The Fantasy Factor. Kimberly Raye

need to loosen up.” As he said the words, she got the distinct impression that he was talking about more than just her grip on the key.

      “Thanks for the advice, but no thanks. I do not need to loosen up.” To prove her point, she focused every ounce of energy she had on ignoring the delicious feelings assaulting her body. She held her breath and turned the key and tried to ignore the fingers that burned into her and guided her a little to the left and then a little to the right and…click.

      His arms fell away as she unhooked the padlock and tried to calm her thundering heart.

      “What are you doing here?” she demanded as she turned on him. She busied her lips with the tightest frown she could manage, considering she wanted to kiss him more than she wanted her next breath.

      “Inventory. You said you were starting early, so I thought I’d stop by and give you a hand.”

      “I mean here. In town. I thought you were leaving.”

      “I was. I am. But Miss Marshalyn’s party is in two weeks and I’d planned on coming back for that before heading off to Vegas for the PBR finals. It didn’t make much sense to make a second trip here when the only thing on my schedule for the next two weeks is practice. I can hang around and do that right here instead of going back and forth.”

      It made sense, and it also made her heart give a double thump. Two weeks. She’d barely made it through last night. How ever was she going to endure two solid weeks knowing he was right here in town, a phone call away?

      “You look awful pale. Is everything all right?”

      “I’m tired,” she muttered.

      “You sure about that? Because, for a second there, I could have sworn you were going to kiss me.”

      “Trust me, I’m not going to kiss you.”

      “You kissed me last night.”

      “That was temporary insanity. I was tired because of the wedding and I wasn’t thinking. If I had been, I would never have kissed you. I don’t do that anymore. I’m different now.”

      “Maybe.” He shrugged. “Maybe not.”

      “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      “That maybe you just want me to think that you’re different, the way you want everyone else to think that. But I know better. I know you.”

      “You did. A long time ago.”

      “I still do. You kissed me because you wanted me.” His gaze darkened. “You still taste as good as you did way back when.”

      “I really have a lot of work to do.” She grabbed her clipboard.

      “Where should I start?”

      “You don’t have to help me.”

      “I want to.” His gaze told her he wanted a lot more, but he was backing off, giving her some space to come to terms with what she was feeling. As if she could.

      Coming to terms involved acknowledging her feelings and deciding on a course of action. And action, as far as Houston Jericho was concerned, was completely out of the question.

      “You start on that end. All the plants are labeled. Simply write the name down and do a count for each one. There’s another clipboard behind the counter.”

      She turned and wound her way to the far side, putting as much distance as possible between them. She needed some distance.

      From the past.

      From the present.

      From him.

      If he wasn’t so close, then he wouldn’t be so tempting, and maybe, just maybe, she could make it through the rest of the day without another fall from grace.

      With that in mind, she put every ounce of energy into writing and counting and forgetting. Soon she started to relax, the tension easing from her body as she fell into a steady work rhythm. Not that she managed to forget his presence. She was keenly aware of him, especially when he started whistling. But oddly enough, the noise didn’t spook her or make her heart thunder. It eased her mind, as if she liked having him close by almost as much as she’d liked kissing him last night.

      She ignored the crazy thought. The last thing she wanted in her life, the last thing she needed, was to relax her guard where Houston Jericho was concerned.

      She had to remember who she was and where she was and the all-important fact that a girl like Sarah—a nice girl like Sarah—had no business getting up close and personal with a man like Houston Jericho.

      Even if she did like having him close enough to hear him whistle.

      HE WASN’T WHISTLING.

      The truth hit her the moment she returned from the back storeroom to hear the deep rumble of his voice coming from the front of the nursery.

      “We’d be glad to do that….”

      “That would help me out so much.” The voice came from Edward Jenkins, a retired judge who lived out near the county line. He was a stern old man with beady black see-everything eyes that always made Sarah feel as if she’d done something wrong.

      A feeling she’d had many times while growing up in Cadillac. Because she’d often been guilty.

      But things were different now. She was all grown up and she didn’t cause the same scandal.

      She knew that, but damned if she didn’t feel as if she were seventeen again and she’d just been caught red-handed toilet-papering the statue in front of the courthouse.

      Tamping down on the emotion, she walked over, forcing a smile. “How are you today, Mr. Jenkins?”

      “Fine and dandy thanks to the excellent service I just received.”

      “Service?” Her gaze went from Mr. Jenkins to Houston. “But we’re closed today.”

      “But I just bought a dozen of those azalea bushes over there.”

      Her gaze went to Houston and he shrugged. “We’re here so you might as well do a little business.”

      “You can deliver them first thing tomorrow. I’ll be waiting.”

      “Deliver?” Her gaze switched to Houston again. “We don’t make deliveries.”

      “What she means,” he told Mr. Jenkins, “is that we haven’t made deliveries in the past. This will be our first.”

      “Wonderful.” Mr. Jenkins waved. “See you tomorrow.”

      “What are you doing?” Sarah turned on Houston the moment the bell tinkled behind the old man.

      “Giving the customer what he wants. He wanted a delivery, so I offered a delivery.”

      “But I don’t make deliveries.”

      “You should. People want full service and they’re more than happy to pay extra for it.” He held up Mr. Jenkin’s check. “Twenty dollars for maybe ten cents of gas and a little trouble. Not bad for a day’s work.”

      “But I don’t have a truck.”

      “I do.”

      She shook her head. “You can’t just come in here and start pushing me.”

      “Who’s pushing? I saw an opportunity and I took it. Isn’t that what building a business is all about?”

      “But this isn’t your business. It’s mine.”

      “Then you should be thanking me. If you advertise a little, you could make a killing.”

      “I don’t want to make a killing. I just want to do my duty for as long as necessary, and then I’m out of here.”

      “So make a killing in the meantime. Haven’t