Her hair had gone wild in the light wind, the long wavy brown strands flying everywhere. Neatly encased in a body-hugging black dress that showed off her every sensuous curve, she swayed gently to the beat of the music. “How’s it going up here?” she asked with a secret little smile.

“I – uh…” Oh, great. He’d lost his ability to form a complete sentence. “Fine,” he managed.

“Doesn’t look like you’ve done much.”

“I had to buy supplies and discuss the problem with a contractor.”

“When does he start?”

“Who?” He just wouldn’t look at her; that should keep his brain functioning.

“The contractor,” she said patiently. “When will he get here?”

“I’m going to fix this floor.”

“You?”

She looked annoyingly incredulous. “It’s just a matter of following procedures.”

“Which, I imagine, you’re good at.”

Another jab, but this one offered with a sweet little smile that addled his brain. “I can do this,” he said more stiffly than he intended.

“Hmm.”

“What does that mean?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said.

“Tell me.”

“Fine. I just didn’t think you were going to attempt this by yourself. In fact, I think I’m better suited for this than you.”

“You?” He laughed when she nodded her head. “No way.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re a walking disaster area!” He crossed his arms in a gesture he recognized as ridiculously childish. Dropping them purposely, he said with forced calm, “I’m not going to let you handle the construction here.”

“Why? Because I’m female? Or because I don’t have a Ph.D.?”

“Neither,” Hunter said, taking note of the sudden coolness in her tone.

“Why, then?”

“Because you have a habit of creating chaos in everything you do.”

She ignored him and danced into the kitchen.

Her perfectly showcased rear continued to rock to the beat of the music as she surveyed the mess her refrigerator had made of the floor. Hunter slammed his hands into his pockets and studied the ceiling.

He would not, no matter what, kiss her mouth again.

It would be the death of him. She represented everything he couldn’t deal with; lack of control, recklessness, frivolous behavior – he wouldn’t be able to take it.

If only her eyes, and the intelligence he caught behind them, didn’t draw him so. “Trisha.”

“Can’t hear you,” she sang out, still refusing to look at him.

He spun her around gently, then backed her to the counter, bracketing her hips. Beneath his hands, he felt nothing but warm, soft woman, which made concentration difficult, but he had to get his point across. “For the record, I never said anything about you not having a Ph.D. That doesn’t matter to me.” Unable to help himself, he pulled her flush against him just to feel more of her, telling himself he had to hold her to keep her still.

Her sigh just about undid him. “So it’s because I’m a woman?”

He dipped his head to her neck, dragging his open mouth lightly down her throat and over her shoulder, taking her weight when her knees buckled. “I never said that either.” Lord, she felt good, so right in his arms. Her hands ran over his skin so gently, he nearly moaned at the contact.

For that interminable moment he forgot to resist her, forgot he didn’t want this. Then she lifted her head and looked at him, really looked at him, as if she could see into the farthest recesses of his mind.

With a perceptiveness that shocked him, she said quietly, “I want you and I know you want me. What makes this wrong is the fact that you don’t want to want me.”

Hunter went still, but didn’t break eye contact. He couldn’t because he was inexplicably drawn by the despair he saw reflected in her gaze. Without thinking, he tightened his grip on her, wanting to comfort.

“You can’t break my lease,” she whispered, pushing out from between him and the counter. “I won’t leave.”

“Did I say anything about your lease?”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Let’s get the floor fixed first,” he suggested.

He was patronizing her, putting her off, and nothing could have infuriated her more. She straightened, pride nearly choking her. “I told you, I can fix this floor. And since I ruined it -”

“Fine. We’ll both fix it,” he said, eyebrows creased as if deep in thought. “I’ll need more than two hands.”

Trisha crossed her arms and glared at him, trying to forget the feel of his chest beneath her fingers, the warm, resilient skin that covered surprisingly tough muscle. “How condescending of you! First you insinuate that I couldn’t possibly do the job, now you’re saying you’ll allow me to help you?”

He grimaced and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Ouch. Did I say all that?”

“Yes!”

He sighed. “All right. We’ll work as equals. Does that work for you?”

“Yes. Fine.”

“Fine,” he repeated. “We’ll start tomorrow.”

“Because you say so?”

