The Return Of Rafe Mackade (The MacKade Brothers 1)

"Are you always so rigid, or is it just with me?"

She refused to stoop to answering such an insulting question. "You asked for accuracy. I don't care to have rules changed in midstream."

Considering, Rafe picked up the paint chip that had started the ball rolling. "One question. Do you like this color?"

"That's not the point—"

"Simple question. Do you like it?"

Her breath whistled between her teeth. "Of course not. It's hideous."

"There you go. Guidelines are, if you don't like it, it doesn't fly."

"I can't take the responsibility."

"I'm paying you to take it." Since that settled the matter as far as he was concerned, he turned back to the screen, and scanned down the displays. "You got this what-do-you-call-it in stock, right? Isn't that what this I.S. stands for?"

"Yes. The double chairback settee." Her heart dropped to her feet. She'd bought it the week before at auction, with his parlor in mind. If he rejected it, her books were going straight into the red. "It's in the shop," she continued, keeping her voice coolly professional. "I've put a hold on it."

"So, let's take a look. I want to see this fire-screen and these tables."

"You're the boss," she muttered under her breath, and led the way.

Her nerves strained as she stopped by the settee. It was a gorgeous piece, and it had had a price to match. However much she coveted it, she would never have made the bid if she hadn't had a customer in the wings.

Now, she thought of that customer—the scarred boots, the ripped shirt, the potent aura of man. What had she been thinking of, she wondered frantically, imagining Rafe MacKade approving of an elegant, curvy, and decidedly feminine piece such as this?

"Ah, it's walnut..." she began, running a suddenly icy hand over the carved arm. "Around 1850. It's been reupholstered, of course, but the material is very much in keeping with the era. You can see the double-shaped backs are centered by a circular upholstered panel. The workmanship is first-rate, and the seat is surprisingly comfortable."

He grunted and crouched down to peer under the seat. "Pricey little thing."

"It's sixty-nine inches wide, and well worth the expense."

"Okay."

She blinked. "Okay?"

"Yeah. If I stay on schedule, I should have the parlor ready by the weekend. I could take delivery on this by Monday, unless I tell you different." He glanced up at her. "That suit you?"

"Yes." She realized she'd lost all feeling below the knees. "Of course."

"C.O.D. all right? I don't have my checkbook on me."

"That'll be fine."

"Let's see the Pembroke table."

"The Pembroke table." She looked dizzily around the shop. "Over here."

He straightened, holding back a grin. He wondered if she had any idea that, for a few minutes there, she'd been clear as glass. He doubted it.

"What's this?"

Distracted, she stopped. "Oh, that's a display tab

le. Satinwood and mahogany."

"I like it."