Книга - Final Score

Final Score
Nancy Warren


Welcome to Last Bachelor Standing!How long can three sexy single men hold out?The last man holding out is firefighter Dylan Cross–strong, tantalizingly hot, with a reckless streak a mile long. He's also Mr. June in the firefighter calendar. But while Dylan will risk his life without a moment's thought, he would never risk his bachelorhood….Dylan made a deal to help Cassie Price renovate her new home. But having a mouthwatering Mr. June fixing up her place is more temptation than Cassie can resist. And really, doesn't she deserve a little fiery fun now and then? But keeping her cool with this sexy confirmed bachelor is almost impossible…and if she's not careful, she'll find herself playing for keeps!







Welcome to Last Bachelor Standing!

How long can three sexy single men hold out?

The last man holding out is firefighter Dylan Cross—strong, tantalizingly hot, with a reckless streak a mile long. He’s also Mr. June in the firefighter calendar. But while Dylan will risk his life without a moment’s thought, he would never risk his bachelorhood….

Dylan made a deal to help Cassie Price renovate her new home. But having a mouthwatering Mr. June fixing up her place is more temptation than Cassie can resist. And really, doesn’t she deserve a little fiery fun now and then? But keeping her cool with this sexy confirmed bachelor is almost impossible…and if she’s not careful, she’ll find herself playing for keeps!


Dylan always moved fast…

With a startled cry, Cassie tumbled. He grabbed her, all his firefighter training and instincts kicking in before conscious thought. He tossed her to the bed, his own momentum carrying him in the same direction.

They fell to the bed. She somehow ended up underneath him.

He glanced down into her face, surprise and shock registering. Then he noticed that she was warm and soft beneath him and all the attraction he’d been pretending he didn’t feel roared to the surface.

He leaned down. When he kissed her he felt the moment their lips touched that it had been inevitable from the second he’d walked into her house.

When she started to move against him, he felt his body harden in all the right places.

He wanted so much and he wanted it all now, but dimly an alarm began to ring as his mind finally caught up to the situation.

What the hell was he doing? He was supposed to be fixing up this woman’s house.

And not jumping her luscious bones….







Dear Reader,

Sometimes a hero jumps off the page and seduces you. That happened to me with Dylan Cross. My gorgeous firefighter is brave to the point of recklessness, he’s funny and he’s got a heart of gold. How could I not fall in love with him? It wasn’t easy giving him up to Cassie, a marine biologist whose element is water as much as his is fire. But don’t worry. I made Cassie work for him!

I hope you enjoy the final book in the Last Bachelor Standing trilogy as much as I have enjoyed writing it.

I love to hear from readers, so please come visit me at www.nancywarren.net (http://www.nancywarren.net).

Happy reading,

Nancy Warren


Final

Score

Nancy Warren






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

USA TODAY bestselling author Nancy Warren lives in the Pacific Northwest, where her hobbies include skiing, hiking and snowshoeing. She’s the author of more than thirty novels and novellas for Mills & Boon and has won numerous awards. Visit her website at www.nancywarren.net (http://www.nancywarren.net) for news on upcoming titles.


This is for Viv Kefford, a dear friend, with thanks.


Contents

Chapter 1 (#u16c88910-eee8-5494-ac00-d183a9552cbe)

Chapter 2 (#u5f323a9b-5b34-5ed4-b91a-cfbd9512dd7a)

Chapter 3 (#u1c69f676-5edb-5035-ac9d-04dd07b19602)

Chapter 4 (#u5259630c-6158-5ec2-b69e-6bbfbc3e609a)

Chapter 5 (#ub5df6a9d-b098-5c07-84e1-9b4dc5e64442)

Chapter 6 (#u10e771ec-d3e6-5dbf-9da0-bed23e0a1b12)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)


1

EVEN INSIDE HIS bunker gear, firefighter Dylan Cross could feel the heat from the burning house. Water cannoning from the big hoses made almost as much noise as the angry growl of the flames eating at the bungalow in a poorer section of Hunter, Washington.

There’d be a lot of mopping up to do, and not much of this old place would be saved, but the neighboring houses were unscathed, so that was something.

Even after ten years as a firefighter Dylan was still amazed at how alive each fire was, how a blaze had its own personality. Some were unpredictable drama queens, others quiet and stealthy as they ate through property, their smoky breath silently killing anyone unlucky enough to be sleeping without a smoke detector in the house.

It was getting on to 1:00 a.m. A few civilians in bathrobes and hastily donned clothes stood in clusters watching the fire. A dog nosed forward to sniff and quickly pulled back when a blast of flame shot out a window.

An ancient Ford screeched to a halt at the curb beside where Dylan stood and a young woman got out. She had a six-pack of beer under her arm, and from the glazed eyes she was already under the influence of something. She stood and stared at the burning building, then started to glance around, increasingly agitated. “Terry? Terry!” She screamed the name over and over. Then she grabbed Dylan’s arm. “He’s in there. Terry’s still in there.”

Shit. “Where?” He tried to steady her. “Where is Terry?”

She pointed at the lower windows as though he were stupid. “In there. In the basement apartment.”

He glanced up to find his captain, Len Butcher, striding over, shaking his head. But Dylan was already on the move. He grabbed an ax, ran around to the back of the house and found the door to the basement none of them had known existed. Damn it, the neighbors had said that the owners were away. Nobody had mentioned an apartment.

He didn’t need the ax. He found that the door opened when he turned the knob. He did and was about to enter when his captain yelled. “Pull back! Damn it, Cross. Too dangerous. Pull back.”

He registered the words, but only through the buzzing of adrenaline. Somebody inside. Had to get them out.

Dylan pushed in. Where the smoke was thick and the growl of the fire was much louder. To his left, a kitchen, on the right, squalid living quarters with the remains of a collection of plants. The bedroom was behind the living area, thick with smoke, and he could barely make out the hump in the bed. He ran forward, knowing time was running out. He could feel the tremble as the house succumbed. Inside his suit, sweat pooled.

He shook the limp man. No response. He reached into the bed, hauled the guy up. Luckily, he was skin and bones and didn’t weigh much. Dylan humped him over his shoulder and staggered back the way he’d come.

He almost made it.

He could make out the doorway, the way he’d come in, but as he ran for it, the ceiling caved in on them. It was like a fireworks display, all spark and sizzle. As he fell, he pitched forward, trying to throw the unconscious man out the door.

Then something hit him and he blacked out.

* * *

“YOU WENT AGAINST my direct order,” Len Butcher yelled at him a week later when the doctor said he could return to work. Len had an unfortunate face. It was as if someone had crossed a bulldog with a baked potato. The result wasn’t happy. His face was broad and dark-skinned, with that mash of nose in the middle just begging for a pat of butter and sour cream. “I had to risk two other firefighters to go in after you. You could have all been killed.”

Dylan didn’t bother defending himself. Terry was alive. Okay, he was a drug user and small-time dealer whose illegal power-sucking grow op had caused the fire, but Dylan felt that he should get some credit for saving the guy’s life.

Len obviously didn’t agree. “I don’t have any room on my team for a hero with a death wish,” he stormed, so red in the face he looked in danger of spontaneous combustion. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You damn near were killed.” Dylan understood that part of his anger was worry. “You’re rash, a daredevil. You got away with a concussion and some bruises this time. It’s a warning. And if that’s not enough of one, I’m giving you another.” He raised his thick forefinger and shook it in Dylan’s face. “I want you to take a couple of months and think about your future.”

At this point Dylan dropped the hangdog act and glared at his captain. “A couple of months? I’m fine. Ready to go back to work.”

“You had a concussion. You don’t come back until I say you do. And I say you’re on leave until further notice.”

“But—”

“I mean it, Cross. Take some time. Figure out why you disobeyed my orders and how you’d feel if the two guys who went in to haul your ass out of there were in the morgue right now.” He put up a hand before Dylan could protest. “Could have ended that way and you know it.”

“But what the hell am I supposed to do for two months?”

“I don’t know. And I don’t care. Take up yoga, basket weaving, something quiet that won’t get you killed. But stay out of trouble.”

