He needed a shower—a cold one—but there was only that pint-size bathtub. God, he hated it here. Why was she making such a big frickin’ deal out of this? She might have said no at dinner, but when he’d kissed her, that sweet little body sure had been saying yes. They were married! He was the one who had to compromise himself, not her!

His policy of never mixing business with pleasure had blown up in his face. The trouble he was having keeping his eyes off the bedroom door filled him with self-disgust. He was Kevin Tucker, damn it, and he didn’t have to beg for any woman’s affections, not when there were so many others standing in line trying to catch his attention.

Well, he’d had enough. From now on he was going to be all business. He’d take care of the campground and step up his work-outs so he was in top shape when training camp started. As for that irritating little brat who happened to be his wife … Until they got back to Chicago, it was strictly hands off.

Chapter 16

16

“My boyfriend’s parents were gone for the night, and he invited me over. As soon as I walked in the door, I knew what was going to happen …”

—“My Boyfriend’s Bedroom”

for Chik

Lilly hated herself for saying yes, but what art lover could turn down an invitation to visit Liam Jenner’s house and see his private collection? Not that the invitation had been issued graciously. Lilly had just come in from a Sunday-morning walk when Amy handed her the telephone.

“If you want to see my paintings, come to my house this afternoon at two,” he’d barked. “No earlier. I’m working, and I won’t answer the bell.”

She’d definitely been in L.A. too long, because she almost found his rudeness refreshing. As she turned off the highway and onto the side road he’d indicated, she realized how accustomed she’d grown to meaningless compliments and empty flattery. She’d nearly forgotten that people still existed who said exactly what was on their minds.

She spotted the weather-beaten turquoise mailbox he’d told her to look for. It perched crookedly on a battered metal pole set in a tractor tire filled with cement. The ditch behind the tire held rusted bedsprings and a twisted sheet of corrugated tin, which made the NO TRESPASSING sign at the top of the rutted, overgrown lane seem superfluous.

She turned in and slowed to a crawl. Even so, her car lurched alarmingly in the ruts. She’d just decided to abandon it and walk the rest of the way when the overgrowth disappeared and fresh gravel smoothed the bumpy road surface. Moments later she caught her breath as the house came into view.