“Because,” he said, his patience clearly gone, “it’s too late to start tonight. Do you think you can manage to keep all the other floors in the place intact until then?”

Trisha opened her mouth to retort, then realized that they’d been practically shouting to hear each other over the music.

She moved into the living room and flicked at the volume control just as Hunter followed her, yelling, “And when we do fix it, we’ll do it my way or -”

As his voice echoed loudly into the now-silent living room, he blinked in surprise. Trisha laughed at the discomfort on his face. “We’ll do it your way or what?”

“Or… Oh, hell.” His glance was wry, self-deprecating. “You drive me crazy.”

“I’m beginning to see that,” she noted dryly, hiding the sting his words caused. This was what she’d fought to win her freedom for? To be stuck with a neighbor who reminded her daily of her failings? No, thank you. Right then and there she’d have called him prim and proper, just for the pleasure of riling him again, except for one little thing.

No one prim and proper could possibly kiss with as much talent as Dr. Hunter Adams possessed. “Does everything have to be your way, Dr. Adams?”

Frowning, he crossed his arms. “You like to be contrary.”

“Yeah, I do.” It was a wonderful defense, as was sarcasm. It usually held most people sufficiently at bay, but not this man. “Just like you like to be in control.”

He raked his fingers through his blond military-cut hair, looking frustrated. The way it stuck up only made him more attractive. “Control is a good thing,” he told her grimly, as if he were trying to convince himself. He moved to the door. “A very good thing.”

As he started to shut it behind him she smiled wickedly and called out, “If you’re going to cook breakfast in the nude tomorrow, will you knock on the walls so I don’t miss it?”

His shoulders went tense, and his face, just before the door covered it, was entertainingly dark.

She waited for the slam of the wood.

But he cheated her, shutting it very quietly.

Trisha saved Sundays to rejuvenate herself. After six fast-paced days, she needed peace. Oh, she loved the shop, wouldn’t consider giving it up. But the worries and stress that came with running her own business never faded.

To please herself, she never rose before ten o’clock. This was mostly a reaction to the way her aunt Hilda had made her rise at the crack of dawn to go to mass and pray for her “wild” soul.

So when a knock came at her door at six A.M., Trisha merely groaned, flopped over, and covered her head with a pillow.

No way would she get up. That delivery – or whatever it was – would simply have to wait. Or better yet, go away.

“Come on, sleepyhead, you’ve got a floor to repair with me this morning.”

No. It couldn’t be. Her brain was just playing some sick sort of joke on her.

“I even brought you coffee as a peace offering.”

Good Lord, it was. She would recognize that voice anywhere, even before sunrise on a Sunday morning. She swore – quite unladylike.

He made a sound that passed for a laugh, assuring her it wasn’t a nightmare. Not him, not this morning, she thought. Not when she felt too groggy to deal with him properly. “Go away,” she said succinctly.

“Can’t do that.” The bed sank at her hip. The heat from his body warmed hers. “You promised to help me.”

Trisha burrowed deeper and wished she’d bolted the top lock of her front door. “It’s not even daylight yet!”

“This is the best time of the day. I’ve already run three miles and showered,” he claimed with sickening cheer.

He jogged? God save her from frisky scientists. “Bully for you. Go run another three.”

“I guess you’re not much of a morning person.”

“Good guess.”

His big hand settled into the middle of her back, jolting her from lazy contentment into sharp awareness. She knew he must have felt her sudden rigidity by the tone of his next words. “What’s the matter?” he asked innocently. “Didn’t you sleep well?”

No, damn him. His deep green eyes and all the mysteries behind them had haunted her well into the night. She pressed the pillow tighter on her head. “I can’t believe you used the key I gave you to come in here like this. I’m changing my locks.”

“I like to be in control, remember?”

She offered him a not very polite suggestion about what he could do with that control and where he could take it.

Hunter made a noise that again sounded suspiciously like a laugh. But that couldn’t be, she thought from beneath her pillow, because he never laughed.

He tugged on the pillow. “Come on, get up. It’s not good for the body to lounge around in bed.”

In one fluid move, she jerked the pillow off her head and tried to smack him with it, but he easily warded off the blow, grabbed the pillow, and tossed it harmlessly to the floor. Then he grinned at her.