...“Yeah?” a male voice barked.

The single word held enough irritation she hesitated with a hand on the knob. Pasting on her best public-relations smile, she pushed open the door and entered the seemingly unoccupied room with bare walls and nondescript furniture. A quick glance told her the man could use some pointers in color schemes. Near the middle of the room, she spotted a khaki-clad ass that rivaled the one in the foyer.

This time, the man in question knelt on the floor with his head under a table, arm outstretched toward the back wall. The position pulled the cotton fabric tight across hard thighs and sculpted cheeks.

Her gaze swept the rest of his attributes, growing appreciation pumping her blood faster. She cleared her throat. “Whit Barron?”

“That’s me.” His words were muffled.

His ass remained on display and she allowed her gaze to linger for just a moment longer. “Uh, I’m Micheline Didier of Goddesse Day Spa, here for our eleven o’clock appointment.”

“Crap.” Tight hips shifted, broad shoulders encased in a navy polo shirt straightened and a sandy-haired head emerged. His forehead wrinkled in a scowl at the tangle of electrical cords in his hands. “Damn computers.”

Another fine specimen of a male fit to inhabit Mount Olympus. Her mouth went dry. If the man expected a response, she was in trouble. Surely all the men in Reno, Nevada weren’t clones. Otherwise, she’d have trouble concentrating on getting this spa designed and built within her deadline.

Whit turned fully and looked over his shoulder, his deep blue eyes connecting with hers. A grin softened his scowl. In a lithe move, he dropped the cords and rose to his feet. “Hey, Micheline, glad to meet you.” He brushed his palms together and extended one over his desk. “After all your emails and phone calls, I feel like I know you.”

She juggled the portfolio and her purse and grasped his hand. Strong and firm—and large. Her gaze dropped to their joined hands—to the sight of hers almost disappearing in his. The theory about the correlation between a man’s hand size and that of his cock ran through her mind.

Stop this! She swallowed hard and forced her gaze upward, willing her thoughts back to the purpose for the appointment. “I’m glad to meet you. I hope my questions haven’t been too much of a bother. The time frame set by Mount Helicon headquarters doesn’t allow me much wiggle room.”

Stop babbling.

And let go of the man.

He released their clasp and ran fingers through his hair. “Deadlines I understand.” His gaze searched her face one more time, and he gestured to the table he’d just been under. “Use that to set out your sketches. Show me what you’ve got.”

His words conjured the image of one of her project inventory lists—the ones that normally itemized massage tables and facial basins. Instead, this one contained her personal assets—preferences, strengths, achievements—each item described in full detail and accompanied by candlelight and orchestral music. She shook her head at the crazy thoughts. Maybe the hot Nevada sun had given her heat stroke.

“Can I offer you coffee or tea?”

She looked over her shoulder and caught him eyeing her legs, a speculative grin shaping his lips. Her breasts tingled and her nipples pearled into buds. Wait! Mixing pleasure with business is asking for trouble. “Just water, if you have some.”

“Sure.” For a moment, he held her gaze, then nodded before moving to the far corner of the room.

Hell. She recognized interest when she saw it in a man’s eyes…and most definitely when it pulsed through her body. The way the man filled out his clothes held her attention. She licked her lips and stifled a sigh. An oracle wasn’t necessary to identify the object of her lustful emotions. If she couldn’t act on the sizzle she’d just felt, this month would be pure hell.