time to calm her racing heart. She should have resisted the statue’s allure; instead she’d acted like a teenage girl kissing her favorite rock star’s poster. Well, no more, she thought, determination stiffening her spine. There will be no more touching the statue. In fact, there will be no more looking at him, and absolutely, positively no more thinking about him.
She watched a handsome, familiar male emerge from the sedan. Never one to back down from conflict, she maneuvered around the bushes and flower beds of her “pleasure garden”—so dubbed by the previous owner because the entire enclosure was littered with naked sculptures similar to the warrior she wasn’t going to think about ever again—and marched to the driveway.
“Damn it, Gray. What are you doing here?”
Her visitor grinned, not the least put out by her brusque tone. Above them, the sun breathed peacefully, its powerful rays illuminating his tall frame and wide shoulders with an orange gold halo. “You owe me a quarter for cussing, little sister.”
Frowning, Katie dug into her pocket, snatched out a quarter and tossed it to him. “I only cursed because you surprised the shi—” Thankfully, she stopped herself in time. “You startled me, okay. For God’s sake, call before coming over.”
“I called. You didn’t answer. You were supposed to be home.”
“So you started to worry,” she said. For some reason, all of her brothers still thought of her as a delicate flower in need of twenty-four-hour, seven-days-a-week protection. So what that she was now six feet tall and in top physical condition. So what that she’d attended numerous self-defense classes.
Gray shrugged, sheepish. “Yeah. I started to worry.”
“Did you consider I might have just stepped out?” She flashed him an exasperated but loving grin. “Don’t answer that. Just tell me what you need.”
“I wanted to see your newest acquisition. From out here it looks like a dump, by the way,” he added good-naturedly, motioning to the house with his chin. “Why aren’t you painting or laying tile or doing something to fix the place up? That’s your job, isn’t it?”
At that moment, Katie’s tense muscles relaxed. Gray hadn’t seen her with the stone warrior. Otherwise he would have been cracking jokes at her expense instead of inquiring about her activities. “I worked on the upstairs bathroom all morning and needed some fresh air.”
He gave the mansion another once-over. “Fresh air? I don’t think so. My guess? You feared the walls were about to cave in and got out while you could.”
“Ha, ha.”
“Honey, I sure hope you knew what you were doing when you signed the deed.”
“I’ve been buying, fixing and selling houses for four years. Give me some credit.” She might have chosen an unusual career for a woman, but she loved what she did. Even better, she had an instinct for real estate, knew when and what to buy, knew when to sell, and she almost always made a profit.
A dedicated skeptic, Gray remained unconvinced. “Please tell me you negotiated a good deal. I seriously doubt anyone will ever snap this baby up.”
“I’m willing to bet I sell this house for more money than you make in an entire year.”
“I’ll take that bet.” Grinning, he stroked his fingers over his jawline. “To even the odds, you only have to make five thousand dollars over the purchase price and restoration costs.”
Katie didn’t hesitate. “Deal.”
“If you win, I’ll wear a dress to the next family luncheon. If I win, you have to have dinner with Steven Harris. He’s a new detective in my unit,” Gray rushed on before she could protest. “Everyone likes him.”
She groaned. Her brother meant well, he truly did, but she wasn’t going out with any more of his friends. The last cop he set her up with had spent the entire night discussing—in minute detail—the way a bullet had once pierced his chest cavity. All of the fascinating details were delivered while she tried to suck down chopped tomato spaghetti.
“I’ve changed my mind,” she said succinctly. “The bet is off. I’d rather be staked to an anthill wearing nothing but a bologna bikini than go on another blind date.”
Her brother remained undeterred. “Are you seeing someone?”
“No.” She didn’t elaborate, knowing it would only encourage him. In the last year, she’d endured endless evenings of bad food, bad movies and even worse company. She had finally come to the conclusion that she suffered from a severe case of First Date Syndrome.
The only symptom—which was proving fatal—was that she always found something wrong with her love interests within an hour of meeting them. Richard ate his peas one at a time. John’s voice had a high, nasal pitch. Quinn walked with his knees bowed out. Mitch was too clingy. Worse, all of them were shorter than her own six-foot build, and she hated, hated looking down at a man. That was how she’d made it to her twenty-fifth birthday without a single male ever making it past the getting-to-know-you stage.
That was also how she’d made it to her twenty-fifth birthday without a single male getting inside her pants.
Deep down she truly desired a man to cuddle with, a man she could look up to (literally) and share her hopes and dreams with. A man who would kiss and lick every inch of her naked, quivering body. But how could she find such a man when she turned away the few who wanted her?
Maybe she should go on another blind date.
Gray uttered a long, drawn-out sigh. Thankfully, the sound whisked away her foolish musings. “If you’re holding out for perfection,” he said, “I’m afraid you’re doomed for disappointment.”
“Are you kidding me?” Though she was amused by his assumption, she sounded properly disgusted. “I already know there’s no such thing as a perfect man. My brothers taught me that lesson very well.”
“Smart-ass.”
“I’ll take my quarter back, thank you very much.” Grinning smugly, Katie held out one hand, palm up. She only had four quarters left, and she didn’t think they’d last through the day, much less another five minutes with Gray. Earning a little money back was an unexpected boon.
Her brother crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not the one who’s trying to quit cussing, therefore I owe you nothing more than an apology for soiling your pretty little ears with my crudity.”
Her grin quickly faded. “You have the worst potty mouth ever, and I swear you’re the one who taught me every dirty word I know.”
He shrugged as if to say, You damn well shouldn’t have listened.
“There’s a patch for smoking,” she grumbled. “Do you think they make one for cussing?”
“Absolutely not. Soap is the only cure.” The tinge of amusement in his voice told her Gray was recalling the many times during their childhood that he’d washed her mouth with soap. “So, when do I get the official tour?”
Though she longed to wash his mouth out, she said, “Now, if you’ve got time.”
“I do.”