“But—”

“I swear, I hear one sniff about you doing some crazy-ass stunt and risking your life and you’re off my team.” He jerked a thumb toward the door. “Out.”

* * *

CASSIE PRICE WAS in way over her head. Way, way, way over, she realized ruefully as she walked through the empty rooms of her new home.

Between them, her financial advisor, her parents and her real-estate agent had convinced her that buying a house in Hunter, Washington, was a great investment. The houses in her price range varied from tiny, boring new builds to older fixer-uppers with good bones. She’d bought the latter, although now, as she walked over brown shag carpet and peered at the harvest-gold appliances in the kitchen, she wondered about those bones, and if she hadn’t in fact bought herself a hopeless dump.

The neighborhood was old and established and the homes in it were solidly built, she’d been told. And she could read decorating magazines and watch home-improvement shows like everybody else and see the potential in the hardwood floors hidden under the awful rugs, and sure, the kitchen would be fantastic with new appliances, cabinets, flooring and lighting.

Even the main bathroom would be a showpiece once she replaced the turquoise bathtub and sink and the vinyl flooring.

Her trouble was that she wasn’t one of those handy types who could whip an old home into a showplace in a half-hour show, with plenty of time to spare for commercial breaks. She was a busy professional with zero skills and a limited budget. She couldn’t afford a fancy home renovator.

As she walked from room to room, her distress grew.

Buyer’s remorse? There had to be a stronger term for what she was suffering. Buyer’s panic might be closer.

What had she done?

“What have I done?” She echoed the words when she joined her good friend and positive-thinking guru, Serena Long, and Serena’s fiancé, Adam Shawnigan, for dinner at a local Greek restaurant, after touring the pair around her new-to-her house.

She speared a chunk of feta cheese and a tomato wedge from her salad.

Serena was a well-known performance coach. She and Cassie had first met a couple of years ago when Serena gave a workshop at the aquarium where Cassie worked as director of community outreach. Cassie had facilitated the workshop and they’d become friends almost immediately. Now Serena smiled that radiant smile of hers and said, “You bought a house. When it’s renovated it will be a wonderful home. And a good investment.”

“It’s getting from here to renovated that seems to be the issue,” Cassie said, shoving the food in her mouth and crunching down fiercely. “I need a miracle.”

Adam chuckled. “You don’t need a miracle. All you need is a decent handyman. A lot of the work in your home is cosmetic and grunt labor. You get a professional plumber and electrician for the tricky stuff, and then somebody like me who is handy and likes renovation projects can do the rest.”

“Are you available?” she asked Adam sweetly.

Even though she’d said the words sarcastically, she knew he’d have helped her if he could. Adam was renovating his own house, the old cottage that he and Serena planned to live in when they got married in a few weeks.

“You know I would if I had the time,” he said. Then she watched as he paused in the act of raising his water glass to his mouth. He put the glass back down and said, “But I think I know somebody who might be available.”

She knew Adam was a perfectionist. He wouldn’t recommend anyone who didn’t meet his own rigorous standards, so a feeling of hope began to bloom. “Are you serious? Who?”

Serena turned to Adam. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“I usually am.”

Cassie had found that this happened a lot with Serena and Adam. They had the whole married-speak thing going and they weren’t even married yet. She waited, knowing they’d fill her in when they’d finished telepathically communing with each other.

Sure enough, Serena sat for a moment and then nodded. “I agree. It’s a very good idea. Solves both their problems.”

Adam turned back to Cassie. “I happen to know a very handy guy who suddenly has a couple of months of free time and really, really needs a project. Let me tell you about my good friend Dylan Cross.”

She listened as Adam described his firefighter friend Dylan, who’d apparently dragged the operator of an illegal grow op from a burning house, almost getting himself killed in the process, and then was put on suspension for ignoring his captain’s orders. She could see how it might be aggravating to have a heroic deed like that go unappreciated. She could also see that he might be a problem.

“This Dylan Cross is in trouble because he ignored his boss’s orders.” She looked from Adam to Serena. “How do I know he won’t ignore my orders when he’s working on my house?”

“It’s simple,” Adam said, leaning forward and lowering his voice. “We need Dylan at the upcoming championship hockey game for Badges on Ice. If he loses his job, we lose a valuable right wing. So if you have any problem with Dylan, even the tiniest hint of trouble, you will call me, and I and our teammate Max will be all over him.” She’d met Max Varo a couple of times and the billionaire entrepreneur always intimidated her a little.

Cassie leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. “So basically what you’re saying is you want me to babysit a guy who has problems with impulse control?”

“He’s a good guy, honestly. Dylan, Max and me, we go way back. Our moms were all friends and we played together as little kids, went through school, joined all the same teams. I know Dylan Cross through and through. Yes, he’s a little rash, but if I was in any kind of trouble I’d want him to have my back.”

She knew Adam wouldn’t use words like that lightly. An outstanding police officer himself, Adam mostly associated with law-and-order types. People of integrity. If he vouched for this Dylan Cross, then she was willing to take a chance.

Besides, she did really, really need a handyman.

But she wasn’t going to be a pushover, either. She gave Adam the steely-eyed gaze that she used if a school kid wasn’t behaving during a visit to the aquarium. “I’ll make a deal with you. I will babysit your boy. But you are personally in charge of making sure he does an excellent job, and that he sticks to a tight budget.”

Adam grinned at her. “You two are going to get on like a house on fire. So to speak.”

She smacked his hand. “Is there anything else I need to know?”

It was Serena who spoke. “One thing that might be good to know.” She sent Cassie a woman-to-woman look. “He’s Mr. June. In the charity firefighter calendar.” She waved a hand in front of her face as though she were perspiring. “You have to check him out.”


2

SATURDAY MORNINGS USED to be Cassie’s favorite time of the entire week. Ahh, those lazy Saturday mornings when she could take a cup of tea back to bed with her, download something new on her e-reader or pick an old favorite from her crowded bookshelves. Then she’d settle back against the pillows and read. She’d get up when she felt like it and then worry about organizing her day.

Those Saturday mornings were over.

Now when she opened her eyes on the first weekend in her new home, she didn’t see the familiar walls of her rental-apartment bedroom, with her art hanging and bookcases begging to be raided. Instead she saw ugly pink walls and packing boxes that she wouldn’t unpack until the room was painted. Her head vibrated with the mental to-do list that seemed longer than her future. And a lot more frightening.

But at least Adam’s friend Dylan was coming by today to take a look at the place and give her an estimate on what he could do for her and how much it would cost.

She really hoped that Adam was right and his buddy, the temporarily unemployed firefighter, would be both competent and reasonably priced.

And how did she feel about a man who was suspended from his regular job because he’d ignored his boss’s orders? She wondered as she brewed tea and made toast, trying to ignore the harvest-gold appliances and chipped mint-green countertops as she did so. What if he ignored her instructions?

Adam maintained that Dylan had put saving a life ahead of bureaucracy, but still, you had to wonder.

While she ate breakfast, she scanned this week’s flyers from local hardware stores and big-box DIY places and wondered, not for the first time, if she’d made a terrible mistake. When she’d found out her grandmother had left her a little money, her parents had both encouraged her to buy her own place. “You know renting is throwing money down the drain,” her mom had insisted.

“We’ve always made money on our houses,” her father, the accountant, had added.

But her father was handy. And lived far away in California. The two of them had bonded not over carpentry but over scuba diving, a passion that had led to her current career.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want a house. She did, of course, and she believed her parents and her financial advisor and the real-estate agent when they’d said that it was a good long-term investment. She imagined what her three-bedroom home could look like and knew it could be warm and beautiful. Even the neglected garden could shine with some love and attention.

If she knew the first thing about gardening.

When the doorbell rang later that day, she was almost ready to shove the For Sale sign back in front of the house.

She opened the door.

And the best-looking man she’d ever seen—who wasn’t staring back at her from a movie screen, TV set or a billboard—stood there. “Hi, I’m Dylan,” he said, all sexy and hot with his tousled hair that looked as though he’d only just gotten out of bed after leaving a woman or two very happy. His eyes were the kind of blue that reminded her of the seas she loved to dive in. His teeth were white and even and he was tall. His clothes might be scruffy but nothing could downplay the exquisite tone of his body.

