The carpenter was a she.

I stared at her a moment, taking in her sassy little jean shorts and her pink tank top that showed off her great arms. Tanned and toned--not muscular and not flabby. Perfect.

"Alex Matthews," I said, mentally changing her name to Alexandra. "You must be my carpenter." I opened my front door wide so she could lug in her toolbox and the assortment of tools that sat at her feet.

She smirked at me. "You thought I was a guy, didn't you?"

"Well, yes," I fumbled, and then laughed heartily at my mistake. "But it makes no difference to me." Besides, she was one nice looking little button. "You're cuter," I added.

I cleared my throat when she glared at me.

"Okay," she said. "We go room by room, and you tell me how you use each room."

We started with the living room. "I'd like a built in entertainment center, with--"

"Nuh-uh," she said. "Tell me what you do in here, how you use it."

Who knew carpenters had artistic temperaments? "Well, I watch TV." When I realized I had made it sound like I was telling her the world's most obvious thing--courtesy of another one of her killer glares--I added, "Sometimes I eat in front of it."

"Guests?" she asked.

"Uh," I thought for a second. I didn't want to sound like a lame and lonely bachelor at thirty-six. "Well, I usually bring the guys downstairs. We have poker night."

"You don't have a wife," she said. "You dating anyone with potential?"

I was momentarily struck speechless. Then I grinned at her.

"Get that thought out of your head," she said. "I can tell, no feminine touches," she said, wandering around the room and poking at my things. "And no sense in making this fit your lifestyle if someone else is going to be moving in with you in a year and wanting to change things."

"No one." I shook my head and followed her to the dining room.

"Nothing to be done in here. You don't use it, anyway."

"Oh, I don't, huh?" I grinned at her. "I do."

She twirled and put her hands on her hips, letting one jut out in a challenge.

I like challenges. "Well, I would like a built in sideboard to serve and a place to store my china." Well, she couldn't possibly know that I didn't have any china.

She laughed at me. "One, I bet you don't have any china, let alone matching dishes, and two, you've never used this room." She surveyed it, turning in circles. "Now I can see this as an office. Maybe a library. You read? You do any work at home?"

"You're a carpenter." It came out part reminder, part question. When she just stared at me, I added, "This is my house."

She rolled her eyes at me. "So what is it? Library? Office?"

"Dining room," I growled, but she was already making her way into the kitchen. "And I have an office upstairs."

"Yep, these have got to go." She started opening and shutting cabinets. "See? No matching plates." She gave me a triumphant smile, and I forgot to get defensive. She had an amazing smile. It perked up her whole face, making her look like one of those little gymnasts when they win the gold medal.

"Library," I said.

She laughed, all smug. Smug wasn't nearly as attractive on her as her smile was, but then she crawled right up on the counter to peer into the top shelves of the cabinets, putting her little butt at hand level.

And man, I wanted to get my hands on that perky little butt.

She caught my eyes and smirked again.

As we went through the rest of the house, our only other point of contention was the bedroom. She wanted to completely re-do my closet, get rid of my "awful" dresser, and "do something creative."

She stared out the second floor princess window. "A window seat, I think."

I laughed. "What the hell am I going to do with a window seat?"

She jutted her hip out at a cocky angle. "Read."

I didn't laugh. "That's what the library is for."

She looked at me like she thought I was a moron. Her attitude was starting to get on my nerves.

I frowned at her. "Now look, I'm paying, and I know what I want. I don't want a window seat there." Period, I thought. "And you know, I don't want a library. I want a sideboard."

"But I'm the expert. You hired an expert." Her face still told me that she thought I was a dumb oaf.

Something about being treated like a dumb oaf just pissed me off. I didn't think, I just stepped close to her and gave her a smack over her jeans.

Her face went red, and she gave me a deadly look. I thought she was going to dig out her hammer and smack me on the head with it. She looked me up and down, like she was judging whether she could take me.

