Karen Kendall - Open Invitation?

Lil nodded and rushed off with the soda, the carpet cleaner, a dish towel and the dustpan. Not surprisingly, Jane followed, unable to resist.

Dear God, the man’s back…a beautiful, bronzed jigsaw of perfectly placed muscle, moving with sinuous grace as he blotted her carpet with his own T-shirt—the savage. The sweet, helpful, magnificent barbarian. In that ridiculous leather belt with D-A-N carved into the back of it.

Despite the idiotic belt and the fact that he’d destroyed Nana Lisbeth’s china, a hot electric flash drove through Lil’s core. Part of her wanted to grab him by the belt buckle that ate Dallas and pull off his pants, too. She ignored the renegade impulse. It wasn’t at all ladylike.

“Thank you, Mr. Granger,” she said firmly, taking over. “Really, you didn’t have to use your shirt for cleanup.”

He moved aside and shrugged. “I got ten more in my carry-on bag. No big deal. I do apologize for bustin’ your dishes. I really, really do. Can I buy you a new set? I know how you women are about matched sets of things.”

You can’t replace a sentimental, family piece. Lil poured club soda over the soiled area of the rug. “No, no, of course not. These things happen. You’re very sweet to offer, though.” She forced herself to smile at him, set him at ease again, minimize his embarrassment and guilt. That was the polite thing to do.

But it was a bad idea, since she couldn’t seem to look away from his pectorals and that quite stunning abdomen and…no. She would not look lower again. There are some packages that are not meant to be opened.

As she blotted up the stain, he must have noticed Jane in the doorway. “Haaaaaaaaaaaaa.”

“Hi,” Jane said, a tremor of amusement in her voice.

“Dan Granger, ma’am. Klutz at large.”

“Jane O’Toole. You’re obviously not from around here.”

“Amarillo, darlin’. Pardon me while I grab another shirt from my bag.”

“Oh, feel free,” Jane said.

Lil and Jane both watched as he rummaged through a beat-up canvas duffel next to two large suitcases—Lil had told him to bring anything he planned on taking to London—and pulled out a spare shirt. They continued to watch as, oblivious, he raised his arms with a ripple of muscle and then stuck his head through the neck hole, with yet another ripple. Lilia’s mouth went dry and she found herself on the receiving end of an infuriating smirk from Jane. “Nice to meet you, Dan,” she said. “I’ve got to get back to work.” And with a knowing grin in Lil’s direction she did so.

Well, that settled it. Even if Granger spoke proper English, was the last virile man on the planet, and her life depended upon it, Lil would never “go there.” Because Jane wouldn’t ever let her live it down.

Granger was now digging deep into the pocket of his Wranglers, which only served to pull the fabric hard against his—that, uh, most interesting bulge. Lil pressed her lips together. She knelt down and concentrated on sweeping the shards of Nana Lisbeth’s cup and saucer into the dustpan.

“Here,” said Granger’s voice. “I’d really feel better if you’d take this.”

She looked up, straight into his crotch and dropped the dustpan. The shards scattered again. He held out a wad of green bills.

Soft laughter came from the hallway and she saw Shannon disappearing into the kitchenette. Lil had to admit that she and Granger must make an interesting vignette: she on her knees in front of him, while he held out a wad of cash.

“Mr. Granger, I couldn’t possibly—”

“Dan,” he said. “Just call me Dan, honey.”

That was another thing they needed to address: he couldn’t walk around calling every female he met “sweetheart,” “darlin’,” or “honey.” “Mr. Granger, I know that things are different down south, but—”

“Dan,” he repeated, squatting down with her and gently taking the dustpan from her hands. They spoke at the same time.

“—you mustn’t use terms of endearment with women you don’t know, as you risk—”

“Don’t worry, in London I’ll call the ladies ‘love.’”

“—offending them.”

They squatted on her rug, knee to knee and face-to-face. She could see the pores in his skin, the tiny lines on his lips, the intense, hungry look in his eyes.

He swept the shards back into the dustpan. “Besides bustin’ your china and trashing your rug,” he drawled, “do I offend you, Lilia?”

She opened her mouth to say yes. Then no. Then yes.

His blue gaze engulfed her, spread over her skin like the soft sting of an astringent; cool and hot at the same time. After a moment, he reached out an index finger and stroked along her jaw to just under her chin. He tilted it up and angled his face over hers while her heart galloped around in her chest like a mad thing. He was much, much too close to her.

She was much, much too close to him.

And she didn’t want to do a damn thing about it.

SHE’S AN EXOTIC porcelain doll. Perfect, delicate features. Dark eyes full of foreign ritual and pageantry. Lips that whispered of mystery and private pleasures.

She’s the kind of woman who was born on a pedestal, though. An untouchable Audrey, full of silver screen mystique. A china figurine with a painted-on skirt that no man ever got beneath.

A damn shame. Dan would like to see what Lil’s hair looked like tumbled around her face and neck, instead of in that sleek style she wore. He’d like to see that prim blouse of hers unbuttoned, skimming just over what he imagined were small, pink nipples. He’d love to see her barefoot, with her skirt hiked up to a point just shy of indecency.

And if he didn’t stop his thoughts from wandering down this path, he was going to embarrass himself. He hadn’t missed the self-conscious flush on her cheeks at their former position: him handing her money while she balanced on her knees in front of him.

And seeing how prim and proper she was, how utterly alien that position probably was to her, turned him on even more. He’d also seen her glance at places she shouldn’t, which sent quick lust spiraling through him. He wanted to get primal with this exotic little Audrey; see if Miss Manners knew what to do with a real man.

Of course, smashing a woman’s good china was generally not the way into her bed. That had been a real smooth move.

He’d seen the sudden flash of anguish when the cup hit the floor, even if she’d quickly disguised it. He felt like a shit-heel.

Were you born in a barn? Mama had yelled at him once.

I don’t know, Mama, you tell me. A rude response, one that did him no honor. But one that channeled his anger at her and her disappearance and her social climbing.

He still couldn’t believe he was here at friggin’ charm school. Dan reminded himself that he was doing this for Claire, and Claire alone.

And regarding this weird attraction to Lilia London? He’d taken Psych 101 in college. That old goat Freud would probably explain it as a rebel, subconscious urge. Was his lust for the china doll an instinct to literally screw manners? Yep. That’s all it was. Dan was sure of it.

LILIA RETURNED to her senses and backed away from the animal and his magnetism before he got any closer and…and…kissed her or something. God forbid.

Because kissing clients was not acceptable. And judging from this man’s awful performance in her office just now, she needed to get right to work on him.

She sat in her Queen Anne chair and demurely crossed her feet at the ankles, knees together. She clasped her hands in her lap and smiled while Dan made himself comfortable—or tried to—in her visitor’s seat. He dwarfed the antique, and she heard an ominous creak as he tried to lounge against the back of it.