She actually had to blink and give her overloaded senses a moment. When she opened her eyes he was still there and still as spectacular. Of course, she should have realized that he wasn’t your run-of-the-mill kind of man when Serena had mentioned he was Mr. June and fanned her face. Serena was engaged to Adam Shawnigan, who wasn’t exactly dogmeat to look at. If she was getting gooey over another guy’s appearance—well, he’d look like this man.

“Cassie,” she managed when she could form a word. “Come on in.” Then she saw the toolbox. “Oh, you brought tools.” She’d imagined this would be a preliminary session where he’d look around the house then go home and prepare a budget and maybe give her a supply list.

He shrugged. “Adam said you want to get started right away and personally, I hate wasting time.”

She had her first inkling that they were going to get on just fine.

“Unless you take one look at this place and run screaming out again.” She sighed. “There’s a lot of work here.”

Dylan stepped in around her and began to touch and poke at and inspect things. She’d planned to give him a tour and point out the areas she most wanted tackled, but he seemed to have his own agenda. Fascinated, she followed him. He didn’t take notes, merely nodded and muttered as he pulled on the banister (which was solid, that got a nod), opened a kitchen cabinet (headshake and muttering), then glanced around. “You’ll want a separate electric panel up here in the kitchen. For that you’ll need a licensed electrician. I can recommend one.”

“Thanks.”

“He can also change that fluorescent lighting to something from this century.”

Without missing a thing he was zeroing in on her list of absolute must-haves.

He dropped to his knees and pulled at a corner of the kitchen flooring. That got a groan.

But when they got to the living room and he pulled up a corner of the awful shag rug, he not only nodded, he traced the inlaid wood pattern with a finger. “You can’t buy this kind of workmanship anymore.”

Upstairs, he bounced on the floor, then walked into the bathroom and said, “Wow.” He continued through each of the three bedrooms, then took her all the way down to the basement and walked around. When they got back up to the main level he stood once more in the living room and turned slowly around.

“You know,” Dylan said, “this place has great potential.”

“Oh, how I am beginning to hate that word.”

When he grinned at her she almost forgot to breathe. “Don’t worry. We’ll get her so she’s better than new. First, I have to warn you, things will get worse. Messy and noisy and destructive. But then things will get a lot better, and fast.”

She nodded. “Define fast.”

He had a confidence about him that made her feel everything would be all right. “A month from now you won’t recognize the place. Two months from now, you’ll have forgotten it ever looked this bad.”

“I can’t imagine I’ll ever forget.” She’d better take lots of pictures along the way.

“Now, Adam says you’re on a budget, so here’s what I propose. We tackle the absolute worst things that you can’t live with and then go from there. Absolute worst for me would be bathroom, then kitchen. It’s easy and not very expensive to strip out all the carpets and refinish the hardwood floors. Big bang for your buck. If you want to save money, you have to help. What can you do?”

When he turned those gorgeous blue eyes on her, she tried to come up with something, some previously undiscovered handy-person trait. “I can choose the fixtures and colors and things.”

“Good. Can you paint?”

“Uh, I guess so. How hard can it be?”

“That’s the attitude. I’ll show you a few tricks. Paint makes a huge difference and it’s relatively cheap.”

“Have you done many renovations?”

“Sure. Didn’t Adam tell you? I buy and fix up houses and then sell them. It’s a hobby of mine. I also take on projects for other people when I’m off duty.” He frowned. “At the moment I have some extra time.” There was an awkward pause. “Adam probably told you.”

“Yeah.”

“My unexpected time off is bad news for me, but good news for you.”

She really hoped that was true.

Within half an hour of him walking in the door, not only had she hired him, but Cassie already had him working in her house.

And she knew within another half an hour that she hadn’t made a mistake. He’d gotten right on his cell phone and lined up a plumber and an electrician to give quotes on the job. Then he said, “I could have that carpet out of here today. What do you think?”

She was nodding crazily before she got to the word yes.

“It’s going to make a big difference right away.”

She began to feel less overwhelmed. It was as though she had a team now. Even if it was only her and one man. At least the one man seemed to have the energy of three.

“While I’m taking care of that, you’ll need to pick your bathroom fixtures and kitchen cabinets. Appliances, too, sooner rather than later.”

“I’ve got some ideas already. I’ve been filing clippings and pictures.” She was so unsure and he must have heard the hesitation in her tone.

“Want me to take a look? I’ve done a lot of this stuff.”

“Would you?”

“Sure.”

She had several files of material, pictures she’d torn from magazines, ideas she’d printed off the internet and of course the ads from the flyers that appeared constantly in her mailbox.

“I like this kitchen,” he said after flipping through her idea file. “You could replicate the cabinets using Ikea or Home Depot stock. I’ve got a buddy who can get you those countertops. For the flooring, do you really want that tile?”

“What’s wrong with it?”

He pointed to the tile in the photo and she noticed that his finger was burn scarred. “See those ridges? It’s going to make the floor hard to keep clean. And if you drop anything, it’s going to shatter.”

“What do you suggest?”

“I’d go with cork. I think it suits your look, and it’s environmentally friendly and easy to clean.”

“Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

He flipped through some more of her stash and stopped. “Yes!” He said it with such enthusiasm she wondered what he was looking at. It was a magazine makeover from a bathroom like hers to a modern one that looked like a spa. “I was going to ease you into this idea, but you’re way ahead of me. If you move the bathtub so it’s across the back wall under the window, that gets rid of the ugly alleyway. You’ve probably got room for a stand-alone shower, too, if you go with a smaller vanity.”

“Really?” She was as enthusiastic as he was. “I could have this?”

“Absolutely. It will cost a little more since you’re moving plumbing, but it’s so worth it. We’ll save money in other places.”

She nodded. “Deal.”

“Okay, then. You start shopping, and I’ll start pulling out carpet.”

As she got busy, her initial excitement about buying this house resurfaced. She’d let herself become overwhelmed, she realized. All she had to do was take the renovation one step at a time.

She had a feeling that hiring Dylan had been an excellent first step.

He was soon on his hands and knees pulling up the ugly carpet from the living and dining rooms. Fortunately, he was wearing a dust mask, because she could see billows of old dirt flying into the air whenever he pulled a new piece up. He cut and rolled the rug into sections and then hefted them all out to the truck he’d parked in her driveway.

Then he came back and began removing the nail board tacked around the edges of the floor.

The transformation was amazing—no more ugly shag.

The floors weren’t perfect—there were a few paint splotches and all those nail holes—but they’d been covered with carpet for so long that they were barely worn.

“This looks so much better,” she said, hearing her voice echo in the empty room. “And it doesn’t smell so dusty. I don’t even want to think about what was in that carpet.”

He glanced up at her from his position, kneeling on the floor and said, “I won’t sand them yet. We’ll get most of the dirty stuff done first. But I like the impact getting rid of that old carpet makes. You start to see the possibilities.” He leaned right back onto his heels and glanced at her thoughtfully. “That’s what you bought, after all.”

She stared right back at him. “I did. I bought myself a houseful of possibilities.”


3

DYLAN LIKED THIS HOUSE. It was the kind of place he might have bought himself if he’d been looking for a project. Instead, it was nice to work for somebody else for a change, not be responsible for all of it, not live in the mess.

He hadn’t been sure how Cassie would manage living in a construction zone. It wasn’t for everyone. But after that first day, when she’d seemed as though she thought she’d made a terrible mistake, she’d come on board. He thought her ideas were good and she was smart enough to take advantage of his experience. She was easy on the eyes, too, he mused as he hefted the butt-ugly vanity out of the main bathroom and set it beside the even uglier turquoise sink.

He stretched out his back, knowing his next task was to remove the old bathtub. That old beast had hulked in that spot for fifty years or so—he didn’t figure it was coming out without a fight.

Cassie wouldn’t be home from work for an hour or two, so the noise and occasional swearing weren’t going to bother her. He had the place to himself. The bathroom window was wide open to let in the fresh air of a bright spring day. After this, he promised himself, he’d sit outside with a soda and enjoy the sunshine for a few minutes.

