When she looked up, Cal was staring at her.

It was hard not to laugh at his expression. He was a dynamic, puzzling man who consistently surprised her. If he said something crappy, he apologized and looked directly into her eyes. And meant it. He gave her respect on the job and always made sure she was treated like a business partner, listening to every suggestion and not openly pacifying her like so many other crews before him. He worked harder than anyone on his team and seemed to give every part of his life to the job. And the man was so sexy, it was as if a fire burned below on a constant basis. One she desperately wanted to slake.

The image of pleasuring herself to the thought of his kiss brought a flush to her cheeks. She’d been cool and distant in the past two weeks, giving him a clear indication she needed to reset their relationship back to work only. He took her lead with grace, but sometimes she’d catch him studying her with a banked fire in his eyes. Her body practically wept with the need for him to make good, but so far she’d been able to keep herself tightly under control.

Right now, hip cocked, dust in his hair, jeans riding low on his hips, and the symbol of construction hotness—the tool belt—wrapped tight around his waist, he was stripperworthy. His damp T-shirt clung to his chest from good old-fashioned sweat, outlining the mass of carved muscles. Looking from his corded arms and bunched biceps to the sexy stubble clinging to his jaw and smoky charcoal eyes burning into hers, she was, simply, toast.

She did her usual, though. Fought her dampening girly parts with the fierceness of a woman on the edge. And, of course, kept her defenses firmly up. Morgan made sure to present him with the person he believed she was. A woman who read Austen, had every part of her life ruthlessly organized, and never missed a beat. Yes, skinny-dipping and kissing him in the moonlight had given him a hint of what was beneath, but she’d built back his original impression of the woman he thought she was. A woman he could never be interested in for a delicious, sexy, naked tumble. Because she knew one tumble would lead to another, and the last thing they needed was a personal relationship mucking up a perfectly good business one.

On that rule, they both agreed.

Morgan dropped her clipboard into the backseat and marched over to him. “Why are you staring at me like I’ve turned into E.T.?”

He jerked a thumb toward her feet. “How the hell did you get pink work boots?”

She wrinkled her nose and gave a humph. “I can get rare Italian tapestry from Rome if a client wants it. Pink work boots are easy. And why do you suddenly care what color my boots are? You’ve seen them before. We’re wasting time. Tell me what you want me to concentrate on. Roof?”

Irritation bristled from his frame. “Even your hard hat is pink.”

“Yep. My hat and boots both meet the standard requirements to be on the job. My mother instilled one hard lesson: a woman can do any job yet still look her best. Now, come on, Charming. Time is ticking. Where do you want me?”

He blinked. Muttered something under his breath. Morgan wished he wasn’t so damn adorable when he was pissy.

“You sure you’re not gonna fall off a ladder and sue me?” he drawled.

Morgan grinned. “I happen to love heights. Much better than doing trim. Also love banging the crap out of something and imagining the nail to be . . . someone else.”

He laughed out loud at that one. Her heart squeezed a bit from the sound, and she wished she could hear it again. And again.

“Okay, princess, take a quick look at those plans, grab a hammer, and get your ass up over there.”

She wrinkled her nose at the foul smell. “First I’m hosing everything down. Thank God I didn’t get the oysters this week.”

She caught his eye roll, but it was done with exaggerated patience. She hooked up the hose and washed down the site until it was to her satisfaction, then got her ass on the ladder.

They worked in silence other than old-school Van Halen blaring from the speakers. The sun beat with brutal waves down on her body, but she was Charleston born and bred, and nothing burned hotter than a Southern summer. She slipped into contractor mode, not having to worry about anything but the materials in front of her, and got into a steady rhythm. She hauled the lumber over her shoulder and climbed the ladder, making steady progress as morning drifted to afternoon.

Until her stomach growl beat out the solo guitar thrumming the airwaves.

Cal wiped the sweat off his brow and hit the STOP button on the boom box. “I heard that. Let’s take ten minutes to eat.”

She nodded, climbed down, and grabbed another bottle of water from the cooler. “I didn’t bring anything.”

“I’ll split my sandwich with you. You like ham?”

“I’d weep if you offered me just a saltine right now.”

“Ham it is.” They collapsed onto two cinder blocks and tore in. The hero was full of good, unhealthy stuff like cheese, mayo, and pickles, and she tried not to moan in ecstasy as her tummy got filled. She washed it down with Coke—not Diet—and eyed the bag of chips. Crap. Her personal Kryptonite. Most women fell to their knees for chocolate, but she worshipped every chip she’d ever eaten. Her idea of heaven was being locked in the Lay’s factory. She tried to distract herself. “Your website says Pierce Brothers has been a family-owned company for decades. Was it passed down through your father?”

“No, it was actually from my mother. It was originally built by my great-great-great-grandfather. They all had boys to pass the company down to until my mom kind of put things in a tailspin.” A brief smile tugged at his lips. “She was the only girl.”

“Uh-oh. Did they try to arrange a marriage or something?”

“Nope, she learned the business from the ground up. When she met and married my father, there were no conditions. She could have kept the company in her own name—Wingate Custom Builders—but decided to sign it over to my father when I was born. Changed the name to Pierce Brothers. Must’ve sensed there’d be another boy on the way.”

Morgan studied his face. Those gunmetal eyes had grown a bit misty, as if he was trapped in a memory that gave him pleasure. “So, it was a true family business.”

And just like that, the distance snapped back. “My father had a firm idea what he wanted, so we just had to follow the plan.”

“Is your mother still involved in the company?”

“No. She’s gone.”