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  The best thing to do was to stay away from her. The hell of it was, he didn't want to.

  ****

  Monday afternoon, Beth sat with a group of architects and contractors at a builders' luncheon. Always on the lookout for business, she usually enjoyed mingling. Today she was distracted and had done more daydreaming than mingling. At least Nash wasn't here. After his mind-bending kiss, he'd withdrawn. The walk back to her hotel room had been tense, the drive home polite and strained. They'd lost their camaraderie and she missed it, more than she was willing to admit.

  Tom Rosenthal tapped her on the shoulder and took the vacant seat next to her. "Good to see you here."

  "You too," she said politely. Rosenthal had never singled her out before and she wondered why he had now. Maybe because they both had designs on Osgood's resort.

  He studied her closely and seemed to weigh his words when he spoke. "I see you at these shindigs whenever they're planned. It's funny Winchester doesn't have to lobby as much as we do. He's never here."

  "Maybe he has more work than he can handle."

  "Yeah, all the big jobs. I'd sure like a few of them, but Winchester's beaten me out of most of them. And I don't think it's all hard work that's done it." He sounded bitter.

  "I don't understand."

  Rosenthal rubbed his palms on his knees. "Look, you're new around here."

  What did that have to do with anything? "I've been here three years."

  "Yeah, but have you had to compete against Winchester before?"

  Most of her work had been with clients landscaping private homes. "No."

  A victorious look came into his eyes. "That's what I thought. You don't know how sly he is."

  Sly was never a word she'd associate with Nash. "Would you explain?"

  Rosenthal seemed to be filled with nervous energy. He couldn't sit still. He slid to the edge of the cushion. "When Winchester first came to this area, he invited me to lunch. He's done the same with other architects."

  "I don't see the harm in that. Colleagues getting together..."

  Rosenthal snorted. "He digs. He tries to learn everything he can about you so he can use it against you."

  "Blackmail?" Her voice squeaked.

  "Not exactly. But if he learns something damaging, he leaks it to the client. That must be how he's won projects away from me. I had a drinking problem a few years back. I believe he told the clients and it swayed the vote."

  She couldn't believe that about Nash. She didn't want to believe that about Nash. "He certainly didn't learn that over lunch unless you confided in him."

  "No, I didn't. I've heard he uses a private investigator."

  Beth had had her fill of private investigators. The one John Winston's ex-wife had hired had only cared about getting paid for his photographs, not the truth behind them. "From whom did you hear this?"

  He impatiently waved his hand. "You don't believe in gossip. That's fine. But where there's smoke, there's fire. I heard when Winchester was bidding on those million dollar amusement parks, he looked into everybody's background."

  She played devil's advocate. "That doesn't mean he found anything or used what he found."

  "Don't be naive, Ms. Terrell. He didn't get famous by accident."

  The angry tilt of Rosenthal's mouth made her wary. "He has talent."

  "Yes, he does. But so do a score of others."

  "Why are you telling me this?"

  "Because you should be forewarned so you can watch your back. You and Winchester seemed to be getting cozy at Osgood's. His interest might not be what it seems. Even though you are an attractive young woman."

  His compliment somehow seemed uncomplimentary. "I still don't understand. Telling me won't help you."

  "Let's just say if I can't get Osgood's resort, I'd rather not see Winchester get it, either." He stood, and with a lift of his hand, moved to a group of men on the far side of the room.

  Beth stared at her water glass. Had she been naive again? Was Nash's character different from what it seemed? Was his "honesty" a calculated ruse to learn something about her he could use against her? The question that nagged the most was--Had the kiss been part of a ploy or real?

  ****

  By Saturday morning, Beth had decided Nash Winchester was not a part of her life; therefore, she didn't need to worry about his business tactics. Not unless he unearthed the scandal and somehow put her in low regard with Osgood. Maybe she should tell Osgood herself. No. That could be a bad move.

