The Return Of Rafe Mackade (The MacKade Brothers 1)

"She was always little, pretty and shy. All this sweetness." At Regan's curious look, he shook his head again. "No. I never made any moves in that direction. Sweet's never been my type."

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it." He stroked a hand over her hair, let his fingers drift into it, through it. "You're taking on a lot, letting her and the kids stay with you. I can take them out to the farm. We've got plenty of room."

"She needs a woman, Rafe, not a bunch of men— however well-intentioned. Devin will find him, won't he? And take care of it?"

"You can count on it."

Satisfied, she picked up her own tea. "Then I will, and so should you.'' Now that the step had been taken, she eyed him over her cup. "You must have come by for a reason."

"I wanted to look at you for a while." Her bland gaze had his lips curving. "And I figured to go over some of the wall treatments—and the parlor furniture. I want to complete that one room, give me a feel for the rest."

"That's a nice idea. I—" She broke off at the sound of movement and voices from the shop. "I've got customers. Everything's here—the paint samples and fabrics, itemized lists of furnishings."

"I picked up some samples of my own."

"Oh, well, then..." She crossed to the desk, booted up her computer. "I have a room-by-room rundown here. Why don't you go over it? Several of the pieces I've suggested are here. You can take a look at them when you've finished here."

"All right."

Thirty minutes later, flush with three sales, Regan stepped back into the office. He looked so big, she thought, so...male, sitting at her lovely little Chippendale desk. She could smell him—wood dust, soot, oil.

His boots were scarred, his shirt was ripped at the shoulder. There were traces of plaster or drywall dust in his hair.

She thought he was the most magnificent animal she had ever seen. And she wanted him with a kind of primal, mindless lust.

Whoa! To steady herself, she pressed a hand to her jumpy stomach, took three deep breaths.

"Well, what do you think?"

"You're an efficient woman, Regan." Without turning, he flipped open a file with printouts of her lists. "It doesn't look like you've missed a trick."

Flattered, she walked over to look over his shoulder. "I'm sure we'll need to adjust, add a few details after we see one of the rooms completed."

"I've already made some adjustments."

She straightened again. "Oh, really?"

"This color's out." Briskly he tapped the paint chip, then located the page on-screen where her colors were listed. "I ditched this pea green here for—what's it called? Yeah. Loden."

"The original color is accurate."

"It's ugly."

Yes, it was, but— "It's accurate," she insisted. "I researched very carefully. The one you've chosen is entirely too modern for the 1800s."

"Maybe. But it won't spoil anyone's appetite. Don't get your panties in a twist, darling." When her breath hissed out at that, he chuckled and turned around in the chair. "Listen, you're doing a hell of a job here. I have to admit, I didn't expect this much detail, certainly not so fast. You've got a real feel for it."

She didn't care to be placated. "You hired me to help you reconstruct a particular era, and that's what I'm doing. It was your choice to make the house look the way it did in the past."

"And it's my choice to make adjustments. We've got to make some room here for aesthetics and modern taste. I've had a look at your place upstairs, Regan. It's a little too much on the female side for me—"

"Fortunately, that's hardly the issue here," she told him, stiffening all over again.

"And so neat a man'd be afraid to put his feet up," Rafe continued smoothly. "But you've got taste. I'm just asking you to use it, along with research and accuracy."

"It seems to me we're talking about your taste. If you're going to change the guidelines, at least make them clear."