Her Final Fling. Joanne Rock

she’d used all the bags of manure a week ago.

      She couldn’t picture Vito hanging out around the fertilizer, even in his flip-flop guise. Settling into the wrought-iron chair across from him with a big glass-topped umbrella table between them, she placed her empty glass on the surface and was grateful the lawn wasn’t in full destruction mode back here. A tire swing still hung in an old banyan tree behind a big workshop in the backyard. “And how is it that you end up being judged on your looks? Are you an underwear model on the side?”

      “Are you suggesting I’d have a future in the industry?”

      “Just taking wild guesses.” She wished she hadn’t emptied her glass so quickly as she conjured images of Vito in his underwear. Was he a boxers or briefs kind of guy?

      Considering his flashy clothes earlier, she’d have to go with silk boxers. But if ever a man had been built for tighty-whiteys…

      “Christine?”

      Her underwear daydreams faded at Vito’s voice. “Sorry. You were saying?”

      “I’m a race-car driver.” The humor in his eyes suggested he knew the direction of her daydreams. “And sometimes people bet on a driver because he looks good in his racing suit instead of how well he drives. That bugs me, too, so I don’t blame you for being miffed that my uncle would be so superficial. If it makes you feel any better though, I’m sure he never would have hired you if he didn’t think you’d do a great job on the landscaping. He’s really excited about Giselle’s wedding.”

      “You race cars?” Christine didn’t know squat about any sport. For that matter, was racing even considered a sport since it didn’t have a damn thing to do with being athletic?

      “I’m a Formula One driver.” At her blank look, he continued. “It’s open-wheel racing. You know, as opposed to stock cars like NASCAR?”

      “Don’t have a clue about any of those, actually. Although I’m sure you look very cute in the racing suit.” She’d flirt with him before he had the chance to flirt with her, putting herself firmly in control of the situation. No sense making herself seem like a novice when it came to men. She wouldn’t be taken advantage of again. “But back to the matter at hand, what do you suggest we do in relation to my work here?”

      He peered around the yard, his square shoulders settling deeper into the wrought-iron patio chair. “I think you’d better keep working. No offense, Christine, but it looks like a natural disaster around here.”

      “It’s a work in progress.” She wasn’t always the neatest person, even when she wasn’t involved in an extensive landscaping job. But she could see the potential for the yard and had every confidence it would be gorgeous by the time she finished. “Besides, I was operating under the impression that the house would be vacant except for me, so I’ll admit I’ve been a little more lax about daily cleanup just because I’m working such long hours on this job. It doesn’t make much sense for me to put away my tools in the garage every night when I’m only going to need them six hours later.”

      “You’re putting in that much time on the yard?”

      “Have you seen the property recently? It was in shambles. Not that it looked terrible from the street or anything, but from a professional perspective, it needed to be almost started from scratch. Just keeping up with all the watering is more than a full-time job for transplants in this heat.” She leaned closer, elbows on the table. “But you think I’ll be able to stay on here and finish up the job?”

      She folded her hands inward so he wouldn’t see her crossing her fingers.

      “Definitely. I sure as hell couldn’t have my baby sister come home with the house looking like this. Giuseppe told you it needs to be ready to go September first?”

      “It won’t be a problem as long as I can continue to work at manic speed, which means I can’t take off many afternoons like this.” She plucked her T-shirt away from her damp skin in the hope of catching a breeze. “And I’d also need to be able to stay onsite so I can maximize my work hours. Do you have any family you can stay with for a few weeks while I finish up? Giuseppe, maybe, since he’s the one who assured me I’d have twenty-four-hour access to the property?”

      “That could be a problem.” Vito drained his lemonade glass with one long swallow. The upturned glass dripped condensation down into the open neck of his collared shirt, drawing Christine’s eye to that dark expanse of skin glistening with a slight sheen.

      She blinked fast before the underwear fantasy came back.

      “How so? If you don’t want to stay with your uncle, maybe you could stay at a swanky hotel while you’re in town. Aren’t European race-car drivers practically made of money?”

      “No. But money isn’t really the issue here—it’s more of a comfort concern. I like to stay at the house whenever I’m in the States. I grew up here, so it’s sort of…home.” He met her gaze, his hazel eyes dark and intense despite his relaxed tone.

      Christine had the feeling he wouldn’t be changing his mind on the issue anytime soon.

      “Well, we can’t both stay here.” What did he expect her to do—pitch a tent out front for the next month?

      “Why can’t we?”

      For a moment she thought he really wanted her to get to work on the tent, until she realized she’d never said that part out loud. “You mean both of us in the house?”

      “It housed a family of seven before my parents died. Later it accommodated five kids, most of them teenagers. I think it ought to be able to handle two of us.” He grinned. “You don’t look like you take up much room.”

      Did she understand this man correctly? “I’m sorry, I must be out of mind, because I could have sworn you suggested that I take it on blind faith you aren’t some kind of psychopath and should share the house with a virtual stranger.”

      His grin faded. “You’ve got a point. If my sister pulled a stunt like that, I’d—Well let’s just say I’d be mad and leave it at that.”

      “See? You making vague threats of hypothetical retribution isn’t convincing me you’re not a psychopath, that’s for sure.” Damn it, why did he have to show up today and throw a huge wrench in her plans? She needed this job, needed to work things out with him.

      “If you could convince Giuseppe to foot the hotel bill for me, I suppose I could make the trip back and forth. I just don’t like to drive when I’m tired.” And by the time she was done with the physically demanding work this job entailed, she was usually so bone-weary she was cross-eyed. What if she knocked herself out to make her business work, only to wrap her piece-of-junk truck around a telephone pole because she fell asleep at the wheel?

      “No. You’re working too hard already. Don’t you have any other employees or co-workers who could help you out with this job?”

      How could she afford to hire anyone when she could barely keep herself afloat? Of course, she wouldn’t tell him that. “I’m giving your uncle a cut-rate price. There’s no budget for anyone else.”

      “I can increase your budget.” He looked ready to whip out a checkbook then and there.

      And she definitely didn’t want to get roped into that discussion.

      “Look. I appreciate the offer, but I’m not trying to bleed more money from you. I just want to be able to fulfill my end of the bargain with your uncle.” Was it her fault the guy had had more than gardening on his mind when he’d hired her?

      “Okay. How about this—I’ll haul a few neighbors over here to vouch for me. For that matter, you can have my license and check me out.”

      Vito had to admit he respected a woman who looked out for herself. How could he have suggested for a minute that she stay in the house with him when for all she knew he was a wanted man in ten states? She hadn’t even recognized his