Nancy Warren - Final Score

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?”