“I knew you’d miss me if I gave you half a chance.”

“Go away.”

He gazed down at her with those dreamy blue-gray eyes and brushed her cheekbone with his thumb. “You’re worn out. Have you finally had enough?”

She pulled her eyes away from the suntanned V of skin at his open shirt collar. “More than enough.”

“Good. I’ll let you come back.”

She couldn’t help it. She sucked her teeth.

His lip curled. “You’re going to be your normal pigheaded self, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know how to be anyone else.” She grabbed a stack of clean laundry and stuffed it in the dresser. “Go away. I didn’t invite you up here, and I don’t feel like sparring with you.”

“That’s a first.” He folded himself into the overstuffed pink ruffled boudoir chair. He should have looked silly, but the chair only made him look more masculine. “Here’s the thing, Blue. I’m not saying you’re selfish, but I do think you could consider somebody other than yourself once in a while.” He extended his legs and crossed his ankles. “Like Riley, for example. She hasn’t had a decent meal since you left.”

“Hire a cook.” Blue knelt down to pick up her sketches from the carpet.

“You know I can’t do that while Mad Jack is around. He decided he wants to build that damned porch himself. So far, the workmen haven’t recognized him, but that’s only because he keeps to himself, and nobody expects to see a rock star standing on a ladder with a hammer in his hand.” Long, denim-clad legs stretched in front of her. “But hiring household help is asking for trouble.”

She snatched a drawing pencil from under his heel. “Jack’s leaving soon, and so is Riley. Your problem’s disappearing.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” He drew his leg in. “I don’t ask for favors easily, but we could use a little help.”

She picked up the last of her drawings and stood. “I already have a job.”

“And it’s making you miserable.” He rose from the powder puff chair.

As she gazed up at him, the small bedroom seemed to grow even smaller. There was one sure way to get him out of here. “How much will you pay me?”

She waited for him to start pulling hundred-dollar bills from his pockets, so she could kick him out. Instead, he rubbed his thumb over a bandage on his wrist. “Nothing. I’m asking you to do this as a favor. A home-cooked dinner on Sunday.”

Just like that, he’d yanked away her moral high ground.

“I know it’s a lot to ask,” he said, “but all of us would really appreciate it. If you give me a list, I can pick up whatever you need.”