"Tsk-tsk, Mr. Prescott."

"Tut-tut? Tsk-tsk? Have you lost your mind?"

She laughed again-this time it was her old, deep, throaty laugh, the sound at odds with her frilly dress.

"If you're not up to eating in the kitchen, then I'll bring you a tray in bed," she offered.

He allowed his gaze to slide over her slowly, taking in the full breasts and slim waist, then lower to what

he knew was underneath all that damned material. "I like the thought of eating, cupcake, and being in bed. Though I'm not interested in any sweet rolls." Heat flared in her eyes, which she quickly banked, like throwing ice water on the fire. She really was going to do her best to tame the wild girl.

"If you're not interested in sweets, then how about some bacon," she countered, handing him a strip.

Chuckling, he took it and consumed it in two bites. She watched him chew, her breath slowing as he

swallowed. But quickly, she shook her head, muttered something he couldn't make out, and returned her attention to the pan of baked goods. She picked up the bowl of creamy white icing. Though when she started to spread it on, he would have sworn her hand trembled.

He came up behind her and he felt her body tense.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her hand going still in midswipe of the icing.

He stepped even closer, capturing her against the counter, planting his arms on either side of her so she

couldn't get away.

"Ben, this isn't funny."

She said the words tightly, her ire starting to show through the Betty Crocker facade.

"FYI, good girls are all about being sweet and kind. In fact, I don't think they ever get mad," he teased.

"Only because they don't have to deal with men like you," she stated through gritted teeth.

He barked his laughter. "Face it, Julia, you're anything but a good girl. Clothes don't change a woman.

In fact, I'd bet money that dress isn't even yours."

"It is so."

He made a sound of disbelief. "When have you ever dressed like that?"

Julia decided not to answer on the grounds of not wanting to incriminate herself, or prove his point-sort

of. The dress was hers, but it had been a costume she had worn when she went as June Cleaver to the

annual Halloween party they held at the country club.

During the weeks leading up to the event, she had heard about the bets that had been placed regarding the costume she would wear. Playboy bunny. Sex kitten.

Miffed that she would be so stereotyped, she showed up as America's prim and proper mom. Who knew she'd ever wear the dress again? But at least until she got some new clothes or borrowed a few from Kate, she'd wear whatever she could find that wasn't tight, low-cut, or screaming with leopard spots. Not that she thought clothes made the man-or woman. But she figured she needed all the help she could get to help her makeover sink into her mind. The clothes were just the starting point... to be closely followed by no more sex with bad boys.

But she wasn't about to share any of that with Ben Prescott.

She drummed up a smile, even if it was forced. This guy was making it difficult to keep her vow to be kind, sweet, and responsible-not to mention to keep her vow to become his friend.

He only moved closer, crowding her space. She gave him a quick glance over her shoulder. His gaze was hard, hot, and hungry, and it had nothing to do with the food she'd spent the morning preparing. She could feel the heat of him melting away her hard-earned resistance. He smelled like toothpaste and a warm bed. Nice. Too nice.

Then he stepped closer until she could feel his body pressing against the small of her back. Warm and tight, and no question about it, that piece of weaponry he carried around in his 501s was impressive.

She closed her eyes and imagined, but just for a second. "Look, you've got an amazing body," she admitted. "And it's easy to guess that sex between us would be great. But it's not going to happen."

Ben went still, then he burst out laughing.

"Errr," she muttered, focusing on the cinnamon rolls with determination. "I didn't mean that-"

"Really?" he asked, his voice a sexy rumble.

"I mean, I didn't mean to be so ..."

"Direct?" he provided. "That's one of the fascinating things about you. Thoughts go in your head and out your mouth without much in the way of editing in between. You aren't afraid to say what you mean. It's . . . rare. And interesting."

She sighed. "I'm not trying to be rare or interesting. I just want to be good. And it seems like you could be a little more accommodating to the new me."

