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his mouth slowly turned up, deepening the groove in his cheek. Her breath snagged, and she was glad that was only half a smile. She had a feeling the complete version would be devastating.
    “Are we going to be doing this every day for the next nine months?” she asked when she could suck in air again.
    “Arguing?”
    Arguing. That’s all he’d been doing. She turned and moved toward her desk to put some distance between them. And tossed her witchiest smile over her shoulder, just to get back at him. “What did you think I meant?”
    “We only have to argue when you’re wrong,” he said, his serious expression back in place, “and too stubborn to admit it.”
    “I’ve explained my reasons for keeping the plan the way it is.”
    “Yeah. Got it. Stubborn.”
    “It’s not stubborn. It’s better.”
    “It’s more expensive.”
    “But worth it. And it’s in the budget.”
    He paused to study her, and she studied him right back, admiring the lean, rugged, oh-so-masculine shape filling out his rumpled jacket and weathered jeans.
    “Straightening that drive would trim enough to cover a host of unforeseen delays and cost overruns.” He slid his hands back into his pockets. “In addition to providing more parking, which would make the customers happy and earn extra points with the city.”
    “Very practical.”
    “And hard to argue with.”
    “Arguing’s rarely all that hard for me.” She settled in her chair. “I’m stubborn, remember?”
    “Yeah. I remember.”
    Those sky-blue eyes of his tracked her every move as she crossed her legs and smoothed her short, straight skirt. She swiveled to the left, and she swiveled to the right, giving him an interesting view, waiting for his next salvo.
    “All right,” he said at last.
    “All right?”
    “Yeah.” He walked to her door. “All right.”
    “That’s it?” She stood so quickly her chair bumped the backs of her knees. “You’re leaving?”
    “I have a site to clear.”
    “Oh. Well. All right, then.”
    He grabbed the knob and then stilled, staring at her. “You sound disappointed.”
    “I’m not.”
    “Good. I wouldn’t want all my diplomacy to go to waste.”
    “Is that what you were doing here, Quinn? Being diplomatic?”
    “Yeah,” he said in his deadpan manner. “Couldn’t you tell?”
    “Now there’s an interesting question.” She smiled and shifted her hip over the edge of her desk, enjoying the conversation—and the company—entirely too much. “With any number of equally interesting answers.”
    “Seems to me all it needed was a yes or no.”
    She tilted her head. “Or a maybe.”
    “Like I said. Diplomacy is a waste of time.”
    “Later, then.”
    “Yeah.” The look he shot her arrowed a blast of heat right through to where it counted. “Later.”
     
    G ENEVA SETTLED into her favorite booth at the Crescent Inn on Friday after her morning water aerobics class and pulled a smooth linen napkin into her lap.
    “The usual, Mrs. Chandler?” asked the waitress.
    “Yes, thank you, Missy.” Geneva smiled at Gordon Talbot’s youngest daughter, amazed she was old enough to be working. Time seemed to pass so quickly these days.
    These years.
    “Hello, Geneva.”
    Geneva glanced from her list of the day’s specials to see Howard Cobb, real estate developer and member of the city council, frowning at her. “Good afternoon, Howard.”
    “I wondered if I’d find you here.”
    “Are you stalking me?” She set her menu aside and gave him her blandest smile. “Should I be disturbed?”
    His frown deepened. “Mind if I join you?”
    “For lunch?” she asked with just a touch of dismay.
    “For a moment. Or two.”
    “Through the iced-tea course, then,” she said as Missy delivered her drink.
    He settled heavily into the booth across from her, his oversize belly brushing against the table edge. “You know, there are plenty of folks around here who don’t look too kindly on Chandler money forcing things they