EXCERPTS–Selena Robins Books
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EXCERPTS:
Please click here for a Complimentary First Chapter PDF Booklet (PG-rated)
WARNING:
Side effects may include but not limited to, spontaneous, uncontrollable laughter, hot flashes and dangerous chocolate cravings.
Contents include: one kick-ass heroine and a sex-on-legs hero whose kiss could singe the eyebrows off a mannequin.
Can be read in bed with someone special or a BOB (battery operated boyfriend). Please note: Batteries not included.
There is also an excerpt to Chapter Two of WHAT A GIRL WANTS on the Samhain Publishing site. Please click HERE. (PG-rated)
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“Romance, guardian angels and the battle of the sexes, makes this the perfect read.” ~Allbooks Review
Excerpt:
All rights reserved. Copyright
“I need a man! A big strong man!”
Jason O’Neill stopped dead with one hand on the open door of his black Mustang as he heard the shout from the dark-haired woman who stood on the pathway of Maple Inn.
“He’s probably lost.” Her words resonated loud and clear. “And too macho to ask for directions!”
Jason’s cell phone buzzed, he flipped it open, and jabbed at it with his thumb. “O’Neill.” His eyes remained on the shapely woman.
“It’s Trevor,” announced his colleague and friend. “Meet with the innkeeper?”
“Not yet.” Jason rolled his shoulders forward to work out the kinks.
“Did you call and give her a heads up about the proposition?”
“I’ll talk to her after I check-in.” Jason took in the historic Maple Inn nestled in Vermont’s countryside amid a forest of maple trees dappled with autumn’s coloration. “I’m staying at her inn.”
“You’re staying there?”
“No choice.”
“What happened to The Jewel of Vermont? We reserved the presidential suite.”
“Change of plans.” And his mind had taken a detour into temporary insanity.
“What’s up? You sound…odd.”
“I think Norman Bates had a sister, and she works the desk at The Jewel.” The skin on the nape of his neck prickled as a flash of the occurrence at the hotel crossed his mind. “She told me I didn’t have a reservation, and then made a cryptic remark.”
“Like what?”
“Not sure. Something about me wasting time or my life. Didn’t catch it all.” Especially since the woman and the atmosphere in the lobby had spooked him. Not an easy feat to accomplish, as he had never been spooked by anything in his life. “She suggested Maple Inn.” Actually she had shooed him away as if he were a killer bee.
“Sandra probably reserved a room somewhere else. Check the Hilton or Holiday Inn.”
“Did that. All booked.”
“That’s odd. Tourist season doesn’t start until next week.”
“When I get back I need to get my eyes checked.”
“What are you talking about?”
The oak tree by the path scattered its leaves as he paced toward the inn. Jason halted his steps and skewed the phone away from his ear as he observed the young woman.
She drove a nail into the porch railing with a hammer and ranted, “I wonder what excuse this guy has!” She punctuated each word with a strike. “Excuses. Excuses. Excuses!”
“Jay, what did you say about your eyes? What’s wrong?”
He tore his gaze away from her. “Nothing’s wrong. Just tired.”
Nothing wrong except for the fact that when he walked into The Jewel’s lobby it had been crowded with guests. In the next instant it had become deserted, and he stood face to face with a purple-pink haired woman. He rubbed the back of his neck and put the whole experience down to the long hours on the road.
“Tired, and you need a break,” Trevor said. “Been telling you, man, you’ve been on the go without a vacation.”
Jason nodded absently. He’d go with that. Work exhaustion equaled distorted perceptions.
You see, you’re not crazy, O’Neill.
“Okay,” Trevor said. “Call my cell or pager if you need me.”
The dark-haired woman distracted Jason again, as she dragged a long garden hose and walked backward on a muddy trail. He blinked and refocused on the call. “Will do.”
“You won’t have any problems with the acquisition. Women always fall at your feet.”
“This guy better get here soon,” she ranted. “Or I’m going to…ohhhh…noooo.”
Jason watched as the woman tripped over the rake lying on the grass behind her, and tumbled onto the muddy lawn on her heart-shaped backside.