As he prepared to do battle with the tub, he heard what sounded like a baby crying.

He paused, thinking the noise had been awfully close, almost as if there was a baby inside the house. He stopped, listened carefully and heard the sad, plaintive cry again.

Dylan had been a firefighter too long to ignore any sound of distress. He jogged quickly through the house but no one was there.

Outside he ran. No one in the front. Around to the back. He heard the sound again. Louder now, and coming from above him.

Shading his eyes with his hand, he looked up. The tree was an old one, gnarled and solid, the cedar standing probably fifty feet tall. And halfway up a kitten was crying its heart out.

“Oh, no,” he said to himself. To the kitten he tried the positive approach. “Come on, kitty. You got up there. You can come down.”

The reply was an even more pathetic howl of distress.

He glanced around as though a neighbor might be outside, maybe with a ladder. But on a sunny Monday afternoon, Dylan seemed to be the only one around.

He tried calling to the cat again. No dice.

Then he ran into Cassie’s kitchen and found a can of tuna in her cupboards. He dug through her kitchen drawer and pulled out a can opener. Took a nice chunk of tuna on a saucer out to the cat to try and lure it out of the tree.

The cat only sounded more woebegone than ever.

At this point, Dylan had to accept the kitten was stuck in that tree.

Glad none of his colleagues or friends was around to laugh at him for being such a cliché, he put the tuna on the ground, rubbed his hands on his filthy jeans and pulled himself up to the first branch of the tree.

He’d been climbing trees as long as he’d been walking. The first time he’d fallen out of one his mother had claimed he must have nine lives. Lately she’d been warning him that he’d used most of them up.

It was sort of fun to climb a tree at the age of thirty-five. And it was giving a good stretch to the muscles that had been bent over doing grunt work at the house.

When he drew closer, he saw that the cat was very young. And very scared.

“You’re not going to scratch my eyes out, are you?” he asked when his face was level with the cat’s. In answer, the animal butted its small head against his hand.

He chuckled. “Okay, then.” He took a moment to scratch the kitten behind the ears until he heard it start to purr. Then, very gently, he scooped the small, warm body into one hand and lifted it toward his shoulder. A glimpse at the back end told him the animal was most likely a female. The cat caught right on and crawled up so she was hanging over his shoulder, digging in tight.

Dylan winced as tiny, sharp claws grabbed him through his thin T-shirt, but at least he had his hands free and the animal seemed to recognize that he was trying to save her.

“Going down,” he said, as though he were an elevator operator.

He shimmied down the tree, talking softly to the cat the whole way. He swung down from the lowest branch. “Hang on tight, now,” he said to his companion, and dropped down to the grass, one hand hanging onto his burden.

As he turned, he discovered he was no longer alone.

Cassie was standing in the backyard, staring at him. Obviously home early from work. And she’d brought her friend, Adam’s fiancée, Serena, with her.

“What on earth?” Cassie blinked at him.

He felt suddenly like a kid caught playing hooky. Instead of working on her house, she’d caught him climbing trees. He could feel bits of leaves in his hair, his clothes were even more filthy than they’d been earlier and he had a kitten hanging over his shoulder, claws so far into him he didn’t think she was ever letting go.

He decided to work on the most important thing first—getting the kitten disengaged from his flesh. With as much dignity as he could muster, he said to Cassie, “Could you pass me that tuna?”

The two women exchanged a glance that had a lot of suppressed humor in it, and he strongly suspected there was a certain gender mocking going on. Not that he could prove it, since neither of them said anything. Cassie picked up the saucer with the chunk of tuna on it and passed it over.

“Thank you.” He turned his back so the kitten’s head would face her. “Maybe you could try feeding the cat so she gets her claws out of my skin.”

“Ouch,” she said.

Then he heard her speak softly to the kitten. “It’s okay. I’ve got some yummy tuna for you, but you have to let go of Dylan first.” It was the sort of voice a mom would use with a toddler, but it worked fine. Or the smell of tuna did. He felt the claws release and then the small, warm body was lifted from his shoulder. When he turned around, the cat was already on the ground, happily chowing down.

He rubbed his chest with his knuckles and frowned at his new boss, who was looking distractingly hot in a skirt and heels that showed off shapely legs. “Don’t you know cats need time to get used to a new home? You can’t just let them out and leave them.”

Her eyes widened in surprise and he figured she’d made the dumb mistake of thinking that because she’d moved the cat she would settle right in. Big mistake. She was lucky the feline hadn’t hiked back to wherever she’d lived before.

“Your cat doesn’t even have a collar. What if she had wandered? Could have got lost.” The cat looked up from its empty plate then and meowed, as though in full agreement.

Cassie knelt down and patted the kitten’s head. She was obviously fond of her housemate.

Which made him continue, “I’m surprised you wouldn’t be a better pet owner, seeing as you work at the aquarium.”

She looked up at him, which made her eyes seem big. “I would if I owned a pet. But I don’t.”

He began to feel incredibly foolish. “You mean—”

“This isn’t my cat.”

He found two pairs of large eyes regarding him. “I, ah, I’m going to rip that tub out of the bathroom now,” he said, backing away.

* * *

AFTER DYLAN DISAPPEARED into the house, Cassie rose with the kitten in her arms. She looked at Serena and they both stifled giggles. Serena said, “Did we just witness a fireman rescuing a kitten from a tree?”

“Yep. And he looked awfully good doing it.”

“He looks good doing just about anything,” Serena agreed. “Too bad he can’t grow up.”

“What do you mean?”

“Did I tell you about Last Bachelor Standing?”

“I don’t think so. I’d have remembered.”

Serena shook her head. “Well, when the three boys—and I do mean boys—Adam, Dylan and Max, were all celebrating Adam’s thirty-fifth birthday back in February, every one of them was still single. They challenged each other to one of their stupid contests. They’ve known each other forever and have this strange compulsion to set up bets. This one was who would be the last bachelor standing.”

“You’ve got to be joking.”

Serena shook her head once more.

“Obviously, Adam didn’t win,” Cassie said, pointing to Serena’s engagement ring.

A purely feminine smile was her response. “No. He did not. Then Max went to Alaska and fell for that bush pilot who, let’s just say, took him down in flames.”

“Which leaves Dylan.”

“Yep. Undisputed winner of the contest, which I like to call Last Guy to Grow Up.”

Cassie could hear banging and sawing coming from the bathroom so she knew they couldn’t be overheard. “Is he proud of this so-called accomplishment?”

“He brags about it every time the guys get together.”

She glanced up at the bathroom window. “Sometimes I think it’s a wonder our species survives.”

“Speaking of survival,” Serena said, regarding the rescue cat, “what are you going to do about this little stray?”

The kitten was purring loudly in her arms, but she could feel that the animal was skin and bone. “I guess I’ll meet my new neighbors, see if anyone claims it.”

“It might belong to the last people who lived here. Sometimes cats find their way home.”

Cassie dumped the rest of the can of tuna into the saucer. Then she said to Serena, “Come on in. I’ll show you the progress so far, as promised. And you can help me choose paint colors.”

“As promised. Where do you want to start?”

“My bedroom. I cannot stand waking up every morning surrounded by walls the color of already chewed bubblegum.”

“Let’s go.”

But first she had to stop and admire the hardwood floors. “These are going to be so beautiful when they’re refinished.”

“I know. I can’t believe the difference already.”

As they walked upstairs she described the bedroom of her imagination. “I want something very feminine. I work with fish and marine mammals and scientists all day. I want my bedroom to be a woman’s retreat.”

They entered the room and she immediately saw what she wanted. “I’ve seen a yellow-and-blue duvet cover that I love, and I’ll have chintz cushions in the window seat in a coordinating fabric.”

Serena nodded. “The window seat really is pretty, with that view out into the garden. I love those multipaned windows. So country cottage.”

“I think that window seat might have sold me this house,” she admitted.

“What about a chandelier for a light fixture?” The one crouching over a single lightbulb in the ceiling was a square of etched glass that must have been ugly even in the ’60s.

“Ooh, I like it. And I’m looking for an antique headboard. I haven’t found one yet, but I’ll know it when I see it.”

