Like a Hurricane by Roxanne St. Claire

Author:Roxanne St. Claire [Claire, Roxanne St.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance
ISBN: 9780373765720
Google: c5PW7Oc6baAC
Amazon: 037376572X
Barnesnoble: 037376572X
Goodreads: 843861
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2004-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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Eight

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Nicole could smell the spicy aroma of Red Door perfume long before Fredericka Whitaker appeared in her office. Aunt Freddie would stop to chat with Sally, of course, and tease stray employees into a friendly conversation. But the scent of Red Door meant the impending arrival of her wonderful and outrageous aunt, undoubtedly wearing a dress of her own inimitable design and commenting insightfully about the state of Mar Brisas.

Since only one change was worth noting, Nicole had a feeling she knew what would capture Freddie's attention.

"Who, or shall I say, what, is on the roof, sweet pea?"

Right on cue. Nicole clicked the accounting program closed and spun her chair around from her computer.

"Aunt Freddie! What a great color for you."

Flipping off a wide-brimmed fuchsia hat and fanning her jet-black hair with it, Freddie dropped with a drama-queen sigh into Nicole's guest chair. She fluffed the yards of tie-died pink-and-white cotton that swirled around her legs. "You like? I just sold fifteen of these to Lilly's in Naples. Top dahlar, dahling, for the ladies-who-lunch."

"It's positively … you."

Freddie narrowed her cornflower-blue eyes in direct demand. "Who is climbing all over your roof? I would have been here earlier, but I had to stand in the parking lot and … watch."

Oh, yes. Nicole understood. For the past two days, she'd found every imaginable excuse to leave her office, roam the property and keep her eyes trained roof-ward. She'd practically walked into a palm tree gazing at the sight of a shirtless Quinn McGrath, his sculpted muscles glistening with sweat, ripped with each straining movement as he heaved barrel tiles and hammered them into place.

Then he would pause, surveying his work as he wiped his brow with a bandana, and take a long, lusty swig of water. That alone would have been enough to bring a woman to her knees, but then he had another jaw-dropping habit.

He'd pour a generous amount of water over his head and let the droplets sluice down his face and dance over his shoulders, forming rivulets that sparkled in the sun. Nicole just … watched. And perspired. And fantasized. Oh, she understood Freddie's tardiness completely.

"Who is it?" she insisted again.

"That's Quinn McGrath. He's repairing the roof."

Freddie's mouth opened to a perfect pink circle and her hat fell still on her lap. "The real estate mogul from New York?"

Nicole's stomach muscles tensed, but she kept her face expressionless. "Yes. He's kindly offered to help."

"Well, well, well." Freddie leaned forward and practically inhaled all remaining oxygen. The truth, according to Freddie Whitaker, could actually be smelled by the nosiest of nostrils. Hers. "I see you took my advice to get him on your good side."

Nicole shrugged and turned back to stare at her blank computer screen. Anywhere but Freddie's probing gaze. "It's in his best interest that the place is in good shape and evidently he likes to do that kind of work and he offered on Monday night since I had the tiles and it seemed like…" She was so rambling.

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