“You don’t know how accurate you are right now, pal,” Jason said to Trevor before he shut the phone. He approached the woman sprawled on her back a few feet in front of him as she pounded her fists in the dirt.
He bent, offered his hand, and gazed down into a pair of the biggest, bluest, most expressive eyes he ever saw.
She gripped his hand, heaved herself up with his help, and stood in front of him.
Her upturned nose reached his shoulders as his linebacker stature towered over her by at least ten inches¾she couldn’t have been more than five-foot-four. He took out a hankie from his leather jacket and offered it to her.
When she declined, he wiped the mud from his hand. “You hurt?”
“Thanks for your help.” She kept her head down as she shook her leg to disengage the dirt off her ripped-at-the-knees faded jeans. “Are you the guy the New York office sent?”
His assistant, Sandra, must have given the inn a heads-up for him. Good. He could get right down to business. “Yes, I–”
“Really?” She cupped her chin, and with slow deliberate steps she circled him, stopped, and tilted her head up to meet his gaze. He swore he saw surprise mixed with disappointment in her narrowed stare. “And you¾you’re the one they sent to meet with Sabrina Monroe?”
Why did he feel he’d just been insulted? “Yes, if you can tell her–”
“It’s about time you showed.” Even though her voice was silky smooth–her stance and impatient tone didn’t give him the impression of sweetness. “We expected you four days ago.”
“Excuse me?” Puzzled, he glanced around to make sure she was talking to him.
The skin at the back of his neck bristled as her long lashes flew up and raked her blue eyes over his entire length. “Your Mustang?”
He followed her gaze to his car. “Uh? Well…yes.” He’d never been tongue tied in front of a woman before.
Get a grip, O’Neill.
Her eyes darted from his face to the car, and back to his face¾her mouth twisted in a wry grin. “You must be one of the more successful ones in your company.”
Talk about intrusive. “I do okay.”
“I can see that.” She nodded toward his car and this time her gaze traveled slower from the tips of his shoes to the top of his head.
As soon as he could, he’d untie his tongue, and demand to see the owner.
She waved toward the front door. “Okay, enough talk. Let’s get down to business.”
Finally. “I agree.”
“We have a lot of work ahead. I still need to pick apples, and unpack the wine glasses.” She rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue. “Now they want different centerpieces. Instead of monogrammed balloons they want scented candles. Oh yes, and the strobe light needs adjusting.”
Why she shared this information was a mystery. He’d better get out of her frazzled hair. “I’ll leave you to your hectic schedule, and check-in¾”
“Listen to me.” She adjusted the tool belt slung low around her slim waist like a holster. “Everything that could go wrong, already went wrong. We expect a full house in three days for the Baldwin engagement party. There’s a leak under the sink, again. The bartender quit, and now to top it all off, you’re annoying me.”
No wonder the business was in debt, if this was Ms. Monroe’s staff’s interpretation of quality customer service. “I’m annoying you?”
“Why stop at annoying? When you have a good shot at being completely impossible.”
Hmmm, did she have a relative working over at The Jewel? He averted his eyes from her scowl and nodded toward the screen door. “I’d like to continue this fascinating conversation, but I’m here to speak to the inn’s proprietor.”
“You’re speaking to her.” She extended her hand. “Sabrina Monroe.”
So this was the infamous businesswoman who had scared away the hard-hitting negotiators. His competitors must’ve lost their edge. “Jason O’Neill.” He shook her small hand. “Pleasure to meet you.” Granted she wasn’t Miss Congeniality, but acquiring the property from Ms. Monroe would take him one, maybe two days max–a cakewalk.
“If you have a moment, Ms. Monroe, I’d like to talk to you about my reason for¾”
“I don’t have time for small talk.” She looked down at her mud soaked plaid shirt. “Because of your tardiness, I had to do the chores myself.” With determined steps, she climbed the wrap-around porch’s stairs, crooked her finger, and gestured him to follow suit.
Spellbound, he mounted the stairs and watched as she pointed to a wooden sign painted with wedding bells and white doves. “It would be a big help if you would hang this sign over the archway after you’ve settled in.”
