Under the Millionaire's Mistletoe(7)

Movement at the corner of her eye caught her attention and Anna turned  to look. She hated the fact that her heartbeat jumped in her chest at  first sight of Sam Hale striding from the garage toward her. Faded blue  jeans hugged his legs, and he wore a dark green sweater and black boots.

She hadn't expected to have to deal with Sam while working here. Didn't he have things to do? Cars to build? Universes to run?

"What are you doing here?"

"I live here, remember?"

"Yes," she said on an irritated sigh, "I meant … "

"I know what you meant." He glanced into the trunk of her car. "You need all of this to paint a picture?"

"It's a faux finish, not just a picture," she told him, then added, "and yes, I do."

One corner of his mouth lifted and Anna hated to admit even to herself  what kind of impact even that tiny half smile of his had on her.

"Okay, then," he said, reaching into the trunk to pick up most of her equipment. "Follow me."

She didn't have much choice, Anna thought, trotting behind him in an  attempt to keep up with his long-legged stride. He led her toward the  garage and headed directly for an open doorway. She followed him inside  and glanced down the long open space at the cars parked in separate  bays. There were two of them and they were really just shells. No tires,  no engine, no window glass.

"You couldn't afford one with an engine?"

He grinned at her and the solid slam of that smile hit her hard enough to momentarily dissolve her balance.

"Those are great cars," he pointed out after he set her supplies down onto a neatly organized workbench.

"If you say so."

"I thought artists had great imaginations," he taunted.

"I use it for painting, not for driving."

"When I get that Bentley and the Cobra up and running, you'll change your tune."                       
       
           



       

Confused, she looked again at the skeletal cars. She hadn't known that  he was a man to actually get his hands dirty. All she'd ever heard of  Sam Hale was that he designed luxury cars that his company built for the  bored rich. "You work on them yourself?"

"I do. Got my start that way," he said with a sigh of satisfaction. "I  was a mechanic," he told her, shaking his head in memory. "A damn good  one. Worked night and day when my folks died to make sure Garret could  go to college and have a good shot at life."

"What about your shot?" she asked, surprising herself as much as him.

He shrugged. "I did the college thing, but it was cars that drew me in. I  built my reputation slowly, growing my business and then I built a  custom car for a Hollywood producer. He liked what I did so much that he  recommended me to his friends. And before I knew it, I was running Hale  Custom Autos. But I still like to work on cars myself, get my hands on a  flatlined engine and make it purr again. Guess you don't understand  that, huh?"

"Actually, I do," she mused and found herself looking at him in a whole  new light. She'd assumed he was simply another wealthy man, locked in  his office, running his own little world from the top of a pedestal. It  seemed there was more to Sam Hale than she had thought. "Trompe l'oeil  painters can use computer programs to design and detail out every move.  But I'd rather get my own hands on a blank wall and make it something  amazing."

"So," he said with that half smile she found so dangerously compelling,  "you're telling me we have something in common after all?"

She looked at him, standing there all tall and dark and gorgeous.  Seriously, he had enough charisma and magnetic attraction about him for  two healthy men. She knew that for her own well-being, what she should  do was say screw the job and the money and get back into her car. But  she wasn't going to do that and she knew it.

"Yes," she admitted. "I guess I am."

For a brief moment, their eyes locked and the air between them  practically sizzled. There was something here, she thought as her heart  pounded and her mouth went dry. Something that was as exciting as it was  dangerous. And she had zero business feeling this way about him. There  was no way anything was going to happen between them.

He didn't trust her. He thought she was after his money. Well, to be  honest, she was. At least what he was going to pay her for this job. And  as far as Anna was concerned, Sam Hale was an overbearing, arrogant  boob-except he apparently had unexpected depths.

With those thoughts ringing loudly in her head, she took a breath and  shifted the subject to safer ground. "So, what exactly did you have in  mind for your mural?"

"Business it is, then," he said, still studying her. "For now."

He walked to the small office area, separated from the garage by a half  wall. There was a desk, two chairs, a single filing cabinet and a  half-dead fern in a blue pot inside. The walls were white and blank.  There was a skylight overhead, providing plenty of natural light, but  there were no windows, which struck Anna as odd.

"I don't have a lot of windows in here," he said as if he knew exactly  what she was thinking. "When I'm working on the cars, I like to keep the  area as clean as possible. Don't want dust and dirt blowing in, but it  gets claustrophobic in here after awhile."

"I can see why," she said, already studying the pristine white wall,  letting her imagination kick in. "Can't you put in windows that don't  open?"

He shook his head. "Dust can still get in with a loose seal or whatever.  The skylights are double-sealed. Until I get down to serious work I can  open the garage bay doors for air. But once the detail work starts,  I'll be keeping the place shut up tight."

"Okay, do you want anything in particular?"

Another slow smile curved his mouth. "I can think of a couple of things."

"I'll bet," she said, taking a step back from him just for good measure. "But I was talking about the mural."

He shook his head. "I'll leave that to you. I just want to be able to  look at something that makes me feel less closed in. Can you do it?"                       
       
           



       

"I can." She walked to her supplies and pulled out pencils, a yardstick and blue painter's tape.

"Do you need anything from me?"

"Just for you to go away," she said, knowing she'd never be able to concentrate if he was in the room watching her.

"You got it." He started out of the office. "I'll be working in the garage. If you need anything, let me know."

"You're working here?"

He smiled again and Anna felt that rush of something hot and wicked  sweep through her one more time. She hadn't counted on having him  underfoot all day. She'd expected him to leave her alone. The  claustrophobic feel of the massive garage instantly notched up a level  or two.

"I can run my company from here with a laptop and a phone," he was  saying. "So until you're finished, I'll be right here. Every minute."

"Great."

He grinned and she knew he was enjoying her discomfort. Deliberately,  she turned her back on him and went to work. If she could keep busy  enough, she told herself firmly, she'd forget he was near.

Sadly, even Anna didn't believe that.



She sang when she worked.

Sam groaned and banged his head on the uplifted hood when he  straightened abruptly. Rubbing the aching spot on his skull, he shot a  glare toward the woman taking up far too many of his thoughts. He'd  thought having her here would be a good idea. He could watch her. Find  out who she really was.

Sam had thought about calling his brother to let him know that Anna  actually did have a price. But he decided against it. He knew Garret was  over her, but Sam didn't want hard feelings between him and his  brother. If Garret brought up her name again, Sam was simply going to  point out to his younger brother that Anna had said flat-out that even  though she hated him personally, she was going to take his money.

Wouldn't that prove once and for all that the gorgeous Anna was as mercenary as she was beautiful?

Wouldn't that prove to his brother that Sam had been right all along?

Only problem?

Sam wanted her.

Bad.

When his cell phone rang, he lunged for it, eager for a distraction. "Hale."

"You sound like you want to hit somebody."

Sam scowled at his brother's cheerful tone. It was Garret's fault that  Sam was, at the moment, tied into knots. "You volunteering?"

"Hell, no," Garret said, laughing. "Just wanted to tell you I'm leaving town for a while."

"What?" Irritated, Sam wondered when the hell his younger brother was  going to grow up. "You can't leave town. You've got a job."