The Marriage Contract. Kat Cantrell

a man she’d last seen in the middle of the night while she’d been half-naked. “I’m at your beck and call, right?”

      Something flashed through his expression that added a few degrees to the temperature. “Are you? I thought you were here for Conner.”

      “That’s what I meant,” she corrected hastily, lest he get the wrong idea.

      Though judging by the way he was looking at her, it was already too late. He was such a strange mix of personality, sometimes warm and inviting, other times prickly. But always fascinating. And she liked pushing his buttons.

      She shouldn’t be pushing any buttons.

      Desmond was not her type. There were far too many complications at play here to indulge in the rising heat between them. “But apparently I can be persuaded to make myself available to his father, as well. Pending the subject of discussion, of course.”

      Desmond crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, his expression decidedly warmer. “What would you like to talk about?”

      She shrugged and bit back the flirtatious comment on the tip of her tongue. She was pretty sure he hadn’t summoned her to pick up where they’d left off the last time she’d made the mistake of cornering him in his workshop—when she’d been convinced he was about to kiss her.

      “I figured you had something specific you wanted. Since you crawled out of the Dark Ages to send me a text.”

      The corners of his mouth lifted in a small smile that shouldn’t have tingled her spine the way it did.

      “Isn’t that your preferred method of communication? I can adapt.”

      The ambience in the workshop was definitely different than the normal vibe between them. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was flirting with her. “You don’t strike me as overly flexible. Maybe I should be adapting to you.”

      His gaze narrowed, sharpening, making her feel very much like a small, tasty rabbit. Never one to let a man make her feel hunted, she breached the space between them, skirting the long end of the worktable to put herself on the same side as Desmond.

      Apparently she was going to let him push her buttons instead.

      Last time she’d cornered him, he’d been guarded. Not this time. His crossed arms unknotted and fell to his sides, opening him to her perusal, and that was so interesting, she looked her fill. The man was beautifully built, with a long, lean torso and a classically handsome face made all the more dashing by a sparse beard. It was a perfect complement to his high cheekbones, allowing his gorgeous eyes to be the focal point.

      “What would that look like?” he murmured. “If you adapted to me?”

      “Oh, um... I don’t know. How do you like to communicate?”

      He jerked his head toward the back of the workshop without taking his eyes off of her. “I build things. Shape them, put the pieces where they go based on the images I have in my head. I communicate through my hands.”