“Good grief! Are you the hubby I’m renting?” Addison Montgomery blurted out in surprise, momentarily distracted from the cell phone at her ear. When she’d requested a home repairman she’d expected a pot-bellied, tool belt-wearing guy with a crack problem.

“Roy’s Rent-A-Hubby,” confirmed the denim and chambray-clad man at the door in a deep voice. Dark-haired and rugged, he stood six-feet with broad shoulders and narrow hips—nothing like she’d expected Roy to look.

Could she have called some kind of housewives’ fantasy service by mistake? Addy wondered for a confused second. In his late-twenties or early-thirties, this guy with his rumpled hair, deep chocolate eyes and velvet voice certainly qualified.

Glancing past the mouth-watering male in the open doorway, Addy saw a small, battered Datsun pick-up parked at the curb. The words “Roy’s Rent-A-Hubby” were emblazoned in white on the faded red pick-up. A Datsun? Hadn’t the company changed its name to Nissan thirty years ago?

“Ms. Montgomery!” the static-filled voice from her cell phone demanded, recalling her distracted attention back to the sale she’d been working. “Two o’clock sharp. I’ll expect you to be prompt.”

“Of course, Mr. LaSalle,” Addy hastily agreed. “I’ll meet you at the model home for Belle View.”

Hearing the irascible elderly man hang up, she closed her phone.

“You have a staircase that needs repair?” the workman hunk in front of her asked calmly, a dark eyebrow raised.

“Uh, yes,” Addy confirmed, collecting her scattered thoughts long enough to step back and let him into the house.

The wooden tool carry-all in his hand looked as old as her boss’s 1880 Victorian gem of a house. But its presence did lend further credence to his claim that he was in fact here to solve her problem.

Beside her, Fritz whined and wiggled his over-grown, cowardly butt closer to her leg.

“It’s okay,” she responded, patting the dog automatically, as she shut the door behind Roy.

Standing in the foyer, his gaze examining the once-beautiful staircase, Roy let out a long, low whistle. “What, exactly, happened here?”

With Fritz still glued to her leg, Addy turned, miserable as she stared at what had been a classic turn-of-the-last-century handrail. “Fritz needed to go to the bathroom and, and he was in a hurry.”

Roy’s glance swung to the cowering hulk of dog. “He must have really needed to go out.”

“Yes,” she agreed, even more miserably.

“Did he get hurt?” Roy asked, glancing at the dog before going forward to examine the gaping hole in the spindles that supported the handrail.

“No,” Addy said, relief washing over her again as she bent to pat Fritz’s thankfully thick coat covering his well-padded body. “He’s a combination of German Shepherd and Alaskan Malamute, I think. Anyway, the vet said his fur helped to cushion his fall when he slipped on the stairs and crashed through the spindles.”

Roy cast an critical eye over the dog. “Are you sure he’s not a moose? With the size of him, it’s amazing you have any handrail left.”

“I know,” Addy agreed, trying not to sound morose. After all, she’d eagerly agreed to look after Miriam’s beautiful, historic home and Miriam’s misbegotten mutt. But she couldn’t stand the thought of her beloved boss coming home to this desecration. Miriam had trusted her to look after things.

Trusted her to be home at regular intervals to let the darned dog out of the house to do his business. Roy lowered his wooden tool carry-all to the floor.

“This is quite a house,” he commented, turning from the ornate staircase to look into the fussy, lacy parlor with its clutter of beautiful, overly-carved furniture. “Unusual to see high Victorian in Louisiana.”

“Yes,” she agreed, glancing impatiently at her wristwatch. She should have been at the office half an hour ago. Now there was no other option but to make her calls from home.

“This area is more known for its plantation houses, but there are a few genuine Victorians.”

“Has it been in your family long?” he asked, mild interest in his deep, relaxed voice.

“It’s not my house,” Addy replied more stiffly than she’d intended. “I’m looking aft-- It belongs to a…a friend of mine. My boss. She’s away on a month-long vacation.”