He glanced around at the tree-lined property and wondered if he had landed in the eastern seaboard’s version of an X-Files episode. “After I do whatever it is you think I should be doing, can I then have a room with a shower, and the use of a fax machine?”
“What in blazes does a handyman need with a fax machine?”
“A handyman?” Now he understood. She’d confused him with someone else. Perhaps a handyman was more welcomed than a land negotiator.
“I’m sorry. I’m not up on the politically correct terminology.” She tapped her fingers against her puckered full lips. “Let me see. We can call you a ‘basic skilled engineer.’ Will that work for you?”
He’d decided to play along¾since it appeared he had no choice in the matter. She didn’t look like she was in any frame of mind to talk business¾and he was game for an adventure. “Could work.”
“We’re hosting an engagement party in two days. You’ll be tending the bar. We’ll call you the ‘alcohol service provider.’ Do you think you can handle that?”
“I can pour a few drinks. Anything else?” He offered her an indulgent wink, which didn’t bring the desired effect it usually did with the opposite sex.
“Actually, there is something.” She slanted her fine, arched eyebrows as if contemplating a problem. “Are you the owner of your company?”
“Director.” That at least was the truth.
“They sent me a director.” She scrunched her nose as if she’d smelled something foul. “Are you at least qualified to meet my service requirements?”
“Yes.” A stretch, but still within truthful limits¾after all he had assisted the human resource department in hiring a maintenance contractor for the Arizona resort. “I also work in the business side of the company.”
“Great, another tycoon wanna-be. Whatever.” She swung the screen door open, and motioned him inside as she placed one hand on her hip and tapped her booted foot. “I’m only interested in the area which requires you to work with your hands. Let’s get started.”
“Would you like to know more about me before I get…started?”
“I know enough. As you already know. Since you are the director.” A look of disgust entered her features. “Your agency messed-up the last time I hired one of your maintenance people. If it wasn’t for the fact you’ve given me one month’s worth of free service, you and I wouldn’t be having this conversation. All I care is that you carry out your handyman duties.”
“I’ll try to help.” She’d been half right¾he was sent here to work, with his briefcase¾not a tool case. His assignment: sweet-talk a twenty-six-year-old innkeeper to sell her extensive property and inn to Colonial Golf Resorts.
“Try to help?” She popped a long, thin-handled screwdriver out of her tool belt, flipped it in the air and caught it with her other hand. She stepped closer to him and twirled it around in her fingers. His immediate thought was that she looked like Annie Oakley in a tool belt. “Well, Mr. O’Neill, can you try to help quickly? We’re behind schedule.”
The situation was too bizarre for words. She hadn’t given him the chance to tell her who he was and now suddenly, he was the hired help. A low chuckle escaped his throat.
If possible, she looked even more annoyed. “What do you find so funny?”
“I read it takes eighty muscles to frown and only ten to smile.”
“So, you’re just plain lazy.”
He had no doubt if she’d been given intergalactic powers, this woman would have morphed into Super Girl, tossed him over her shoulder, and hurled him back to the highway. He edited his initial assumption from a cakewalk to¾‘a-heck-of-a-lot-charm-walk.’
As she sauntered ahead of him, he followed her inside the inn and noticed the way her curvaceous hips swayed. He inhaled a quick breath, and scanned the foyer with its wide-board wooden floors.
He pointed to the mammoth sized fireplace in the far corner. “Functional?”
“My grandfather built it to bake bread and simmer soup.” Her voice had thawed a notch. “It’s not working, but that will be remedied once you clean the chimney.”
Clean the what? He stopped in mid stride, stared at her, and tried to gauge if she was serious. Okay, this wasn’t funny anymore. “You expect me to climb inside a soot-filled fireplace?” He gave his head a vehement shake. “I don’t think so.”
She exchanged an exasperated look with the blonde receptionist behind the oak registration desk. “Hi, Maggie.” Sabrina rolled her eyes and lowered her voice as she spoke, “They said they were sending me their best.” Louder, she continued. “Maggie Davis, this is Jason O’Neill, the new handyman. Please show him to the staff’s quarters.” She shook her head as she marched out the front door.
