Open Invitation?. Karen Kendall

He wore Western boots. He sported a belt buckle the size of a satellite dish, affixed to a hand-tooled leather belt that she was terribly afraid had his name etched into the back—the distressing equivalent of a dog collar, as far as she was concerned. And worse, far worse, he actually wore a Stetson on his head. The two-day stubble she could live with, since it was in vogue and somewhat George Clooneyish. The scarred, weathered hands might be a problem in his transformation. But his posture was good—excellent for such a tall man.

      And the bulge in his pants was quite impressive…. Shocked at herself for even letting her eyes wander there, Lilia blushed. She ended her quick inventory with a gracious hello.

      “Are you Miz London?”

      “I am. And you must be Mr. Granger. How are you?” Lil extended her hand.

      He stuck out a big paw and shook it. “Cain’t complain.”

      He had the warmest, firmest handshake she’d ever encountered. It almost dislodged her arm from the socket, though. He was roughly twice her size. “Pleasant flight?”

      “The usual. Microscopic packets o’ trail mix and a weak soft drink over too much ice. Lots of orders to fasten my seat belt and enjoy the ride.” Granger grinned down at her, seeming unwilling to relinquish her hand. He looked deeply and frankly into her eyes and she felt something inside her melting.

      She slowly disentangled her hand, unable to look away from his sardonic and wildly sexy mouth. Rimmed by unshaven stubble, his lips sat cockily over a cleft chin set in a strong, angular jaw.

      “Aw, do I have to give that back, Miz London?” He was referring to her hand. “I thought maybe it was mine to keep.”

      Again, she fell into that smile, even though it was a cheesy line. This cowboy was something else. Her heart did a slow roll in her chest, and she blinked.

      The man may not have manners, but he does have magnetism—even if it’s all animal. “Nice compliment,” she said, by way of recovery. “Very good. We can work with that.” She nodded and smiled like a benevolent professor.

      Granger shoved his own hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels as he looked down at her. His mouth twisted. “Thank you, ma’am. If I had a tail, I’d wag it for ya, in hopes of gettin’ a Scooby snack.”

      Lilia tilted her head and evaluated him. Not stupid, in spite of the twang and the slang. He knew when he was being patronized. She’d have to be careful. “Why don’t we go into my office,” she suggested. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

      “Don’t mind if I do.”

      “Cream? Sugar?”

      “Just hot ‘n’ black.”

      She restrained herself from adding the words “please” and “thank you” for him, walked to the antique mahogany desk that had been her grandmother’s and retrieved a neatly prepared file. “While I get that for you, you may want to have a look at our contract.”

      “All right. Uh, d’you have somewhere I can put my hat?”

      “Of course,” Lilia said automatically, and found herself holding the Stetson without the faintest idea what to do with it. She cast a glance at the bronze bust of her grandfather Henry London, who had been knighted by the Queen of England for distinguished work in the sciences.

      Sir Henry sat on a pedestal in a corner of her office. He was terribly dignified and wore a bow tie. A wicked impulse took hold of her. For the next couple of hours, he could also wear a cowboy hat. She took it over to him and perched it on his head at a jaunty angle.

      Granger grinned. “Gives the old pompous ass a little personality, don’t it?”

      Lilia froze. With silent apologies to Grandfather Henry, she aimed a genteel smile in the cowpoke’s direction and said nothing. It would be rude to embarrass him, no matter how tempting. She handed him the file.

      Granger took the file and sprawled into her visitor’s chair, denim-covered knees spread wide. He began to whistle while reading. He cracked his knuckles.

      Oh, dear. Lilia didn’t slap herself in the forehead for taking on this handsome yokel, but maybe she should have. Could she really transform him?

      She made a beeline for the kitchenette to get his coffee. She poured a cup for him and one for herself, using her grandmother’s Royal Doulton china: very thin, very old, hand-painted.

      She sang softly as she set a tray with the cups, saucers, cream, sugar and linen napkins. She added a plate of artistically arranged cookies and fresh strawberries and two silver spoons, also her grandmother’s. Nana Lisbeth’s third commandment was: Food should always look pretty. It tastes better that way.

      With perfect posture, Lilia lifted the tray and glided toward her office, ignoring Shannon who winked at her and lifted her Diet Coke can in a parody of English manners, waving her pinky finger in an exaggerated fashion. Shan’s hideous rendition of “God Save the Queen” did make Lil laugh, though.

      She swept into her office with a smile still on her face, though she felt it wobble when she beheld Dan Granger’s booted foot propped against the edge of her desk.

      “What exotic-looking boots you’re wearing, Mr. Granger!” she exclaimed, hoping he’d take the hint.

      “Elephant hide,” he nodded. “Check ’em out.” He slid the boot farther onto her desk for her perusal. “Cost me a damn arm and a leg, but well worth it.”

      She kept her smile fixed in place as she moved around the other side of the desk and placed the tray squarely in the middle of it. “I do hope the elephant agrees with you.”

      Dan guffawed and didn’t move his boot in spite of the proximity of the food.

      Lilia squinted meaningfully at it, but he must have been convinced that she was admiring the awful footwear. She slid the tray closer to the boot, and then closer, until she actually nudged it and he took the hint. “Your coffee, Mr. Granger.”

      He eyed the beautifully set tray uneasily. “The Sunday china, huh? I’m honored.”

      “No, no. I use this every day. Here you are,” she said as she handed him his cup and saucer. He needed to get comfortable with this sort of thing.

      His big paws dwarfed the delicate bone china and he looked at it as if it might bite. “I’m awful afraid I might drop this.”

      “Of course you won’t,” she said with loads of cheer.

      He lifted the cup by its tiny, finely crafted handle, which disappeared entirely behind his big fingers. He took a slurp and then gingerly set cup and saucer down on the corner of her desk, watching as she prepared her own coffee.

      “Would you like a cookie? A strawberry?” She held the plate out to him. Granger snagged a cookie and popped the whole thing into his mouth while she watched, horrified and yet fascinated by the clean, no-nonsense appetite of the gesture.

      She had to admire the even white teeth crunching down on the cookie, devouring it in a single bite. And the nod and grin of simple appreciation as he said, “Mmm. That’s good.”

      She also couldn’t help but notice the heavily muscled, tanned arm that helped perform the gesture. In fact, his bicep was quite delicious. She nibbled delicately on her own cookie. And look, there’s a matching bicep right over there. Plus an intriguing, broad expanse of chest under the snug T-shirt, a flat belly underneath and…oh, dear. She was looking there again.

      How could she? But just that tiny peek had revealed a…well, she really shouldn’t have noticed, but…it… went quite a distance down his right thigh from where it originated.

      “Miz London? Your file?”

      She blinked. He’d extended her manila folder to her, across the desk. “Oh, yes, of course. Excuse me.” She put out her hand to take it, her cheeks heating, and fixated on that sexy mouth and chin again. Suddenly an image of them