His smile faded. “I hired someone to replace Ned,” he said.

“So soon?”

Quinn’s jaw tightened, and a tiny muscle jumped along the edge. He wasn’t happy about arranging for a replacement, either. “Mick O’Shaughnessy,” he said. “Seems like a nice enough guy. Knows a lot about general construction. Specializes in finish carpentry, so I might keep him on after Ned gets back. If he’ll stay. He’s a ball player.”

“Ball?”

“Baseball. Arranged to get himself traded to the Wildcats for the rest of the season.” Quinn frowned. “I sure hope I can work around his schedule.”

“Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

“Good help is hard to find. Expert help even harder.”

“Well.” She leaned one hip against the edge of her desk. “I suppose you know best how to schedule your crew. Thanks for letting me know.”

“That’s not all I came to talk to you about.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “Oh?”

“I came to talk to you about the sidewall insulation.”

Right on cue, her blood pressure notched up a few points. Another tug-of-war over the specs. She knew the routine, knew what to expect, had gone this round many times before, on other jobs in other places.

She knew she shouldn’t let it bother her so much, but this was Quinn pulling at the other end of the rope. And the fact that she seemed to have an over-the-top reaction to everything to do with this man only added to her irritation. “What about it?” she asked.

“Seems to me the R-factor is a little high for this area.”

“It’s well within state regulations.”

“It’s a big state,” he said, “with a lot of extremes.”

“I don’t think it’s out of line.”

“It’s excessive. And expensive,” he said in his oh-so-reasonable voice. “It doesn’t have to be either of those.”

“It’s in the specs list,” she said, “and therefore, something you were aware of before we started this project. Part of the package you bid on-and therefore, something that’s in the budget.”

One corner of his mouth lifted. “I thought a woman like you could come up with a new argument instead of falling back on that tired old line about the budget.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean, a woman like me?”

The other half of his mouth curved up in a sly grin. “Changing the R-factor to a local standard might save enough to pay for more of those fancy windows your friend makes, among other things.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“It wasn’t about the job.”

She straightened from the desk and edged closer to him. Another streak of lightning flickered like a strobe across his features, and another clap of thunder exploded overhead. She forgot to start her countdown, but before her heart could beat once, a deep vibration shook the room.

“Is this part of the trouble you warned me about the other night?” she asked.

“I don’t know.” His gaze swept over her, over the flush she could feel spreading across her cheeks, and the nipples thrusting against the silvery silk of her blouse and the warm, liquid weight settling low in her belly beneath her black crepe skirt.

“That depends on what kind of trouble you want,” he said, and his voice seemed to roll through her like the elements.

He grew unnaturally still as he stared at her, and the moments ticked by in an increasingly unbearable tension as she absorbed and reflected his scrutiny. She was beginning to understand why he did this, why he shut everything else out and took her in like this. His gaze was like foreplay-testing and teasing without the use of his hands. Awareness crackled like static over her sensitized skin, and her body pulsed with the dull throb of anticipation.

She ran her tongue over her lower lip. “Why don’t you just kiss me and get it over with?”

“Why don’t I?”

He wrapped his long, rough fingers around her arms and drew her close. “I’m probably going to regret this when it’s over.”

Her head tipped back, and her lashes drifted low. “Why wait until then to figure it out? I already know this is a big mistake.”

One of his legs brushed against hers as he shifted still closer. “So why do you want to go through with it?”

“I’ve already warned you. I’m a terrible person.” She skimmed her palms up his sides, savoring the sensation of warm, soft shirt stretched over hard, shifting muscle. “I have a lot of trouble denying myself the things I want.”

“I don’t.” His fingers tightened, and then he eased his grip and lowered his hands to her waist. “Not usually, anyway. You seem to be the one exception to all my rules.”

“Golly, Quinn. You sure know how to make a girl feel special.” She gasped and shivered as he tugged the hem of her blouse from her skirt’s waistband. “And you don’t have to worry. I’ll try to make this as easy as possible for both of us.”

“I appreciate it,” he said.

She raised her arms to his shoulders and tangled her fingers in his thick black hair. It was still damp from the storm and warm with the energy emanating from his body. She pressed closer, craving more of that heat for herself.

His head lowered toward hers, and his mouth was a tantalizing fraction of an inch away. “Any requests?” he asked.

“You mean, like do I want it fast and hot?”

The crinkles at the sides of his eyes deepened. “Maybe I could talk you into slow and easy.”

“You could try, but neither of us has that much time to waste.”

“Kissing me won’t be a waste of your time.”

“Prove it,” she said.

CHAPTER TWELVE

QUINN’S HANDS were shaking. He tightened his grip on the slippery, satiny thing Tess wore beneath her shirt and held on as if it were a lifeline and he were sinking, sinking, struggling for breath, his heart pounding. It couldn’t be true; he wasn’t a young boy touching his first girlfriend for the first time. He was a grown man with enough experience to be appalled at this dry-mouthed, weak-kneed reaction to the feel of a woman’s body against his and the warm, moist rush of her breath across his face.

But he wanted desperately to dazzle her, to make her desire him the way he desired her. He wanted to make her forget all the other men she’d ever kissed, ever made love with. He wanted this kiss to spin out, to go on and on, to scatter her thoughts and set her on fire. He wanted so much-too much. This one thing mattered too much.

Too late. Her lashes fluttered and drifted down over her wonderful, whiskey-hued eyes, and her lips parted on a soft sigh, and then he was closing the last charged sliver of space between them and covering her mouth with his.

Dark, rich flavors coasted over pliancy and heat-coffee and silk and sin. He brushed his lips against hers, again and again, drawing out the moment, tempting her with promises, savoring his delight, chaining his greed. Their mouths slipped, caught, moved over each other’s in moist, delicious friction as she pressed against him and he drew her still nearer, crushing her breasts against the thin wall of his chest, against his hammering heart.

Her fresh, flowery scent surrounded him, seeped inside and wound through him as his hands stroked up her sides, sliding beneath airy fabric to the layer of warm silk that was her skin. His hands fanned across her narrow back to gather her tighter, closer. Rain burst against her windows like machine-gun fire, and thunder roared into the room to shake them both. He swallowed her sigh and thrilled to the lingering vibration of her moan within his embrace.

Yes, he thought as she turned her head and bared her throat to his lips. Yes, he breathed as her hands clutched his hair and pulled him back to her ravening mouth. Yes, he groaned as her body rubbed against his. Yes, yes.

Past arousal, past care, he sank mindlessly into the moment and made hot, languid love to her mouth, pouring the weeks of frustration and craving into each teasing nibble, each luxurious bite, straining against her, wanting more, needing more, needing…Tess. And losing himself to her in the bargain.