“You can focus your attention on me anytime you want.” His voice deepened into a flirtatious rumble.

Somehow, while her back was turned, he’d come up behind her. His reflection appeared beside hers in the window, and she felt the heat of his body just inches away. Almost desperately she wanted to turn into him and share his warmth. She refused even to look at him, rather than give in to the need.

“I’m sorry about last night,” she said, warding off temptation. “I do tend to butt into situations that aren’t my business. But you’re an outsider here, and it doesn’t benefit you to alienate the people you intend to question.”

“Since you’re on Clayton’s side, I’d think you’d be pleased by the lack of cooperation I’ve received.”

She climbed off the ladder and turned to face him. “Why? The more you learn, the better his chances of being recognized as a Bradford.”

“There’s that. But what if, by some miracle, I discover what you and he contend is true, and I choose never to recognize him?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

He scratched his chin. “What’s in it for me?”

“The truth.”

“Some truths are harder to swallow than others.” To his credit, he seemed troubled by the possibility.

“But you won’t be able to ignore it if it’s shoved down your throat, will you?”

His chest expanded and contracted on a sigh. She wished he wouldn’t do that.

“No.” His reluctance was almost palpable. “I’m committed to getting to the bottom of this, however low that might be.”

“And you don’t believe there’s any way that you and Clay have the same father?”

He hesitated a second too long for certainty. “No, but I might not be the most perceptive observer. I’ve been thinking about bringing in a private investigator.”

“Another outsider?” She hooked her elbows on the ladder behind her and leaned back. “How would that help?”

“It couldn’t hurt. He’d be more experienced and objective than I am. Wouldn’t have a personal grudge against Clayton.”

“But the people here would think you’re just spreading your money around, trying to buy answers. They’d freeze a private investigator right out.”

The towel slipped down a notch on his hips. She almost stopped breathing while he adjusted it. “Do you have any other ideas?”

Plenty, but she squashed the most obvious one. “About the investigation? Well, we could join forces.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t we be working at cross purposes?”

“We may want to find out for different reasons, and we may disagree about the probable outcome, but we both want to uncover the truth. We can concentrate on that and see what happens.” Gracie suspected she was babbling, but with Testosterone Mountain acting like a brain-cell magnet, she couldn’t stop.

“You don’t know anything more about investigating than I do.” His lips moved and sounds emerged, but his reasonable words faded beneath his very distracting body language. His physical presence challenged her to acknowledge him. His eyes dared her to come closer. And the stroke of his finger slowly traveling up her jaw toward her ear issued a clear invitation for her to touch him in return.

She reached up one hand and traced the chain attached to a religious medal that nestled against his chest. Crinkly chest hair tickled her fingers. She swallowed. “No, but the people here will talk to me.”

“You may be the only one who could talk the next person on my list into meeting with me.” He caressed the sensitive spot beneath her ear with a fingertip, circling it, teasing it.

Her fingers drifted down the chain links to the medal itself. She pretended to study it. “Why is that?”

“Because the last time I saw him, he tried to punch my lights out.”

She lifted her eyes to meet his. The impact nearly knocked her backward. His gaze hit her in the solar plexus like a force field. But his attention pulled her closer, enveloped her. Confused her. “You want to talk to Clay?”

“Mmhmm,” Dylan confirmed, apparently more concerned with the texture of her earlobe between his thumb and forefinger than with the conversation.

“Oh, boy, you really do need my help, don’t you?”

He leaned into her personal space, much, much closer than necessary. His breath teased her ear. His chuckle washed over her like a warm, sensual bath. “Do I have to admit that?”

She shivered and braced herself, making one last stab at detachment. “That’s the price for my assistance.”

“I’ll admit it. I need you, Gracie. I really, really need you. More than I would’ve ever thought possible.”

His hands settled on her shoulders. Time stood still as he pulled her closer. An inch… two inches. She became more aware than ever that only one person in the room had clothes on, and that one person wasn’t Dylan. Her breasts, primly covered in a T-shirt and bra, felt his heat through both layers.

He aligned his hips with hers. Her body had never fit so precisely with anyone’s before, and they were still standing. How much better would their pieces fit if they were horizontal? The four-poster bed behind them seemed to be calling her name.

He pressed his mouth to hers in a potent kiss that was more playful than romantic, more teasing than erotic, but Gracie felt the buzz of it all the way to her toes. His lips grazed hers, and she wanted more. She wanted those firm, sensual lips to settle on hers and tempt and taste and tantalize her.

She lifted her hands to the back of his head, eager to encourage and escalate the sensations rippling through her from the light touch of his kiss. Metal clunked against bone.

“Ow.” Clutching his skull at the nape of his neck, he pulled away. “What was that?”

“A bracket. Sorry, I forgot I had it in my hand.” She tossed the hardware aside and probed beneath his thick, blond hair for lumps. “Are you all right?”

“You don’t need to examine me.” He pulled away from her inspection. “After last night, what’s one more bump?”

“Oh, well, in that case...” Talk about a mood breaker. She was in a class by herself. Hadn’t Baxter always said so? Her shoulder’s slumped with disappointment. “I should finish this.” She climbed up the ladder.

“Why are you hanging curtains?” Sinking into a chair, he leaned his head back. “Don’t you have a decorator for that?”

“Of course, we do. She’s over at the church, supervising ice cream production for the festival tomorrow.”

“Your grandmother made these?” He lifted up a corner and rubbed the material between two fingers. “Nice.”

“Yep, and in a little while, I’m going to meet her at the hospital, and hopefully, bring Granddad home.”

“Can you get in touch with Clayton and see if he’ll join us for lunch? I wasn’t kidding about trying to talk to him.”

“Are you buying? You owe me for last night, remember?”

“I won’t forget my wallet, I promise.”

“Okay, but first, fill me in on what you’ve found out. From the conversation I overheard a few minutes ago, you know something about the house on Cordial Street.”

She thought he’d balk at confiding in her. He hesitated and then shrugged. “All right, you finish what you’re working on while I get dressed, and then we’ll talk.”

Darn, why did everything good in life demand a trade-off?

Chapter Fifteen

Just before noon, Dylan met Gracie in the hospital lobby. A shot of sheer pleasure at the sight of her hit him with a one-two punch square between his eyes and groin. Those legs… flashing eyes… lush mouth… all swamped him with a staggering rush of desire.

Thoughts about her had tantalized him all morning. No matter how often he’d tried to steer clear of her and keep his feelings in line, she reappeared and pushed her busy nose and luscious body into his life.

He’d been within licking distance of kissing her the last three times they’d been together. The first time had been a spur-of-the-moment temptation. The second—he convinced himself—lay squarely on rampaging adrenaline after the fight. But this morning, pure physical attraction was the culprit. Mixed with something as heady as brandy and as complicated as quantum physics.