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you?”
    “There’s always the internet, Mr. Grogan. I can find the names of the builders and architects in a matter of seconds.”
    “True, true. But you’ll never find the electrician, will you?” He smirked. “I get no respect.”
    Oh, she didn’t want to like him, but Megan felt a tug of emotion that had long ago run dormant. A ghost of her former self emerged, the woman who used to tease all the time.
    “Electrician, huh? So you do what, plug in the light bulbs?”
    There was a mysterious flash in Jake’s eyes. Something witty. Something dangerous. Something sexy.
    “Coffee’s done,” he said. “Let’s get some.”
    The fog in Megan’s brain lifted as she busied herself pulling two mugs down from the cabinet, hoping that Jake didn’t catch a glimpse of how empty the cupboard was.
    “I don’t handle the tough stuff like light bulbs.” His husky tone filled the alcove. “I have to worry about the little things, like integrated circuitry, telecommunications, oh, and elevators. Elevators are much more fun than light bulbs.”
    “Are you looking for me to be impressed?” Keeping her back to him, Megan poured two steaming cups and took a deep breath before she turned around. She had to regain some control, although turning around to take in the full image of the man achieved the opposite effect. His height was daunting and his shoulders were wide. She wondered if he had downplayed his role because he appeared strong enough to erect an entire skyscraper with his bare hands.
    “Yes.” His eyes riveted her as she nearly dropped the mugs. “I’m looking for you to be impressed.”
    Jake must have sensed her clumsiness and surged to her rescue. He grabbed his cup, and in doing so, dusted his fingers across hers. “Sorry—” he grinned, “—looking for an ego boost.”
    “I doubt that.”
    “What about you?” Keen eyes shifted to the laptop. “My sources at O’Flanagan’s tell me that you write.”
    It had been easy enough for Megan to keep her contact with the outside world at a minimum. But out of the few people she had interacted with, why did she have to pick Harriet Morgan, one of the most effusive residents of Victory Cove?
    “Your sources are correct.”
    Jake cocked his head toward the teeming wastebasket. “A frustrated writer or a lucrative one?”
    “A private one.”
    “Ahh, that explains a lot.”
    “Okay.” She needed to change the subject. “So tell me more. Why would a man…?” She searched his face and tried to estimate an age. Faint lines around Jake’s eyes and a tightness around his mouth indicated maturity, but then again, he had an innate tan that made any conjectures at age difficult. He had the rough, exotic look of a captain of a treasure-seeking charter in the Keys, yet his casual attire seemed affluent, and he spoke with the education of…an engineer.
    Megan decided that his age didn’t really matter. Jake just looked good. “Why, all of a sudden, are you seeking out your grandmother?” she asked.
    Jake turned pensive. His jaw was set and his eyes were a dark web of inward thoughts, making her picture him at the helm of a ship, watching the sunset with trepidation, awaiting what conflicts the horizon would hold.
    “It’s none of my business.” Megan set her mug down.
    “I’m in your house.” His voice was husky. “I just made it your business.”
    When she would have protested, Jake hushed her by taking a step closer. Just his proximity made her breathless.
    “Jake, I—”
    The phone rang.
     
    Never had Jake seen such a jolt seize someone. It was as if a current had started at Megan’s feet, charged up her legs, jerked her shoulders and poured out of her in a flash of starkterror.
    And then it was gone.
    Its aftershocks remained in the form of the tremulous hand that sought the receiver mounted to the wall.
    “Hello?” Her voice was as unsteady as her hand. “What? How do you know that?”
    Megan’s back was to him now. Jake’s glance traced