the law, he doesn’t rest until he catches them.”
“Then I hope he catches them soon.” For the first time since he’d helped her to her feet, he looked away from her face long enough to glance around her shop, Intriguing Interiors. The store was filled with rows of wallpapers and borders, shelves of order books, swatches of designer fabrics, and displays of decorator and gift items. “Nice place.”
“Thank you. I bought it almost two years ago.”
What might have been amusement glimmered for a moment in his eyes. “I know.”
She studied him curiously. “You do?”
His mouth quirked again into that sexy semi-smile, making her pulse race in a manner that both distracted and annoyed her. She made an effort to focus on their conversation rather than the effect he had on her—something she would think about and rationalize later, she promised herself.
“Ever since I helped you out of that water, everyone in this town has wanted to talk to me about the accident—and you,” he said ruefully.
She waved a hand toward the door. “That’s my town. The rumor capital of the world. So what did they tell you about me?”
“That you’re a very talented decorator. Which is one of the reasons I stopped by.”
He had surprised her again. “You need a decorator?”
“Yes. I’ve purchased an old Victorian house at the end of Deer Run Lane—”
“The Garrett place,” she acknowledged with a nod. “People have been talking about you, too.”
The slight twist of his mouth this time might have been a smile or maybe a grimace, but either way, it was as sexy as all get-out. Feeling uncomfortably schoolgirlish, Sharon almost sighed.
“Anyway,” he continued, “I’m completely renovating the place. I need a decorator. I’d like to keep the decor appropriate to the period of the architecture—Victorian, but not overdone. I’ll want to start consultations soon so there will be plenty of time to order wallpaper, light fixtures and any other decorating items I’ll need. Are you interested in the job?”
Though she loved the idea of decorating a restored historic home, Sharon felt compelled to be honest. “I’m not really a trained decorator, Mr. Cordero.”
“Call me Mac. I understand you’ve decorated quite a few homes and offices around town. Trent McBride, who’s doing the cabinetwork for my renovation project, recommended you. He said you’re redecorating his father and brother’s law offices.”
She wondered if she could ever be comfortable using his first name. She found herself rather intimidated by this man, for some reason. It was hard to imagine having a casual relationship with him.
“I do some interior decorating as a sideline for my shop,” she admitted. “It’s always been an interest of mine, and I’ve taken a few decorating classes. I started out helping friends, and then other people began to request my services. But if you want a more experienced, better-known professional decorator, you’ll have to bring someone in from Atlanta.”
He shook his head. “I prefer to patronize local businesses.”
She knew he had hired local carpenters, plumbers, electricians and other subcontractors for the renovation project. She knew, as well, that he hadn’t demanded a lengthy list of credentials from everyone he’d hired. Trent McBride, for example, had only just gone into business as a cabinetmaker.
“I would certainly be interested in discussing this with you,” she said, intrigued by the challenge of such a project, even as she hoped she was up to it.
He leaned a forearm against the sales counter. The casual pose brought him a bit closer to her, just enough to make her self-conscious again. His smile was slightly deeper this time, giving her a glimpse of white teeth. The job he offered was looking better and better, she thought, letting herself drift for just a moment in sheer feminine appreciation.
“Maybe we could talk about it over dinner tonight?” he suggested. “The restaurant on West Charles isn’t bad.”
She was on the verge of accepting—just to discuss the project, of course—when she remembered her brother. There were times when she’d left him home by himself for a couple of hours, but she didn’t think it was a good idea tonight. She wouldn’t put it past him to sneak out and go to the party anyway—and she wasn’t going to give him that opportunity. The boy throwing the party was a notorious troublemaker, and Brad was too easily led into mischief. There had already been one occasion when he’d been escorted home by Officer Dodson; she didn’t intend for it to happen again tonight.
“I’m afraid I can’t tonight,” she said.
If Mac was disappointed, he didn’t show it. “When would be a good time for you to meet?”
“I can spare a couple of hours tomorrow afternoon, if you’re free then.”
He straightened away from the counter. “I’ll be out at the site tomorrow meeting with subcontractors. If you want to join me there, we can do a walk-through. It will give you a chance to look the place over, too.”
Definitely intrigued—and more comfortable with the thought of discussing the job at the site rather than over dinner—she nodded. “What time?”
“Two o’clock?”
“I’ll be there.”
He was already moving toward the door. “Until tomorrow then.”
“Mr. Cordero—”
“Mac,” he reminded her over his shoulder.
“I want to thank you again for helping me Friday night.”
He gave her a sudden, full smile that nearly melted the soles of her shoes. He didn’t smile often, apparently, but when he did—wow. “Not necessary. See you tomorrow, Sharon.”
She hadn’t given him permission to use her first name, but it would be churlish to remind him of that now. She wasn’t usually one to insist on formality—but with this man, a little distance might not be such a bad idea.
He was just reaching for the doorknob when the door opened and a plump blonde bustled in, nearly crashing into Mac. “Oh, sorry,” she said, catching herself just in time.
His smile fading into a more somber expression, he nodded politely. “No problem.” And then he let himself out, leaving the two women staring bemusedly after him.
“Who,” Tressie Bearden demanded, “was that?”
Dragging her gaze away from the glass door, through which she could see him walking purposefully away, Sharon cleared her throat and turned to her employee. “That was Mac Cordero.”
Tressie’s eyes widened. “Cordero-the-hero? Oh, man, he’s even better-looking than I’ve heard.”
Sharon frowned. “I wish you wouldn’t call him that. It’s such a silly nickname.”
“Hey, you were the damsel
