Dave Preston was a close friend who could and would adhere to Nash’s cover story.
Nash held his hand out for the battery. “Why don’t you let me take care of this before you actually need the smoke alarm?”
“If you’re sure you don’t mind—”
Not minding a bit, he took the battery from her palm. The tips of his fingers touching her skin sent an electric jolt through him. No, no, no! He didn’t have time for an attraction now. He had to save his energy for the job he was here to do and not be distracted by a pretty woman.
Climbing the ladder, he easily changed the battery. Then he was down the ladder once more.
She glanced down at his well-worn boots. “Your boots look comfortable, too.”
He had to chuckle. “Yes, they are. Perfect for walking or driving.”
“Not for meeting clients?”
Damn it. He was going to have to buy a new pair of boots so he could show her he dressed up for client meetings. Not that he had any of those planned.
He winked at her. “I prefer black boots for a more professional look.”
She seemed to look him up and down, from his dark brown hair, over his squarish jaw, down his red T-shirt and his jeans. Her gaze on him made him feel hot.
“I clean up well, too.”
She blushed. “Oh, I didn’t think you didn’t. How about that cinnamon roll?” she asked, obviously embarrassed.
“That sounds good. Join me?” The question came out of his mouth before he thought better of it. He really shouldn’t have asked her that.
She hesitated and he thought that was wise of her. After all, even though she’d called his reference, he was practically a stranger. But then deciding it must be safe enough to have breakfast with him, she waved at the eat-at counter on the kitchen side of the room. The other side of the room was filled with tables and chairs, no doubt for the dinner he remembered she also served. He hadn’t taken advantage of that yesterday simply because he didn’t want to get tied up with her or any other guests. Anonymity was best cultivated if he spent most of his time alone. However, after a quick canvas of the comfortable-looking sitting area, he could see himself working on his laptop there.
“Coffee?” Cassie asked.
“If it’s black and strong.”
“It is,” she said, but then smiled. “I dose mine with cream and sugar.”
He rolled his eyes in mock horror. “None of those for me.”
“At least I don’t serve flavored coffees.”
He laughed at her tone. “Your guests don’t ask for a hazelnut latte or maybe a caramel macchiato?”
“How do you know about that, since you’re a black-coffee drinker and all?”
Their gazes locked for a heartbeat. It was just one of those awareness moments that passed between a man and a woman when they felt chemistry. “I’ve been in a coffee shop or two.”
She looked away first. “I’ve been known to make a flavored pot of coffee for my women guests. Most of the men are like you and just want theirs black.”
Just like him? He doubted that.
More serious now, she asked, “Is there a reason you didn’t stop for breakfast yesterday? You just filled a travel mug with coffee and left.”
He’d have to watch himself around her. She also seemed to pay attention to details. “I was in a hurry.”
“And not today?”
“I have an appointment this morning but it’s a little later.” Another lie. Well, not exactly a lie. He did have an appointment to use a computer at the library. He had research to do, and it was going to take hours and hours if not days or weeks. But he’d find what he was looking for.
She motioned again to the stool at the eat-at counter. “Sit and I’ll get your breakfast.”
“I can put the ladder away for you first if you’d like.”
She seemed to contemplate that for a few beats. “Okay. Let me show you where it goes.”
He noticed that Cassie moved quickly and gracefully. He couldn’t help but watch the gentle sway of her hips as she led him through the dining area. To the right, there was a screened-in porch. It might be nice to sit out there with his laptop, too. He wished he could just access the records he wanted on there, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want any research being traced back to him. He’d switch around from computer to computer at the library on different days. Once he found what he was looking for, he’d have to have it printed out. There again he didn’t want to send emails to himself and have a record of it. His boss in Mississippi had been totally against this investigation because their original case there had been closed. But once Nash had found that Charlotte Robinson could have used the alias Charlene Pickett, he just couldn’t let it go.
Following Cassie distracted him from the work he intended to do. She was sexy in jeans and a boyfriend shirt. She’d rolled up the sleeves and left the collar open. All too well, he could imagine her in one of his shirts.
Putting the brakes on that image, he let her guide him down a hall.
She motioned to the left to a half-open door. “That’s my suite.”
Continuing down the hall, she opened another door on the left. He could see right away it was a utility room with a washer and dryer, a step stool and an open ironing board.
She pointed to the back of the room. “Can you just prop the ladder there for now?”
It was a tight fit sliding past the ironing board but he slanted the ladder against the wall. Cassie had slipped into the area with him, probably to make sure the ladder was securely propped. She acted like a woman who was used to being on her own and doing for herself.
Suddenly, though, they were face-to-face and boots to boots. His eyes locked to hers and he could again feel the thrum of chemistry between them. From the surprise in her eyes, he could see she felt it and recognized it, too. Attraction to Cassie Calloway was way too dangerous to even contemplate.
Again she broke eye contact first and retreated through the opening between the ironing board and the washer and dryer. “I really should close the ironing board,” she said, her cheeks an attractive pink. “But I hate setting it back up every time I want to iron something.”
“You iron things often?” He was amused by that thought, though he knew his mother was particular about her clothes, too. She’d even ironed pillowcases.
“I like to be presentable,” she answered, a little defensively. “Besides, my guests often need to iron their clothes after traveling. They have sleeve boards in the closets in their rooms, but sometimes they’re not adequate.”
“I do have a couple of dress shirts I should iron,” he decided.
“Do you have many clients in Austin?”
