Open Invitation?

Dan guffawed and didn’t move his boot in spite of the proximity of the food.

Lilia squinted meaningfully at it, but he must have been convinced that she was admiring the awful footwear. She slid the tray closer to the boot, and then closer, until she actually nudged it and he took the hint. “Your coffee, Mr. Granger.”

He eyed the beautifully set tray uneasily. “The Sunday china, huh? I’m honored.”

“No, no. I use this every day. Here you are,” she said as she handed him his cup and saucer. He needed to get comfortable with this sort of thing.

His big paws dwarfed the delicate bone china and he looked at it as if it might bite. “I’m awful afraid I might drop this.”

“Of course you won’t,” she said with loads of cheer.

He lifted the cup by its tiny, finely crafted handle, which disappeared entirely behind his big fingers. He took a slurp and then gingerly set cup and saucer down on the corner of her desk, watching as she prepared her own coffee.

“Would you like a cookie? A strawberry?” She held the plate out to him. Granger snagged a cookie and popped the whole thing into his mouth while she watched, horrified and yet fascinated by the clean, no-nonsense appetite of the gesture.

She had to admire the even white teeth crunching down on the cookie, devouring it in a single bite. And the nod and grin of simple appreciation as he said, “Mmm. That’s good.”

She also couldn’t help but notice the heavily muscled, tanned arm that helped perform the gesture. In fact, his bicep was quite delicious. She nibbled delicately on her own cookie. And look, there’s a matching bicep right over there. Plus an intriguing, broad expanse of chest under the snug T-shirt, a flat belly underneath and…oh, dear. She was looking there again.

How could she? But just that tiny peek had revealed a…well, she really shouldn’t have noticed, but…it… went quite a distance down his right thigh from where it originated.

“Miz London? Your file?”

She blinked. He’d extended her manila folder to her, across the desk. “Oh, yes, of course. Excuse me.” She put out her hand to take it, her cheeks heating, and fixated on that sexy mouth and chin again. Suddenly an image of them right between her legs shocked her and she reared back, dropping the file. What in heaven’s name was wrong with her?

The papers hit the floor in a messy cascade, and she reached down for them at the same time he did, their faces almost colliding. “Excuse me!” she said.

“Pardon me,” he said. He straightened and took a step back, hip jogging the corner of the desk and then, most unfortunately, the Royal Doulton cup and saucer. They crashed to the floor and splintered while black coffee splashed onto her hand-embroidered cream rug.

“Oh! Oh, oh!” Lil repeated stupidly, staring at the mess.

“Dad gummit!” exclaimed Granger, his expression appalled. Then he peeled off his T-shirt.

“What! What are you—”

He dropped it onto her carpet and placed his boot on it, mopping up the excess coffee while she sputtered and stared at his naked, furred chest and flushed bright red and then sputtered some more. “No! Thank you. Don’t rub! Blot.” she finally managed to get out. Then Lil ran for the kitchenette and club soda and carpet cleaner.

Jane was there, peering into the refrigerator with a hopeful expression. “What’s the matter?”

“Spill,” Lil said. “Destroyed Royal Doulton, Nana Lisbeth’s. And he’s half-naked in my office! Give me the club soda, please.”

Jane looked at her as if she were an escaped lunatic. “Half naked in your office? Cow patty man?”

Lil nodded and rushed off with the soda, the carpet cleaner, a dish towel and the dustpan. Not surprisingly, Jane followed, unable to resist.

Dear God, the man’s back…a beautiful, bronzed jigsaw of perfectly placed muscle, moving with sinuous grace as he blotted her carpet with his own T-shirt—the savage. The sweet, helpful, magnificent barbarian. In that ridiculous leather belt with D-A-N carved into the back of it.

Despite the idiotic belt and the fact that he’d destroyed Nana Lisbeth’s china, a hot electric flash drove through Lil’s core. Part of her wanted to grab him by the belt buckle that ate Dallas and pull off his pants, too. She ignored the renegade impulse. It wasn’t at all ladylike.

“Thank you, Mr. Granger,” she said firmly, taking over. “Really, you didn’t have to use your shirt for cleanup.”

He moved aside and shrugged. “I got ten more in my carry-on bag. No big deal. I do apologize for bustin’ your dishes. I really, really do. Can I buy you a new set? I know how you women are about matched sets of things.”

You can’t replace a sentimental, family piece. Lil poured club soda over the soiled area of the rug. “No, no, of course not. These things happen. You’re very sweet to offer, though.” She forced herself to smile at him, set him at ease again, minimize his embarrassment and guilt. That was the polite thing to do.

But it was a bad idea, since she couldn’t seem to look away from his pectorals and that quite stunning abdomen and…no. She would not look lower again. There are some packages that are not meant to be opened.

As she blotted up the stain, he must have noticed Jane in the doorway. “Haaaaaaaaaaaaa.”

“Hi,” Jane said, a tremor of amusement in her voice.

“Dan Granger, ma’am. Klutz at large.”

“Jane O’Toole. You’re obviously not from around here.”

“Amarillo, darlin’. Pardon me while I grab another shirt from my bag.”

“Oh, feel free,” Jane said.

Lil and Jane both watched as he rummaged through a beat-up canvas duffel next to two large suitcases—Lil had told him to bring anything he planned on taking to London—and pulled out a spare shirt. They continued to watch as, oblivious, he raised his arms with a ripple of muscle and then stuck his head through the neck hole, with yet another ripple. Lilia’s mouth went dry and she found herself on the receiving end of an infuriating smirk from Jane. “Nice to meet you, Dan,” she said. “I’ve got to get back to work.” And with a knowing grin in Lil’s direction she did so.

Well, that settled it. Even if Granger spoke proper English, was the last virile man on the planet, and her life depended upon it, Lil would never “go there.” Because Jane wouldn’t ever let her live it down.

Granger was now digging deep into the pocket of his Wranglers, which only served to pull the fabric hard against his—that, uh, most interesting bulge. Lil pressed her lips together. She knelt down and concentrated on sweeping the shards of Nana Lisbeth’s cup and saucer into the dustpan.

“Here,” said Granger’s voice. “I’d really feel better if you’d take this.”

She looked up, straight into his crotch and dropped the dustpan. The shards scattered again. He held out a wad of green bills.

Soft laughter came from the hallway and she saw Shannon disappearing into the kitchenette. Lil had to admit that she and Granger must make an interesting vignette: she on her knees in front of him, while he held out a wad of cash.

“Mr. Granger, I couldn’t possibly—”

“Dan,” he said. “Just call me Dan, honey.”

That was another thing they needed to address: he couldn’t walk around calling every female he met “sweetheart,” “darlin’,” or “honey.” “Mr. Granger, I know that things are different down south, but—”

“Dan,” he repeated, squatting down with her and gently taking the dustpan from her hands. They spoke at the same time.

“—you mustn’t use terms of endearment with women you don’t know, as you risk—”

“Don’t worry, in London I’ll call the ladies ‘love.’”

“—offending them.”

They squatted on her rug, knee to knee and face-to-face. She could see the pores in his skin, the tiny lines on his lips, the intense, hungry look in his eyes.

He swept the shards back into the dustpan. “Besides bustin’ your china and trashing your rug,” he drawled, “do I offend you, Lilia?”