Blush(13)

Disconcerting.

Intriguing.

“I think you have me confused with someone else.” A trace of amusement tinged his voice, although he wasn’t smiling.

Dragging her gaze away from a drop of water making its slow way down his temple to the dark, sexy scruff on his cheeks and jaw, Mia pursed her lips, then shook her head. “No. I don’t believe so. We—” She, who ran a multibillion-dollar company with an iron hand, who’d dined with the president of the United States—several times—and had tea with Britain’s queen, was at a loss for words.

“Fucked?” he offered politely.

“Not my favorite word, but applicable.” Since she hadn’t given Bon Temps her phone number, had his employer anticipated her wanting a repeat performance? Knowing how amazing he was, had they just sent him back because, honest to God, what woman wouldn’t want a repeat of last night’s performance?

He didn’t look like anyone she would know in her other life. He looked real. The real that Blush’s male models strived to emulate for their ads. That rugged, raw sensuality that was hard to duplicate. He looked— Hell, sexy wasn’t a job description. “I’ll get your mon—”

Thunder reverberated, and something large, hairy, and wet shot around her legs, causing her to stagger. The situation was already fraught with tension and she let out a small scream of surprise as she reached out for something to hold on to for balance.

He grabbed her upper arm to prevent her from falling. His hand was large, his skin considerably darker than hers. Just seeing his fingers circling her upper arm made Mia’s brain go blank for several beats. She blinked her brain back into action. “What on earth—” Glancing back, she didn’t see anything other than splotches of wet mud in a meandering line from the door into the house.

“Sorry ’bout that. Oso is afraid of thunder. Okay if I go get him?”

She had no idea what an Oso was; she presumed a dog. “Wait here. I’ll find him.” Yes, he’d been inside the house before—hell, inside her—but that didn’t mean he was welcome whenever he felt like dropping by.

She needed to establish some rules before she—they . . . before—

She started to close the door, and felt a twinge of alarm to realize he had his foot wedged against it, preventing it from closing.

He pushed it farther open with one large hand. His arm barring the opening now. “Oso won’t come to a stranger. He’ll hide until I find him. Let’s start again.” Dropping his arm, he stuck out his hand, which she automatically took. “Cruz Barcelona.”

“Mia Hayward.” Her much smaller hand was engulfed by his. Muscle memory felt the electricity of his touch as those fingers cupped her breast, his thumb strumming her nipple. Get a grip!

A person could judge a man on his firm, no-nonsense handshake. And if they were in a boardroom, Mia would’ve let go almost immediately. But they weren’t in a business situation, and the way his fingers closed around hers was more intimate than a mere handshake. She withdrew hers as quickly as though she’d been burned.

A long dent, not quite a dimple, appeared in his cheek when he almost smiled. Mia’s heart did calisthenics as her gaze slid to the chiseled curve of his mouth. Dear God, the guy had the mouth of a fallen angel, and the deep, dark eyes of a sinner. His effect on her was disconcertingly profound. Even more so because she’d never been this aware of a man before in her life.

“Dan Hicky at the general store told me you’re looking for some help,” he said easily, his deep voice curling through her veins like hot smoke. “Electrical? Some plumbing? I’m a jack-of-all-trades; he thought we’d be a good fit.”

Mia knew the ways they fit, and felt her cheeks heat. She’d blushed more in the last few hours than she’d done in her entire life. “And you’re employed by . . . ?” She was starting to suspect it wasn’t the Bon Temps Escort Service.

“Currently unemployed. Unless you have work for me?”

It occurred to Mia that she could hire him to keep her sexually satisfied until she was able to go home. She pushed the door wider—something she wouldn’t do in San Francisco, even if her bodyguards were with her. But then again, she’d left herself totally vulnerable last night and it had ended up being the best thing she’d ever done. “Your dog’s probably in the kitchen. Come in.”

• • •

Said the spider to the fly. Clearly she was under the misapprehension that he was trustworthy because he’d fucked her the night before. He gave her a slow, lazy smile, with just enough heat to help reinforce her misconception and keep her guard down.