“If that’s all, ma’am, I’ll be going?”

If that was all? Joshua Grady really did not want to stick around. Suzanne knew she was an average woman. Average height, average looks, average size fourteen who could probably stand to lose a few pounds from her ass and thighs—she was more pear than hourglass. Good teeth, nice smile, clear skin. She was…attractive at best. A six who could push herself to a seven, maybe an eight for a gallery opening or one of her mother’s exhibitions.

She’d had boyfriends both casual and longer term—she was no blushing virgin—and she got along well with members of the opposite sex. But she wasn’t the kind of woman to whom men flocked. She was pretty sure this was the first time she’d actually repelled one, though.

If only that turned off her muse. Unfortunately, she was a fickle little tramp and always had been. And she’d been MIA for a good ten years while Suzanne had reproduced other artists’ works in the very lucrative field of museum and insurance-required reproductions.

Until today.

“Thanks so much, Joshua,” Suzanne said. It would have taken her much longer to unpack the van without him, and it was appreciated. “May I call you Josh?”

The angle of his jaw tightened. “No.”

Suzanne blinked at the blatant rebuttal and the morphing of his face from craggy and interesting to bleak and forbidding. But even more intriguing were the mental shutters slamming down behind his pale-green eyes. Shooting him her best flirty smile, she attempted to make amends. She could flirt with the best of them if required, and she’d never met a man who didn’t appreciate being the object of a little flirting. “Well…anyway…I’d like to make you dinner to thank you for everything. What are you doing tomorrow night?”

Grady clearly did not appreciate the flirting.

His brows beetled together, a deep V forming between them. “Look, lady.” He paused and drew in a breath. “I know there was a whole single-women thing that happened here over the summer and that a lot of dudes around these parts are looking to get hitched, but I’m not one of them. I don’t know what my uncle told you, but I am not in the market for a woman. Not for dinner or dating or a relationship or even a quick tumble in the sheets. I like peace and quiet. I like solitude. I’ve said more words today than I have all week. So you stay here”—he cocked his head at the cottage—“and I’ll stay there”—he pointed at the back porch of his place—“and we’ll get along just fine.”

He drew a breath again, and Suzanne could do nothing but stare. It was the most animated his face had been since her arrival, and it was a thing to behold, his square jaw working, his eyes glinting with cold steel.

Suzanne blinked as realization cut through her artistic drive. Did he think she was here to…ingratiate herself with him? To…date him? Have sex with him? Did he think his uncle had pimped her out?