Roy cast her a shrewd look that took in her flustered statement and drew what she feared were correct conclusions. “And you want to get this repaired before she returns?”

“Yes.” Addy’s answer was clipped. It was none of this guy’s business if she was just as cowardly as Fritz. She just couldn’t let her boss and mentor down this way. Miriam meant more to her than just an employer. She valued the gracious older woman’s respect tremendously and shuddered to think of losing it. Getting the mess fixed quickly and quietly was the only solution.

“So, Roy, can you handle this?” Addy asked as she shifted anxiously to get a better view of the Fritz-size hole in the spindles supporting the sweep of mahogany railing. He turned from his contemplation of the staircase, saying,

“The name is Noah. Noah Pierce.”

Roy/Noah stuck out a large, callused hand.

“But, but the name on your truck,” Addy sputtered. “And in the telephone directory.”

“I bought the business from Roy,” Noah Pierce said calmly, his hand still extended. “Is that going to be a problem? Did you specifically need someone named Roy?”

“Of course not,” she retorted, reaching out to shake his hand in irritation.

Big mistake. Noah’s hand enclosed hers. Strong and rough and warm. His fingers curled around her palm as his teasing smile curled through her chest. Addy gulped in the palpable awareness radiating between them and promptly told herself to get a grip.

She wasn’t the kind of woman who looked for one-night stands or two-week flings. Even with a fantasy stud like Noah Pierce.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” She felt stupid as soon as the question left her lips. It was none of her business that he was buff and mouth-wateringly sexy and didn’t have a Louisiana accent.

He smiled, a satisfied glint in his dark chocolate eyes, as if he knew what she was thinking…and feeling.

“No,” he said slowly. “I’m not originally from around here.”

“So—Noah—“ she said, retrieving her hand from his clasp as quickly as she could without looking as physically shattered as she felt, “—think you can handle the job?”

His teasing smile shifted into a wicked grin. “Oh, I’m sure I can.”

“I’m talking about the staircase,” Addy snapped.

Noah Pierce’s chocolate eyes mocked her. “Of course, you are. What else would we be talking about?”

* * *

“I swear,” Noah said, reaching for the carved post Charles handed to him, “this woman is wound so tight I could almost hear her ticking.”

Charles’ cackle of laughter was appreciative. “But she was nice to look at, huh?”

“Blonde. Not showy, but curves in all the right places.”

Noah balanced his weight, one leg wrapped around the ladder as he stretched to attach the upper beam that formed the gazebo’s roof. “Very attractive, if you happen to like women who don’t know how to relax.”

“She didn’t relax none when you told her you could fix the stairs for her?” Charles asked, his kinky hair sticking out around his narrow face.

“Not much.” Pulling his hammer out of his tool belt, Noah tapped the fitted pieces of wood into place.

“She a single woman?” Charles asked, leaning his skinny, overall-clad body against another upright. “Maybe there’s other ways you could help her relax.”

“Hand me that curved piece,” Noah asked his friend as he moved the ladder to the next upright. “I don’t know if she’s single. She didn’t have a wedding ring on and there was no man evident, but it doesn’t matter because I’m not in the market for an up-tight woman who’s addicted to her work.”

“That’s just because you’re only out of it yourself recently,” Charles commented dispassionately.

Noah looked at him. “I’ve been here almost a year now.”

“Yes, but it takes a man a might longer to let go of that kind of thing. We are raised up to chase after gold. And you just up and changed your life completely. Has to take some getting used to.”

Hoisting the next beam over his head, Noah said, “It was the best thing I’ve ever done. Leaving New York.”

“Sure. Sounds like a crazy place to me,” Charles agreed, his baggy, paint-splattered overalls hanging loose around his body. “But you traded around backwards. Most working men would give an arm to be where you were. You give it all up and take a job where you sweat all day and scramble for the next check like the rest of us.”

