If Zoe McCourt couldn't spare five minutes for some polite conversation, well, that was her loss.
By the time she pulled into a driveway, he'd worked himself into a mass of nerves and irritation. The vaguely annoyed glance she sent him when he pulled up behind her put a cap on it.
Feeling foolish and insulted, he climbed out. "Are you following me?" she demanded.
"Excuse me?" In defense, his voice was flat and cold. "I think you're overestimating your charms. Flynn's worried about Malory. I saw you and thought you'd be able to tell me how she's doing."
Zoe continued to observe him warily as she unlocked her trunk. Her jeans were tight enough to afford him an intriguing view of firm female butt. She wore a short, snug red jacket with an equally snug striped top that stopped a full inch above the waistband of the jeans.
He noted, with some fascination that her belly button was pierced and sported a tiny silver bar. He actually felt his fingertips grow warm with the urge to touch it.
"I stopped by to see her before."
"Huh? Who? Oh, Malory." Now the back of his neck grew warm and he cursed himself. "How is she?"
"She looks tired, and a little down on herself."
"I'm sorry." He stepped forward as she began to unload the trunk. "Let me give you a hand."
"I can get it."
"I'm sure you can." He solved the matter by taking the two heavy sample books of wallpaper from her. "But I don't see any reason you should. Redecorating?"
She took out a paint sample book, a small toolbox— which he pulled away from her—a notebook, and some tile chips. "We contracted for this house. We're going to open the business here. It needs work."
He walked ahead, leaving her to slam the trunk. Yes, it did need work, but it had a sturdy look, and the lot was nicely established. Solid location, decent parking.
"Looks like it has good bones," he commented. "You have the foundation checked out?"
"Yes."
"Wiring up to code?"
She dug out the keys she'd picked up from the realtor. "Just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I don't know how to buy a house. I looked at a number of properties, and this was the best value, with the best location. Most of the work it needs is cosmetic."
She shoved open the door. "You can just dump them on the floor. Thanks. I'll tell Malory you asked about her."
Brad just kept walking so that she had to step back. Though it took some effort, he refused to let his gaze drift down to her navel again. "Are you always irritated when someone tries to help you?"
"I'm irritated when someone thinks I can't handle myself. Look, I don't have that much time to do what I'm here to do. I need to get started."
"Then I'll stay out of your way."
He studied the ceiling, the floor, the walls as he wandered through the entrance area. "Nice space."
He didn't detect any damp, but there was a definite chill. He wasn't sure if it was a faulty furnace or the woman who was blowing cold. "Which part are you taking?"
"Upstairs."
"Okay." He started up, nearly amused now by her impatient indrawn breath. "Nice stairs. Can't go wrong with white pine."
Some of the trim needed to be replaced, he noted. And the double-hung window at the top of the steps had yet to be upgraded. She'd need to see to that, get herself a double-glazed for insulation.
The walls had gone dingy, and there were a few cracks from settling. But that was easily seen to.
He liked the way the rooms split off and ran together, and wondered if she would remove some of the hollow-core doors altogether or replace them with something more solid and in tune with the feel of the house.
And what was she going to do about lighting? He didn't know anything about salons, but it seemed logical that good, strong lighting would be essential.
"Excuse me. I need my toolbox."
"What? Oh, sorry." He handed it to her, then ran his fingers over the chipped and peeling window trim. "You know, you could go with cherry for contrast here. Different woods, leaving the natural grain, going with warm tones. You're not going to cover these floors, are you?"
She took out her measuring tape. "No."
Why didn't he go away? She had work to do, thinking to do. And most of all she'd wanted to be alone in her wonderful building, planning and deciding and dreaming about how it was all going to be when she'd finished.
The colors, the textures, the tones, the smells. Everything. And here he was, in her way, wandering around. All male and gorgeous and distracting in his perfect suit and his expensive shoes. He smelled, oh so subtly, of high-end soap and aftershave.
He probably paid more for a cake of soap then she had for the jeans and shirt she was wearing. And he thought he could just mill around, wafting in her air, making her feel clumsy and inferior.
"What are your plans for this room?"
She wrote down her measurements and kept her back to him. "This is the main salon. It's for hair, manicures, and makeup." When he didn't respond, she was compelled to look over her shoulder. He was staring contemplatively at her ceiling. "What?"
"We have these mini track lights. Very practical, but with a fun look. They have the advantage of being able to be set in a number of directions. You going for fun or elegant in here?"
"I don't see why it can't be both."
"Good point. Soft colors or bold?"
"Bold here, soft in the treatment rooms. Look, Bradley—"
"Ouch. That sounded like my mother." He'd already crouched down to flip through a sample book, and cast her a quick grin. "Do you guys have like a training center where you learn how to develop that withering tone?"
"Men aren't allowed to have that information. If I told you, I'd have to kill you. And I just don't have the time. We're going to close on the property in a month, and I want to have my plans outlined so I can start on them the minute we do."
"I can help you."
"I know what I'm doing and how I want to do it. I don't know why you assume—"
"Hold on. Boy, are you touchy." Wouldn't you think a woman who wore skintight jeans and decorated her navel would be a little more approachable? "I'm in the business, remember?" He tapped the HomeMakers logo on the sample book. "Not only that, but I like helping a building meet its potential. I can give you a hand with some labor and material."
"I'm not looking for a handout."
He set the book aside, slowly got to his feet. "I said a hand, not a handout. What is it about me that puts your back up?"
"Everything. That's unfair." She shrugged. "But it's true. I don't understand people like you, so I tend to distrust them."
"People like me?"
"Rich, privileged people who run American empires. I'm sorry, I'm sure you have some very nice qualities or you wouldn't be Flynn's friend. But you and I have nothing in common. Plus, I have a lot on my plate right now and no time to play games. So let's clear this up, then we can move on. I'm not going to have sex with you."
"Okay, well, obviously my life is no longer worth living."
She wanted to smile at that, nearly did. But she had reason to know his sort was very tricky. "Are you going to tell me that you're not hoping to sleep with me?"
He took a careful breath before speaking. She'd hooked the earpiece of her sunglasses in the V of her shirt, and those long, tawny eyes were staring very directly into his. "You and I both know there's no way for me to answer that question correctly. It's the mother of trick questions. Others in this category are, Do I look fat in this? Do you think she's pretty? And if you don't know, I'm certainly not going to tell you."
Now she had to bite the inside of her lip to hold back the laughter. "The last isn't a question."
"It's still a mystery and a trap. So why don't I just say I find you very attractive. And we have more in common than you seem to think, starting with a circle of friends. I'm willing to help you, Malory, and Dana with this place. None of you has to have sex with me in return. Though if the three of you wanted to get together and organize a nice tasteful orgy I wouldn't say no. Meanwhile, I'll let you get back to work."