His short laugh flowed down from the stage. He went back to his job, and Lane had to drag her attention to the girl. Once she did, she got caught up in little Anna's excitement. The girl was already wearing her tiara and she stood perfectly still as Lane pinned the flowing tulle skirt to the satin bodice. Kids were so easy to please, she thought. The kids were so different from the prima donna models she'd worked with at her fas.h.i.+on shows. Or the women she'd designed outfits for, who didn't think twice about having her tear the entire design apart and remake it because they suddenly wanted something better than so-and-so had last week. This little fairy princess was delighted with Lane's work.

She helped the girl take off the costume, easing it over her head.

"What do you think?"

"It's beautiful, Miss Douglas," Anna said, awed as a six-year-old could get. She raced off to tell her friends, and Lane noticed that the kids were getting wild and the mothers were looking plum worn-out. She did a quick measure of the children and their costume needs, then told Suzanne she could take care of the lot without the children being here to try them on. Suzanne was so grateful to be able to put her kids to bed, she promised a batch of homemade cookies for Lane's bookstore customers. Lane knew she could whip the costumes up in no time and saw no reason for mothers to chase children on sugar rushes this late at night.

Two hours later she heard, "Hey, I think you can stop now."

Just the sound of Tyler's voice set her blood humming. When she lifted her gaze, he was standing close, smelling like sawdust and aftershave, looking so rugged she nearly melted right out of the chair. She was in big trouble. She hadn't reacted to a man like this in ... well, never.

Tyler caught the little flash in her eyes. "Man, when you agree to work, you work."

"I was in the zone," she said, trying to shrug off the nearly electrical zing popping through her blood.

Tyler's gaze moved over the costumes that were finished and hanging on a movable rack. He'd watched her off and on for the past two hours. She hadn't stopped for a moment, and she was fast, locked in a world of her own until he spoke to her.

"They're simple patterns," she said, brus.h.i.+ng off his compliment.

"Sure, but you're nearly finished. And you did a great job."

"I still have trims and the fake b.u.t.tons for the uniforms to do."

"There's always tomorrow."

"True," she said, leaning back in her chair with a tired sigh.

"Have dinner with me." She'd probably say no, he thought, but he had to give it a shot while her defenses were low.

She lifted her gaze to his. "We really are going to have trouble if you keep asking me the same question all the time, Tyler."

"Three times a charm ... have dinner with me."

"No, thank you."

She looked as if she wanted to say yes, but for whatever reason, she wasn't giving in. "You're a stubborn cuss," he said.

"And talking to you is impossible."

He grinned. "It's only dinner."

"Nothing is open at this hour." One thing she'd learned about this town was that, aside from a few select restaurants and a pizza joint, the streets rolled up at nine.

"Says who?" He stepped back and showed her the display of subs, chips and sodas on a table. The teenagers and other men were already chowing down in different areas of the stage.

She looked at him and smiled reluctantly. "Okay, I can't argue now."

Tyler hooked his thumbs in his jeans to keep from touching her and inclined his head to a spot on the far edge of the stage. She sat, her feet dangling over the edge, and he brought her a sandwich and a can of soda.

Then he hopped up beside her, his body s.h.i.+elding her from the rest of the volunteers.

"Those are the ugliest shoes I've ever seen on a woman," he said.

"You've made that point before." She looked down at the combat-boot-style shoe. "They're comfortable and warm. Like yours." She lightly kicked his foot. He wore something similar in dark tan. His had seen better days.

He simply stared at her for a minute. He didn't want to talk about shoes. He wanted to tell her how great she'd been. How much she'd impressed him with her talents and dedication. But all he could say was, "You amazed me. You just came in and took over."

She blinked wide eyes. "Oh, Lord, I did, didn't I? Do you think they'll be upset? It's their project and I'm the outsider."

Tyler smiled and shook his head. "It's the school's project, and did you see Suzanne dragging out of here? She was grateful for your help. They all were."

Lane shrugged. "It was fun, I admit it. How did you guys do?" she asked before he could question how she'd done so much work so fast.

Tyler cranked a look back over his shoulder at the stacks of plywood and sawhorses. And unfinished work. "We've got one more set to make and some painting to do, but that can wait till tomorrow."

"Tomorrow." She groaned.

"Service to the community," he reminded with a smile.

"I'm helping," she defended. "And the only reason I'm doing it is because your mother guilted me into this."

"I know. Do I know weaponry or what?"

She laughed softly.

"You have a great mouth, Lane. You should do that more often."

"I do laugh, at least twice a day."

"Just not around me."

"Fis.h.i.+ng for compliments? I'd think with your fan club you wouldn't need more."

He frowned and Lane nodded toward a couple of young women who kept sliding glances at Tyler.

"They're children."

"They're in their twenties, McKay, and trying hard to get your attention."

He looked back at Lane. "Well, they're failing." But before she could make a wisecrack he said, "I know by your accent that you're not from around here, so what brought you to the South?"

Lane debated answering that and chose her words carefully. "Slow pace, beautiful scenery." Anonymity.

"Have you always sold books?"

"Yes." Another lie on top of the last one. But at this point, what did it matter? She was sitting at the tip of a mountain of lies and she kept having to scramble to keep from falling off.

"What made you take that old house and renovate it?"

No lies necessary here. "I fell in love with the place the instant I saw it, despite its hideous green paint. The house was like a genteel old woman. She was dying from neglect and cried out for a new dress and hairdo."

