Never before had she formed an opinion that seemed so ironclad about a man this fast. Of course, there’d only been one man in her life, the one she had married…and divorced. The word divorced went around and around in her head, and she was struck by an impulse to tell Tag about it. And about her screwball childhood, as well, her peculiar parents and the untraditional way they’d brought her up. Dragged her up was more like it, for they had unquestionably lived the typical bohemian artist’s life. They hadn’t believed in babysitters, so wherever they’d gone, so had she. She had fallen asleep on many a strange sofa back then, a tiny little girl dressed like a doll and treated as one, as well. Treated as a plaything rather than as a living, breathing child that needed regular meals and bedtimes.
But maybe another time, she told herself. Liking a man at first sight didn’t—or probably shouldn’t—include an immediate baring of one’s soul.
“If you came by the shop and saw my work for yourself, you might feel good about ordering some custom-made bookshelves from me,” Tag said quietly, though his blood had started running hot and fast in his veins. Her eyes were stunningly beautiful, the most unusual shade of green he’d ever seen. A man could get lost in Linda’s eyes, he thought, and wouldn’t he just love to twine his fingers into her glorious mane of hair.
“I…I suppose I could do that,” she stammered huskily. “One day when you’re there instead of here. You’d have to let me know.”
“I never work away from home on Sunday. Come by tomorrow.”
So soon? Just so she could stop looking into his eyes without making her retreat blatantly obvious, she glanced at her cup before raising it to her lips. “I might be able to do that,” she murmured.
“Are Sundays busy days for you?”
“Well, there’s church…and next week’s classes to plan…and student work to look over.”
“Yes,” Tag said solemnly. “I can see how those things could take up an entire day. But maybe you could squeeze out fifteen or twenty minutes to see me? I should say to check out my work. You wouldn’t be stopping in just to see me, after all.”
Linda cleared her throat. He was the biggest flirt she’d ever met. But he was also the nicest flirt she’d ever met. And he was so cute. For some reason, telling herself that Tag’s brand of good looks meant zilch in real-life situations wasn’t doing a bit of good—she still felt breathless sitting this close to him and listening to his line of hooey.
But that was the bottom-line problem. She liked his line of hooey.
“Will you try to make it?” Tag asked quietly, boring a hole in her with his penetrating gaze.
She flicked a glance at him and immediately looked away. “Yes, I’ll try.”
“Great!” Tag picked up his coffee and took a swallow. “So is it all right if I start working in here today?”
“How can I say no?”
“You can always say no, Linda,” Tag said softly.
A frisson of sensual awareness traveled down Linda’s spine, giving her a tiny shiver. His voice did that to her, she realized, and when he combined it with sexual innuendo, the result was even more intense. Not that she couldn’t stop this…this thing building between them from growing too huge to control. At least she was pretty certain that she could. But did she really want to stop it? She had never felt so womanly before, so warm and fuzzy and tingly because of a man. And being a voracious reader, she knew that women should feel something during lovemaking. Although she’d never told a soul, she never had.
“All right,” she said without looking directly at Tag. “You can start today.”
“You’re a sweetheart.” Getting off his stool, Tag bent over and planted a brief kiss to her right cheek.
Shocked to speechlessness—no one had ever kissed her without provocation before, and she would swear that she had not invited any such familiarity—she sat there all the while he hauled in cans of paint, brushes, rollers, a tool chest and so many other items that she stared in amazement. Her kitchen floor was practically covered with the tools of his trade.
Shaking her head over the tornado called Tag—Tag who?—that had suddenly infiltrated her comfortable little world, she got off the stool and departed the kitchen. Tippy stayed. He had to sniff everything the nice man brought into his home, after all.
Chapter Two
Linda restlessly roamed her apartment. Every few minutes she heard Tag whistle a few bars of a song. Her Saturday was ruined, as far as she was concerned. Maybe she should be able to ignore having a man in her kitchen and go about her own business, but she just couldn’t seem to relax.
Finally, deciding to get out of there for a while, she ran upstairs, changed from her slacks and blouse to fleecy gray shorts and a comfy old top, put on her walking shoes and returned to the first floor. Wishing she kept Tippy’s leash anywhere but where it was, she took a big breath and headed for the kitchen with what she hoped was a look of irrevocable indifference on her face. Every time she’d thought of Tag’s brash kiss to her cheek, she’d suffered a hot flash. She didn’t like the confusion she felt over the incident, mostly caused by the fact that she hadn’t disliked the kiss. It had been rather sweet, actually.
“Pardon the interruption,” she said as she forced herself to enter her own kitchen. “But I need to get Tippy’s leash from the laundry room.”
Tag turned and looked at her, and her determined expression completely deserted her. He had such marvelous eyes, she thought, suddenly feeling a bit weak in the knees.
“You’re not an interruption.” Tag’s features softened into what Linda perceived as just about the nicest smile she’d ever seen on a guy’s face. “Drop in anytime,” he added. “I like the company.”
He was flirting again! Linda swallowed hard. “Oh, well, I…I just need the leash…for, uh, now.”
Tag nodded. “Sure thing. Help yourself.”
“Thanks, I will.” Stepping around drop cloths and the other things with which Tag had all but filled her small kitchen, Linda went into the laundry room and came out with the leash. Tippy perked up his ears and began dancing around.
“Looks like he knows what that means,” Tag said with a laugh.
“Yes, he always gets excited when he sees his leash.”
“That’s an associative response. You taught him that without even trying. Did you raise him from a pup?”
Linda bent over to attach the leash to Tippy’s collar. “No, I’ve only had him since my move from California about two months ago.”
“Did you get him from the local vet?”
“I guess you could say I found him.”
“Or he found you. Well, he’s a lucky pooch. Looks to me like he got himself a good home.”
“He deserves to be treated well. I don’t think he was before I found him. He was begging for scraps of food at a place in Nevada where I stopped for gas. He was filthy, dirty and a pitiful sight, but he won me over the second I saw him. I
