Best Laid Plans Page 0,3

that his eyes were brown, a soft, golden brown. They weren't lit with anger or embarrassment. Rather, they assessed her with a flat neutrality. "I'm Cody Johnson. Your architect."

She could have babbled. She could have apologized. She could have laughed off the incident and offered him another beer. All three options occurred to her but, because of his calm, unblinking stare, were rejected. "Nice of you to stop by," she said instead.

A tough one, he decided, despite the hazel eyes and the sultry mouth. Well, he'd cracked tough ones before. "If I'd known what a warm reception I'd get, I'd have been here sooner."

"Sorry, we had to let the brass band go." Because she wanted to salvage her pride, she started to move past him, and discovered quickly that if she wanted to get to the door, the sofa or anywhere else she'd have to move through him. She didn't question why the prospect appealed to her. He was an obstacle, and obstacles were meant to be knocked down. An angling of her chin, very slight, was all she needed to keep her eyes level with his.

"Questions?" she asked him.

"Oh, a few." Like who do I have to kill to have you? Does your chin really take a punch as well as you think? And since when is a hard hat sexy? "Do you always pour beer on your men?"

"Depends on the man." Leaving it at that, she started by him again - and found herself lodged between him and the refrigerator. He'd only had to turn to accomplish it. He took a moment, keeping his eyes on hers. He didn't see fear or discomfort in them, only a spitting fury that made him want to grin again. So he did.

"Close quarters in here... Ms. Wilson."

She might be an engineer, she might be a professional who had come up the hard way and knew the ropes, but she was still a woman, and very much aware of the press of his body against hers, the hard line of hip, the solid length of thigh. Whatever her reaction might have been, the glint of amusement in his eyes erased it.

"Are those teeth yours?" she asked calmly.

He lifted a brow. "Last time I checked."

"If you want to keep it that way, back off."

He would have liked to kiss her then, as much in appreciation for her guts as in desire for her taste. Though he was often impulsive, he also knew when to change tactics and take the long route. "Yes, ma'am."

When he moved aside, she slipped past him. She would have preferred to walk through the door and keep going, but she sat on the sofa and spread the prints out again. "I assume that Gray filled you in on the meeting you missed?"

"Yeah." He slid behind the table and sat down. As he'd said, the quarters were close. For the second time, their thighs brushed, denim against denim, muscle against muscle. "You wanted some changes."

She shouldn't be defensive. It did no good to be defensive. She couldn't help it. "I've had a problem with the basic design from the beginning, Mr. Johnson. I made no secret of it."

"I've seen the correspondence." Stretching out his legs was a bit of a trick in such cramped quarters, but he managed it. "You wanted standard desert architecture."

Her eyes narrowed fractionally, and he caught the glint. "I don't recall the word standard coming up, but there are good reasons for the style of architecture in this region."

"There are also good reasons for trying something new, don't you think?" He said it easily as he lit another cigarette. "Barrow and Barrow want the ultimate resort," he continued before she could comment. "Totally self-contained, and exclusive enough to draw in big bucks from the clientele. They wanted a different look, a different mood, from what can be found in the resorts sprinkled around Phoenix. That's what I'm giving them."

"With a few modifications - "

"No changes, Ms. Wilson."

She nearly ground her teeth. Not only was he being pigheaded - a typical architect - but it infuriated her the way he drew out "Ms." in that sarcastic drawl. "For some reason," she began calmly, "we've been unfortunate enough to have been chosen to work together on this."

"Must have been fate," he murmured.

She let that pass. "I'm going to tell you up front, Mr. Johnson, that from an engineering standpoint your design stinks."

He dragged on his cigarette, letting the smoke escape in a slow stream. She had amber flecks