STORY EXCERPT

Grant pulled up the file for the old Whitfield place and pondered, not for the first time since he’d acquired the property, how to proceed. He clicked through the images, recalling Libby’s response to every single room.

Her infectious smile, her enthusiasm. She’d loved the place at first sight almost as much as he had.

“Oh, Grant, it’s absolutely hideous!” She’d wiggled her eye-brows playfully and rubbed her hands together while giving him a mischievous grin. “But, oh…the possibilities.”

Like a child, she’d flung her arms wide and all but twirled from room to room. “The eighties wallpaper has to go, of course. And I know you, you’ll knock out a wall or two to open things up. But the bones of the place are fabulous. All this space. The detail work on this old mantle…”

She’d paused, hands on hips, at the oversized sliding glass doors leading out to a bi-level deck in need of some serious TLC. “Lord have mercy, Ryan could have a field day in this back yard! Get all his creative, landscaping genius juices flowing. Maybe a small kidney- shaped pool with natural stones, and pavers laid out to create an outside bar-and-grill sort of space for entertaining. Can’t you just picture it?”

He could. God, how he could. With her smack-dab at the center of it all, right by his side. Surrounded by family. Creating their own.

She’d glanced at her cell and grimaced. “Shoot! I’ve got to run or I’m going to be late. Let me know what you decide.”

Just as she’d reached the door, she’d turned and her megawatt smile had nearly bowled him over. “Potential. Everything about this old place just screams potential, Grant. I love it! Good luck on making an offer.”

Then she’d rushed off, leaving him charmed, dazed. Horny. God, if he could’ve bottled her vitality, her zest. Hell, if he could survive having it unleashed—his mind went wild, imagining her channeling all that passion into other, more salacious avenues.

It was one thing to fall for someone, and quite another when you were fortunate enough to fall for The One who shared not only your ideals but also your vision and dreams for the future. He’d waited a hell of a long time to find Mrs. Right—so long he’d almost given up hope.

Until Libby.

The road had been rocky and treacherous. In fact, there were still some hurdles to overcome. She wasn’t his. Not yet. But Grant had a plan.

Securing the old Whitfield property was the first step.

That done, he could move into phase two: Seduce Libby. Unless he’d completely missed the mark, she had been fighting the attraction between them nearly as long and as hard as he had.

Her jealous streak the other day, at the hospital, had taken him by surprise. It had been on the tip of his tongue to dispute her comments about his preference for perky, touchy-feely blondes. In fact, he’d been fantasizing how best to wipe that smug grin from her tempting lips when Aaron came in.

How would she react if she knew the truth? When, not if, he corrected.

His office door whipped open and a cool gust of moist air swept through, bringing with it the very woman he’d just been reminiscing about.

He quickly closed out the file on his laptop before she caught a glimpse and ruined his surprise.

“Wow! It’s really kicking up out there.” Libby shoved back the hood of her coat and shook out the rain-tipped ends of her dark waves. “Jen said to tell you she dropped in and checked on Max. Oh, and he could use more food. Of course, then, considering the weather and your habits, the kiddos talked her into kidnapping him for the night, so…”

Max, his seven-year-old, eighty-plus-pound black Lab, was more likely to lick you to death than to growl at you. Storms—as with most dogs, he’d learned over the years—were Max’s kryptonite. He might look fierce but a little thunder and lightning was all it took to send him scattering for cover. If Max was lucky, Grant was under said covers. But not tonight.

Most days, he brought Max to the office with him, depending on his schedule. But, again, not today. He’d had several back-to-back off-site meetings. Luckily, his sister-in-law, Jen knew him well—he often burned the midnight oil.

Libby held up a white plastic bag bearing an all-too-familiar logo. “Your dad sent dinner.”

“What the hell?”

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.”

“Kidnapping my dog. Dad sending you out in this mess. You should be safely tucked away at home instead of out running around in this shit, just to bring me dinner.” He ran a hand over his face, only now realizing how late it actually was. “Has my entire family gone off the rails?”

“I’m going to assume that’s a rhetorical question,” Libby deadpanned. “And, despite what you and every other Mitchell male may think, I’m not made of spun glass.”

He looked at her long and hard; God, she was gorgeous. Something shifted in the air between them. “Thank God for it, Libby, or I fear you’d have snapped a long time ago.”

She clenched her delicate jaw, jerking her chin up, and narrowed her amber-tinted eyes.

He knew that look. Hell, he knew all her looks. Over the last few years, Grant had learned to decipher the subtle nuances of Libby’s expressions. This one said “not going there.”

Libby placed his dinner on his desk, careful to avoid the blueprints covering most of its surface. She sidestepped him and grabbed a bottled water from the minifridge he kept stocked.

For a few quiet beats, she simply twisted and untwisted the lid while staring out the window behind him. Grant took the opportunity to kick back and absorb the sight of her.

And she was a vision, with her alabaster skin and long wavy hair the color of dark chocolate. Huge whiskey-colored eyes rimmed in thick, dark lashes, and that defiant tilt of her chin. Those lusciously full lips. Her shape was obscured by a bright yellow slicker over dark jeans and brown knee-high leather boots, but Grant had no trouble recalling her lush body—every mouthwatering curve.

Libby Jackson had fueled his every erotic dream since the day they’d met.

Forget dinner. He’d rather nibble on Libby.