She unearthed a calculator and began to figure the total with long, elegantly shaped fingers that were still grimy.

He was putting her back up. Maybe it was the shoes, she thought. Or the

tie. There was something arrogant about a maroon tie. “That's the damage.” C.C. turned the invoice around and started down the list point by point.

He wasn't paying any attention, which was totally out of character. This was a man who read every word of every paper that crossed his desk. But he was looking at her, frankly fascinated.

“Any questions?” She glanced up and found her gaze locked with his. She could almost hear the click.

“You're C.C.?”

“That's right.” She was forced to clear her throat. Ridiculous, she told herself. He had ordinary eyes. Maybe a little darker, a bit more intense than she had noted at first, but still ordinary. There was no earthly reason why she couldn't look away from them. But she continued to stare. If she had been of a fanciful state of mind—which she assured herself she was notshe would have said the air thickened.

“You have grease on your cheek,” he said quietly, and smiled at her.

The change was astonishing. He went from being an aloof, annoying man to a warm and approachable one. His mouth softened as it curved, the impatience in his eyes vanished. There was humor there now, an easy, inviting humor that was irresistible. CC. found herself smiling back.

“It goes with the territory.” Maybe she'd been a tad abrupt, she thought, and made an effort to correct it. “You're from Boston, right?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

Her lips remained curved as she shrugged. “Between the Massachusetts plates and your speech pattern, it wasn't hard. We get a lot of trade from Boston on the island. Are you here on vacation?”

“Business.” Trent tried to remember the last time he'd taken a vacation, and couldn't quite pin it down. Two years? he wondered. Three?

CC. pulled a clipboard from under a pile of catalogues and scanned the next day's schedule. “If you're going to be around for a while, we could fit that lube job in tomorrow.”

“I'll keep it in mind. You live on the island?”

“Yes. All my life.” Hie chair creaked as she brought her long legs up to sit Indian-style. “Have you been to Bar Harbor before?”

“When I was a boy, I spent a couple of weekends here with my mother.” Lifetimes ago, he thought. “Maybe you could recommend some restaurants or points of interest I might squeeze in some free time.”

“You shouldn't miss the park.” After unearthing a sheet of memo paper, she

began to write. “You really can't go wrong anywhere as far as seafood, and it's early enough in the season that you shouldn't have any problem with crowds and lines.” She offered the paper, which he folded and slipped into his breast pocket.