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in miniature, each about a few feet long, had been mounted with heavy brass fixtures straight out from where slanted roof met back wall, providing racks for apparel requiring hangers. A bit exposed for her taste, though she did take a moment to skim her gaze over the cotton shirts hanging on the top mast and the folded trousers on hangers that were racked on the pole two below it. All in all, it was a decidedly masculine space that did absolutely nothing to quiet her suddenly needy libido.
    She shifted to look to her left and saw that a triangular corner portion of the other end of the loft had been walled off and turned into what was clearly a bathroom. Complete with shower that apparently fit a man and a dog.
    She tried not to be charmed by the idea of Brodie and Whomper howling in unison as they scrubbed free of rotting fish remains, but it was damn near impossible. Grinning despite herself, she had turned to head back down the stairs when the water was abruptly shut off and an instant later the bathroom door was flung open.
    â€œOn with you now, ye little heathen,” Brodie commanded. “Go find your ma.”
    A split second later, her freshly scrubbed ball of scruff shot out of the bathroom like a sodden bullet, slid to a stop not a foot from her floor-level face, and shook for all he was worth.
    â€œAugh!” she spluttered, unable in her present position to do anything but take the full frontal shower square in the face as she held on to the railing to keep from stumbling down the metal stairs. Spitting at the short strands of dog fur clinging to her cheeks and lips, she was trying to keep her balance on the stairs when the floorboards creaked right next to her—which was when she made mistake number two. She looked up at the man presently towering over her, wrapped in nothing more than a navy blue and white striped terrycloth towel, which, from her vantage point, didn’t really cover . . . anything.
    â€œFor heaven’s sake,” she cried, squeezing her eyes shut, but far, far too late to block out confirmation that the genetic fairies hadn’t just been drunk off their asses when they’d created him. They’d apparently been high as well. Because . . . well, that kind of generosity in the face of all the other assets bestowed on him was just downright ridiculous.
    Unless, of course, I am the one who’d be benefitting from it . She squeezed her eyes more tightly, hoping to squeeze that thought right out of her head along with it.
    â€œThere you are,” he said. “We’re through if you’d like a quick rinse, and at the risk of being rude, I’d encourage ye to take the offer.”
    She cracked one eye open in time to see him wrinkle his nose a bit as he shot Whomper a quick wink. She shifted her gaze to her dog, who sat at the top of the stairs, stubby tail wagging for all its worth, eyes shining in eternal glee at the grand adventure the day had turned out to be.
    â€œSpeak for yourself,” she quietly informed her little beast. Adventure, yes, but grand wasn’t quite how she’d have defined it. “I, ah—” She turned away from the dog, then quickly looked down, over, anywhere but up at the man in the towel. Surely from the broad grin once again splitting his handsome face, he’d realized the show he was putting on. Inadvertent or not, that was exactly the kind of man she’d pegged him to be, so she had no reason to be so disappointed at the confirmation.
    She decided right then and there that following him inside had been a mistake, one that needed to be immediately rectified. He’d call whoever he needed to call and find out that she was indeed the owner of the boathouse, and they’d eventually come to some sort of détente. Or not.
    At the moment, exiting the building seemed mandatory. And she didn’t feel the least bit guilty over taking the coward’s way out and avoiding further confrontation. “I