* * *

  AFTER DYLAN DISAPPEARED into the house, Cassie rose with the kitten in her arms. She looked at Serena and they both stifled giggles. Serena said, “Did we just witness a fireman rescuing a kitten from a tree?”

  “Yep. And he looked awfully good doing it.”

  “He looks good doing just about anything,” Serena agreed. “Too bad he can’t grow up.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did I tell you about Last Bachelor Standing?”

  “I don’t think so. I’d have remembered.”

  Serena shook her head. “Well, when the three boys—and I do mean boys—Adam, Dylan and Max, were all celebrating Adam’s thirty-fifth birthday back in February, every one of them was still single. They challenged each other to one of their stupid contests. They’ve known each other forever and have this strange compulsion to set up bets. This one was who would be the last bachelor standing.”

  “You’ve got to be joking.”

  Serena shook her head once more.

  “Obviously, Adam didn’t win,” Cassie said, pointing to Serena’s engagement ring.

  A purely feminine smile was her response. “No. He did not. Then Max went to Alaska and fell for that bush pilot who, let’s just say, took him down in flames.”

  “Which leaves Dylan.”

  “Yep. Undisputed winner of the contest, which I like to call Last Guy to Grow Up.”

  Cassie could hear banging and sawing coming from the bathroom so she knew they couldn’t be overheard. “Is he proud of this so-called accomplishment?”

  “He brags about it every time the guys get together.”

  She glanced up at the bathroom window. “Sometimes I think it’s a wonder our species survives.”

  “Speaking of survival,” Serena said, regarding the rescue cat, “what are you going to do about this little stray?”

  The kitten was purring loudly in her arms, but she could feel that the animal was skin and bone. “I guess I’ll meet my new neighbors, see if anyone claims it.”

  “It might belong to the last people who lived here. Sometimes cats find their way home.”

  Cassie dumped the rest of the can of tuna into the saucer. Then she said to Serena, “Come on in. I’ll show you the progress so far, as promised. And you can help me choose paint colors.”

  “As promised. Where do you want to start?”

  “My bedroom. I cannot stand waking up every morning surrounded by walls the color of already chewed bubblegum.”

  “Let’s go.”

  But first she had to stop and admire the hardwood floors. “These are going to be so beautiful when they’re refinished.”

  “I know. I can’t believe the difference already.”

  As they walked upstairs she described the bedroom of her imagination. “I want something very feminine. I work with fish and marine mammals and scientists all day. I want my bedroom to be a woman’s retreat.”

  They entered the room and she immediately saw what she wanted. “I’ve seen a yellow-and-blue duvet cover that I love, and I’ll have chintz cushions in the window seat in a coordinating fabric.”

  Serena nodded. “The window seat really is pretty, with that view out into the garden. I love those multipaned windows. So country cottage.”

  “I think that window seat might have sold me this house,” she admitted.

  “What about a chandelier for a light fixture?” The one crouching over a single lightbulb in the ceiling was a square of etched glass that must have been ugly even in the ’60s.

  “Ooh, I like it. And I’m looking for an antique headboard. I haven’t found one yet, but I’ll know it when I see it.”

  “Nice. And you’ve got an en-suite bathroom, which is such a great feature.”

  “But what color for the walls?”

  Serena took a few moments to walk right into the bedroom. She sat on the window seat. Looked into the room. “I am seeing a French blue. Something soft, but the color of lavender.”

  “Oh, that’s perfect.” Cassie picked up the fan of paint colors she’d bought to help her choose and began to flip. There were so many shades they made her eyes hurt, but Serena helped her and they finally decided on a color that both agreed would be wonderful. For the bathroom they decided on a darker shade of the same lavender color. The color would go well with the dark wood cabinet she’d scored for half price in a high-end decorating store that was changing its stock.

  Cassie added two different colors of paint to her growing list of supplies to purchase, then added a chandelier because the idea pleased her so much. She knew that if she could get even this one room finished, she’d feel more settled.

  When she turned to leave she found that the cat had followed them and had settled herself on the window seat, nestled among the cushions she’d put there temporarily.

  Since she was sound asleep after her ordeal in the tree, Cassie decided to leave her to sleep.

  Tomorrow she’d find her home. And if she turned out to be a stray, she supposed she’d have to find the nearest animal shelter.

  A ray of late-afternoon sun shone on the kitten’s tortoiseshell coat and as she dreamed, her whiskers twitched.

  * * *

  SERENA ALSO HAD some good ideas for other rooms, including sophisticated neutrals for the main downstairs rooms. When Cassie had jotted down a list of colors, she offered Serena a drink, but her friend shook her head. “Can’t. I’ve got to run. I’ve got an appointment to view a hotel ballroom for the wedding reception.” She flapped a hand to her chest and her engagement ring flashed. “Booking a wedding without a year’s lead time is crazy. Everything decent is already booked.” She sighed. “Fortunately, I have connections and I’m very persuasive.”

  “If it was me, I’d want to get married outside.”

  “Me, too. And good luck with that. My advice? When you get married, give yourself plenty of planning time.”

