Bachelor By Design: Bachelor By Design / Too Hot For Comfort

He narrowed his eyes. “You know Ramon?”

She didn’t like his tone. “Better than anyone. He happens to be my brother.”

Trace closed his eyes. “That explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“You’re a D’Onofrio. That explains why I’ve felt uneasy ever since you walked through the door. Wherever D’Onofrios go, disaster follows.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t you think that’s a bit of an exaggeration? Not all D’Onofrios are troublemakers.” Most of them, she admitted to herself, but not all.

“Tell that to my toe.”

“Let me see it,” she said, standing up and walking over to the chair that held his injured foot. She reached out one hand to unwrap the gauze.

“Don’t touch it!”

“I just want to take a look,” she replied, ignoring his protest.

He grabbed her wrist.

“Are you a doctor?”

“No, I’m an interior designer. And in my professional opinion, white gauze doesn’t go at all with this seat cushion. Didn’t the pharmacy have anything in lavender?”

“Very funny.”

“They say laughter is the best medicine.”

“I prefer Novocain. Unfortunately, it’s wearing off, so I’m not the best company right now. Maybe you could come back tomorrow. Or even better, next year.”

Some men just couldn’t take a joke. “I’m afraid what I have to say can’t wait until next year. It’s about Ramon. He’s very upset.”

“He’s upset? I’m the one who’s been mutilated.”

“Oh, come on. It’s just a little nick.” She gazed down at his foot. “I’ll bet if you took off all that gauze, it would hardly even be noticeable.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Fine. Take it off and see for yourself.”

Surprised by his acquiescence, she leaned over the chair and carefully began unwinding the gauze. All three yards of it. While she worked, she couldn’t help but study Trace’s foot. There was something almost intimate about seeing the bare foot of a total stranger up close. His was long and lean, with a high arch. The nails were clean and cut short straight across. The top of his foot was sprinkled with short, golden-blond hairs.

“Well, what do you think?”

Chloe thought she was much too interested in this man’s foot. She forced her gaze to the toe in question. A neat row of tiny black stitches arched across the very tip. “I think you’ll make a full recovery. Of course, that’s just a layperson’s opinion.” She bit back a smile. “Have you thought about consulting a specialist?”

Trace carefully set his foot on the floor, his face set in a scowl. “No, but I do have a call into my attorney. Assault with a deadly weapon happens to be a felony.”

She straightened, her amusement fading. “You can’t be serious.”

“Obviously, you’re the one who can’t be serious, since you consider this all one big joke.”

“It’s no joke,” she agreed. “In fact, I don’t find it the least bit funny that you fired Ramon over something this—” she pointed to his toe “—inconsequential.”

“I happen to like my toe,” he said through clenched teeth. “And I’d like to keep it. Which means Ramon has to go.”

Chloe swallowed hard and willed the infamous D’Onofrio temper to stay under control.

“Just give him one more chance.”

“Why?”

Because she was terrified her brother would do something crazy if he lost this opportunity. He’d been despondent ever since his fiancée broke up with him—frustrated with his job as a waiter and life in general. He wanted a challenge. Excitement. Riches. Lately, he’d even talked about following in their father’s footsteps. Ramon might not be the best waiter, or even a mediocre carpenter, but she knew for certain he’d make one hell of a lousy jewel thief. Which meant if she didn’t do something fast, another D’Onofrio would end up behind bars.

“Well,” Trace asked, breaking into her reverie, “why should I give your brother a second chance to dismember me?”

As she stared into his deep blue eyes, her stomach suddenly went all queasy on her. Trace Callahan was too self-absorbed, too stubborn, and much too handsome to understand how much this job meant to someone as sensitive and insecure as her brother. And she’d be damned if she was going to beg.

“Why?” She tipped up her chin. “Because I can make it worth your while.”

He leaned back in his chair and gave her a slow, insolent once-over. “What exactly are you offering, Miss D’Onofrio?”

“Myself.”

TRACE TIPPED so far back in his chair, he almost toppled over. He grabbed the edge of the table and pulled himself upright. This couldn’t be happening. One moment Kimberly announces she’s joining a convent, and the next moment a voluptuous, desirable woman sails into his condo and offers herself to him.

He must be dreaming. Or hallucinating. Perhaps the trauma of his accident was finally getting to him. Although, if a minor injury induced this kind of fantasy, he was almost willing to give Ramon free access to all his power tools just to see what else might develop.

Almost.

Of course, this was no dream. Chloe D’Onofrio was sitting right in front of him. In the delectable flesh. His common sense told him he could never consent to such an agreement. His body, on the other hand, was entirely ready, willing and able.

He cleared his throat. “That’s an…intriguing proposition.”

She sat down in the empty chair. “I call it good business. Tit for tat.”

He closed his eyes, wishing she hadn’t used that particular phrase. When he opened them again, she was still there, sitting with one long, slender leg crossed over the other, her short skirt barely reaching mid-thigh. He’d never seen legs like hers before. They were true works of art. And he was a devoted connoisseur. He tore his gaze from her legs. “Are you sure you’re an interior designer?”

“Positive. And a damn good one, too. That’s the reason Madame Sophia hired me to redecorate Café Romeo.” She hesitated, then one corner of her mouth tipped up in a slow smile. “Or at least, one of the reasons.”

“Aunt Sophie hired you?” he asked, reeling with this latest revelation. He’d been after his aunt for weeks to hire an interior designer so he could consult with him on some of the remodeling plans for the café. Only the him turned out to be a her. And even worse, a D’Onofrio.

She nodded and opened that sensual mouth, but he interrupted her before she had a chance to elaborate.

“Wait a minute,” he said, as the rest of her words finally sank in. “What do you mean, one of the reasons? What other possible reason could there be?”

She arched one delicate brow. “You don’t know?”

A heavy, sinking sensation filled him, but he didn’t even want to consider that possibility. So he lied through his teeth. “No, I don’t have the faintest idea.”