“You said that you didn’t want to cramp my style. What do you think my style is?”

With my heart in my throat, I looked over the railing down at him. His gaze was so intense. What did I think his style was when it came to women? They would be beautiful, sexy and a hell of a lot more experienced than me.

“I think your style is probably sophisticated and experienced.”

Great. I sounded like a 90-year-old pensioner. I took two more steps.

“You would be surprised at what my style is,” he said, his voice so quiet I almost didn’t hear him.

I had no idea what he meant by that. I gave him one last wild glance before I concentrated on getting up the stairs and into my bedroom.

I stood looking around my room, unsure why I felt so caught off balance. It made no sense that I was working so hard to make this man feel so welcome when he made me feel so uncomfortable. Pressing my hands to my warm cheeks, I focused on getting ready for bed.

CHAPTER 6

I glancedat the slim Cartier watch on my wrist. If I didn’t hurry, I was going to be late for my shift at the gallery. I stared at my reflection in the mirror and smoothed down the houndstooth pencil skirt. My hair hung in a thick curtain over my shoulders. I had taken undue care with my makeup. I had no idea why I was fussing so much with my appearance today.

I stared at my reflection. That was a lie. The reason why I fussed had everything to do with our new houseguest. Sometimes when you're around someone that impresses you, you don’t want to slink around in your baggies with your hair in a ponytail. You want to feel like your best self.

My high heels clattered on the hardwood of the stairs. At the bottom, I stood and stared at the island, a light-hearted feeling tickled in my chest. A bowl of perfectly sliced fruit and a glass of orange juice awaited my arrival. My heart contracted at the unexpected gesture. Someone had prepared my breakfast for me.

I slid onto the bar stool and hesitated as movement on the garden patio caught my eye. Jackson, clad only in runners and a pair of shorts, squatted deeply. My eyes drifted over muscular thighs and ataut ass. Sweat glistened on his golden skin. He moved to pump out endless pushups. The thick and corded muscles of his arms contracted each time he lowered himself with perfect form. My fork hovered over my bowl as I worked to look away.

I swallowed hard forcing myself to concentrate on my breakfast. Matt had arrived home long after I had gone to bed and I still hadn’t talked to him about our new houseguest. The two men could not be more different. Why were they still in contact with each other? Why had Matt asked Jackson to stay here? For three months? Was this man really going to live with us for three months?

My betraying gaze pulled back to the patio. He performed some crazy hard jump lunge thing that involved a pushup. Didn’t old acquaintances get together for a casual beer and a promise to do it again in the next five years? How did you go from never seeing someone to inviting them to live with you for three months? And why had Jackson agreed? What was the deal between Matt and Jackson? There was more to that story, but until I talked to Matt, I had no idea.

I stood and dumped my empty dishes into the sink. If I didn’t leave for work now, I would be late. Without saying anything to the huge man on the patio, I grabbed my bag and walked downstairs.

I sat in my mini,begging it to behave. “Please baby, please don’t do this to me.”

No matter how many times I turned the key, my mini just ground away in a wha-wha-wha sound that never turned over the engine. I put my head on my steering wheel and took a deep breath. I was going to be so freaking late.

A knock sounded on the window next to me. I turned and blinked at a six-pack that would make Arnold Schwarzenegger envious. I rolled down my window.

“Having some car troubles?” Jackson sounded out of breath.

“She’s pretty fussy. I meant to get her to the mechanic.”

“Huh.” His hands were on his hips. “Why didn’t you?”

The man was blunt. I peered up at his face. “Matt told me I’d get ripped off at the garage and said that he wanted to take my car in for me.”

“Try again.”

I turned the key.

He listened. “That could be anything. Your alternator, your fuel, your starter.”

“So nothing you can fix with a piece of string and some chewing gum?”

“Are you comparing me to McGyver?”

“If the shoe fits.”

His lips twitched as he studied my car. “You need a ride to work?”

My thoughts tumbled. I needed a ride, but I didn’t want to impose. “Aren’t you working out?”