Irresistibly Exotic Men. Laura Iding

perfect integrity. Hell, she’d actually admired his professionalism and commitment even if she hadn’t agreed with his workaholic drive.

      His unwavering gaze held hers in silent stalemate. Then, with a sudden grimace, he rolled his shoulder and rubbed the base of his neck.

      Trapezius, she automatically thought. Tight deltoids. Possible back pain. Definite headache.

      She blinked, confused. Weariness practically oozed from this man’s pores, his features etched in frustration. And try as he might to hide it, she could make out the lines of pain bracketing his mouth.

      As quickly as her sympathy rose, she tried banishing it.

      And still he continued to massage his neck, almost as if it was a subconscious tic. Maybe, she thought grudgingly, high stress levels could send someone temporarily insane.

      “So you’re renting this place,” he finally said.

      She held his gaze. “Yes.”

      The cynicism in his eyes didn’t intimidate her one bit. If anything, it spurred her irritation.

      “So who’s the agency? You have an address? A phone number?”

      “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

      “Look, I’m trying to get to the bottom of this and you’re not helping.”

      He was so obviously used to asking the questions, to having ultimate control, that Beth couldn’t contain a humourless laugh. She’d dealt with his kind all too often. “How’s about you help me and get out of my house?”

      “What?”

      “You heard.”

      “Your house?” He narrowed his eyes. “Last time I checked, this place was my uncle’s.” His dark expression grew thunderous. “Were you and he involved?”

      Her breath choked off for one second, then came rushing back in a hiss, face flaming. “First you barge into my house then accuse me of sleeping with your uncle. Are you crazy?”

      Luke gritted his teeth, the headache pounding in earnest now. Jeez, this lady isn’t Bambi, she’s Godzilla! “Look, we’re not going to achieve anything by yelling at each other.”

      “That’s right.” She marched down the hall, leaving him no choice but to follow. “I live here, Mr. De Rossi. If you’re telling the truth, then come back with proof.”

      Exhaustion tugged at his legs, desperate to drag him down. All he wanted was a shower and a decent night’s sleep—he’d be willing to commit a felony to get it just about now.

      So maybe he could reason with her soft side. If she had one.

      Time to change tactics. He took a step toward her, a conciliatory smile teasing the corners of his mouth, palms turned up in supplication.

      “I’m sure we can come to some arrangement.” Rewarded by her startled look, he continued. “You know who I am, so you know I’m good for—”

      “Good for what?” Her calm response had him flashing a real full-on smile, one he knew could melt a few hearts and strong wills when he chose. “And what kind of arrangement did you have in mind?”

      As they stood there with the warm evening breeze drifting through the doorway, Luke happened to glance down. Her tank top gaped at the neck, displaying a gentle swell of cleavage. Bloody hell. Quickly he dragged his eyes up, but a sheen of sweat dotting her smooth honey throat diverted his attention.

      “Just give me a break, Ms. Jones.” He swallowed and finally managed to focus on the doorjamb behind her left ear. “I drove down from Brisbane and dodged reporters to get here.”

      “Not in the car that’s being jacked, I hope.”

      His reaction couldn’t have been more perfect. As Luke whirled, Beth put her hand firmly in the small of his back and shoved with all the pent-up anger and frustration bubbling inside.

      Luke stumbled through the doorway. By the time he’d regained his balance, she’d locked the security screen.

      “Possession is nine-tenths the law. Have a nice night!”

      Then she slammed the door in his stunned face.

       Two

      Tuesday morning rolled in on brilliant beams of spring sunshine, streaking across the cloudless sky and encouraging more than one worker to call in sick.

      Luke sat in his parked car and stared across the yard and into the kitchen. Beth moved with purpose—firm, precise and direct. The very thought of tangling with her cranked his warning system up to maximum volume.

      Most men would have taken the hint and let the local cops sort this mess out.

      He wasn’t most men.

      He’d called Gino’s lawyer and been put on hold for ten minutes. When he’d rung back, the receptionist apologized profusely then proceeded to put him on hold again. With a curse he’d finally hung up.

      He should’ve gone with his first thought and refused the bequest. Except …

      Gino always knew exactly what he was doing when it came to his business interests. There was a reason Luke had been named beneficiary and by God, he was going to find out. Even if it meant dealing with a possible mistress.

      So, two options—call in the cops or deal with the situation himself.

      He sighed. No-brainer. Option one meant publicity, something he neither wanted nor needed. With option two, he’d at least be in control. Which meant he needed more information about Beth Jones.

      His neck twinged and he stretched, the muscles pulling painfully taut. As the blinding sun hit his face, he flipped down the visor.

      It didn’t take a degree in psychology to work out the woman didn’t trust easily, especially following his performance last night. He cringed inwardly. He’d suffered an uncharacteristic loss of control, one that wouldn’t happen again.

      His mouth twitched. Damn, if she hadn’t surprised the hell out of him. She was stronger than she looked.

      Luke swung open the car door and got out. Lemons. That’s what she smelled like. Fresh, citrus and edible. Like the old-fashioned lemonade his aunt Rosa made on hot Sunday afternoons … sharp on the surface yet oh, so sweet when you got down to the sugar pooled in the bottom of the glass.

      He scowled. She might smell great and look even better, but he had a job to do. And her guarded suspicion definitely meant there was something she wasn’t telling him. He’d bet his upcoming promotion on it.

      “Thank you for calling Crown Real Estate,” came the tinny message on the other end of Beth’s line. “Our office hours are from—” Beth gripped the phone with a tight sigh then hung up. The phone rang almost immediately. She grabbed it. “Yes?”

      “Don’t hang up. It’s Luke De Rossi.”

      She frowned. “How’d you get this number?”

      “It’s on the deed. Look outside.”

      She spun and stared at the long-legged figure in her front yard. “How long have you been there?”

      “A few hours.” What did he think she was going to do—burn the place down? Do a runner? “We need to talk.”

      She stiffened, waiting for the catch. Luke maintained steady eye contact. Finally, she said, “I’ll come out.”

      With a coolness belying her thumping heart, she released the blinds. They clattered down with sharp finality.

      A burst of nervous energy sent her pacing across the kitchen.

      She