  To keep her mind from wandering to Nash or Osgood, she went to the paint store and bought everything she needed to redo her living room walls. She wanted to change the cantaloupe color to pale yellow and paint the ceiling sky blue with white puffy clouds. The change would brighten up the apartment for fall and winter.

  After she moved the furniture and covered it, she began with the ceiling. She tackled a wall next until the blue dried. While she sponged on the clouds, a headache began to pound at her temples. Early afternoon became late afternoon and crawling up and down the ladder became tougher and tougher. As she worked on the third wall, she felt light-headed.

  The doorbell rang. Laying her roller in the paint tray, she shook her head to clear it and went to the door.

  Nash stood on the other side of the screen in a black polo shirt and denim cut-offs. "May I come in?"

  Instantly, just from seeing him, she again felt his mouth on hers, the heat of his embrace, the intensity of his passion. Recognition shone in his eyes. He remembered too. Her runaway pulse added to her bout of dizziness.

  She looked down at her faded red camisole top and the orange knit shorts spattered with paint. Flicking off the kerchief that protected her hair, she said, "You don't want to set foot in there. I'm in the middle of something."

  "I brought your barrettes. I thought you might need them." He held out his hand.

  She opened the screen door and took them from him. When her finger touched his hand, she felt a shock of awareness, remembering her thumb moving over his palm, the feel of his jaw beneath her hands.

  "Beth, what's wrong? It's eighty-five degrees and your fingers are like ice!"

  She put her hand to her forehead and rubbed across her brow. "I have a crummy headache and I feel a little dizzy. Maybe it's the flu."

  He sniffed. "What are you doing in there?"

  She looked down at her clothes. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

  He pulled her out the door and pushed her down on the top step. "Sit and take deep breaths. What kind of paint are you using?"

  She raised her head marginally so it wouldn't spin. "I don't know. It was on sale. Why?"

  "You're getting poisoned by the fumes. Maybe you're just sensitive to them. Some people are."

  "The windows are open."

  He stood. "I'll get you a chair so you're more comfortable."

  "I have one more wall to finish."

  "I don't want you going back in there." His stare nailed her to the step.

  Rebelliousness surfaced and pushed her unsteadily to her feet. "I decide what I do. Not you."

  "Beth, be reasonable. Do you want to feel worse than you do now?"

  "Of course not. But I want to finish."

  The stern expression on his face gentled. "Will you agree to sit on a chair on the porch if I finish it?"

  "You can't do that. You'll get paint all over you."

  "Maybe I'm not as messy as you." At her glare, he teased, "That was a joke. See? The fumes have made you lose your sense of humor. That's serious."

  He looked so smug, so masculine, and so wonderful. "Why do you want to do this?"

  "Because you need help. And if I don't do it, you'll go charging back in there."

  His lips were so sensual. They'd been firm, hot... The paint had gone to her head. "I'm sure you have more profitable things to do."

  "Maybe. But this won't take long."

  "I'll pay you."

  "Beth--"

  "You name a price or no deal."

/>   His eyes twinkled merrily. "After I'm finished, I'll tell you what my work's worth. Agreed?"

  The racket in her head made thinking difficult. "Agreed."

  While he went to get a chair, she stared down at the two barrettes in her hand.

  ****

  Nash peeked under the sheets to find out what kind of furniture coordinated with a blue sky and yellow walls. He'd carried a blue platform rocker outside. Lifting the sheet covering the sofa, he found rainbow upholstery, each color of the spectrum muted into the next. One hulking form drew his attention because he had no idea what it was. He laughed out loud when he pulled off the cover. It was a swing chair! The child in Beth lurked not far below the surface. He'd like to rediscover that aspect of his own personality.

  Plastic crackled under his feet as he found the paint tray. This wasn't what he'd expected to do today. Despite his resolve to stay away from Beth, he'd found he couldn't stop thinking about her. Fantasizing about her. The excitement and arousal he experienced whenever she invaded his mind shook him. When he'd found the barrettes, he'd followed the nagging inclination to see her again. Just a short visit. To test the waters. To reconnect. To convince himself that seeing her wasn't as important as he'd imagined. After he'd dropped her off on Sunday and entered his house, he'd felt...lonely. The silence that had once been friendly seemed to shout angrily at him. Maybe it was a wise voice in his heart telling him to forget the past and get on with his future.