  “I should probably start by actually going out on a date.”

  Serena nodded. She understood. In the past they’d bonded over being single professional women and laughed about their bad dates. Now Serena had found the love of her life. Cassie still seemed to be stuck in single mode.

  “I can’t believe I’m getting married,” Serena suddenly said, looking uncertain.

  “I can. It suits you.” It did, too. Serena had always possessed the most amazing confidence but now that she’d found love there was a deeper calmness that hadn’t been there before. Perhaps it was contentment.

  After Serena left, Cassie walked toward the main-floor bathroom—soon to be a magazine-inspired transformation—to check on progress. And found the cat seeming to do the same. She sat, tail curled around her paws, watching Dylan manhandle the tub. He was sweating and his muscles bulged. A wave of lust, as unexpected as it was unwelcome, crashed over Cassie as she watched him.

  “Can I help?” she asked.

  “I’ll get a buddy to help me heft the tub out of here,” he grunted.

  “I can do it,” she insisted. “Give me two seconds to change my clothes.”

  “It’s heavy,” he warned.

  “I heft all the time at work.”

  In not much more than two seconds she’d shoved herself into a pair of old jeans and a T-shirt she’d gotten somewhere for free and should never have accepted.

  “Take the other pair of work gloves from my toolbox,” he said, “and let me know if it’s too heavy.”

  The tub was heavy, all right, but she worked out, and as a diver she was used to carrying heavy equipment. She’d manage.

  The tub was not only ugly and heavy but the edges she had to hold dug into her hands even through the gloves. No way could she simply drop it halfway to the door, so she gritted her teeth, tightened every core muscle she could locate and slowly, step by step, they got the beast down the hall then out the front door. He’d already put down the back of his truck, so they walked it right over and wedged and heaved until the hulk of metal humped in the truck bed like a beached gray whale.

  The cat followed them, watching the operation with interest.

  “You’re stronger than you look,” Dylan said, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, running his gaze down her body in a way that made her tingle.

  “I—” She had no idea what to say. Their gazes connected and she felt that pull of attraction once more, stronger now that she suspected he felt it, too.

  “Hi, there,” a female voice called out, breaking the spell.

  They both turned and a pleasant-looking woman in her forties stood at the edge of the drive, smiling. “I’m Lynette Peters. My family and I live next door.” She indicated the white house on Cassie’s right with a front yard full of blooming spring flowers. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

  “Thank you,” Cassie said, walking forward. She pulled the work glove from her right hand and shook hands. “I’m Cassie Price. I do have one question.” She pointed to the cat sitting behind the truck licking one paw. “Do you know whose cat this is?”

  The woman glanced down at the kitten and shook her head. “I don’t recognize her and I know most of the pets around here. I’d say she’s a stray. Poor little thing. People should get their cats spayed.”

  “I know. I was hoping she had a home. I guess I’ll have to take her to the shelter. Maybe they can find her a home.”

  “Well, you let us know if you need anything, you or your husband.”

  “Oh,” Cassie said, “Dylan’s not my husband.”

  On his way back to the house, Dylan sent Lynette his lady-killer grin and said, “She just uses me for sex.”

  “Dylan!” She felt her cheeks warm, probably because she’d been lusting after him only a few minutes earlier. She turned back to Lynette. “He’s joking. Of course we’re not, uh, you know...”

  Lynette watched Dylan saunter back to the house. “Then you must be crazy.”

  4

  HOW COULD ONE SILLY, joking comment change everything? Cassie wondered as she walked back into the house and found Dylan carrying a rusted length of pipe down the hall toward her. She held the front door wide for him and as he passed she wondered what it would be like to enjoy a man only for sex. She’d never tried it before, but with Dylan, she could see the appeal. The lust wasn’t all coming from her. She recognized the interest in his eyes.

  Even without Serena’s subtle warning earlier, she could tell Dylan was a player. There was something about a really sexy guy that said he knew exactly the impact he had on women. It wasn’t his fault, she supposed—it must be hard to be that sexy and gorgeous and not end up a little full of yourself.

  So she knew he was a player, and normally she was immune from such practiced charm. It was incredibly bad luck that Dylan should be the one to get to her. When they were spending so much time together.

  She’d simply have to let him believe she was as immune to him as she wished she were.

  It wasn’t that she was in a hurry to settle down or anything, but there was something wrong with considering getting involved in even the most casual way with a man who prided himself on being the last bachelor standing.

  * * *

  OVER THE FIRST week they fell into a routine. He’d arrive in the morning before she left for work, and when she returned, he’d show her the day’s progress, suggest her next task and often stay working with her.

  When she protested that he was working too many hours, he shrugged. “I like to keep busy.” She thought maybe working on her house prevented him from brooding over his job woes, and since she enjoyed working with him in the house—and the sooner her house was done, the better—she didn’t argue.

  When Saturday arrived, she wasn’t a bit surprised to see him show up, his hair damp as though he’d just stepped out of the shower. Obviously misinterpreting the way she was staring at him, he said, “Sorry I’m a little late today. I always do a longer workout at the gym on the weekends.”

