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or UPS. I’ll call you in a couple of days.”
    “Check before you open the door!”
    “Yes, Mother. Love you, kiddo.” Mia disconnected, then turned the ringer off and replaced the phone back in the metal sugar canister. “Coming!”

Chapter Three
    W iping her hands on the dishcloth flung over her shoulder, Mia walked down the long corridor, past the stairs, to the back door. The gardener couldn’t work outside in this deluge. She’d ask him if he knew how to install wallpaper and, if not, point him to the steamer to remove the red flocked paper in the entryway until the weather cleared. She really needed a whole army of tradesmen to put the house to rights, but she didn’t relish people in her space when she was there all day herself. She wouldn’t be here long enough to worry about it. . . .
    “Hi—” she said as she flung open the front door. The dark-haired man dripping in the doorway topped her five foot six by almost a foot and made her heartbeat stutter, then race into overdrive. Long black hair clung wetly to his strong throat and brushed the rain-speckled dark T-shirt stretched over his broad shoulders. Dark stubble gave him a dangerous, sexy look, and his deep brown eyes said Been there, done her .
    He was shockingly, mesmerizingly familiar.
    Diamond droplets of water clung to his black lashes. Mia wanted to lick them off. He looked hard and dangerous, andnot the sort of man who would take money for something he probably gave away for free on a daily basis. He must have women lining up around the block for his services.
    He could’ve charged her double. Hell, triple.
    She stared up at him, riveted. It wasn’t anything as simple as physical good looks, although he had those in abundance. His nose was straight, his lips chiseled and sexy as sin. He needed a haircut and a shave, yet his unshaven jaw and his intense dark brown eyes made his personal grooming habits immaterial.
    He wore jeans and a clinging wet dark blue T-shirt that showed his muscle definition. Abs, pecs, biceps . . . Mia’s mouth went dry. The fabric clung to every rippling, solid muscle on his chest and belly, and the damp denim of his jeans cupped his sex. Sex appeal oozed from his very pores.
    Every cell in Mia’s body remembered the night before in pulsing Technicolor, as if he’d imprinted himself on her body in some way.
    She had to consciously avert her gaze from the bulge behind his fly, back to his face. Say something, for God’ s sake! “You came for your money. Hang on a sec, I’ll go get it for y—”
    He put his hand on her bare arm. A hot electrical current zinged through Mia’s veins at the contact, and her gaze jerked up to meet his dark eyes, making her completely forget what she’d been about to say. She felt as though her skin was magnetized to his. The energy pulsing between them was almost visible, it was so strong.
    Disconcerting.
    Intriguing.
    “I think you have me confused with someone else.” A trace of amusement tinged his voice, although he wasn’t smiling.
    Dragging her gaze away from a drop of water making its slow way down his temple to the dark, sexy scruff on his cheeks and jaw, Mia pursed her lips, then shook her head. “No. I don’t believe so. We—” She, who ran a multibillion-dollar company with an iron hand, who’d dined with the president of the United States—several times—and had tea with Britain’s queen, was at a loss for words.
    “Fucked?” he offered politely.
    “Not my favorite word, but applicable.” Since she hadn’t given Bon Temps her phone number, had his employer anticipated her wanting a repeat performance? Knowing how amazing he was, had they just sent him back because, honest to God, what woman wouldn’t want a repeat of last night’s performance?
    He didn’t look like anyone she would know in her other life. He looked real. The real that Blush’s male models strived to emulate for their ads. That rugged, raw sensuality that was hard to duplicate.