  He didn't know why but it had taken courage to appear on her doorstep. Since when had he felt unsure about seeing a woman? Since he'd met Beth Terrell. Her smile caused his nervous system to engage in gymnastics.

  Trying to forget Beth was sitting on her front porch, dressed in clothes that molded to her body like a glove to a hand, he lifted the roller from the tray and picked up where she'd left off.

  ****

  An hour later Nash stood bare chested in the middle of the room and swiped at his sweaty forehead with the back of his wrist. Finished. Beth shouldn't have any complaints. Hoping she had something cold and wet in the refrigerator, he headed toward the kitchen.

  He smiled at the unique color scheme--lavender walls and pale gray cabinets. The white appliances seemed out of place until he noticed another traditional touch, ceramic molds hanging on the wall. The lady had taste and flair.

  After he poured two glasses of apple juice, he carried them to the front porch. Beth's bare legs and feet were curled up under her; her head lolled against the chairback. She looked young, innocent, vulnerable.

  Her eyes were closed. Softly, he asked, "Are you sleeping?"

  Her lids fluttered open. "Almost."

  Her sleepy voice brought candlelight and long, slow loving to mind. Her dark brown eyes reached to his soul. "How do you feel?"

  She didn't answer him. Her gaze was glued to his chest. Her awareness made his nipples harden as his body acknowledged desire for her and tingled from his forehead to his toes, an odd sensation that left him speechless. He felt naked and at risk, but he wanted nothing more than to delve his tongue into her mouth and press his body into hers until need drove them as far as they could go...and farther.

  When Beth raised her eyes to his, the two of them were suspended in time, hypnotized, shocked by the electricity forking between them. Nash took a step forward, but the movement broke the spell. She looked away first, flung her legs to the ground, and sat up straight.

  Nash felt as if he had to explain his seminude state. "It was hot in there and I thought I could wash the paint from my skin easier than from the shirt." Her line of vision went from his face to the speckles of yellow on his skin and chest hair. When her tongue nervously slipped across her lower lip, he suppressed a groan.

  She slid forward to the edge of the chair. "Is one of those for me?"

  He handed a glass to her. "It sure is."

  She took a few swallows. "I feel much better. No headache. I guess it was the fumes."

  "You shouldn't go in yet. Not to stay. I'm on my way to Shannon's for dinner. Why don't you come along?"

  Beth looked at him as if she was trying to figure something out. "I don't want to barge in on a family supper."

  "You wouldn't be barging in. I know Shannon would like to meet you."

  "Why?"

  "Because I've mentioned you and she's curious." So curious she third degreed him every chance she got.

  "Nash, after last Saturday night I thought you'd realize--"

  "That you don't want to get involved. We're not getting involved. You need something to do for the next few hours until your living room airs out. Believe me, with Shannon's kids around, you and I won't have a moment alone. You're safe for the evening."

  She slid her finger down the side of the sweating glass. "You're sure I won't be intruding?"

  He could see she was tempted. "Positive." Then something made him ask a question. "Do you like kids?"

  She shrugged. "I don't know. I've never been around children much, being an only child. And most of my friends put their career first and are just now beginning to think about starting a family."

  Honesty. He was learning to expect that from her. He'd known women who pretended to like children because they knew he did. "Shannon's three kids will give you a crash course in how kids drive adults crazy." He set his glass on the top porch step. "I'll go home and shower and be back in half an hour." He bent his head toward the living room. "Don't spend any more time in there than you have to."

  She nodded without giving him an argument.

  He smiled.

  As he strode to his car, he felt like whistling.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Nash led Beth to the backyard patio of a brick rancher. Shannon's youngest son, Davie, came running and threw his arms around his uncle's legs. The tight hug reminded Nash how much he loved the little boy. Would he ever have the precious opportunity to love and care for another child of his own?