He handed his credit card to Maggie. “I’d prefer to stay in a guest room. King-size bed if possible.” He peered over the desk and glanced down at the reservation book. There were only a few names penciled in. Good sign. Buy-outs were easier when business was slow.
“Mr. O’Neill, you wouldn’t have to pay if you stayed in the staff’s–”
“I’d prefer to pay. And please, call me Jason.”
As he followed Maggie up the white circular staircase, he mentally noted the extent of renovations his company would have to invest in. They’d need to replace the windows, add marble in the foyer, and strip the flowered wallpaper to bring the inn to five-star quality.
“Here’s your key.” Maggie looked to be about the same age as Sabrina. She had a mass of golden curls, which shone as bright as her disposition. “Meet me in the foyer when you’re ready. I’ll give you a quick tour.” She gave him a wide smile and spoke in a low conspiratorial voice. “Cookie’s been baking all morning. We can raid the brownie tin.”
“Sounds delicious.” He smiled at her animated expression.
“Holler if you need anything.” She waved and ran down the stairs.
He opened the door to a spacious room decorated in hunter green and ivory motifs. A four-poster king-size bed adorned with a canopy and a patchwork quilt, occupied the wall nearest the window. The angel-stoned fireplace faced the bed and gave the room a warm and cozy atmosphere, if that’s what a man was inclined to enjoy in life. Personally, he preferred the leather furnishings, big screen TV, and surround sound stereo equipment of his penthouse in New York.
An oil painting hung above the fireplace. The artist had captured the spirit of skiers zooming down the mountain run, amid snow capped evergreens. The initials SAM were scrawled at the bottom of the painting. This talented artist appeared to be popular in Vermont. The artist’s initials were on quite a few paintings dotted around the foyer and on the wall leading up to the second level.
He ran his hand along the wooden windowsill noting they’d need replacing with vinyl frames. The room overlooked a panoramic view of the Green Mountains. For an instant, recognition flashed in his mind¾probably from the books he’d read during his research.
The sound of blue jays outside his window brought a wry smile to his lips as he thought about the customary buzz of New York¾he woke up to the shriek of sirens, and the hustle and bustle of the city. Yellow cabs, nightclubs, and ethnic restaurants¾those were the sounds and tastes of his life, which he loved.
He stared at Sabrina as she stood under an apple tree with her head tilted up, as if inspecting the branches. From the brief encounter he’d had with her, he could almost hear her commanding the birds to move over. She climbed a stepladder with a sack slung around her shoulders. She displayed a fierce determination that her sack would soon be filled with apples, whether they wanted to be picked or not.
His killer business instincts had kicked into overdrive after his conversation with the feisty and apparently stubborn innkeeper. He’d have to use all his business expertise and powerful charm to accomplish the acquisition. He snapped his fingers as an idea formulated in his mind to guarantee a smooth path to success.
He fished his cell phone out of his jacket and punched in Trevor’s number. While he waited for his friend to answer, he noticed with typical male appreciation how her well-rounded derriere fit nicely in her grass-streaked jeans as she bent forward on the ladder. He let out a low whistle and turned his attention to the phone call.
“Trevor, it’s Jason. This buy-out might take longer than we’d anticipated.”
“Peterson and the rest of the seventy-fifth floor don’t expect the acquisition wrapped up for another week or so. Take a short vacation. Relax and lap up the Vermont countryside.”
“Vacation? Not in this custodian boot camp. Besides, I don’t have time to relax. A hefty bonus and promotion are in the works after I put this deal to bed.”
“You’re heading for burn-out, pal. The company already owns your soul. Don’t give them your health too.” Trevor’s impatience echoed through the phone lines. “Is the property as good as your research indicated?”
“Better. I can picture the golf course with tree-lined fairways and spacious greens. It’s perfect for what the company has in mind, with…” Jason’s voice broke off in mid-sentence as he leaned closer to the window. “With some…some remodeling, the inn will be an excellent hotel….”
Jason watched Sabrina gesturing with her hands, while her ponytail swung back and forth as she spoke to a tall, titian-haired woman. It seemed the redhead was the recipient of an earful.
