“What are you doing here?” She winced as soon as the shaken words escaped her lips. “I’m sorry, Mr. Richmonte,” she apologized softly. “I wasn’t expecting you.” His gaze traveled over her, discreetly, but missing nothing. “Am I interrupting something, Ms. Masterson?” he wondered, his look darting into the softly lit room behind her. “No,” she replied honestly, the response automatic. Her wrap hadn’t been belted, and she’d forgotten for a moment that her nightgown as almost transparent in texture. “Would you like to come in?” She held the door and he walked past her. She stared for a moment, then slammed the door and followed him into the room. She turned on the overheard lights as she entered the area, and the illusion of seductive intimacy vanished. “What are you here for, Mr...” she hesitated when he tossed her a pointed look, then she relented. “Why are you here, Max? I doubt it was to discuss architecture or house design.” He wasn’t totally certain himself why he’d sought her company. He’d told himself numerous times that it was sexual curiosity, that he wanted to sleep with her, nothing more. But Max wasn’t a man to lie, especially to himself, and he knew there was something about Kaylee Masterson that had gotten under his skin. He wanted her, yes, but it was more than that. He simply hadn’t discovered yet what it was he hoped to find in her. When he’d decided, on impulse, to come over to her house, he sure as hell hadn’t expected to find her draped in gauzy silk and standing in surroundings that made him think even more seriously about seducing her. “I was going to ask if you’d like to give me a hand with my book-keeping,” he said, grabbing at the first remotely plausible thing that came into his mind. She peered intently at him, measuring the truth in his words and finding none. Her nerves were screaming at her to get him out of the house before he really knew how deeply attracted to him she was. He suspected, she could feel that much, but he had no way of knowing how much of her time was preoccupied with every aspect of him. She didn’t want him to know. “How did you find me, Mr. Richmonte?” There it was again, Max thought, that smooth shift back to formality any time he made the slightest gesture of interest. “Tommy remembered seeing your address in the notebook,” he offered, dodging the question without thinking. It was possible enough to be the truth, though, and she accepted it as such. What else had Tommy seen in the book? She wondered, agitation becoming a tangible kind of panicked pain within her. “I’m not really an accountant,” she offered with a weak smile. “Maybe you’d better consult someone who does know what they’re doing.” He nodded, his gaze still wandering over the house, and the woman who occupied it. “I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Richmonte,” she began quietly. “But, if that’s all you wanted, I would like to be alone tonight.” “Would you have dinner with me tomorrow night?” he asked, curious about her reaction more than her response. There it was, the near terror in her pale eyes as she considered his invitation, and her desire to accept it. The light grey of her gaze clouded, then the set of her jaw gave him his answer a moment before she politely declined, for the second time. “What are you afraid of, Kaylee?” he questioned, refusing to be put off this time. “Nothing,” she returned firmly. “I simply don’t want to see you socially, Max.” “Because you’re afraid you might actually like me?” He grinned, and one eyebrow rose. “Or is it something a little more basic that’s scaring you?” “There’s that word again,” she stated, voice little more than a whisper between them. “I am not afraid of you, Max Richmonte,” she asserted. “If you require some kind of proof, feel free to stay for awhile.” “Thanks,” he grinned. “I’d like to.”