“Nice. And you’ve got an en-suite bathroom, which is such a great feature.”

“But what color for the walls?”

Serena took a few moments to walk right into the bedroom. She sat on the window seat. Looked into the room. “I am seeing a French blue. Something soft, but the color of lavender.”

“Oh, that’s perfect.” Cassie picked up the fan of paint colors she’d bought to help her choose and began to flip. There were so many shades they made her eyes hurt, but Serena helped her and they finally decided on a color that both agreed would be wonderful. For the bathroom they decided on a darker shade of the same lavender color. The color would go well with the dark wood cabinet she’d scored for half price in a high-end decorating store that was changing its stock.

Cassie added two different colors of paint to her growing list of supplies to purchase, then added a chandelier because the idea pleased her so much. She knew that if she could get even this one room finished, she’d feel more settled.

When she turned to leave she found that the cat had followed them and had settled herself on the window seat, nestled among the cushions she’d put there temporarily.

Since she was sound asleep after her ordeal in the tree, Cassie decided to leave her to sleep.

Tomorrow she’d find her home. And if she turned out to be a stray, she supposed she’d have to find the nearest animal shelter.

A ray of late-afternoon sun shone on the kitten’s tortoiseshell coat and as she dreamed, her whiskers twitched.

* * *

SERENA ALSO HAD some good ideas for other rooms, including sophisticated neutrals for the main downstairs rooms. When Cassie had jotted down a list of colors, she offered Serena a drink, but her friend shook her head. “Can’t. I’ve got to run. I’ve got an appointment to view a hotel ballroom for the wedding reception.” She flapped a hand to her chest and her engagement ring flashed. “Booking a wedding without a year’s lead time is crazy. Everything decent is already booked.” She sighed. “Fortunately, I have connections and I’m very persuasive.”

“If it was me, I’d want to get married outside.”

“Me, too. And good luck with that. My advice? When you get married, give yourself plenty of planning time.”

“I should probably start by actually going out on a date.”

Serena nodded. She understood. In the past they’d bonded over being single professional women and laughed about their bad dates. Now Serena had found the love of her life. Cassie still seemed to be stuck in single mode.

“I can’t believe I’m getting married,” Serena suddenly said, looking uncertain.

“I can. It suits you.” It did, too. Serena had always possessed the most amazing confidence but now that she’d found love there was a deeper calmness that hadn’t been there before. Perhaps it was contentment.

After Serena left, Cassie walked toward the main-floor bathroom—soon to be a magazine-inspired transformation—to check on progress. And found the cat seeming to do the same. She sat, tail curled around her paws, watching Dylan manhandle the tub. He was sweating and his muscles bulged. A wave of lust, as unexpected as it was unwelcome, crashed over Cassie as she watched him.

“Can I help?” she asked.

“I’ll get a buddy to help me heft the tub out of here,” he grunted.

“I can do it,” she insisted. “Give me two seconds to change my clothes.”

“It’s heavy,” he warned.

“I heft all the time at work.”

In not much more than two seconds she’d shoved herself into a pair of old jeans and a T-shirt she’d gotten somewhere for free and should never have accepted.

“Take the other pair of work gloves from my toolbox,” he said, “and let me know if it’s too heavy.”

The tub was heavy, all right, but she worked out, and as a diver she was used to carrying heavy equipment. She’d manage.

The tub was not only ugly and heavy but the edges she had to hold dug into her hands even through the gloves. No way could she simply drop it halfway to the door, so she gritted her teeth, tightened every core muscle she could locate and slowly, step by step, they got the beast down the hall then out the front door. He’d already put down the back of his truck, so they walked it right over and wedged and heaved until the hulk of metal humped in the truck bed like a beached gray whale.

The cat followed them, watching the operation with interest.

“You’re stronger than you look,” Dylan said, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, running his gaze down her body in a way that made her tingle.

“I—” She had no idea what to say. Their gazes connected and she felt that pull of attraction once more, stronger now that she suspected he felt it, too.

“Hi, there,” a female voice called out, breaking the spell.

They both turned and a pleasant-looking woman in her forties stood at the edge of the drive, smiling. “I’m Lynette Peters. My family and I live next door.” She indicated the white house on Cassie’s right with a front yard full of blooming spring flowers. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

“Thank you,” Cassie said, walking forward. She pulled the work glove from her right hand and shook hands. “I’m Cassie Price. I do have one question.” She pointed to the cat sitting behind the truck licking one paw. “Do you know whose cat this is?”

The woman glanced down at the kitten and shook her head. “I don’t recognize her and I know most of the pets around here. I’d say she’s a stray. Poor little thing. People should get their cats spayed.”

“I know. I was hoping she had a home. I guess I’ll have to take her to the shelter. Maybe they can find her a home.”

“Well, you let us know if you need anything, you or your husband.”

“Oh,” Cassie said, “Dylan’s not my husband.”

On his way back to the house, Dylan sent Lynette his lady-killer grin and said, “She just uses me for sex.”

“Dylan!” She felt her cheeks warm, probably because she’d been lusting after him only a few minutes earlier. She turned back to Lynette. “He’s joking. Of course we’re not, uh, you know...”

Lynette watched Dylan saunter back to the house. “Then you must be crazy.”


4

HOW COULD ONE SILLY, joking comment change everything? Cassie wondered as she walked back into the house and found Dylan carrying a rusted length of pipe down the hall toward her. She held the front door wide for him and as he passed she wondered what it would be like to enjoy a man only for sex. She’d never tried it before, but with Dylan, she could see the appeal. The lust wasn’t all coming from her. She recognized the interest in his eyes.

Even without Serena’s subtle warning earlier, she could tell Dylan was a player. There was something about a really sexy guy that said he knew exactly the impact he had on women. It wasn’t his fault, she supposed—it must be hard to be that sexy and gorgeous and not end up a little full of yourself.

So she knew he was a player, and normally she was immune from such practiced charm. It was incredibly bad luck that Dylan should be the one to get to her. When they were spending so much time together.

She’d simply have to let him believe she was as immune to him as she wished she were.

It wasn’t that she was in a hurry to settle down or anything, but there was something wrong with considering getting involved in even the most casual way with a man who prided himself on being the last bachelor standing.

* * *

OVER THE FIRST week they fell into a routine. He’d arrive in the morning before she left for work, and when she returned, he’d show her the day’s progress, suggest her next task and often stay working with her.

When she protested that he was working too many hours, he shrugged. “I like to keep busy.” She thought maybe working on her house prevented him from brooding over his job woes, and since she enjoyed working with him in the house—and the sooner her house was done, the better—she didn’t argue.

When Saturday arrived, she wasn’t a bit surprised to see him show up, his hair damp as though he’d just stepped out of the shower. Obviously misinterpreting the way she was staring at him, he said, “Sorry I’m a little late today. I always do a longer workout at the gym on the weekends.”

Which told her that not only was he working out on top of the exhausting physical labor of a home renovation, but that he considered every day a workday. “I wish I had your energy,” she said.

“I’ve gotta stay in shape for the championship hockey game,” he told her, helping himself from the pot of coffee she’d made.

“Oh, right. Adam said something about an emergency-services league.”

“Right. Play-offs in a few weeks. Our team, the Hunter Hurricanes, gets so close every year to winning, but this year that trophy is ours.”

“Isn’t this a charity event? To raise money for a good cause?”

“Sure it is. Doesn’t mean we don’t all go out there and play to win.” Then he glanced up. “You should come and watch one of our games sometime.”

It was the first time he’d suggested anything remotely unrelated to their project, and she was startled. And pleased. “Oh, thanks. I’d love to.”

The kitten appeared, scampering on her little kitten legs to meow at Dylan’s feet. He scooped the cat up so they were nose to nose. “How are you doing, Twinkletoes?”

A purr was the answer. He put the cat over his shoulder in a practiced way that she suspected happened a lot when she wasn’t home. The cat hung there, purring with content, while Dylan drank more coffee.

