He rocked back on his heels. “Depends on what kind of agreement we can reach.” Slowly, he took in the slippers, tan legs, and silky robe. “I’ve got a few ideas.”
Like clockwork Abby’s chest rose, followed by her shoulders and that bristly pride that made him smile.
She was gearing up to control her temper, which was a whole hell of a lot better than falling apart.
“Thanks, Tanner.” She patted him—a little too hard—on the shoulder and turned to Rodney. “You need a tool? I’ve got the biggest one in St. Helena, maybe even California, right here at your disposal.”
“Biggest one?” Tanner gave a low whistle. “Wow. I mean, I’ve always received compliments, but biggest? Really?”
Abby’s eyes narrowed in on him and, he couldn’t help it, his lips lifted into a big-ass grin. Hers, however, pressed into a stern line of disapproval that demanded his best behavior and made him feel like one of her exasperating piano students—which he was. He’d been on the receiving end of that look many times during their lessons over the past year.
But before he could prove he was immune to the look, she was back to ignoring him.
“Rodney, I’m giving you two minutes to figure out how to get this thing off my property or I’ll call the sheriff.”
Rodney, smart man that he was, locked himself in the cab of his truck. Then, satisfied with the big guy’s level of fear, Abby turned those big brown eyes on Tanner. “You only get two seconds, so go.”
“To show my gratitude for that moving endorsement, I’d like to return the favor. Say,” he looked at his watch, “lunch in an hour?”
She gave a big exasperated huff and crossed her arms, sending that teeny-tiny little robe of hers on a trip due north and leaving him to wonder what color panties she had on—because it was clear she wasn’t wearing much else under there.
“I’m not going on a date with you,” she said sternly.
“Who said anything about a date?” Her face flushed and, ah, yeah, she wanted to say yes. Stubborn pride was the only thing between him and a second chance to prove he was good enough for the DeLuca Darling. “This is strictly a professional proposition. To talk about a design job I referred you for.”
She blinked. Twice. He, on the other hand, moved closer, crowding her body until he saw proof of just how affected he made her. “Although now that you mention a date, I’m flattered. And the answer is yes. Does this mean you pick up the tab or me? I’m game either way.”
She ignored that, but didn’t back away. “Why would you recommend me for a job?”
Why wouldn’t he? She was one of the best designers he’d ever worked with.
“You do clean work, and I know you’re reliable. And your designs make people want to sit down and stay for a while, which is exactly what the client needs. Bottom line, you’d be perfect for the project.”
He watched her face soften, flush a little—only this time from his praise. He liked the riled Abby, but he loved the shy one even more. It reminded him of the girl he’d met and fallen in love with back in high school. The sweet teenager with the big, trusting eyes who, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake.
“Well, I’m no longer doing closet redesigns or nurseries, so if that’s what this job is, better look elsewhere,” she said with a self-conscious laugh that hurt his heart. “I’m only doing full renovations and rehabs now, not a coat of paint and shelves.”
Then she sobered, her face going coolly blank.
Without warning, she grabbed him by the arm and—whoa, Bossy Abby sent his body humming—dragged him to the front porch—which was one creak and groan away from being condemned—and away from prying eyes. “Did my brothers bully you into recommending me for the job?”
“Sweetheart, I’ve got at least thirty pounds and three inches on your brothers.”
She snorted. “Yeah, but there are four of them. And they don’t fight fair.”
“Neither do I, not when I want something.” And he wanted her. More than he’d ever wanted a woman. And she wanted him too. It was right there in the way she swayed closer, the way she didn’t let go of his arm, and in the way her eyes kept darting to his lips.
Oh, she had it bad for him. She was just too Italian to admit it.
“They didn’t bully me into anything. I’m asking because I know that”—he leaned in and whispered—“the Hamptons are secretly in the market for a new designer.”
She leaned in, her voice mimicking his, although hers held a note of smugness. “I know. I’m meeting with Babs Hampton for a late lunch. It appears I am the front-runner to become their new, secret designer.”