Heard It All Before by Michele Grant Page A

clothing. All molded to that body. And those eyes! Um, the lips. Lord, the thighs. I took my time looking him up and down and back. A cat-with-the-canar y smile spread slowly across my face. Um-um good.
    He grinned at me and held his hands out to the side. “Ya like?” No false modesty there.
    I grinned right back. “Come into my parlor.” I walked into the living room and put the phone back in its cradle. I tried to be smooth as I tugged my shorts down a little.
    â€œYou the spider, I’m the fly?” He followed me and stood in the middle of the den looking around. I was rather proud of my place. Everything was antique cherry with brushed nickel accents. My love of tropical colors showed through with hints of turquoise and raspberry. I offset it with chocolate brown for a calming base color. The artwork was mostly beach scenes and seascapes. The ceilings were high, and there were lots of windows, giving the illusion of a lot more space than I had. But, it was all mine. “I like it, Miss Jewel.” He looked me over just as intensely. “Yeah, I like what I see.”
    So, he was diplomatic, along with being smart, funny, successful, and sexier than was fair. “Wanna tour?” I asked politely, already turning back and heading toward the hallway.
    â€œYou or the house?” It was the Mrs. Butterworth’s voice again.
    I stopped in my tracks and actually considered that pancake thing again! Chill, Jewellen . I knew it had been a while, but I needed to keep it together. Knowing I had never been a headlong-dive-into-the-deep-end kinda girl, I silently cautioned myself, Why not stick a toe in to test the water and wade in the shallow end for a little bit? I looked at him over my shoulder; he was looking at my legs. I looked down and yanked on those damn shorts again. Mom was right about tossing them. “Down, boy,” I told him, ignoring palpable chemistry in the room.
    He raised his eyes slowly to my face. There wasn’t a trace of apology in his expression, and a grin played around the sides of that sexy mouth. Those eyes were the eyes of a lion, king of the jungle, lethal, predatory. He felt it too. “I’d love a tour of your home, Miss Jewel.” His innocent tone contradicted the message in those eyes.
    I rolled my eyes and led the way back to the front door. I showed him the kitchen, which, thankfully, I had cleaned today. Nothing tackier than showing someone your home with dirty dishes piled up everywhere.
    Downstairs was shaped like a box cut in half, with the kitchen, living room, and dining room to the left, home office, guest bed, and bath and utility room to the right. Garage, yard, small (very small) pool out back. I walked back toward the living room, showed him the staircase tucked away behind the bookcase, and led him up to the master suite, which took up the entire second floor.
    â€œHey, now, Miss Jewel, this is something!” Predatory gleam in full effect.
    Large open room, bathroom with attached dressing area and closet. I had a heavy cherry four-poster bed on the far wall between two huge windows. A curl-up chaise was in one corner, a dresser along a wall, and a TV and two speakers connected to the downstairs stereo sat on a credenza and took up another wall. There was a balcony that ran along the back of the house. The door to the bathroom occupied the last section of wall space. Again, cherry, brushed nickel, and bright colors.
    â€œNow, what does this room tell me about you?” he asked, walking around and peering at things. A picture of Mom and Dad on the dresser, a steamy paperback on the floor, my tacky LOVE ME OR GET THE HELL OUT T-shirt I slept in last night draped across the bed.
    I picked up a shoe here, a sock there, flung the covers back in an attempt to make the bed, and looked around. “I don’t know. It tells you I’m no good at housekeeping?”
    â€œNah, nuthin’ like that. You like your space, you