He didn’t mention that she still had the cat almost a week after they’d found it, so she felt she should explain. “I put a poster up around the neighborhood. I’m hoping someone claims her.” She did not refer to the cat as Twinkletoes, feeling that naming a stray was a straight path to cat ownership. And right now she was still struggling with the home-ownership thing. She couldn’t take on more responsibility. As cute as the kitten was.

“Any bites?”

“Nothing. I’ll keep the cat a few more days and try and fatten her up a bit before taking her to the shelter.”

He didn’t answer. Merely walked back to the kitchen and placed the now empty mug in the sink.

“I’m filling the cracks and holes in my bedroom walls today, then I’ll try my hand at painting.” She figured if she screwed up on her bedroom, it wasn’t too serious. Hopefully by the time she got to the downstairs main rooms she’d be a pro.

“I’m back in the bathroom. For the smallest room in the house, it’s going to be one of the biggest time sucks.”

She understood, and also knew how fantastic it was going to look when that bathroom was done. She’d chosen the fixtures with care. The tile, even the wall paint. He walked toward the bathroom, the cat hanging off him like a funky stole, and she headed for the stairs.

She got to work with her scraper, getting rid of some of the loose old paint and then filling in the nail holes and a few shallow cracks with filler. She kind of liked the mindless work. She put on NPR for a while and then found she wasn’t listening, so she flipped to a music station.

“Cassie! Come here,” Dylan yelled from the direction of the bathroom.

She dropped her paint scraper and ran to the bathroom, picturing him trapped under a heavy object or something, but when she got there she found him with hands on hips, admiring the latest layer of decorative wall covering he’d bared.

“This must be the original,” he said.

She walked into the bathroom, immediately feeling the closeness of their two bodies brushing as they contemplated what had to have been the ultimate in bathroom decor back in the 1950s.

He put a friendly arm on her shoulder. “It’s you.”

The wallpaper was in blue and turquoise tones with splashes of gold. It showed a mermaid riding a dolphin. Or maybe a whale. Whoever had designed the paper wasn’t a marine biologist. But she loved the whimsy of the busty mermaid with her long, flowing hair and rounded hips ending in a green tail that looked a lot like a slinky gown. She rode sidesaddle on her willing aquatic ride. “She’s one sexy mermaid.”

“You see? This was meant to be. You’re a woman of the sea and this wallpaper is a sign that this is supposed to be your house.”

She looked at him. “You really believe that?”

He shrugged. “Why not? Too bad we can’t save more of it.”

“She looks like you, too,” he said, glancing at the buxom mermaid and back at Cassie. There was a warm, teasing light in his eyes that was hard to resist.

“You think I’d look good in scales?”

“I think you’d look good in anything.” There was no denying, the man had some serious charm going on. Also, this space was small and he was so hot and it had been so long and... The moment lingered, his gaze on hers, a ripple of energy between them not unlike the ripple of the water’s surface when a fin has fluttered by.

Oh, this was such a bad idea, she thought as her heart began to pound and he moved infinitesimally closer.

The shrill ringing of the phone brought her back to reality faster than a plunge into cold water. She backed away fast. “I should get that.” She tucked her hair behind her ears in a nervous gesture she’d had since grade school.

His eyes tilted at the corners in wry amusement, maybe some disappointment. “You should.” Then he turned back to his task of removing whimsical ’50s mermaids from her walls and she ran to answer her landline.

“Hey, Dylan?” she yelled to him from the kitchen.

“Yeah?”

“The floor tile’s in. I’m going to pick it up.”

“Okay. Need a hand?”

Well, she did and she didn’t. She figured the guys at the warehouse could schlep the tiles into her car and Dylan could help her unload them when she got back. Which gave her an hour or so out on the road on her own to talk some sense into herself.

Besides, there was something so unsexy about a tile warehouse, maybe it would be the decorating equivalent of the cold shower she really needed right now.

“No. That’s okay. Do you need anything while I’m out?”

There was a tiny pause. “No. I’m good.” She heard him bang into something and swear, then he yelled, “Oh, no, wait. Can you get me some three-quarter-inch finishing nails?”

“Three-quarter-inch finishing nails.”

“Yeah. And then I’m good.”

No, you’re not. You’re bad. Badbadbadbadbad!

While she was heading to the warehouse, her cell phone rang. She answered on her Bluetooth. “Hello?”

“Hey, Cassie. It’s Serena. What are you up to?”

“Going to pick up floor tiles, you?”

“Escaping to the gym. Adam decided he needed to install some sort of flashing over the window. A great deal of noise was involved.”

“Yeah, Dylan’s pulling my bathroom apart. Noise, dust—” Sexual temptation of the hottest kind.

“Don’t you miss those Saturdays when you could go for brunch and maybe do a little shopping? Get your nails done?”

“Not only can I barely remember those days, I can’t even afford them anymore. Everybody said a house was a good investment, but all I ever do is dump more money into it.”

“I know. When I signed up for a Lowe’s credit card I knew my days at the spa were over.”

Since Serena was a very successful corporate coach with a bestselling leadership book, Cassie doubted this was completely true, but she appreciated the sympathy anyway.

“Did you find your chandelier yet?”

“Haven’t even looked.”

“I was in this little hole-in-the-wall antique and secondhand store and I found one that, to me, looks perfect. It’s not too far past the tile warehouse. I’ll grab a quick workout while you pick up your tiles and meet you there if you like.”

“Oh,” Cassie squealed. “Chandeliers are so much more interesting than three-quarter-inch finishing nails.”

“That is so true.” Serena gave her the directions and they agreed to meet at the store in an hour.

When she’d finished getting the tiles loaded into her car, she had time to get the finishing nails. Boring.

The paint store was beside the hardware place, so she pulled out her credit card one more time. The back of her car was fairly loaded by the time she’d finished, but she definitely had a chandelier-size space left.

Definitely.

And she knew Serena had excellent taste, so her hopes were high.

They faltered a little when Cassie found her way to Murphy’s Antiques and Secondhand Finds. The store was in a plaza with a secondhand sports-equipment outlet and some kind of automotive place.

Nevertheless, she pushed her way into the store. A bell rang, and when she took a step inside she knew Serena hadn’t steered her wrong. This was a store to browse in. Junk and treasure were jumbled together—old toys, clothing and books, Depression glass to Irish crystal to sterling silver and old tobacco tins. The lighting fixtures hung from the ceiling. An enormous brass wagon wheel with black lamps would have looked at home in the Munsters’ house, and there were stained-glass lamps and a bright orange midcentury modern globe and—oh, that had to be it. A small chandelier, delicate and twinkly when the door opened and the breeze shivered through the crystals.

“What do you think?” Serena asked, coming up behind her.

Cassie turned to her and beamed. “It’s perfect.”

“I knew it.”

“But it’s on hold.” She pointed at the big tag hanging from the fixture.

“I had them put it on hold. For you.”

“Ha. Fantastic.”

“How can I help you ladies?” a balding man with a large stomach hanging over his belt asked them.

“We’ll take this chandelier,” Serena said.

“Wait. How much is it?”

Serena put a hand on her arm. “It’s a housewarming gift.”

“No. You can’t.”

“I was going to buy it, but then I thought how awful if you hated it. There is nothing worse than being stuck with a gift you don’t like. So I dragged you out of your way to approve of my taste before I made a fool of myself.”

“As if you could.”

Cassie hugged her friend quickly, knowing that Serena was as pleased to be giving her the chandelier as she was to receive it.

“I’m going to start painting the bedroom as soon as I get home,” she said. “I’ll make Dylan stop work on the bathroom and help me. I can’t wait to get that room in shape. It’s going to be so beautiful.”

“The whole house is going to be beautiful. You wait.”

While the store owner boxed the light up for them, they browsed, picking through old farm tools and vinyl records, a tray of pocket watches and boxes of linens. “My grandmother always used to smell like Joy,” she said, picking up an old bottle of the French perfume. The bottle was empty, but there was an echo of scent that reminded her of her mother’s mom, a wonderful woman who played piano and baked the best pies.

“My grandmother smelled like this,” Serena said, picking up an old can with “Player’s Tobacco” written on it.