Evidently, she decided she couldn't. She closed her notebook, stuck her pencil behind her ear, and stalked out of the room. A minute later I heard the front door slam.

As much as I regretted watching Alex walk out the door, it had been nice to get my hand on her little butt.

* * * *

I called six other carpenters the next day. They were all thrilled with the idea of such an extensive job, but the quickest any of them could "squeeze me in" was five months in the future. And even then, it would take them about six months to finish all the rooms.

I told myself that Alex had it coming with her sassy attitude. I told myself that she'd asked for it, defying me at every turn. I finally came to my senses and picked up the phone.

"Listen, Alex, I just wanted to call and apologize. I was completely out of line."

Her voice snapped back, all hot and full of sass. "You think I don't know that you've called every other carpenter in town?"

Boy, this was one smart cookie. She had my number, that was for sure.

"Listen, I have to head out of town at the end of the week for my book tour, so you won't even have to put up with me. If you finish by our original target date, you'll only have to see me for a couple days, total."

There was silence. Obviously, my absence was a plus.

"And," I said. "I'll throw in a fifteen thousand dollar bonus if it's done on time."

I thought I heard a holy shit, but it was so soft that it could have been my imagination.

Her tone certainly didn't betray any wonder. "I always complete my projects on time."

"And you're an exceptional carpenter," I agreed. "That's why I'm groveling."

The silence on the phone changed, and I sensed that I had irked her again.

"No, you're groveling because you were an ass, not because I'm an exceptional carpenter."

I kept my mouth shut. I reminded myself that Tom, my neighbor, had the most gorgeous woodwork I'd ever seen, and all done by her. I grinned, and made my tone joking.

"I was an ass, because you were full of sass."

My joke thudded into the silence.

"Was that supposed to be funny? Some crazy writer thing?" Her voice was as sassy and spirited as she.

"Okay, I'm sorry. Will you please help me?"

* * * *

I gave her the key the next day. Her lips curved into a pretty little frown.

"I think I'll wait to start until you leave," she said.

"You afraid of me?" I teased.

She wound the key onto her key chain, not bothering to look up at me. "I'm afraid of what I'll do with my saws if they get too close to your hand."

I grimaced at the visual. "Come on, now. I gave you a little spank. It didn't even leave a mark." I laughed when she blushed. Her cheeks turned a vibrant shade of red that matched her lips perfectly.

She started to turn away, but then she squared her shoulders and faced me. "Look, how you treat your women is nothing to do with me. You're a job. I'll do the job, and that's it. But I am not your girlfriend, so you may not touch me. Are we clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," I said, but I had to defend myself. "I treat my girlfriends like princesses."

"So you only beat the hired help, is that it?"

She turned to walk towards the door, quickly enough to make me think that she was eager to get out of my reach.

"Hey," I said softly. "I don't beat anyone. I've given a few spankings in my day, but I'd never hurt anyone." I stepped towards her. "I'd never hurt you," I said gently.

She stepped away again, but stuck her chin up at me. "People warned me about going into some crazy writer's house, but I'm not afraid of you, idiot."

Being called an idiot isn't one of those things that bother me much. Now if she'd called me a hack writer that would've bothered me. I leaned towards her and smiled. "See, now that sounds to me like you need a spanking."

Her eyes went wide, and her mouth popped open. She shut her mouth and swallowed. She opened her mouth, cocked her head, and then shut her mouth again. She finally twirled on her toes and walked out of the house.

I didn't see her again before I left on the tour, but I called my neighbor to see if she was working, and she was. She flitted through my mind a few times, but a book tour is exhausting. Six weeks of it is brutal. I love them, though. I'm as disorganized as the next person, and it takes me awhile to write my readers back. But to meet them, and see them ... I have to prevent myself from sounding idiotic and saying things like, "I can't believe you read my book," or gushing like an uncool brownnoser, "thank you so much for buying my book."

I came home for a weekend three weeks into it. I needed a break. I arrived home well after midnight on Friday.

