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exactly the way it was before she arrived.
    He had to return the baskets himself before she came knocking on his door. He procrastinated all week, until Friday when he decided he shouldn’t wait any longer. He got up at first light and dressed in jeans and a tee shirt. He picked up the stack of baskets and headed for the door. At the last minute, he set them back down and smashed a baseball cap onto his head.
    He skirted the gravel driveway and climbed up onto the porch from the side where it met the soft grass of the yard. He tiptoed across the wooden porch carefully, not wanting any of the boards to creak and give away his presence. So far so good. He knelt down and set the baskets next to the front door. He was about to stand and leave when the front door opened. He froze. Fuck.
    “Jared. Good morning.”
    Her voice was musical, with a lilting enunciation to her words. He felt all sorts of notes trilling in his body, a musical backdrop to his abominably bad luck. How could he not even return some baskets without running into her?
    He stayed where he was, kneeling on the porch at her feet. If he kept his head down, his cap would shield his face from her view.
    “Would you care for some coffee?” she asked. “The pot’s almost ready.”
    “No thanks,” he ground out. Why couldn’t she just go inside already so he could leave? No fucking way was he going to stand up with her right there. “Thanks for the muffins and, uh, cookies and stuff. They were good.”
    “You’re very welcome.”
    Even he could detect the note of puzzlement in her voice. Her feet remained where they were, unfortunately, rooted to the porch in front of him. Her feet were bare and her toes were now capped with a light coral shade of polish, not the bright pink he’d seen earlier in the week.
    Why was he dying to reach out a hand and touch her feet? Run his thumb over her instep, massage the balls of her feet and hear her moan in pleasure?
    “Are you okay?” she asked.
    “Fine. Leg cramp, that’s all.”
    “Here, let me see.” She kneeled down beside him.
    Fuckfuckfuck. He twisted away from her, fighting the impulse to jump up and run back to the cottage like a madman. He had to handle this nightmare scenario as best he could—he didn’t want to lose this job. Looking for a new one would mean interviewing and meeting with people. This job was ideal—an owner who was never here and the property isolated enough out in the country that he didn’t run into other people all that frequently.
    He was about to bolt anyway when the firm touch of her hand on his calf stopped him. His breath caught in his throat. Even through his jeans, he could feel the warmth of her fingers as she rubbed his calf muscle. There was an incipient erection in his pants. He was fucking pathetic. All she was doing was touching his leg.
    “Jared, this would be easier if you sat back.”
    And now she knew his name too? Do guests really need to be on a first-name basis with the help?
    “I’m fine. You don’t have to do that.” He pulled his leg away from her probing touch, then had to resist the urge to thrust it back at her and beg her to rub it some more.
    When he didn’t stand, however, she spoke again. This time her voice was exasperated and amused. “What are you going to do? Crawl home on your hands and knees?”
    Fuck it. Jared was mad now. Why the hell did she have to force this issue? Why did she have to bake him cookies and muffins? Why couldn’t she just enjoy her stay here—by herself—and leave him alone. He was the fucking caretaker, for god’s sake. He wasn’t supposed to hob nob with the owner’s guests. Well fine. If this was the way she wanted it, then this was the way she was going to get it. He would put a stop to this nonsense right now. He whipped off his hat and turned toward her, looking her directly in the eye.
    “Happy now?” he spit out.
    There it was, that first wide-eyed shock of surprise in her eyes, her mouth dropped open