Page 13 of The Small-Town Seduction Plan

“Oh yeah?” he snorts. “Take a look in the mirror, princess. You’re straight out of my worst nightmare.”

A nightmare?

Crap. I realize I’m wearing my infrared light mask. I quickly take it off, and place it carefully on the table. “It’s a top-of-the-line system, it tightens pores, and reduces fine lines,” I tell him archly. “And excuse me for thinking I had some privacy in my own backyard!”

Duke looks me over. “Yeah, it’s clear you weren’t expecting company,” he says, his lips twitching in a smirk as his gaze drifts over my ratty sports bra, athletic shorts, and layers of various moisturizing product smeared all over my skin, hair, and… other places.

I figured I’d take the afternoon at home for some serious beauty treatments, so slathered on my best skincare, body products, and deep conditioning hair mask. Now, I cringe, glad at least that my blushing cheeks are hidden under a thick layer of hyaluronic goop. He’s right, of course, there’s no way I’d let anyone see me like this. If he had been a paparazzi lurking in the brambles…

Well, let’s just say a leaked sex tape would be less damaging to my career than getting caught looking like a monster from the planet Hydrating Goo.

Typical Hollywood: it’s practically a full-time job keeping up the beauty treatments to be camera-ready, but God forbid anyone see the kind of effort it takes. “Oh no,” we all laugh, in magazine profiles. “I just wear a little sunscreen and mascara, that’s all.”

Mascara, my ass.

But I’m guessing Duke isn’t interested in my rants about unattainable beauty standards, so I just fix him with a glare. “It’s called self-care. You might want to try it, you could use a little hydration in the under-eye department.”

I pick up my bowl and fork from the ground, and stalk into the kitchen.

Duke follows.

“I hydrate just fine,” he grumbles. “I don’t need fake hundred-dollar face creams to do it for me.”

“Oh, sweetie,” I give a little laugh. “You think any of this costs a measly hundred bucks?” I strike a pose. Yes, I’m playing up the spoiled princess routine, but I can’t help it. This man is infuriating! “Anyway, you still haven’t told me what you were doing skulking around back there.”

Duke slams his toolbox on the table. “I came to do you a favor and see about that leak.”

I narrow my eyes. “Why?”

“Can’t a man do a good deed for someone without the Spanish Inquisition?” Duke scowls right back at me.

“Sure they can,” I agree. “Not you. So again: why?”

Duke huffs a sigh. His gaze slides away from me. “I maybe shouldn’t have left you on the highway,” he mutters, shifting on his feet.

“You feel guilty!” I crow. “So now you’ve come to try and assuage all that guilt with some poxy home repairs.”

“Assuage?” Duke echoes, that smirk of amusement back on his lips.

I tense. Clearly, he thinks I’m a bimbo who can’t string two words together.

“Yes, I read,” I inform him icily. “It’s part of my job. Reading lines, and all.”

He’s still smirking, so I scowl. “What? You can’t imagine a woman being literate?”

“Nah, it’s just hard to take you seriously looking like a blue alien.” Duke sniffs exaggeratedly. “What is that stuff?”

“Sea kelp. But I think that’s you who needs the shower,” I add sweetly. “I made an anchovy dressing, and now it’s all over you.”

Duke recoils, frantically swiping at his shirt. “What in god’s name are you doing putting anchovies in anything?”

“I happen to like them,” I reply airily. “They add umami.”

“They add disgusting, that’s what they add.”

“I’ll remember that, the next time I host you to dinner,” I snap back. I point to the stairs. “Bedroom.”

“Don’t you want to get to know me first?” Duke drawls with a smirk.

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