His shorts were already way too tight. Cal shifted in his seat, trying not to focus on the way her tongue slid over her plump bottom lip in an effort to soak up the last of the juice. Crap, when had a woman eating made him want to come in his pants like a teen?

His words definitely put her on edge. Her conversation was deliberately light and stayed far away from any deep topics, including physical intimacy. He should’ve been frustrated. Instead, he was filled with an anticipation that rivaled Christmas mornings when he’d discovered numerous gaily wrapped presents under the tree, begging to be torn open. She was so damn . . . pretty. With her silvery blond hair curled just right to flip at the curve of her jaw and those wide blue eyes he wanted to see fogged with hunger. For him. Silver hoops caught the light as she neatly tucked a few stray strands behind her ear. Her scent danced in his nostrils. No musk or smoky perfume for her. Just the freshness of soap and cucumber and female skin, sexier than a bottle of opium. Her lemon-colored blouse kept sliding over her shoulder, exposing white, unblemished skin and the delicate strap of a cream-colored bra. He couldn’t seem to take his gaze off that glimpse of exposed flesh. With unconscious motions, she kept shrugging it back, only to let it slowly fall again until the top curve of her full breast peeked at him.

The game of hide-and-seek was driving him crazy. Cal knew she wanted him. It was in the wariness gleaming in her eyes, the slight trembling of her fingers, the rapidly beating pulse at the base of her neck. He had no need to scare her with any outrageous remarks or bold moves. He enjoyed the subtle game of male to female—the chase, the capture, and the reward.

No need to hurry his pleasure.

Thing was, it was more than physical for him. He wanted this particular woman in his bed. He craved her particular smell and touch and kiss. He wanted to hear his name dragged from her lips. He wanted to make Morgan Raines come hard wrapped up in his arms. It had happened so gradually, working side by side, his initial irritation turning into amusement, and then fascination. The woman had gotten under his skin. The past few years, he’d only experienced brief, shallow relationships. Agreement on both sides, of course, because building houses came first, and most women were honest enough to admit they wanted something more from him. It wasn’t that he was spooked by the prospect of a more permanent relationship. It was simply that no woman had tempted him to want more.

Until now.

“This meal is superb,” she said, dabbing her mouth with the napkin. “I have to admit I doubted you.”

“Thought the meal would be amateur, huh?” he teased.

“Kind of. You just don’t strike me as the cooking sort.”

“More like the takeout type?”

He enjoyed the slight flush to her skin. “I didn’t mean it as an insult. Your schedule is like mine, and I’m sure there’s not a lot of time to prepare a meal every night.” She gave a delicate shrug. “Plus, when you’re cooking only for one, it just doesn’t seem worth it.”

“My mother taught all of us to cook for survival. She also said it impressed women, and she didn’t want any of her sons thinking his wife would be a maid.”

Her lips curved. “I think I would’ve loved your mom.”

Cal fought off the ghosts and nodded. “Yeah. I think it would’ve been mutual.”

“I’m sorry she died,” she said softly.

He wavered on telling her the truth of the circumstances but didn’t want to ruin his time with her talking about things that couldn’t be changed or made him sad. “So am I.” She laid down her utensils with precision, and he stood. “How is it going with the Rosenthals?” He began gathering plates and napkins. “Tell me a bit more how it works. Do you check with them at various stages or is this all your show?”

She gave a sigh. “I work differently with each of my clients, and the Rosenthals are quite hands-off. Usually that’s exciting, but I’ve been wrong a few times, and I’m not sure what’s happened.” Frustration curled into her Southern accent. “I Skyped with them and got a few items completely wrong. I’m worried about the furnishings and decor. I loved the Barn, but I don’t have the time to shop like I need. Normally I’d fly to Paris or scour Manhattan for impulse buys, but this schedule is too tight.”

Cal considered her problem. “Hmm. You know, I may be able to help.”

“Gonna hand-deliver me a warehouse to pick from?”

“I’m gonna show you something. A surprise.”

“A surprise, huh?” Was it her imagination or did her gaze sweep downward to his crotch? Yep. A guilty blush bloomed on her cheeks. Kind of hot and adorable at the same time. He kept his grin hidden. “Don’t tell me. It’s in the bedroom.”

He chuckled. “Actually, it’s outside. Think I just wanted to lure you to my lair?”

“No.”

He winked. “Then you’re giving me too much credit. You’d look good in my lair.”

Morgan rolled her eyes and gathered some plates. “The wolf and Little Red Riding Hood, huh? Do you know that fairy tale was specifically instructed to warn young females not to get any big ideas of independence? Veer off the path from what people tell you and get punished. Always pissed me off.”

They walked to the kitchen, and he began loading the dishwasher. “Had no idea fairy tales could be so politically incorrect. But something tells me you’d be the one to kill the wolf—not the woodcutter.”

She tilted her head in thought. “Yeah, I would. No one’s messing with my granny. Or getting my damn cookies.”

He laughed. “Warning taken.” She gave a cheeky grin, and they cleaned up together in comfortable silence. “Come on, guys. We’re going out.” He snagged her hand and led her to the porch while Gandalf and Balin bounded around them with joyful abandon.

The night was balmy and full of nocturnal insects partying. He switched on his iPhone flashlight and led her down the winding path behind the house, heading to the brink of the woods. She stopped short. “Uh, now I kind of feel like Red. I don’t want to go in there. It’s creepy.”

He tightened his grip on her hand. “We have the dogs. They won’t let any wolves hurt you. Neither will I.”

As if they sensed her unease, Gandalf and Balin planted themselves on both sides of her like trained guard dogs. Their upturned faces vowed endless protection and love. Morgan patted their heads, then gazed at the shadowy private path that disappeared into a thicket of trees. “Okay, but I’m more worried about Jason or Freddy.”