I nodded even though he couldn’t see me and pushed my hair over my shoulders. It was tangled and all kinds of wavy and messy from being twisted and tied up all day.

“Okay, then. See you soon.”

He grunted his good-bye, and I had a brief moment of panicked indecision about whether I should put my heels and panty hose back on so that even if I wasn’t feeling particularly professional where he and his case was concerned, I could at least look it, but then decided he had been waiting long enough for this paperwork and my own insecurity and ridiculousness wasn’t a good enough reason to keep him waiting any longer.

I shut my office up, made my way down the elevator, and waved good-bye to the guard who kept an eye on the building after hours.

The directions that Zeb had given me led to an area of town that was actually really close to the lower part of downtown and just across the interstate. It was a neighborhood that was obviously in the middle of some serious gentrification, if the polished new storefronts next to the abandoned and broken ones were any indication. It was the kind of place that Realtors referred to as up-and-coming and it was obviously a neighborhood that could pay off big-time for an investor who knew what they were doing in the tricky housing market. When I pulled up in front of the cottage that matched the address that Zeb had given me, it was clear the man knew what he was doing.

His cottage was the ugliest house on the block. It was in a sorry state of disrepair and looked dilapidated and on the verge of falling in on itself. It was made to look even worse by the cute, obviously well-loved and well-maintained homes that surrounded it on either side. Kids played noisily in the yards on either side of the disaster and watched me curiously as I pulled in behind a mud-splattered Jeep. When I climbed out of my own car and headed toward the front door of the ramshackle home, I noticed that the tires on the ostentatiously masculine vehicle came almost up to my waist. It had to be Zeb’s. Anyone else would look ridiculous driving such a grotesque beast around town. He was the only one big and bearded enough to pull it off.

I didn’t even have to lift a hand to knock on the door. As soon as my bright pink tennis shoes hit the top step, the wrought-iron-and-glass storm door swung open and I was pulled inside by hard hands. I hit the center of a sweaty and strong chest covered in a thin layer of cotton. I returned the nearly smothering embrace and patted a back that was covered in ropy, work-hardened muscle, telling myself that petting him and clutching at him would be poor form under the circumstances even though I really, really wanted to.

“It’s gonna be fine. I promise.” My words were lost somewhere in his rock-hard pecs, but he must have heard me because he pulled back with a start and let me go.

Eyes the color of pine scanned me from the top of my tousled head to the tip of my shoes. When they landed on the bright pink sneakers encasing my feet, he grinned.

“Those don’t go with your outfit at all, Sayer.”

I huffed out a breath and tried not to drool too much when I noticed he still had on a tool belt that was tugging the top of his faded jeans down on his lean hips. There was a strip of taut, tanned, dark hair–dusted skin showing in the gap between his waistband and the hem of his T-shirt. I wanted to fall to my knees and lick all around it. That was a testosterone overload and my lady parts were ill equipped for the sensual assault the image had on them. God, there was something so undeniably sexy about a man who was good with his hands. There was something that made every girlie part of me pant and come to attention knowing he could break stuff with his brutal strength and then just as easily fix it back up.

“I was headed home. Standing in court all day in heels is awful. I’m not like Salem, who picked these out, by the way. I need to give my feet a breather.” I shrugged. “But thanks for noticing.”

He chuckled and guided me farther into the torn-up house. Walls were missing, parts of the floor were ripped up, lighting fixtures dangled from wires in the ceiling. He was right. It did look like a tornado had hit the place.

“They look cute. You could be wearing SpongeBob slippers and still pull it off, Say. I was just trying to break some of the tension. Shit is stressful right now, ya know?” He looked over his shoulder and reached out a hand to catch me as I tripped over a floorboard that wasn’t all the way nailed down. Thank the Lord I’d taken the heels off. I would have ended up on my face and then died from the embarrassment. “Sorry about the mess. I bought the house at a city auction. It was slated for destruction, so I snapped it up for next to nothing. But the price reflects the current conditions. It’s a fucking catastrophe, but when I’m done it’s going to be the nicest house on the block, and with the way people are flooding into this part of the city, I’m going to make my initial investment back tenfold.” He pulled me to his side as I tripped again, and chuckled into the top of my head as he stepped through a blown-out wall into what once must’ve been the kitchen. “This is the only room that isn’t filthy and has a place to sit. Mostly because we haven’t started working on it yet.”

There was what appeared to be an ancient kitchen table covered in a splattered and stained painter’s tarp and some sorry-looking metal folding chairs placed around it. Zeb worked the thick leather of his tool belt through the buckle and then caught the whole thing in a hand as it dropped. He thunked the contraption down on the table, making everything clatter and I shivered a little because even the sound of that was sexy. He plowed his hands through his hair and bits and pieces of plaster and sawdust went flying in every direction.

“I’m sure it will be amazing when you’re done. I’ve seen firsthand how talented and how skilled you are.” I sat down gingerly in one of the chairs he pulled out for me and gulped a little bit when he bent down so that his face was right in front of mine as he grinned wolfishly. I wanted to blurt out that he could eat me up anytime and anyplace he wanted. Those foreign feelings he stirred to life in me were frightful in their blatant want and need.

“Oh, Sayer, you ain’t seen nothing about how skilled and talented I can be . . . at least not yet.” He pulled back as I blinked at him stupidly, and propped a hip on the table next to me. “But that’s for another time.” He held out a hand and wiggled his fingers in a “gimme” motion. “Let’s have it.”

I dug around in my purse and pulled out the long envelope. I held it out to him and watched as his broad chest expanded out as he sucked in a deep breath. He stroked his beard, something I noticed he did when he was thinking hard on something.