His grin only broadened at that, which she took as her sign to skedaddle. The low chuckle as she scooted toward the door leading to the enclosed passageway didn’t help much, either. Lord, but he was one very fine-looking man, with far too much charm and the kind of confidence that naturally came along with it.
“And, he’s richer than Croesus,” she muttered beneath her breath, feeling the heat bloom in her cheeks all over again as she recalled her bold assumption that he’d been suggesting some kind of intimate arrangement between the two of them. Not that she lacked at least a basic level of self-esteem—she loved dogs, but didn’t consider herself one—however, a super-model she was clearly not. And Trevor Hamilton could easily score in that range and probably did every damn day of the week. She cleaned up okay, but she wasn’t, and never would be, in that range. She chalked up the flirting to what was likely his natural condition around women of any age, size, and flavor.
“The multimillionaire and the pet sitter,” she muttered. “Yeah. That would happen.” She dug out her phone. Chelsea would flip out when she described the place. And it would help take her mind off of her unexpected houseguest. Only, there was no way she was going to be able to keep from telling her best friend about that part, too, and Chelsea had a much higher opinion of their collective worth on the dating market than Emma did. But then, Emma was a realist. She pocketed the phone and went into the garage. Looking over the gleaming cars, she wondered which one belonged to Trevor, then immediately rolled her eyes at her continued interest in the man. “Eye on the goal, head in the game,” she said through gritted teeth as she fought with the tailgate window of her Land Rover. “And Trevor Hamilton is not, I repeat, not, the goal. Nor are you even in the game.”
“Need some help?”
She spun around, hand clutched to heart, to find Trevor leaning against a shiny black Mercedes. Cheeks hot—again—she tossed her hair back and prayed he hadn’t overheard her little self-lecture. “If one of us is supposed to be a burglar, I’m thinking you’re definitely the one with the stealth skills.”
He shrugged and pushed away from the car. “Just thought you might need a hand. No need to get prickly.”
“You could help by not handing me a heart attack every five seconds. And I’m never prickly. I’m cheerful and sunny.” Even she had to smile a little at that acerbically delivered statement. “Animals love me for my warmth,” she added, dryly.
Grinning, he said, “I’m sure they do.” He stepped closer and nudged her out of the way, then popped the back door of her Land Rover with an easy twist of the handle. At her little huff, he turned to her. “I had this problem with mine, you just have to tug the handle down a little as you turn it. Here.” He closed it again, then took her hand and put it on the handle.
She was so flustered by his assertiveness, and maybe a little by his hands being on her again, that she let him.
“Pull down a little, like this, and—” The door popped open quite easily. “See?”
She was too happy to have a solution to any of the myriad problems her ancient Land Rover gave her to give him a hard time about being so pushy. But she did slide her hand out from under his. “Thank you. I really appreciate that.”
He peered inside. “Where’re all the bags?”
“What bags?”
“You’re staying for a few weeks, right?” He hefted out an old canvas army bag and a smaller gym bag. “Where’s the rest?”
He’d hefted the strap of the canvas bag over his shoulder and slung the red nylon gym bag under his arm like they weighed nothing, when Emma knew damn well the canvas bag alone felt like it weighed three tons when she’d loaded it into the car. “Remind me to call you when I need a Pyrenees or a Newfie loaded into the back of this thing.”
He just laughed. “In the front?”
“Dogs go in the back.”
“No, I mean the rest of your stuff.”
“You’re carrying pretty much my entire wardrobe, which probably says everything about me you never needed to know. Essentials are in the red bag.”
“Essentials?” His confusion cleared. “Oh, you mean all the girl gear. Potions, lotions, magic makeup.”
“Uh, sure.” Let him think that. It was far more flattering than the truth. And she wasn’t about to tell him that her idea of essentials had more to do with reading material, her glasses, and, yes, her retainer, than eyeliner and manicure supplies. “Some snacks I packed are in the front. I’ll get those. If you’re sure you don’t mind.” She nodded toward the load he was carrying. She still had the satchels to carry in. Again.
“This? No, not at all.” He poked along behind her, like a nosy puppy, when she moved around to the passenger-side door. “What kind of snacks?”
She grinned as she turned and opened the plastic supermarket bag. “Dental bones and liver treats. Your pick. Or, maybe you’re more a millet seed guy.”
He looked in the bag, and back at her, pity clear on his face. “You need remedial road trip lessons. Where are the chips, sodas, and cookies?”
She’d felt his hands on her, and though his clothes hung a bit loosely on his frame, there was doubtful a spare ounce of fat to be found on the man. It wasn’t fair that he could look like that and talk about cookies. “Right where they need to be,” she said. “Out of my undisciplined reach.”
He lifted his free hand up, and for a split second, she thought he was going to touch her face, but he just snagged the strap of one of the satchels, which doubled as her laptop bag. “You need help,” he said, as he straightened, his face having come far too close to hers. He smelled good. Really good. So unfair. What had she and her perfectly innocent hormones done to deserve this kind of torture, anyway?
“Well,” she said, sliding out from between him and the car and stepping back out into the open area of the garage. “I guess I’m lucky you’re here, then. I really appreciate you lugging that stuff in for me.” She should take at least the laptop off his hands, but decided retreat was the better part of saving herself from doing something really embarrassing, and all but fled back to the kitchen.
Trevor entered a minute later. “You’re sure this is it?”
“Yep,” she said, busy putting on the dogs’ jackets and leads again for their last trip out for the night.
“Could you do me a favor, then?”
She looked up warily.
“I was going to pull my rental into the garage to keep it out of the storm. You’ll need to set the alarm code for it anyway. I don’t know the current one. Anyway, if you’ll go out there and open the doors so I can pull in, then we can set it for the night.”
Emma didn’t want to think about spending the night with Trevor Hamilton. Well, not with Trevor Hamilton. But under the same roof. Even one as big as this one. “Uh, sure. But, can it wait until I get back in? They’re all ready to go and—”
“No, no problem. I’ll just pop this stuff in your room. Where are you set up?”
It was silly, because, in the big scheme of things, who cared? But she didn’t want him in her bedroom. If she knew where it happened to be. Which she didn’t. “I’m—actually, can you just wait for me to get back in? Don’t worry about my stuff. I’ll take my own bags up.” Or over. Or wherever they were supposed to go in this rambling monstrosity of a mountaintop mansion.
She glanced back as she led the dogs through the French doors into the Florida room in time to see him lift those broad shoulders and shrug her bags gently to the floor, then wander over to the massive fridge instead.
Sighing in relief, for the moment, anyway, Emma turned and opened the door to the backyard, only to be met by a wall of stinging sleet and pellets of ice. She started to retreat back into the closed-in