Julie Hogan - Tangled Sheets, Tangled Lies

Her temper flared up then, and she narrowed her eyes and straightened up to her full five foot nine. “Thinking? I was thinking of hiring a handyman, Mr. Travis.”

“The name’s Cole,” he said, a muscle jumping at his jawline. “And if you were really looking for a handyman, you would have seen that there’s one standing in your living room right now.”

“I think I made it clear that I’d be interviewing before I made a decision. And I don’t require your help with the interviews, by the way.”

Cole’s laugh held not a single ounce of humor. “Well, it sure looked like you needed help with those two.”

Lauren planted her fists on her hips. “I was handling it fine, Cole. Believe me, I’ve been handling that type for a long time.”

“It sure didn’t look that way to me.”

Pure, unmitigated exasperation made her blurt out, “Then maybe you shouldn’t be looking.” She took a deep breath before she spoke again, cooling her voice by at least twenty degrees. “Besides, don’t you have work to do?”

His eyebrow arched up, questioning her. “Are you saying I’ve got the job?”

Cole watched Lauren’s straight white teeth bite softly into her lush lower lip, the mere sight of which sent a streak of heat whooshing through him so fast, he felt like he was a match and she was the striking plate.

Several long tense moments hung between them before she said, “I have several other people coming today.”

“Really?” He leaned his shoulder against the doorframe with an ease that he didn’t come anywhere near feeling. “Another high school boy, like the one this morning? Or,” he said with a twist of his head toward the porch, “more victims of inbreeding like those two?”

She let out a little hiss of annoyance. “I have a very qualified man coming any minute.” She tipped her chin up in a way that he now recognized as a sign of stubbornness. “And I’d appreciate it if you weren’t underfoot when he gets here.”

Underfoot? He’d never been underfoot in his life. Granted, he had stepped over the line with his spontaneous interview of the two liquored up, would-be handymen. But what she didn’t know was that he’d heard them talking about her as they’d gotten out of their truck. And what he’d overheard had been enough to make him grab the first project he could find and head inside.

If he hadn’t been there, how far would those beer-soaked pinheads have taken their drunken ramblings? It didn’t really matter, of course. The fact was that he had been here when they’d undressed her with their eyes and he’d seen her reaction. And that’s when he knew he had to get this job for another reason: whether Lauren liked it or not, he was going to make sure nothing happened to her or to Jem—at least until he found out what he needed to know.

Cole put his own anger on ice, knelt down and began to put his tools away. “How long are you gonna keep this up?”

“Until the pool of applicants is exhausted,” she said, her worn-down voice lacking the conviction of her words.

“They looked pretty exhausted to me.” He tossed her the new keys to the house and she caught them handily. “C’mon, Lauren, you know I’m the best man for you.”

As her eyes darkened and her lips parted in surprise, Cole felt another flash of heat pass between them for the briefest moment. Just a moment, but long enough for him to glimpse a vision of her beneath him, her moan of pleasure, her long legs tangled with his—and then she composed her face into that damned serene expression she’d obviously developed for the cameras long ago and the image was gone.

“You really do have the most awful ego, Cole.” She shook her head in wonder and the action spilled her dark hair around her bare shoulders in a fluid drape.

Although he had a sudden urge to reach out and touch that silky mass of hair, he managed to dredge up a laid-back smile, the one he used when he told one of his subcontractors that their bid was out of line with reality. “Thank you. One of my many strong suits, I assure you.”

She was smiling, but as her chin tipped up again in defiance, he realized just how much he was enjoying their sparring. He was still anticipating her return volley when the doorbell chimed with a sad, mournful clunk. He put the doorbell on his mental list of projects and reached for the crystal knob.

“The next man must be here,” he said, smiling. “I’ll get it.”

“Don’t you dare!” She swept down on him, grabbing his hand where it was wrapped around the doorknob.

And then she froze right there, practically holding his hand. Searing heat bulleted up his arm as he breathed deeply of the sweet scent of her, but he, too, seemed incapable of movement.

Finally, after what seemed like a hundred years of silence stretched out between them, he managed to rally his vocal chords. “Lauren,” he said, “let me be a gentleman.”

“You, Mr. Travis,” she said as she let go, “are no gentleman.” She was smiling again, but he saw her eyes burning with the same fire that continued to rage inside him.

With a Herculean effort, he turned away from her, opened the door—and saw a nervous, pimpled teenager, his baseball cap turned backward, his baggy jeans hanging low on his hips.

Cole smiled widely. “Good afternoon,” he said, relief filling him at the certainty that he was one step closer to the job. He turned to Lauren. “I believe your next applicant is here.” Then he leaned toward her and said in a whisper, “And I think it’s going to be okay to leave you alone with this one.”

By the time the sun had begun to hang low in the mottled-orange western sky, Lauren was at the end of her rope. And it had been a surprisingly short trip.

She stood up and showed her final applicant to the door. “Thank you for coming by,” she said as she shook yet another teenage boy’s slim, soft hand.

“Thank you, Miz Simpson,” and his voice was so uneven she thought it must’ve changed just last week.

As the eminently unqualified boy walked down the driveway, she saw Cole working on shoring up the ram-shackle barn doors in the dim light of dusk. Her pulse sped up as he turned around, and gave her a half smile that had “why on earth are you making this so hard?” written all over it.

Why, indeed, she thought to herself as she watched Cole turn and lift one of the huge doors off its hinges and carry it inside the barn. The references he’d slipped under her door before he’d left the previous night had checked out beautifully. The four people she’d called had been so rhapsodic in their praise, she’d thought perhaps he’d written their scripts himself. But even if that were so, she’d already seen what he could do. He was a good worker, and he was fast. At the rate he was going, he could have the barn and the house fixed up in plenty of time for her grand opening, then he’d fire up his beater of a truck, scoot out of town and her life would return to normal.

Or at least what she imagined was normal, she thought as she turned to go back into the house. After all, she was only just starting to get her life back together after her highly publicized breakup with Miles Landon, the man who’d finally broken her Jerk-O-Meter—not to mention her heart—with his betrayal.

Lauren sat down on the antique sofa she’d bought for a song at a tag sale in Maine and pulled her legs up beneath her. The broken heart was her own fault, of course. Growing up as she had, she’d always been wary of close relationships, but when she’d met Miles, the lure of his personality and magnetism had been undeniable. Like an idiot, she’d let her guard down and taken the chance. And then, predictably, it had all gone to hell.

Miles was a Rock Star—with a capital R and a capital S—and even though he’d been on the road or in the studio much of the time, she’d thought they’d loved each other. Then, two hundred and twenty-two days ago, while standing in line at the grocery store, Lauren had read all about Miles’s infidelity in People. She’d found out in a glossy, two-page spread that Miles, who was supposed to be recording in London, was living right there in Hollywood with a wispy, redheaded A-list actress.