He chuckled.
“Jay? You still there? What’s so funny?”
“Small distraction.” He took a deep breath and tore his eyes away from the window. “Our competitors failed because Sabrina wouldn’t meet with them, right?”
“That’s why the company pays you the big bucks, Mr. Acquisition King. They know you’ll succeed where others have failed.”
“I want to run an idea by you. Promise you’ll listen with an open mind.”
“Don’t I always? Go ahead.”
“Sabrina doesn’t know I’m with Colonial Resorts. She thinks I’m the hired handyman. I’ll help her out for a few days and¾Trevor, stop that.”
His friend’s amusement grew louder and it sounded like Trevor had put the phone down. “Trevor?” Jason heard a full-fledged hysterical laughing fit at the other end of the line. “Pick up the phone.”
“Did you bump your head today?” Trevor asked breathlessly.
Did he? First the peculiar woman at The Jewel, and now this?
“I didn’t bump anything. Stop laughing.”
“This is too funny. I’m sorry, Jay, but the image of you fixing anything is priceless.”
“My father would be proud,” Jason answered with irony.
“You do know Ralph Lauren doesn’t make designer tool belts in suede, don’t you?”
“Cut me some slack. I did learn a few things watching my father work.” Jason shook his head. “Are you finished?”
Trevor let out a loud, audible breath. “Go ahead. What’s the plan?”
“Sabrina needs an extra pair of hands, so I’d be doing her a favor. I’ll present my sales pitch. And because I’ve been so helpful, I won’t suffer the same demise as our competitors.”
“Do you think it’s necessary to go to all that trouble?” The tone of amusement remained in Trevor’s voice.
“If I say yes, do you promise not to crack up again?”
There was a slight pause before Trevor answered. “Look, we’re offering her above-market price. Up the ante another five percent, and ditch the Mr. Fix-it idea.”
Jason glanced out the window and noted Sabrina’s defiant posture as she continued to berate the red-haired woman. Sabrina’s eyes resembled those of an angel but there was nothing heavenly about that barracuda. “A seven-digit check is not a guarantee to seal this deal.”
“Do you think she’s that determined to keep the place?”
“What do you think? She’s got me slated to clean a fireplace. By the way, how does one clean a fireplace¾never mind, I’ll call my dad for maintenance 101.”
“Oh, man, you’re killing me.” Trevor cackled. “Get someone to video tape you.”
“Focus, Trevor. The handyman never showed, so she needs the help. What do you think of this sales strategy?”
“Certainly different.” Trevor paused for a moment. “Okay, I trust your judgment. If you think that’s what it’ll take…go for it.”
He was grateful for Trevor’s support, but after verbalizing the maneuver aloud he questioned his own sanity. A handyman? Maybe Trevor was right, and he needed a vacation. He shoved his qualms aside and concentrated on his decision. “Tell Peterson I’ll be in touch when she signs. Probably in a week.”
“Will do. And, Jay, I’ll send you a Bob the Builder video.”
Jason’s ear still rang from Trevor’s hearty laughter as he shut his phone and placed it on the pine nightstand. He opened his suitcase and stared at its contents in dismay. Hilfiger suits, Polo shirts, and polished shoes¾not exactly the outfits to masquerade as Jason the handyman. Luckily, he had traveled in and packed extra casual clothes. They would have to do until he could shop for appropriate maintenance guy outfits.
He grinned as an image of his new boss popped into his mind. After observing her, he could now understand why his competitors weren’t successful. Sabrina Monroe sparkled and snapped¾a real live wire with the strength of mind of ten corporate presidents.
She had moxie. A quality he admired.
He was going to have to wrestle this place from her.
His smile collapsed.
Don’t go there, O’Neill. This is business. No room for guilt.
Now, he would do himself a big favor and concentrate on the job at hand. His rapid climb to the top of his profession was too important to him. The unpleasant memories still lingered in his gut from the last time he’d put concern for a woman before his business aspirations. Only to get dumped, big time.
Stealing one last look out the window, he noted with pleasure that Sabrina had shunned the plaid shirt for the red T-shirt she wore underneath. The T-shirt molded to her feminine form, filling out in all the right places. Not too big and not too small–just right…nice.
