like a short version of Ichabod Crane, was hanging several paintings she’d purchased for Mac’s house.
“What do you think?” he asked, holding up two Josef Albers pieces, both in several shades of yellow. “On top of one another?”
She sat on the new distressed, brown leather couch to get a better view. “Hmm…I don’t know. How about—”
“Side by side?” came Mac’s voice behind her.
Dennis Thompson looked behind Olivia and beamed at Mac. “Perfect. I’ll just go get my tools from the car.”
Olivia turned, surprised. “You’re home early, Mr. Valentine. Are you here to supervise?”
He was dressed in a tailored black suit and crisp white shirt, his tie loosened from his neck. “I came home for a late lunch or an early dinner.”
“Oh, really?” she said with a grin. “I haven’t stocked the fridge yet and you ate the only frozen pizza, so what were you planning on having? The cocktail onions or that last, lonely bottle of Corona?”
He walked around the couch and sat beside her. “You’re a pretty good chef, aren’t you?”
“I like to think so.” He smelled so good. She tried not to breathe through her nose.
“Well, then, can’t you make something amazing out of onions and beer?”
“No,” said Olivia succinctly, lifting an eyebrow. “Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“When do you normally leave the office to come home?”
His lips twitched. “Oh, I don’t know…”
“Approximately.”
“Seven, eight…nine, ten.”
She looked at her watch. “It’s four-thirty—why are you here?” Her heart began to pound in her chest as she wondered for a moment if he was there to see her. After what happened that morning with her father, she wouldn’t blame him. She just hoped he wouldn’t spread the story around town. “Are you going to fire me?”
“No.” He laughed. “That’s over and done with.” His voice turned serious. “As long as it doesn’t happen again. I can’t have your father showing up when the DeBolds arrive.”
“It will not happen again,” she assured him. “You have my word.”
Satisfied with that answer, Mac leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not exactly sure why I’m here. But I think the reason might be embarrassing.”
“For you or me?”
“Me. Definitely me.”
“Oh, well, then share, please.”
He glanced around the room. “It’s really warm in here.”
“I know. I had the tech come this morning and it took him hours just to—”
“No, I mean what you’ve created here from the furniture to the artwork to all those little things on the tables and in the bathroom and on the mantels. It’s all warm. I never thought I’d be comfortable with warm.…” He looked at her, surprise in his gaze. “As you start to make my house into a livable, family-friendly place I sort of want to be here to see it…and you.”
Her muscles tensed at his words and she could almost feel the pressure of his lips on her mouth once again. Her reaction to him, her attraction to him, wasn’t going away, she knew that. But she hoped that maybe the two of them could forget what happened last night and go on about their business.
When she found his gaze once again, Mac had that look in his eye, that roguish one that made her knees weak and her resolve disappear.
“Listen,” she began, “about last night…”
“Yes?”
“I was half-asleep.”
“Before or after you kissed me?” he asked huskily.
Right. Her brow creased with unease. “As clichéd as this is about to sound, it’ll never happen again.”
He grinned. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“We made sparks.”
His words and the casual way he offered them made her laugh. “I won’t argue with that. You’re one helluva kisser, Valentine, but…” And on that note, she sobered. “You’re also using me.” She put a hand up as she saw him open his mouth to speak. “I know you think I’m using you, too, but I’m not. And last night, I didn’t.”
His grin evaporated. “Then why…”
She stared at him, wondered what he would say if she told him she was starting to like him—that even with the information she had about him and why he’d hired her to begin with, she believed he was good man. A damaged man—but, under that hard-ass exterior, a good one.
“Ms. Winston?”
Dennis Thompson had returned from his car and was standing in the doorway with his toolkit and another painting. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but before we can hang the rest of the pieces, we need you to tell us where you want them.”
“I’ll be right there,” she told him before facing Mac again. “Now, we have guests arriving tomorrow afternoon, and I have to finish up here, then go home and plan a menu.”
He nodded. “Have you decided to stay here?”
“Not yet.”
“If you do, I won’t bother you.”
“I’m not worried about you starting anything.” It was all she had to say. The flush on his neck and the stiffness in his jaw were obvious clues that he’d heard the slight emphasis on the word you and understood her meaning all too clearly.
She got up and was about to leave the room when Mac called her back. “Olivia?”
“Yes?”
“As far as the menu, I’ve invited another couple to join us tomorrow night, so there will be six instead of four.”
“Okay. Anyone I know?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so. It’s the DeBolds’ attorney and her husband.”
“Got it.” She tossed him a casual, professional smile, then left the room.
Nine
If someone called Mac Valentine an arrogant jerk to his face, he usually agreed with them before kicking them out of his office. He was arrogant. But in his defense he believed he was the best at what he did and that unshakable confidence was the only way to stay at the top of his game. Today, at around