They had such different backgrounds it was amazing they’d become friends. Serena rarely talked about her past, but through passing comments like this one, Cassie knew it had been rough. Serena had dragged herself up from the gutter to become one of the most successful women in Cassie’s circle, while Cassie had two parents who loved her, were still married and still called each other sweetheart. How did she get so lucky?

Of course, Serena was getting married to one of the best men on the planet, while Cassie had celebrated her thirtieth birthday still single. Her present to herself had been a three-bedroom house she’d have trouble filling.

Unless she took in a lot more stray cats.


5

THEY CARRIED THE chandelier out to the car, fitting it nicely in the space Cassie had set aside. Then Serena said, “Max is flying in to play hockey with the boys on Monday night. He’s bringing Claire with him.”

“Oh, the famous Claire.”

“Yes. The bush pilot. I thought maybe we three women should go out and have a drink while the men play hockey.”

“You don’t think Claire will want to watch Max on the ice?”

“Please. She lives in Alaska. I’m sure she’s dying to get away from snow and ice.”

“Be great to meet her.” Cassie had found Max’s combination of brains, wealth and Latin charm to be slightly intimidating. She couldn’t imagine him with a bush pilot.

“I only met her once, but I think you’ll like her.” Serena chuckled softly. “She’s quite a character.”

“I could definitely use a night out.”

“Excellent. We’re on, then.”

“What if Claire says no?”

“Then we kidnap her.”

“No wonder you’re a business leader. You always have such sound plans.”

Serena pulled out her phone and punched in something. Probably she was already updating her calendar for Monday. Or texting Claire.

“Well, I’d better get back and start on the bedroom. Drop by sometime and check out the progress.”

“Love to. Oh, wait, I almost forgot. I have something else for you.” And Serena ran to her car, her long legs looking good in tight jeans. Cassie reminded herself that she really needed to fit in more time at the gym.

Serena returned a minute later with a mischievous look on her face and a brown paper bag holding an object about the shape and size of a—Oh, my gosh, she didn’t. Yes, she did—calendar.

The firefighters’ charity calendar. Hunter’s finest firefighters, buff and ready to rock your world one month at a time.

She laughed as she opened it slowly, beginning with Mr. January, who was a fine-looking African-American guy with the most amazing pecs she’d ever seen and—

“Oh, don’t even think about poring over every month,” Serena said. “Flip to June.”

Cassie didn’t need to be told a second time; her fingers itched to fly past the first five months of the year. Flip, flip, and there he was.

Dylan.

Dylan, shirtless, his firefighting pants slung low on his hips, posing with an ax over his shoulders and a look in his eyes that made her feel as though she were in danger of being scorched. Oh, my. Those eyes, those abs, the shoulders.

“I see he has a tattoo,” she said finally, feeling a little weak. It was a linked-chain-type thing in dark ink that circled his right bicep. She wondered what it would feel like to put her hand around that tattoo. How far around his muscular arm would her hand even reach? Her palm grew warm thinking about wrapping around that hot skin.

“Let’s just say that in my apartment? It’s always June.”

They snorted with laughter. “Does Adam know?”

“He says when we get married, I have to leave the calendar behind.” She glanced at Cassie over the glossy photograph of a grinning Dylan. “He says, ‘It’s Dylan or me. Make your choice.’”

The color photograph flashed in the sunshine, making Dylan gleam like a bronzed god. “That’s got to be a tough choice.”

“I tell you, Adam’s a great-looking guy. Don’t get me wrong. And I will love him to the end of time.” She leaned closer. “But a girl can still look.”

“Uh-huh.” And Cassie wondered how long she could keep looking and remembering to breathe at the same time.

Serena’s phone signaled an incoming text. She glanced at it. Frowned. “Speak of the devil.”

“Dylan texted you?”

“No. Adam.” She put the phone away with a crease between her brows.

Cassie wanted to ask if everything was okay, but before she could say a word, Serena was backing away and waving. “Let me know how it looks when it’s up. The chandelier, I mean.” And then she was gone.

As she drove home Cassie had to face that her outing, while successful on many fronts, hadn’t exactly been the mental cold shower she’d hoped.

Thanks to Mr. June, she felt hotter than when she’d left.

When she pulled into her driveway beside the dusty truck, she immediately grabbed the calendar and stuffed it back in the brown paper bag. She hid it in the chandelier box so her handyman hottie wouldn’t see her toting pictures of his hot, half-naked self. Then, leaving the back of her car open, she walked into the house.

“Hi, Dylan, I’m back.”

“Okay, I’ll come help unload.”

“Thanks.”

He walked out of the bathroom in one of his threadbare old T-shirts and plaster-dusted jeans. The T-shirt wasn’t even tight, but as he moved she felt as if she was seeing him, gorgeous and shirtless once more. Now she knew he had a tat on his upper right bicep, she felt a strange urge to see it in the flesh.

“You okay with that box?” He paused in front of her and she realized she was standing there like a fool. Staring at him.

“Yes. I was only thinking you probably need some water since you’ve been working in all that dust.”

“I was wearing a mask. But yeah, I’ll get some. Good idea.”

He glanced at the box in her arms. “I’m guessing that’s not floor tiles.”

She shook her head. “It’s a chandelier. For the bedroom. Serena bought it for me as a housewarming gift.”

“Awesome. That will look great upstairs.” Then he narrowed his gaze. “And why do I have a feeling that my housewarming gift will involve putting it up for you?”

She chuckled. “Because you are so very smart and intuitive.”

He shook his head at her as he walked by and she turned to watch his all-too-amazing back view as he disappeared through the door.

She took the box upstairs, and then pulled out the bag containing the calendar. She felt so foolish having the firefighter calendar at all, and now it was in her bedroom. There wasn’t anywhere to hide it. Everything was still in boxes except her chest of drawers. She opened her T-shirt drawer and shoved the calendar in there. Then ran back downstairs.

He was bringing in tile boxes three in a stack, which caused his arm muscles to delineate so she had to drag her gaze away.

She managed two boxes in a stack, but she wasn’t striding along as if they were a couple of feathers.

She followed his lead, stacking the boxes in the front hall beside the stairs. There was the kitchen tile, tile for both bathrooms, wall tile, shower tile, tile for the shower floors. She’d had no idea there was so much involved in remodeling a small house. She didn’t have the kitchen backsplash yet because she wanted to get her counters first. But she had some ideas, and new magazines seemed to get published every week with new layouts and even newer products.

It was getting so bad that she was beginning to dream of tile and appliances. And maybe a certain guy who was good with an ax.

* * *

“OKAY, HERE’S THE DEAL,” Dylan said, standing with his hands on his hips and looking around Cassie’s bedroom with a practiced eye. “If you want the chandelier put up, then I’m going to paint that ceiling first. And if we’re painting the ceiling, we might as well get the walls done at the same time.”

She looked early-summer ripe in snug denim cutoffs and a sleeveless blue shirt, her curly hair dancing when she nodded. “Makes sense.”

“I’ll tackle the ceiling while you do the walls.”

She nodded but didn’t look exceptionally confident. She’d finished scraping the walls and he could see the places where she’d filled holes. Her pretty hazel eyes seemed as big as the kitten’s when she gazed at him. There was a sprinkle of freckles across her nose that he hadn’t noticed before.

He might as well know the worst. “What’s the last thing you painted?”

“I helped my dad paint my bedroom when I was—” She stopped to think. “Twelve? Thirteen?”

He wondered if he’d gone too long without a woman from the strong way he reacted when she gave him that look. The half-humorous one, as though she were laughing at herself and inviting him to share in her amusement. He had no idea why he found that so sexy, but he couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “So you’re an experienced bedroom painter, then.”

“I might need a refresher course in the finer details.”

At least she was keen to get involved, which he liked to see. “Okay, put on some clothes you don’t mind getting paint all over and we’ll have a lesson in painting 101.”

“Okay.”

“Great.”

He cranked open the stepladder he’d brought upstairs with him. She was hovering in front of her dresser. He prepared to climb the ladder. “Aren’t you changing into your grubbies?”

“Uh, I was waiting for you to leave the room.”

She hadn’t seemed that shy. He felt as though he’d blundered into one of those female areas that always confused him. “Can’t you change in the bathroom?”