He smiled.

"What?" She snitched one of his chips.

"That's how I used to see the old homes around here. Not exactly like that, but like old souls that were fading. You know, my grandfather and father started out doing strictly renovations. McKay Construction didn't renovate yours, did we?"

"No, your compet.i.tion did."

He clutched his heart, keeling over a little.

"Your company's bid was too high."

She'd removed the pickles from her sub and Tyler ate them. "Quality, my dear."

"Hey, they did a good job. And the renovation met the historical society's rules. And I did most of the restoration myself."

His brows shot up. "How'd you learn?"

She stared at him for a heartbeat, then said, "I read a book."

Behind them, at the back of the stage, people began cleaning up the mess, capping paint cans and collecting wood.

Yet Tyler kept his gaze on Lane, fascinated by the gold starburst in her deep-brown eyes. He wanted to see her without gla.s.ses, but it was like a prize he'd gain after a long journey. He could wait.

When she popped the last bite of her sub into her mouth, he reached out, a napkin curled in his fingers. She lurched back a little bit, but he kept coming, wiping the mustard off her jaw.

When his thumb rubbed across her lip, she gripped his wrist. "Tyler."

He twisted his hand around and caught hers. Heat pooled between them, sliding from her body in a pulse that rippled into him, then back again. His blood thickened, moving slower and hotter through his veins. For a heart-stopping moment, Tyler felt himself sinking. Her mouth was wide and plump, so d.a.m.n kissable he wished they were alone. And that hungry thought surprised the h.e.l.l out of him. He barely knew her. In fact, all he knew for sure was that she'd grabbed his curiosity and wouldn't let go.

A sharp bark of laughter from somewhere behind them dissolved the moment, and Tyler eased back, collecting their trash and standing on the stage.

He looked down at her, and then, as if even he needed a break from whatever was burning between them, he shrugged and headed to the trash cans.

Lane looked down at the napkin in her hand, crus.h.i.+ng it and battling with the schoolgirl-giddy feeling she always had when she was near Tyler. Okay, honest moment, she told herself. If you weren't hiding, if you hadn't had your heart smashed by Dan Jacobs and forced to keep secrets, would you want Tyler?

She looked slowly back over her shoulder. She'd be on him like a cat on a bowl of cream, she admitted silently. Her gaze traveled up his long, jean-clad legs to his wide shoulders. He might stay in an office all day and wear suits, but he sure as heck didn't look like it. He looked delicious.

He aimed a paper cup at the trash can and missed. Lane grinned as he bent to scoop the cup off the floor.

Behind him a girl was gathering wood planks and just as Tyler bent, the girl swung around to answer someone and smacked Tyler on the back of the head. He staggered.

"Tyler." Lane scrambled to her feet and shot across the stage as he folded to the ground.

The girl dropped the wood and apologized repeatedly as Lane slid to her knees beside Tyler.

He grabbed the back of his head, groaning. "Oh, man."

Lane probed the already swelling lump on the back of his head. No blood. "Just as I thought," she teased. "Your head's too hard to crack open."

"I'm wounded," he complained, turning his gaze on her. "Comfort me."

"Poor baby." She examined his eyes. She'd lost count of the number of times there were accidents at couture shows, and she was left to revive a starving model who'd fainted. His eyes were fine. Blue as the sky.

"Look at me, Tyler. What do you see?" She held up two fingers.

He grabbed them. "I see a sleeping beauty."

She rolled her eyes. "Stop flirting and answer me."

"I'm fine. Mmm ... you smell good."

She looked up at the people gathered near. "Can you get me some ice? He's okay," she said to the girl who was in tears and clinging to her boyfriend.

Lane looked back at Tyler and felt a relief so profound it stunned her.

"I like you worrying over me," he said.

"I'd worry about anyone hit on the head," she said, though she admitted only to herself that her heart had skipped a few beats when she'd seen him slump over. "You're a danger to yourself. First my car, then this?"

Someone handed her ice wrapped in a rag and she put it to the back of his head. The rest of the crew went back to cleaning up.

A man asked if Tyler needed a lift home.

"I can drive," Tyler said, sitting up. "I've taken harder hits playing football."

"You're also not eighteen and full of invincibility," she said. "Besides, you've already proved you're not the best driver."

He shot her a look. "You're harping on that."

"Of course," she said smugly. "I'll drive you home."

He grinned.

"Oh, for heaven's sake." She stood and went for her purse, checked to see that her work area was cleaned up, then returned to him.

Tyler made a show of staggering and leaned on Lane.

"Oh, get off, you actor," she said, pus.h.i.+ng him, but he clung to her, his arm heavy across her shoulder. Lane absorbed him, the warmth of his body, the scent of him. He toyed with a loose strand of hair and when she glanced his way, his lazy smile said his mind was leading elsewhere. She shook her head as if to shake him out of her system and pulled away when they reached her car.

Once inside, she started the engine, then pulled onto the street. It was deserted, a light evening rain coating the road with a glow that reflected the street lamps.

"Where do you live?"

He gave her directions and in minutes Lane pulled into the drive of the sprawling house. It was near the beach on the point, and she could hear the crash of waves. The wind was stronger and the scent of the sea surrounded her as she got out of the car.

Tyler moved up beside her and shook out the rag of ice chips on the lawn, where they sparkled like diamonds in the moonlight.