Mr Right Next Door. Teresa Hill

gets morning sunshine,” Harry said.

      “Do I look like a guy who gives a crap about morning sunshine?”

      Harry just laughed. “That’ll put you on the side of the house facing our pretty blonde’s apartment. Get a room on the second floor and you might be able to look in her windows.”

      No way Nick wanted to look in her windows. He was starting to sweat just thinking about it. And he wondered how long Harry’d known about the B&B but left him sitting in the cramped car. He fought the urge to bang his head against the steering wheel in a general expression of dismay about most everything in his life at the moment, most of all this assignment and the woman upstairs with the innocent eyes and the body that just wouldn’t quit.

      The one who made him feel about a hundred and sixty years old.

      He started his toy of a car and tried to prepare himself for what might pass for sweet talk to the owners of the new B&B.

      Nick finger-combed his dark brown hair, which had grown too long for him and was desperately in need of a trim, then ran a hand along his jaw. A shave was definitely in order. Clean clothes, a shower, a real bed…these were the things of his dreams.

      If he could just knock out the blonde and ensure that she’d be unconscious for a few hours, he could take a nap, but he really didn’t want to try to sneak up behind her and do the Vulcan neck-pinch thing and get caught. Plus, it would definitely put her on the defensive when she woke up and he didn’t want that. He wanted her to relax and tell him everything—or at least tell someone in such a way that Nick could eavesdrop on the conversation.

      Which meant no Vulcan neck pinch.

      No nap anywhere in his near future.

      He was grumpy as an old bear.

      He grimaced as he started his toy car and peeled off down the street and into the driveway of the B&B.

      “Harry, you there?” he said into his headpiece.

      “Yeah. Try not to scare the nice people with the nice, soft bed and the hot shower, Nickie.”

      “Why would I scare them?”

      “’Cause you’re a scary guy,” Harry quipped.

      Nick got out of the car, scanning the area even more carefully than before. “Are you looking at me right now, Harry?”

      “Why? You see me?”

      “No, I haven’t spotted you.”

      “Then I’m not looking at you, Nick.”

      Shaking his head and swearing, Nick gabbed his carry-on, popped the trunk and pulled out his suitcase, trying not to grimace at the way it pulled tight something deep inside his sore shoulder. Dammit.

      “So before, you were just guessing about the expression I might have on my face?” Nick asked.

      “Nah, just knowing your sweet disposition and thinking about how much we need this room next door to the pretty blonde, that’s all. Trying to look out for you, give you some helpful hints to make the job easier.”

      “Gee, thanks,” Nick grumbled, making his way to the front door.

      It was made of leaded glass and highly polished oak. A discreet aged-brass plate to the left of the door said, Baker B&B, Main & Vine, Magnolia Falls, Ga.

      Okay, he was going to make nice with the Bakers of Baker B&B if it killed him; beg for a shower then spy on their nice neighbor next door.

      He put on what he hoped was a mild-mannered but tired-to-the-verge-of-exhausted, plain-old-businessman smile, trying to look nonthreatening and ordinary, definitely not grumpy. Like he’d be no trouble at all as a guest of a not-quite-open B&B.

      A woman in sweats, a T-shirt and holding a dust mop answered the door.

      Cleaning lady or Mrs. Baker?

      He had to decide quick.

      He’d insult her if she was Mrs. Baker and he thought she was the cleaning lady and he couldn’t insult her and get a room.

      “Ma’am,” Harry said. “Just say ma’am. It’s what all good Southern boys do.”

      So Harry was watching. The rat.

      Still, Harry wouldn’t steer him wrong when it came to spying. Nick went with it.

      “Ma’am,” he said, respectfully tipping his head to her. “Am I too early to get a room?”

      “Oh, my.” She frowned, then started trying to dust herself, succeeding only in creating a cloud of dust between them. “We’re really not open yet. Not until next week.”

      “That’s what I heard in town, but I was hoping I could change your mind. I love old houses. So much charm and character.” He managed not to choke on the words. He even, he thought, sounded remotely sincere. “And yours looks so inviting.”

      “Thank you,” she said warily. “It’s just that we have so much to get done before we actually open…”

      “Oh, I won’t get in your way. Not in the least. I’m very self-sufficient. And I don’t even eat breakfast—”

      “You don’t?”

      Nick fell silent, not used to strangers asking about his eating habits. He’d only said that to be nice, to make her think he would cause no trouble at all as a guest. Did she expect an answer?

      He gleaned from her expression that she did.

      “Well…no,” he said. “Not usually.”

      “We all need a good breakfast,” she said, taking on a tone he might expect from a maiden aunt, if he had a maiden aunt.

      Nick frowned. He might have a maiden aunt. He couldn’t quite remember. There were all sorts of relatives on his mother’s side of the family who he hardly ever saw. He was doing good if he saw his mother every now and then, let alone anyone else he might be related to.

      “We can’t have you running around without breakfast all the time. No wonder you look so. Well, so…”

      Her words trailed off.

      He gathered that she might want to take care of him?

      Nick didn’t understand. She didn’t even know him. Why would she want to take care of him?

      Still, this was not a bad thing considering what he wanted from her: a room next to his pretty blonde.

      Nick tried to look in need of sympathy and a hot breakfast, but at the same time, like a man who’d cause no trouble at all in an unopened B&B full of dust.

      “Tired?” he suggested. “I look tired?”

      The woman nodded, as if to say that didn’t nearly cover what she thought he looked like.

      “Overnight flight from Brazil,” he said. “Hate those. Absolutely hate them. Getting way too old for them.”

      Harry chuckled in his ear.

      Nick struggled to show no signs of conversing with two people at once, one of whom the woman couldn’t see.

      “Honey,” she said, “if you’re too old, I should be in my grave soon.”

      To which Nick had no idea what to say.

      He stood there looking puzzled, tired but not sickly, he hoped, and in need of sympathy and some kindhearted womanly care, which he thought she could provide if she felt sorry for him, which he hoped she did.

      “Still, I really don’t know,” she began.

      “Sure. I understand,” he said, telling himself not to beg. “I had a room downtown at the…the…”

      “Bluebird Inn,” Harry supplied.

       There was