Page 28 of The Single Dad Project

Flo glanced away from him, her hand lifting and hovering near her bound locs before her arm dropped back to her side.

“About that. I need to clear the air.” When her gaze met his again, her frown hadn’t completely faded, a small crease wrinkling the space above the bridge of her nose. “I don’t want you to think I lied in the bar. I had no clue you were the architect on this renovation. Hell, I didn’t even know about the renovation or the show until days later when I spoke with Cole. I wouldn’t have placed you, or myself for that matter, in this uncomfortable position. I just...” She did that almost-touch thing again with her hair. “I wouldn’t have lied about that.”

“I didn’t believe you did,” he said, and relief flashed in her eyes, and her shoulders loosened just a bit. Maybe no one else would’ve noticed those details, but he did.

Nothing much about her escaped him, dammit.

“Oh good. I didn’t—”

“But if we’re being honest, I have to admit I don’t think you are the appropriate person for this job.”

Her lips parted, and her slender frame stiffened again. Those brown eyes, more expressive than she probably wished, widened for a fraction of a second, betraying her shock and...and something else. The thick fringe of her lashes lowered too fast, hiding thatsomething elsefrom his view.

“Wow. That went right from awkward to super fucking awkward.” She huffed out a chuckle that he didn’t dare misinterpret as humorous. “How can you make that determination when you’ve known me for five minutes? And three of those were spent—” she cut off the rest of the sentence, her full lips momentarily flattening as she glanced behind her “—spentnot talking,” she finished on a low growl. “That’s pretty presumptuous and asshole-ish of you.”

“Maybe,” he said, cocking his head. “But this is a big project partnering with a major cable network. It needs a photographer with experience. Tell me, Flo—” he crossed his arms over his chest “—how many of these have you worked on? Or, since opportunities like working with a television show don’t come by often, what about smaller jobs? Have you undertaken smaller, similar assignments? Because this—” he waved a hand toward the Victorian “—is different than taking travel pictures of an exotic location or babies on blankets.”

Yes, he’d done a little bit of research on her since the evening they met right there at the house. At twenty-four, she was the proprietor of and sole photographer for Perfect Images, the local photography studio. While owning her own business at such a young age was impressive, it didn’t mean she was ready or the best choice for a job of this magnitude.

Amazing sex and an unfortunate fascination with those sleek cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes and overtly carnal mouth didn’t blind him to those facts.

“Are you listening to yourself? Are you even the least bit bothered by how condescending you sound?” she scoffed, waving a hand. “I think you’re more bothered by the fact that you’ll have to face me every day after seeing me naked.”

Shit.

Unbidden, an image of her slender yet curvy body, beautiful brown skin damn near luminescent with perspiration, burst across the vivid, HD screen of his mind.

A growl threatened to rumble through him, that mental picture pumping arousal into his veins like a hydraulic engine. He clenched his jaw, imprisoning the betraying sound inside him.

“Oh, it definitely bothers me,” he admitted, a hint of gravel roughening his voice. Uncrossing his arms, he stepped closer and lowered his head and voice so only she heard his next words. “That I’m standing right here with about thirty witnesses only feet away from us, and I know exactly how your breasts fill my hands and the precise shade of your nipples after they’ve been teased by my mouth. Or that those gorgeous, strong thighs tremble just before you come... Yeah, it bothers me, Flo. Because all my focus needs to be on this project and not on the beautiful flush that spreads over your skin when you’re aroused.” He ignored her sharp, soft inhale. But damn him, he couldn’t pretend not to see the lust darkening her eyes. Those fucking eyes. “But what bothers me more?” he ground out. “That nepotism and favoritism got you this job and robbed it from someone else who has the experience to pull it off.”

She blinked. Stared at him. Then shifted backward a step.

Had he thought her face, her eyes, too expressive?

He stood corrected. Her expression wiped completely clean, as if she took an eraser to it and swept every emotion away.

A curious twist screwed tight behind his chest bone, pulling taut. It didn’t sit well within him that he couldn’t read her, couldn’t decipher the thoughts running through her head. He didn’t like it...although he’d been the cause of it.

But he couldn’t take back his words, because they were the truth. She was young—too young to have acquired the work experience a project like this required. But he couldn’t do anything about it. The town council had hired her, and while he andVintage Renovationwould use some of her photos, the coffee-table book would belong to Rose Bend. He didn’t hire her and couldn’t fire her.

Still... He had to force his arm to remain by his side or he would rub that sore spot in the middle of his chest.

“Just because you’ve been inside me doesn’t mean you know me,” she quietly said, but the intensity behind the words razed his ears like a piercing scream. “And your opinion doesn’t move me. It’s a nonfactor since the people I respect, the people who are aware of my experience and talent, have already hired me for this job, and I will not walk away from it, whether you believe it’s merited or not. So if me being here bothers you then you’ll have to quit or deal with it. Because that’s your issue, not mine. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She moved again, inserting more space between them. “I’m going to meet more of my coworkers. But you have the day you deserve.”

On the heels of that parting shot, she turned and strode away from him.

Have the day you deserve.

Damned if that wasn’t the most polite “fuck you” he’d ever heard.

CHAPTER SIX

WHATANASSHOLE.

Flo glared down into the pot of potatoes she’d mashed and whipped as if it’d tried to steal her prized, autographed Backstreet Boys’ Millennium CD.

How dare he tell herto her faceshe didn’t deserve to work on the renovation? Who made him the architect god that he could now deliver judgments like he descended a mountain with twin tablets?

---