Correction. Very nice.
He stepped back from the window and headed for the en-suite bathroom.
A cold shower should cure what ailed him.
~~~
Sabrina had emptied her apple sack into a basket when she heard the familiar irritating drawl approach from behind.
“We’ve changed our minds,” Rodney Baldwin called out. “We’d like to go with pink roses instead of the yellow.”
She spun around and faced her smirking ex-fiancé. “Your lovely Moira stood here and told me she wants red. Which is it?” She’d order black roses if they kept it up.
“Whatever she desires.” He bent, helped himself to an apple from the basket, and rolled it in his leather-clad hand. “I heard Jeremy quit. Do you have another bartender?”
“I have enough staff to handle the crowd for your engagement party.” She picked up the basket, and noticed his critical expression as he scanned the back-porch.
“Why don’t you sell this place? Save yourself a lot of trouble. The local investors would benefit, you would benefit¾”
“You and your family would benefit.”
“Sabrina, you can’t handle or run this place. Why don’t you give up?”
“Why don’t you jump on a vine and swing off my property?”
He shook his head with the sneer she’d come to despise. “I’m a paying customer. Or would you prefer I cancel and take my business elsewhere?”
“You’re a customer in three days. Today, you’re a pest.”
He sighed dramatically as he slid his sunglasses from his forehead to cover his cold gray eyes. “I’ll leave as soon as I find Moira.”
“She’s probably at the front desk taking a few years off Maggie’s life.” Sabrina marched up the back steps, and without a backward glance headed into the kitchen.
A few minutes later Maggie strutted into the kitchen. “Grrrr!” She grabbed an apple from the basket and held it up. “This,” she bit down hard on the crispy McIntosh, “is Moira Smidgen’s head! She’s driving me nuts. She had the nerve to insult the inn and my hair. Imagine, the woman who looks like a can of tomato soup exploded on her head–ridiculed my looks?”
“Don’t let it get to you. Moira would pay a fortune to have your curls. Laugh it off like I do when she calls me the Polyester Princess.” Sabrina couldn’t care less what Moira or her hangers-on thought of her–never had.
“If van Gogh were alive and had to listen to Moira’s whiny voice, he’d cut his other ear off. She was raised in Maple for crying out loud, where does she get off with that phony British accent? And why are we allowing Ken and Barbie to have their engagement party here? Especially after what Rodney did to you.” Maggie spoke one-hundred-words per minute with gusts up to one hundred and eighty. “Okay, I’m finished. Tell me, why?”
“Because their families are part of the power broker set. Fifty of Maple’s finest will be attending. They could throw business our way.”
“Oh yes, our elite town folk with bank books thick enough to use as book-ends.”
Sabrina pulled out a broom from the closet and gave Maggie a mischievous look. “Maybe we should decorate one of these for Moira’s party.”
Maggie laughed and hopped onto the kitchen stool. “And what’s with pasty Rodney? He looks like he went to the blood bank and forgot to say when.”
Sabrina joined Maggie in her hilarity. “Talk about matching bookends. Moira and Rodney certainly complement each other.”
“Bree, is it hard for you to see Rodney with his over inflated Barbie doll?”
“God no, she’s more than welcome to him.” The memory of his deceit still left an acidic taste in Sabrina’s mouth. She shuddered to think of the mistake she’d almost made.
In typical Maggie style, she switched to another subject. “Did you overdose on Lucky Charms recently?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Elliott Coulter, the good-looking computer salesman phoned you this morning.”
“Is he trying to sell me more expensive have-to-have software?”
“Didn’t you pick up your messages at the front desk? He wants to ask you to the Autumn Harvest dance. Although, I don’t think he’s quite your type, but you should still go and–”
“Whoa. I don’t have time for a type, or a date. Especially with someone like Elliott.”
“Explain someone like Elliott.”
“Big city mentality. Business minded, and wouldn’t know how to chop a piece of wood if he needed kindling for a bird’s nest. No thanks.”
“Mmmm, big city, that’s more my type.”