“I—um, my—” She glanced at the dresser, looking embarrassed, then back to him. “Could you give me five minutes?”

And suddenly he got it. She probably kept her sex toys in her dresser along with her clothes. Didn’t want him getting an eyeful. He hopped off the ladder, trying really hard not to imagine what kind of toys were in that secret drawer. And trying even harder not to picture the two of them playing with them on that big comfy bed underneath the chandelier he was about to install.


6

HE RAN DOWN the stairs and grabbed some paint cloths and plastic sheeting, a roll of painter’s tape and rollers, brushes and both the ceiling paint and the wall color. He took the time to give both cans of paint a good stir. When he’d allowed ten minutes to pass, he gathered the painting supplies into a box and pounded back up the stairs, giving her plenty of warning that he was on his way.

Still, he knocked before he walked into Cassie’s bedroom. She was fully dressed in jeans that weren’t even close to grubby and a long-sleeved T-shirt advertising fish food. She was already unscrewing the old beige plastic switch plate covers from the walls. Excellent. She didn’t turn around when he came in, just kept working.

He climbed back up his ladder and tackled taking down the cheap old fixture that had probably been hanging up here for the entire life of the house. Who looked at something that ugly every night for fifty years? Right before they went to sleep?

Which sent his mind skidding back to those images again. The atmosphere in the room was different. Charged. Heating up. He suspected it was him thinking about what secrets were hidden in her sex-toy drawer. He told himself to stop. He was working for her, not sleeping with her. But like the proverbial elephant, the more he tried to stop wondering what was in her secret stash, the more his imagination conjured up every toy he’d ever seen, heard of or dreamed up.

He took down the light fixture—dead flies, old cobwebs and all—and carried it downstairs in a large box to add to his growing trash pile.

Back in the bedroom, he found Cassie was unscrewing the last of the outlet covers. A neat pile of them sat in a corner, all the screws gathered together. He liked the orderly way she worked.

“Okay,” he said, “when you’re done with those, we’ll cover everything up and then I’ll paint the ceiling while you...?”

Together, they pulled her bed away from the wall. He didn’t have to tell her how to lift, he noted. She bent from the knees and lifted like a pro. They moved her dresser away from the wall and not for one second did he allow himself to think about what was inside that dresser. Nope. There definitely wasn’t a pink vibrator in there. Stop it. No fur-lined handcuffs. He wasn’t even thinking about the possibility. No blindfolds or massage oils. He was relieved when they finally had the room cleared of boxes and the bit of remaining furniture away from the walls. He left Cassie draping plastic over her bed while he prepped the ceiling for painting.

Since he was painting the ceiling the same white as before, he contented himself with giving it a good rub with a dry cloth, removing old cobwebs and any loose dirt or dust that might adhere to the wet paint. He moved the ladder around, doing a quadrant at a time.

He got Cassie washing the walls down so the paint job would look professional. He could hear the soft splash when she dipped her sponge into the water and the swishing sound as she washed the walls.

He worked fast, wanting to get to the painting. Not that he loved painting ceilings—it always gave him a crick in his neck—but he held on to the image of the completed room and that helped him get through the tedious parts.

She hadn’t put on music and he didn’t want to impose his choices on her, so they worked in silence. He said, “How’s it going down there?”

“I’m sick at how dirty this water is.”

“This whole room’s going to be clean and fresh by the time you go to bed tonight.”

“Good.”

“You might want to sleep in the other bedroom tonight, though. It will smell like paint in here.” What was the matter with him? Could he mention her and beds in the same sentence a few more times?

“Good idea,” she said. “I’ll get the guest room made up.”

“I saw a bunch of diving stuff in your garage. You’re a diver?”

“I am. I’ve been diving since I was a kid. I grew up in Southern California, so the water was a lot warmer. I spent every second I could in the water. Surfing, diving, swimming. Still do.” He heard the slosh as she dunked her sponge and squeezed it out. “Though up here I’m in a wet suit most of the year. How about you? Do you dive?”

“I’ve tried it. But I’m more of an aboveground kind of guy. I play hockey, basketball, stuff like that.”

He imagined living in eternal sunshine. “Do you miss it? California?”

He heard the sponge stop moving, as though she were contemplating the question. “I do sometimes. I miss the weather and my family. I moved up here for the job, but once I got used to all the rain, I really came to appreciate the green. The forests and mountains. I still go back a few times a year, but this is home for me now. Especially now that I’ve bought a house.”

“A house is only as permanent as you make it. I buy and sell houses all the time. Fix them up and move on.”

“Why do I get the impression you don’t like feeling trapped?” she said. He could hear the smile in her voice.

He thought about that. How could a woman who barely even knew him throw out a comment like that? Was he giving off some kind of vibe? So he asked her. “What makes you say that?”

Once more the sponge stopped moving. “I don’t know. I get the sense that you like to keep things loose. And Serena told me you won some kind of eternal-bachelor contest with your friends.”

“Not eternal,” he corrected her. “Last Bachelor Standing. I’ll get married.” Though even saying the word caused a constriction in his throat. “Someday.”

“So I was wrong?”

Was she? Now his rag stopped moving as he took a moment to think about whether or not he felt easily trapped. “I don’t know. I don’t spend a lot of time contemplating the lint in my navel. I’ve been in the same job for ten years.” Though he might not have it for much longer if he wasn’t careful. “I’ve got the same friends I’ve had since I was a kid. That’s commitment. Right?”

“Absolutely.” But she didn’t sound completely convinced. Sure, most of the guys he knew who were his age and even younger were married. Some had kids, and he always imagined he’d do it, too. The time had never been right. The woman had never been right. Or maybe he’d never been ready.

“People change,” he said. “Adam and Max were as bad as me six months ago. Now they’re both headed for the wedding chapel.”

“You don’t sound envious.”

“I think Serena’s a great gal. And Claire seems like she suits Max. But no, I’m not envious. Except that I figure they’ll both have a lot less time to spend playing hockey and hanging out with the guys once they’re hitched and start having kids.”

“You’ll have to find some younger guys to hang out with.”

She said it perfectly seriously, but he got the idea that she might be suggesting he was immature. Which was probably true.

“How about you? Do you feel like buying a house is permanent?”

“I think I do. Even though I understand that people change houses on average every five to ten years, my folks are still in the same house they bought when they got married. I bought a place I could grow into.”

“You planning to fill it with a husband and babies?” He didn’t mean to sound sarcastic but he thought it might have slipped out.

“Sure. I hope I meet the right guy. But if I don’t, I’ve got a good career, and I’ll have a nice home as soon as you finish renovating it for me.”

It was weird that it sounded a little lonely when she described what was essentially his own existence: a house he was fixing up, a great career and no plans to outfit a nursery any time soon.

He climbed down off the ladder, picking it up to move it to the next quadrant of the ceiling. He heard the swish of the bucket, not registering that the swishing sound was much closer than before until he collided with a warm back. Dylan always moved fast. He was one hundred and eighty-five pounds of impatient, so when he struck an object it tended to fly.

Cassie was no exception. With a startled cry, she tumbled. He grabbed her, all his training and instincts kicking in before conscious thought, and he tossed her to the bed, his own momentum carrying him in the same direction.

They fell to the bed. She somehow ended up underneath him, the sponge still in her up-flung hand so a fan of water sprayed out onto the plastic-covered canvas drop sheet.

He glanced down into her face, surprise and shock registering. Then he noticed that she was warm and soft beneath him on the bed and all the attraction he’d been pretending he didn’t feel roared to the surface. He didn’t even think, because if he thought before he acted he wouldn’t do half the things in his life that he did.

He leaned down. Not too fast, not wanting to take his mouth where it wasn’t wanted. But he’d felt the answering attraction and he felt it now. She didn’t roll away or push him off. She opened her lips in a kind of breathless sigh. When he kissed her he felt the moment their lips touched that it had been inevitable from the second he’d walked into her house.

She was gorgeous, sweet, single, and they were together a lot in a small house. He kissed her, going deeper than he’d intended until she moaned deep in her throat. When she started to move against him, he felt his arousal shoot up.





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