’s even better when you can see things up close.”

      She swallowed hard, unable to maintain eye contact. He opened the door and motioned for her to precede him. When she brushed by him, a jolt of electricity shot up her arm where warm pink skin met warm brown skin. Warning bells sounded in her head. If the man could ignite her essence with an accidental touch, what kind of sensual assault could he perpetrate on her with full body-on-body contact?

      Dismissing the thought with a mental shake, she walked into a once-grand foyer that even in its state of decay, served up a soaring welcome, from the wrought-iron chandelier to the curved staircase that led to the second floor. Terra-cotta tile at their feet, much of it now cracked and dull from dirt and age, stretched in both directions.

      “Wonderful,” she breathed.

      “I’m going to have to replace most of the tile inside and out,” he said ruefully, then led her to the left into a long kitchen/keeping room.

      “It’s huge,” she observed. And it wasn’t hard to imagine a family gathered here, laughing and passing heaping platters of food. Regret pinged through her chest. The holidays this year would be an awkward, lonely affair with only her and her frosty parents.

      “I’d like to put in oversize appliances,” he said. “What do you think?”

      Gemma’s eyebrows climbed. “About appliances?”

      He shifted from foot to foot. “From a woman’s point of view. It’s been my experience that the kitchen usually makes or breaks the sale.”

      She hesitated. “Well, I’m not much of a cook … lately. But I’d say anyone who recognizes what a great kitchen this is will want appliances to measure up. Personally, I’d love a firebrick oven.”

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