She was sprawled on my couch, her face grimy with dried sweat, her red hair coated in sawdust. She had a cute little snore. Not exactly soft and ladylike, but not manly, either. Strong but cute, just like her. She wore a tank top, and her arms were as dirty as her face. Her legs were damned perfection.

I stepped closer. I should've woken her, but I didn't want to. Instead, I studied her lips. There's something about girls with red hair that makes their lips look moist, full of color, and absolutely kissable. Before I could stop myself, I touched a finger to her lips, just to see what the mystery was all about.

She stirred and fluttered her eyes, and I snapped my hand back just in time. "Sleeping on the job?" I teased.

"I thought you weren't going to be home for another three weeks."

Gosh, if I could kiss someone like her. "I didn't think you'd work on the weekends."

She slipped back into sass like she was pulling on a comfortable robe. "So if a guy works every day, they're considered hard-workers, but if a girl does, she has no life?"

I shook my head at her. "Honey, people only have lives in their twenties. The thirties are all about sitting at home on a Friday night. You've either got kids, or all your friends have kids."

She sat up a little and looked down at herself. "I'm a mess."

"You look cute," I said.

She wrinkled her nose. "I hate cute." She blinked a few times, and then she jumped up. "I've got to clear out your bedroom!"

I stopped her. "I can sleep in the guest bedroom," I offered. "I'm sure you've got things organized." She ran right past me, and something in her manner made me worry that something was up.

I crept up the stairs, and she was in the middle of my room, making the bed and throwing clothes in her suitcase. I stood in the doorway, arms crossed over my chest.

"I don't recall room and board as being part of our contract."

She looked abashed for a moment, but she jutted her chin up in the air. "You weren't here, so I put in some overtime."

What did I care? But I frowned at her.

She pointed her finger at me. "You aren't supposed to be home!"

That's when I noticed it. The Ming dynasty vase that I'd bought when my first crazy advance had gone to my head was not sitting in the corner of my bedroom, right by the bathroom. "What the hell?" I asked. "Where's my vase?"

Her eyes filled.

"Where's my vase?" I growled. I didn't see her stealing. I just couldn't imagine it.

"I broke it."

But my suspicions were aroused. "Where is it? We can put the pieces back together." I only kept it to remind myself of my stupidity, daily. I respect fine art, but paying a fortune for an ancient vase I'd only bought to impress a girl was just silly. I'd paid more for it than I'd made in two years in my twenties.

"It's shattered. I talked to a friend, and she clued me in that it was a Ming dynasty vase, but don't worry, I'm replacing it."

Don't be angry, I told myself. "You can't replace it. It's worth thousands of dollars."

"Fifty-six thousand, to be exact."

I narrowed my eyes at her.

"Don't worry, I've been working on locating a similar piece of similar value." The tears filling her eyes spilled over. "That's why I'm staying here, to save a little money until I get the final payment from this job."

"Good god, girl, that had to clean you out."

She shrugged.

"I don't want you replacing it," I decided. "That's too much money to pay for a vase, anyway."

"I'll forgo the bonus, and give you a discount on the labor for all this," she said.

I needed sleep. "We'll talk about in the morning. Go to bed," I said, and gestured towards my bed. "I'll sleep in the guest bedroom."

She didn't look like she enjoyed being told what to do, but she wisely kept her mouth shut.

* * * *

By morning, I just didn't care. "It's gone, forget about it."

She looked uncomfortable. She plopped an omelet on a plate for me.

"And we'll go with the contracted rate, and if you complete this on time and move out of my house, I'll give you the bonus."

She started beating some eggs for herself. "I suppose you'd spank a girlfriend for something like this." She blushed as she said it, and kept her eyes focused on the eggs.

"Nah, I don't believe in crying over spilt milk." But I did believe in using a little guilt to get another breakfast like this one. "You going to be here tomorrow morning? This is a phenomenal breakfast."

She started to sass, but seemed to change her mind. "Your wish is my command," she said.

I grinned. If only she knew what I wished...