Small wonder. With her hair pulled back, her sleeves rolled up, Laura climbed into the tub and began to attack the worst of the grime. When her guest—tenant—whatever the hell he was—arrived the following day, at least he wouldn’t find scum on the tiles.

As far as the stables themselves went, she’d decided after one look that they fell into Michael Fury’s territory.

While she worked, she rattled through her head for the rest of her day’s schedule. She could get back to Pretenses by three. Close out by six-thirty. A quick dash to pick up the girls from piano lessons.

Damn it, she’d forgotten to look into finding a good drawing instructor for Kayla.

Dinner at seven-thirty. A check to make certain both girls were prepared for whatever tests and assignments were coming up.

Was it spelling for Kayla tomorrow or math for Ali? Was it both? Good God, she hated going back to school. Fractions were killing her.

Puffing a bit as her muscles sang, she swiped soap and grit over her cheek.

She really did have to go over that report on the cosmeticians’ convention next month. She could do that in bed, once the girls were down. And Ali needed new ballet shoes. They would see to that tomorrow.

“Well, that’s quite a sight.” Michael stepped into the narrow doorway and was treated to the appealing view of a pretty female butt straining against faded denim. A butt that he assumed belonged to some nubile Templeton maid. “If this is among the amenities, I should be paying a hell of a lot more rent.”

Yelping, Laura sprang up, rapped her head on the shower nozzle, and slopped filthy water over her feet. It was a toss-up as to who was more surprised.

Michael hadn’t realized until that moment that he’d carried an image of Laura in his head. Perfect. Perfectly lovely, gold and rose and white, like a glossy picture of a princess in a book of fairy tales.

But the woman facing him now, eyes huge and darkly gray, had wet dirt smeared on her cheeks, her hair was a mess, and her tea-serving hands held a scrub brush.

He recovered first. A man who’d lived on the edge had to have quick reflexes. And he grinned widely as he leaned on the doorjamb. “Laura Templeton. That is you in there, isn’t it?”

“I wasn’t—we weren’t expecting you until tomorrow.”

Ah, yes, he thought. The voice hadn’t changed. Cool, cultured, quietly sexy. “I always like to get the lay of the land. The front door was wide open.”

“I was airing the apartment.”

“Well, then. It’s nice to see you again, Laura. I don’t know when I’ve had someone quite so attractive scrub out my john.”