“I see.” She looked at her watch. “I really should get back to the shop. I have an appointment with a sales rep this afternoon.”
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
She knew the layout of the house this time, so she led the way with Mac following close behind her. As she walked, she looked around again, making dozens of mental notes. She would like to return soon with a camera and sketch pad. She was so involved with her planning, she forgot to concentrate on her steps and she might have tripped over a broken board had Mac not reached out to take her arm before she reached it, guiding her around the plank.
“The floors are pretty rough,” he said without letting go of her. “It’s even worse upstairs. Once the carpenters get started, I’m going to designate the whole house as a hard-hat zone.”
“I should have been watching where I was going. I’m afraid I was too busy mentally decorating.”
He chuckled. “As much as I appreciate your eagerness to get started, I wouldn’t want you to injure yourself because of it.”
“I’ll be more careful from now on,” she promised, trying to keep her tone light despite the ripples of sensation emanating from his hand on her arm.
“Good.”
When he didn’t immediately move away, her smile wavered. His face was only inches from hers. His dark eyes looked straight into hers. She’d never understood more clearly what it meant to be in danger of melting at someone’s feet. When it came to her hormones, this man was downright dangerous.
She cleared her throat so she could speak without squeaking. “Is there something else?”
He hesitated a moment, then dropped his hand and stepped back. Without further comment, he motioned for her to continue through the house. She took care to watch her step as she walked out.
She unlocked the driver’s door of the rental car her insurance company had provided until she could replace the one she’d lost in Snake Creek. Uncertain what to say, she turned hesitantly to Mac before getting in. “I’ll start gathering some pictures and samples before our next meeting. I’d like to come back soon to take some measurements and photographs.”
“The work crew starts tomorrow, so someone will be here pretty much all the time, Monday through Saturday. Come by anytime, but be careful around the construction.”
“Thank you, I will. So, I guess I’ll see you later.”
“Mac,” he said.
She lifted an eyebrow in confusion, wondering why he’d just said his own name. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’d like to hear you say, ‘I’ll see you later, Mac.”’
“Why?”
“Let’s just say I like my team to be on comfortable terms with each other.”
“I’m quite comfortable with you,” she lied briskly.
Wearing a slightly challenging smile, he leaned against her open car door. “Then why can’t you say my name, Sharon?”
He said hers easily enough. And something about the sound of it on his tongue made a funny little shiver go through her. Which was hardly a professional way to react to a business associate, she chided herself.
“I have no problem saying your name, Mac. But I am running late, so if there’s nothing else, I’d better be on my way.”
There was definite satisfaction in his smile when he straightened away from the door. “No, there’s nothing else—for now. Drive carefully.”
He didn’t stay to watch her drive off, but turned on one heel and walked back to the house. He didn’t even glance over his shoulder before disappearing inside. Sharon was left staring after him. She roused herself with a slight shake of her head and reached for the key.
r /> As she drove away, she vowed to herself that this was the last time she would allow him to turn her into a tongue-tied adolescent.
Any further exchanges between her and Mac Cordero were going to be strictly business—even though she was beginning to wonder if Mac had something else in mind.
BRAD WAS on his very best behavior Thursday evening during dinner, which pleased Sharon almost as much as it worried her. She loved her younger brother dearly, but any time he acted sweet and polite, she couldn’t help wondering what he was up to.
“How are you enjoying your summer vacation, Brad?” Jerry Whitaker, who had joined them for dinner, asked encouragingly.
Looking up from the baked pork chops, rice and steamed vegetables Sharon had prepared, the boy tossed a fringe of shaggy brown bangs out of his face to look across the table. “It’s okay. Better than school, anyway.”