He couldn't care.
He wouldn't care.
It was simply that he'd spent a terrible night in jail. And his day had gone downhill, too. When he'd finally showered and met up with McDaniels, the man had been aloof and condescending. Lance had practically begged him to take his bid and the sketches of their plans for the development with him. Finally McDaniels had agreed, although he had been emphatic that he expected perfection, not some half-assed job, and that he didn't tolerate a company missing deadlines.
Like developers could always control the weather or problems getting materials or workers who called in sick or any of the other million things that went wrong during a project.
Lance's head throbbed like the devil, but he slammed the hammer into the drywall anyway, discovered there was no insulation, and then began to tear out the rotten wood, determined to finish this renovation in record time.
The front door screeched open and he paused, wondering which one of the troublesome sisters had arrived. Sexy Sophie or her sex-toy sales sister, Lucy?
Heels clicked on the hardwood floor, the scent of an exotic French perfume greeting him before he saw the owner. Sophie. He'd recognize the sultry scent anywhere.
Jesus. He glanced up and caught sight of that black hair spiked up in disarray, and his fingers tightened around the chisel. She drove him crazy simply by walking into a room. All that porcelain skin and those big green eyes... it was enough to make him forget the hell she'd put him through the night before....
Her cat darted from nowhere to slide against her legs, purring contentedly. The damn thing had hidden since he'd arrived.
"I see you've been busy," she commented, spying the shattered plaster and drywall on the floor.
She certainly wasn't acting as if she'd had him arrested; she was almost friendly. Maybe he'd been mistaken; maybe a neighbor had phoned.... "It'll be a mess for a while."
"I know. I guess I'll have to suffer through it."
And suffer through having you around too. He heard the unspoken message in her tone, and his anger from the night before returned. She really wanted to get rid of him. "I'll finish the house as soon as possible and get out of your way. I don't want you calling the cops on me again."
"Calling the cops?" Sophie's eyes widened. "What are you talking about, Lance?"
Was she playing innocent or lying? Or had he been wrong?
"Your phone call that I was a stalker—don't you think having me arrested went a little too far?"
Sophie gaped at him. "I... I... you were the pervert hanging outside the house last night?"
He ground his jaw. "I'm not a pervert, Sophie; I only wanted to protect you."
She dropped a bag of groceries on the counter, then began to unload the contents, avoiding his gaze. "I didn't call, Lance. I'm sorry." She angled her head up toward him. "You spent the night in jail?"
Humiliation crawled all over him. "Forget it."
She hesitated, started to say something, then seemed to change her mind. "Why are you still doing the renovations yourself, Lance? I thought you would just oversee things."
So she was changing the subject. He would play along. Anything was better than this god-awful tension between them, and reminders of his humiliating night. "Sometimes I do, but like I said, my crew's finishing up at Skidaway. Besides, renovations are my forte. That's how I got started in the business."
"I didn't know that."
He shrugged. "Had to fix up our old house to sell it after Mom and Dad died." Plaster splintered down as he yanked at it. Why had he mentioned his folks?
She laid out lettuce and fresh vegetables for a salad, then removed a cutting board from the cabinet. Fatigue lined her face, and her television smile had faded. Dalton had obviously worn her out over the weekend, just as she'd said. Did she have a date tonight?
"Maddie talked about missing your folks. That must have been difficult."
He shrugged. "I was sorry Maddie was so young. She needed Mom
He wouldn't care.
It was simply that he'd spent a terrible night in jail. And his day had gone downhill, too. When he'd finally showered and met up with McDaniels, the man had been aloof and condescending. Lance had practically begged him to take his bid and the sketches of their plans for the development with him. Finally McDaniels had agreed, although he had been emphatic that he expected perfection, not some half-assed job, and that he didn't tolerate a company missing deadlines.
Like developers could always control the weather or problems getting materials or workers who called in sick or any of the other million things that went wrong during a project.
Lance's head throbbed like the devil, but he slammed the hammer into the drywall anyway, discovered there was no insulation, and then began to tear out the rotten wood, determined to finish this renovation in record time.
The front door screeched open and he paused, wondering which one of the troublesome sisters had arrived. Sexy Sophie or her sex-toy sales sister, Lucy?
Heels clicked on the hardwood floor, the scent of an exotic French perfume greeting him before he saw the owner. Sophie. He'd recognize the sultry scent anywhere.
Jesus. He glanced up and caught sight of that black hair spiked up in disarray, and his fingers tightened around the chisel. She drove him crazy simply by walking into a room. All that porcelain skin and those big green eyes... it was enough to make him forget the hell she'd put him through the night before....
Her cat darted from nowhere to slide against her legs, purring contentedly. The damn thing had hidden since he'd arrived.
"I see you've been busy," she commented, spying the shattered plaster and drywall on the floor.
She certainly wasn't acting as if she'd had him arrested; she was almost friendly. Maybe he'd been mistaken; maybe a neighbor had phoned.... "It'll be a mess for a while."
"I know. I guess I'll have to suffer through it."
And suffer through having you around too. He heard the unspoken message in her tone, and his anger from the night before returned. She really wanted to get rid of him. "I'll finish the house as soon as possible and get out of your way. I don't want you calling the cops on me again."
"Calling the cops?" Sophie's eyes widened. "What are you talking about, Lance?"
Was she playing innocent or lying? Or had he been wrong?
"Your phone call that I was a stalker—don't you think having me arrested went a little too far?"
Sophie gaped at him. "I... I... you were the pervert hanging outside the house last night?"
He ground his jaw. "I'm not a pervert, Sophie; I only wanted to protect you."
She dropped a bag of groceries on the counter, then began to unload the contents, avoiding his gaze. "I didn't call, Lance. I'm sorry." She angled her head up toward him. "You spent the night in jail?"
Humiliation crawled all over him. "Forget it."
She hesitated, started to say something, then seemed to change her mind. "Why are you still doing the renovations yourself, Lance? I thought you would just oversee things."
So she was changing the subject. He would play along. Anything was better than this god-awful tension between them, and reminders of his humiliating night. "Sometimes I do, but like I said, my crew's finishing up at Skidaway. Besides, renovations are my forte. That's how I got started in the business."
"I didn't know that."
He shrugged. "Had to fix up our old house to sell it after Mom and Dad died." Plaster splintered down as he yanked at it. Why had he mentioned his folks?
She laid out lettuce and fresh vegetables for a salad, then removed a cutting board from the cabinet. Fatigue lined her face, and her television smile had faded. Dalton had obviously worn her out over the weekend, just as she'd said. Did she have a date tonight?
"Maddie talked about missing your folks. That must have been difficult."
He shrugged. "I was sorry Maddie was so young. She needed Mom
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