  Which told her that not only was he working out on top of the exhausting physical labor of a home renovation, but that he considered every day a workday. “I wish I had your energy,” she said.

  “I’ve gotta stay in shape for the championship hockey game,” he told her, helping himself from the pot of coffee she’d made.

  “Oh, right. Adam said something about an emergency-services league.”

  “Right. Play-offs in a few weeks. Our team, the Hunter Hurricanes, gets so close every year to winning, but this year that trophy is ours.”

  “Isn’t this a charity event? To raise money for a good cause?”

  “Sure it is. Doesn’t mean we don’t all go out there and play to win.” Then he glanced up. “You should come and watch one of our games sometime.”

  It was the first time he’d suggested anything remotely unrelated to their project, and she was startled. And pleased. “Oh, thanks. I’d love to.”

  The kitten appeared, scampering on her little kitten legs to meow at Dylan’s feet. He scooped the cat up so they were nose to nose. “How are you doing, Twinkletoes?”

  A purr was the answer. He put the cat over his shoulder in a practiced way that she suspected happened a lot when she wasn’t home. The cat hung there, purring with content, while Dylan drank more coffee.

  He didn’t mention that she still had the cat almost a week after they’d found it, so she felt she should explain. “I put a poster up around the neighborhood. I’m hoping someone claims her.” She did not refer to the cat as Twinkletoes, feeling that naming a stray was a straight path to cat ownership. And right now she was still struggling with the home-ownership thing. She couldn’t take on more responsibility. As cute as the kitten was.

  “Any bites?”

  “Nothing. I’ll keep the cat a few more days and try and fatten her up a bit before taking her to the shelter.”

  He didn’t answer. Merely walked back to the kitchen and placed the now empty mug in the sink.

  “I’m filling the cracks and holes in my bedroom walls today, then I’ll try my hand at painting.” She figured if she screwed up on her bedroom, it wasn’t too serious. Hopefully by the time she got to the downstairs main rooms she’d be a pro.

  “I’m back in the bathroom. For the smallest room in the house, it’s going to be one of the biggest time sucks.”

  She understood, and also knew how fantastic it was going to look when that bathroom was done. She’d chosen the fixtures with care. The tile, even the wall paint. He walked toward the bathroom, the cat hanging off him like a funky stole, and she headed for the stairs.

  She got to work with her scraper, getting rid of some of the loose old paint and then filling in the nail holes and a few shallow cracks with filler. She kind of liked the mindless work. She put on NPR for a while and then found she wasn’t listening, so she flipped to a music station.

  “Cassie! Come here,” Dylan yelled from the direction of the bathroom.

  She dropped her paint scraper and ran to the bathroom, picturing him trapped under a heavy object or something, but when she got there she found him with hands on hips, admiring the latest layer of decorative wall covering he’d bared.

  “This must be the original,” he said.

  She walked into the bathroom, immediately feeling the closeness of their two bodies brushing as they contemplated what had to have been the ultimate in bathroom decor back in the 1950s.

  He put a friendly arm on her shoulder. “It’s you.”

  The wallpaper was in blue and turquoise tones with splashes of gold. It showed a mermaid riding a dolphin. Or maybe a whale. Whoever had designed the paper wasn’t a marine biologist. But she loved the whimsy of the busty mermaid with her long, flowing hair and rounded hips ending in a green tail that looked a lot like a slinky gown. She rode sidesaddle on her willing aquatic ride. “She’s one sexy mermaid.”

  “You see? This was meant to be. You’re a woman of the sea and this wallpaper is a sign that this is supposed to be your house.”

  She looked at him. “You really believe that?”

  He shrugged. “Why not? Too bad we can’t save more of it.”

  “She looks like you, too,” he said, glancing at the buxom mermaid and back at Cassie. There was a warm, teasing light in his eyes that was hard to resist.

  “You think I’d look good in scales?”

  “I think you’d look good in anything.” There was no denying, the man had some serious charm going on. Also, this space was small and he was so hot and it had been so long and... The moment lingered, his gaze on hers, a ripple of energy between them not unlike the ripple of the water’s surface when a fin has fluttered by.

  Oh, this was such a bad idea, she thought as her heart began to pound and he moved infinitesimally closer.

  The shrill ringing of the phone brought her back to reality faster than a plunge into cold water. She backed away fast. “I should get that.” She tucked her hair behind her ears in a nervous gesture she’d had since grade school.

  His eyes tilted at the corners in wry amusement, maybe some disappointment. “You should.” Then he turned back to his task of removing whimsical ’50s mermaids from her walls and she ran to answer her landline.

  “Hey, Dylan?” she yelled to him from the kitchen.

  “Yeah?”

  “The floor tile’s in. I’m going to pick it up.”

  “Okay. Need a hand?”

  Well, she did and she didn’t. She figured the guys at the warehouse could schlep the tiles into her car and Dylan could help her unload them when she got back. Which gave her an hour or so out on the road on her own to talk some sense into herself.

  Besides, there was something so unsexy about a tile warehouse, maybe it would be the decorating equivalent of the cold shower she really needed right now.