By Tuesday, she was congratulating herself on a narrow escape from a sticky involvement with a recovering alcoholic and his troubled preteen daughter. Tess knew herself well enough to admit she didn’t want to change her lifestyle or sacrifice her pleasures to suit the needs of an instant family. When she got married-and she was in no hurry to make that commitment-it would be to a man who’d continue to spoil her in the manner to which she’d accustomed herself.

By Wednesday, she was missing Quinn. Missing his tall, rangy form, and his long, intense stare, and his reluctant half smiles and his scorching kisses. She rubbed her arms as she stared out her Main Street office window, wishing she could rub away the lingering tingles and the unease that trailed closely behind the memories.

She had the perfect excuse to go to him-she had Tidewaters to supervise. And he had the perfect excuse to come to her-he had those specs to discuss. But those kisses and that dinner stood like twin barriers between them.

“Idiot.” She stalked to the rear of her office, swept her lime-green linen jacket from one of the pewter knobs and pulled it over her lemon-print sundress. She flipped over her sign and locked her door, sighing over the quarters she’d wasted a half an hour ago on that gluttonous meter, and stepped into her car to head to the construction site. She had a job to do.

She passed her usual drive-through coffee place, since she already had enough jitters. And she nearly pulled into Bern’s for a snack to ease her way with the crew, but decided Quinn might see that as a sign of weakness. “Stupid,” she muttered. “I’m the one who’s making the first move here.”

And wasn’t it monumentally stupid, she thought as she pulled through the gate at Tidewaters a few minutes later, that she was thinking in relationship phrases instead of business terms? “Snap out of it,” she ordered herself.

Easier said than done, she thought a second later when she got a good look at the gorgeous shell of the building they were creating together. He’d made a start on the third floor, and the added height made the bays and angles soar. She noted the spots where corner towers would overlook the bay, where gracefully curved corbels would accent the eaves. Where tall glass doors would open to a stunning balcony.

Beautiful. And now that the boxy basics were behind them, each addition would layer on finishing touches like icing on a fanciful cake: clever rooflines, sparkling windows, inviting porches, decorative trim boards.

It might be her design, but Quinn was bringing it to life with relatively few grumbles and no flaws in the execution. Great team, great building.

She parked beside his big black truck and started toward the trailer door. It swung open, and Rusty jogged down the short metal steps, followed by a tall, good-looking man with sun-streaked hair and impressive biceps.

“Hey, pretty lady.” Rusty stopped and made a show of eyeing her tote. “Bring anything good with you today?”

“No. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize.” Rusty snapped his gum. “I’m headed out early. Just didn’t want to miss out on one of your treats.”

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to the pretty lady?” asked the stranger. His deep voice carried a trace of Texas.

“You mean you haven’t met Tess yet?” Rusty waved a hand in her direction. “Mick O’Shaughnessy, Tess Roussel.”

“The architect.” Mick extended his hand. His grip was a pleasant combination of firm and gentle. His smile was a lethal blend of masculine ease and charm.

“The ball player.” She wondered if he was single and how quickly she could drag Addie to the site without making the matchmaking obvious.

“Quinn’s up on the northwest corner,” Rusty said, “in case you’re looking for him.”

“I am. Thanks.” Tess returned Rusty’s wave as he headed for his pickup.

“I like your design.” Mick studied her, his manner as casual as a stroll on the beach. “It works.”

“High praise, coming from a carpenter.” She brushed her bangs from her eyes. “Quinn tells me you’re pretty good with finish work.”

“I’m better in left field.”

“That means you’re a batter, too, right?”

“Cleanup.”

“My, my.”

Mick’s smile widened. “You’re just what I expected.”

“And what’s that?”

“Easy on the eyes and hard to get.”

Tess tilted her head to the side. “Are you trying to ‘get’ me, Mick?”

“No way. I want to keep this job. Mostly ’cause I happen to like the boss.” He leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “He’s watching us right now.”

She didn’t need to check. Once Mick mentioned it, she could feel Quinn’s gaze on her as if it were a sunlamp. Still, she lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the afternoon’s glare, looked toward the partially-clad skeleton of the top level and spied Quinn’s motionless form, a dark shadow against pale plywood. An uncomfortable blend of lust and longing welled up inside her, complicated by Mick’s assumptions. If a newcomer had paired her with Quinn, everyone else in the Cove must have figured the relationship was a done deal.

“Jack Maguire tells me you’ve got a good friend who’s just as easy on the eyes,” Mick said.

Tess managed to work up an encouraging smile. “That would be Addie.”

“Sweet name.”

“Sweet woman.”

“So I’ve heard. Maybe one of you could bring her around the ballpark some time.”

“Better ask Jack,” she said. “He’s Mr. Little League these days.”

Mick’s laugh was charming, too. “Yeah, he mentioned something about that.” He pulled a set of keys from a jeans pocket. “Better get going-don’t want to be late to practice. See you around, Tess.”

She trudged toward the north end and entered the building. Shafts of afternoon light stretched across the concrete, and the odors of freshly sawn lumber and oily solvents competed with the bay’s brine. Comforting, settling odors. She breathed them in deeply and prepared to deal with Quinn. “Hello,” she called.

“Up here.”

Careful to avoid slivers or catch her sandals on the raw edge of one of the subtreads, she climbed the open stairway. The view was fantastic at the second level; it was even better on top. A sparkling bay, a quaint town and two strong men in T-shirts, jeans and tool belts. “Hi, there.”

“Hi, Tess.” Phil cocked up the toe of one boot to brace a two-by-four against his ankle and settled his circular saw over the edge. “Bring anything to eat?”

“She’s not the snack wagon.” Bent at the waist, Quinn pulled his tape measure from his belt and hooked it over another two-by-four.

Behind Quinn’s back, Phil gave her an apologetic shrug.

She waited until she could be heard over the shriek of the saw. “Where is everyone?”

“Mick has practice,” Phil told her. “Rusty left early for a dental appointment and Tom’s still out of town. His family had a reunion over the holiday weekend. We’ve been-”

“Three, six and three-eighths,” Quinn said, cutting short the conversation. Phil dutifully picked up another piece of lumber and measured for the cut.

Tess examined the rough plumbing stubbed up through the subfloor while the men worked together to lay out and nail in the studs and header for a window in a short section of wall. “Guess you’re a little short on help today,” she said when the hammering had stopped.

“Is that why you’re here?” Quinn lifted one end of the wall with a grunt. “To help out?”

She glanced at her canvas espadrilles and form-fitting clothes. “I’m not exactly dressed for the job.”

Muscles bulging, he gave her one of his shuttered glances.

“Okay, so I forgot my hard hat, too. Bite me.”

“Not while I’m on the job,” he said.

On the other end of the wall section, Phil made a quiet choking sound as he helped Quinn walk the studs upright.

Tess folded her arms across her chest, ridiculously pleased with Quinn’s teasing but embarrassed that she’d set herself up for it. “We never discussed those specs.”