  The four-year-old broke into Nash's thoughts. "Mom said you were bringin' someone. What's her name?"

  On Beth's insistence Nash had telephoned Shannon to make sure a guest wouldn't be a problem. He ruffled his nephew's hair. "Why don't you ask her?"

  Davie became the epitome of shyness, releasing Nash's legs but standing merely an inch away. His forefinger went into his mouth and he looked down.

  Beth didn't move closer, but crouched to his eye level. "My name's Beth. I'm a friend of your uncle's."

  Davie's finger slipped out of his mouth and he eyed her

  carefully. He must have decided she was acceptable because he asked, "Do you shoot marbles with Uncle Nash? I do that with my friends."

  "We've never done that," she said with a quick glance at Nash.

  "Then what do you do?"

  Suppressing a smile, Nash interrupted. "We jog together."

  Davie looked up at him as if that wasn't a satisfactory replacement. "You oughtta teach her about marbles."

  "I might," Nash said seriously.

  Davie grinned. "We can teach her now. I'll go get Roger." The small boy took off at a run toward the house.

  Beth stood up straight and swept her hair behind her ear. "You handled that well."

  "I'm practiced. Come on." He curved his arm around her shoulders to propel her toward the back door. She felt right in his arms. That's where he wanted her to be. "Before the boys snare you, I want to introduce you to Shannon and Wayne. Since the house is air conditioned, we're having dinner inside."

  Nash was proud of his sister. She welcomed Beth and didn't ask too many questions. He watched the two women interact and they seemed to like each other. That was important to him because... Just because.

  It was difficult to sit next to Beth at dinner and not want to touch her. When he surreptitiously helped Shannon's middle son Jason transfer cauliflower from his plate to Nash's, Beth bumped his elbow.

  "You're aiding and abetting a minor."

  Nash was unrepentant. "It's because he's a minor that he needs to be aided and abett
ed. How many adults do you know who eat cauliflower?"

  She thought about it. "All the adults at this table."

  "I mean adults who have a free choice. Even Shan doesn't like the stuff. She cooks it because she thinks she should."

  Beth smiled.

  He wanted to kiss her but his nephew brought him back to the table. "What's for dessert?" Roger spoke as he forked the last mound of mashed potatoes on his plate into his mouth. "Mom said you bought something special at the bakery this morning."

  Nash winked and licked his lips with a smack. "Black forest cake." At the boys' puzzled expressions, he elaborated, "Chocolate cake with cherries and whipped cream."

  "Nash is here so often he feels he has to contribute to the food budget," Wayne explained to Beth. "He doesn't realize the weekends he gives me and Shannon the time to be alone are worth at least ten years of daily meals."

  Beth inspected Nash steadily. "You babysit?"

  Something in her expression said she liked the idea. "Nope. They aren't babies anymore. We hang out at my place. They appreciate a change of scene, too."

  "And we get to appreciate the house without the wonderful voices of children," Shannon added.

  Nash pointed his finger at her. "You miss them. You can't wait till they come home Sunday night."

  Shannon sighed dramatically. "You know me too well."

  Wayne pinched her cheek. "Not as well as I do."

  She squeezed his hand lovingly.

  Nash's chest tightened. He wanted that. The silent communication, the inside jokes, the ability to be so close to someone he could read her mind. His eyes rested on Beth. He wished he could read her mind.

  While Nash and Wayne enjoyed second pieces of cake, Davie dragged Beth off to show her his collection of marbles. The other boys followed. When they all gathered in the living room again, the boys roughhoused with their father and Nash. Arm wrestling turned into body wrestling and tickling.

  Finally Shannon interrupted the fun. "Time for bed."

  After a chorus of "Aws," Davie piped up, "Can Uncle Nash put us to bed?" He turned to Beth. "He tells great stories. I like the one about alien invaders who zap everybody with a laser so they can sing rock music."