She’d never been particularly fond of blond men, but those dark eyes with his thick mane of tawny curls and lush golden skin just made her ache for a taste. A nervous jitter went over her like it always did when he stood this close to her, and she could smell the clean, spicy scent of him. The man was simply mouth-wateringly scrumptious, and incredibly brilliant.

“Well?” he prompted.

Sam bit her lip as she raked her gaze over his long, lean frame. “Other than the fact you look like your seeing-eye dog dressed you this morning, nothing,” she teased. “What did you do to make Heather mad this time?”

He cursed under his breath. It was common knowledge that Adrian had a rare type of color blindness that rendered him completely incapable of seeing any color whatsoever. As a result, he paid his baby sister to do his laundry, and every time Heather got upset at big brother, she took it out on his wardrobe.

“What did she do to me now?” he asked warily.

“Well, you’ll be happy to know your red plaid shirt is still red, but the splotchy pink Henley really has to go.”

Adrian held his leg out and pulled his jeans up to show her his socks. “What about them?”

“Unlike your shirt, they actually match your Henley.”

Growling low in his throat, he buttoned his plaid shirt all the way to his neck. “One day, I’m going to kill her.”

Sam laughed at the threat he uttered at least twice a week. She’d met Heather a couple of times during lunch, and though Sam liked her, Heather was a bit self-absorbed.

“So, what did you do?” she asked.

“I refused to let her borrow my Vette. The last time she took it out, she hit a pole and cost me three thousand dollars in damage.”

“Yikes.” Sam cringed for him. Adrian loved his vintage 1969 Stingray. “Was she hurt?”

“Thankfully, no, but my car is still sulking over it.”

Sam laughed again, but then, she always did that around him. Adrian had a dry, sharp wit that never missed a beat. “Well, I’m glad you stopped by. My Perforce is acting up again. I can’t get it to integrate my changes.” Which meant that the stupid server had her locked out and every time she tried to update a page on their Web site, it refused to let her.

She hated Perforce, and it hated her. But they were required to use it so that upper management could keep track of who made what changes to the Web site, and out of the entire network services department, Adrian was the only one who really understood the program.

“What’s it doing?” he asked as he came to stand beside her.