Sabrina dug out the dustpan from the broom closet. “You still want to leave Maple and head for New York?”
“In a few years. Don’t worry. I’d never leave you in the lurch.” Maggie commenced peeling an apple to fill the pie shells. “You’re right. Elliott’s not for you. Jason O’Neill. Dreamy. Can we stock up on more like him?”
“I didn’t order him from a catalogue.” Sabrina’s smile was still plastered on her face as she walked outside.
Sabrina swept the porch when Cookie Freemont, the inn’s chef, approached her.
“I’ve finished the grocery shopping, and now I’ll–” Cookie’s eyes widened as she patted her short, salt-and-pepper hair. “Oh my. Who do we have here?”
Sabrina leaned on her broom and turned to see what had caught Cookie’s attention. She’d been too busy wondering how he could afford his car, and why the agency would send a director as a handyman, to fully appreciate his size earlier.
As Jason leaned against the railing, glancing at the property, she noted how his tall, powerful build miniaturized the porch. He possessed an air of superiority of a man who gave orders¾not take them.
She blinked twice¾she’d actually berated this massive brick tower?
From the look of the drops of moisture clinging to his jet-black, short-styled hair, he’d obviously showered. He’d changed into a pair of what looked like designer khakis, which emphasized the force of his thighs and the slimness of his hips.
How did she miss those details earlier?
Although, if she were honest, she’d have to admit that most women would say he was one seriously gorgeous man, but of course, it was irrelevant. And, she wasn’t most women. She squelched all thoughts about his looks. She didn’t have the time or the desire¾she needed all her wits and strength to keep her family’s business afloat.
Her obligation was a full time job¾meeting her monetary commitments and chasing corporations who wanted to disfigure her land’s natural beauty. The next land grubber to cross her path would feel the front end of her boot.
She shivered as she ogled his muscles rippling under his navy turtleneck. Of course her goose bumps were the result of the chilled autumn air¾they had nothing to do with the laugh lines around his dark brown eyes that held a charming quality.
Good grief!
What happened to her vow to ward off men?
I’ll wear a garlic necklace if I have to!
A clean sandalwood scent wafted through the air as he approached her.
Hey, what am I doing smelling the hired help?
She glanced down at her own ensemble¾the falling-into-the-laundry-basket-look¾not to mention she sported her own aroma¾‘eau de mud.’ She’d been too frustrated earlier to notice or care. And, she wouldn’t care now.
There. Let the squelching begin!
With that in mind, she asserted herself. “Is this how you dress for work?”
His left eyebrow rose a fraction, and he looked down at his crisp, wrinkle-free pants. “These are my casual clothes.”
“Then you won’t mind chopping wood and getting mud and grime on your casual clothes?” Her eyes rested on his broad chest. At least he had the brawn to do a physical day’s work. Not to mention…squelch!
“I’m not worried.”
“It’s your dollar. This is Cookie Freemont.” Sabrina nodded to the chef. “The kitchen is her territory, and if you’re lucky you can sample a brownie or two before she hides them from me.”
“Maggie shared one with me after our tour. Decadent.” He grinned and displayed an impressive row of white teeth that stood out against his olive-hued complexion.
Another feature Sabrina neglected to take a closer look at earlier. The hairs on her arms stood at attention…just keep squelching.
She glanced at Cookie, who had reverted to a giddy schoolgirl, complete with a blush on her ivory, delicately wrinkled skin. She was youthful-looking for a sixty-year-old woman.
“Welcome to Maple. Are you married? How old are you? Come to the kitchen later and I’ll fix you a nice lunch. How long can you to stay to help us out?” Cookie gushed.
Sabrina wanted to stuff one of Cookie’s oversized muffins in her mouth.
The warmth of his smile echoed in his voice. “Thank you for that nice welcome.”
An inferno flared underneath Sabrina’s mud-caked cheeks. She was certain his welcome comment was directed at her earlier unwelcome demeanor.
“I’m not married. I’m thirty, and lunch would be nice,” he replied, in a deep confident voice. “And,” he continued as his eyes captured and held Sabrina’s gaze, “I’m here until I finish my business with Ms. Monroe.”
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