He leaned down and came close to her ear. "Being good is no fun."

"How would you know?"

He laughed again. "That's one for Julia." He marked the air with his forefinger, scoring the point, then stepped back.

Julia whirled around to get free, intent on outlining the ground rules she realized they were going to need in order to coexist under the same roof. But the minute they were face-to-face, the sight of him hit her like a thunderbolt. His morning growth of beard, his disheveled hair that he hadn't bothered to brush but simply raked back with his hands. The cambric shirt that hung unbuttoned, showing the ripple of hard chest and washboard flat abdomen. The trail of soft dark hair that disappeared beneath the jeans that rode low on his hips, the top button undone revealing a tiny V of white skin that hadn't seen the intense West Texas sun.

The phone rang, but she couldn't seem to move.

"Are you going to get that?" he asked, his voice rumbling along her senses.

"Why bother?" she breathed. "It'll just be another in the long line of pathetically adoring women who

are dying for a scrap of your attention."

"What?"

"Your female admirers. They've been calling all night while you were asleep. In bed."

Her mind started to churn as she thought of him in his bedroom. She had peeked in on her way to the

kitchen that morning to make sure he was all right. Despite the clothes that had been strewn about in

less than twenty-four hours all she could think about was that he looked hot and sexy as he laid there

sound asleep. But now she remembered the mess of clothes.

She sucked in a slow, excited breath, and Ben looked at her in confusion.

"What is it?" he asked.

"You're bad," she said, exhaling sharply. "Bad with a capital B. A caveman! A Neanderthal!"

"Hey," he grumbled and pushed away. He returned to the table and started to eat.

"Oh, my gosh! This is great!"

He got a weird look on his face, then scooped up a bite of eggs. "What are you talking about?"

She clasped her hands together. "You're better than great! You even talk with food in your mouth!"

He glowered at her, clamped his lips together, and finished chewing. Still, he was perfect. How hadn't

she thought of him last night?

He swallowed. "Will you tell me what the hell you're talking about?"

She rushed over to him. "My new TV hit! I'm going to put together a makeover show. But I'm not

going to make over women like most people do. I'm going to make over men!"

"Men makeovers?" He looked at her like she was crazy and took a bite of bacon.

"Exactly! Sort of like that show Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. Only mine will be even more fun. I'm

calling it: Turn That Primal Guy into a Sweetie Pie!"

He blew out the bacon.

"And I want you to be my first Primal Guy!"

Now he started to choke, on shock, no doubt. Quickly, she banged him on the back until he reached

around and stopped her.

"Are you crazy?" he demanded. "I'm no primal guy."

"What do you mean? You're like a live-in science project of primal. A lab experiment. A petri dish of writhing, muscle-pounding, testosterone-filled primordial man."

She could tell he didn't know if he should be insulted or flattered.

"You're as primal as they come! And with me at the helm, I know I can change you from the baddest of bad boys to the sweetest of sweetie pies. Say you'll do it."

His mouth fell open. Insulted or flattered, he'd had enough.

"You can forget it. I'm not some ... some ... lab experiment."

Okay, so he was insulted. She should have expected that. What man ever recognized himself for who he really was? How many men out there were clueless as to why their wives and girlfriends got angry with them? How many stared in dumbfounded amazement when their date threw a glass of chardonnay in their face?

This was so perfect. Ben was so perfect. She was going to change him. She was going to do the slew of women who had been calling all night a huge favor-and entertain a television audience in the process. The ratings would be through the roof.

"I'm going to transform you!"

He pushed up from the table and glared at her. "I'm not interested in being transformed. You got that, cupcake?"

She tsked. "Lesson One, really. Calling a woman cupcake is so unappealing. Let's lose that, okay?"

For a second she thought he might call her something far worse than cupcake, but he held back. Instead he turned on his heel, grimaced at what had to be pain from the quick movement, then strode out of the kitchen without looking back.