“I’ll tell you, my friend,” Noah said grimly, “they’re sweating plenty in New York. At least, here I can sleep at night.”

“And you don’t mind the checks being so much smaller than what they was?” Charles asked with curiosity.

Noah shook his head slowly. “No. I love the work and, unlike John, I’m not going to die of a heart attack at forty.”

* * *

One thing Noah loved about blue-collar work was not having to pretend anymore that he was “evolved” where women were concerned. No man really was, but in the professional world, they were constrained to at least act civilized. Noah liked not pretending. When Ms. Addy Montgomery walked down the stairs, still talking into her cell phone, her slender, well-shaped calves right at his eye-level, he leered. He could do that sort of thing now without worrying about being sued for sexual harassment. Hell, the worst that could happen was that she’d fire his ass.

“Yes, Mrs. Chalmer,” Addy said in a bright, confident voice very unlike the tense, anxious one with which she’d greeted him yesterday. “It is a beautiful acreage. With that small pond on the front half and the woods to the rear, any style home you want to build will look beautiful. Pillars? No! I don’t think the ‘plantation’ look is silly.”

Continuing down the stairs, Addy’s rear-view caught his eye. Today, she was clad in a forest green business suit with a slender skirt that slid around her tight tush like a man’s fantasy.

“I’m sure it’s the best lot in that area,” Ms. Montgomery assured her client. “And you did say you liked the area.”

Noah measured an intact spindle, his hands going about the business automatically. Addy Montgomery might be freaked out about the damage to her boss’ home, but fixing the gaping hole the dog had left in the handrail presented little challenge to him. A bread-and-butter job. Something to support his other projects.

Still, it was beautiful work in a beautiful house and he’d enjoy putting just the right pieces into place with just the right stain on the wood. Even if his first love was creating from scratch, this kind of work had its rewards.

“Yes, of course, Mrs. Chalmer,” Addy said earnestly, tucking a sprig of her short, golden-brown hair behind her ear. “I’ll be glad to show you other properties. We have a listing in Alexandria-- Yes, I realize you want a nice-sized piece of land.”

He’d been here for almost an hour this morning and the woman in the green suit hadn’t put her cell phone down yet. Pacing around the house, her heels echoing over the wooden floors, Addison Montgomery conducted each call with that sunny smile in her voice and a strained look in her eyes. She wanted Mrs. Chalmer’s sale. And the Ripeys’, who were looking at a sweet little “cottage” on Susek Drive, and some guy who was contemplating a big four-thousand square-foot house in Azalea.

She also wanted the listing on Wedgewood and a more modest house situated near the Kent House plantation. The last hour had only confirmed Noah’s first impression that his new employer had a lamentable work ethic.

Thank God that sort of thing wasn’t catching. He was inoculated against rampant, blind success-seeking as he’d told Charles. That was all behind him.

A whine from his left reminded Noah of his other audience. The dog—Fritz—had parked his big, fluffy canine butt next to him, his face absurdly worried.

“You can chill out,” Noah told him. “It’s a fine example of Victorian architecture, but nothing too challenging. I’ll have it looking as good as new inside of a week.”

“You told me five days,” Addy said, pausing abruptly at the foot of the staircase, her heart-shaped face lifted to glare at him where he worked. Flipping her cell phone shut, she waited for his response with obvious impatience.

“Oh,” he responded cheerfully, “you’ve finished your phone calls.”

“You said you’d have it fixed in five days,” she said again, her tension evident in the tone of her voice as well as the set of her shoulders and the pucker between her brows.

Noah shrugged, feeling as if Roy were suddenly channeling through him. “Well, I’m gonna shoot for five days—“

“She’ll be back in seven days,” Addy told him edgily. “Miriam will be back in seven days. I don’t have time for maybe.”

Not wholly converted to a contractor mentality, Noah typically finished his jobs when he said he would, but something about Ms. Addison Montgomery brought out the worst in him. Maybe it was her strong, shapely calves or the lush curve of her lower lip. That or the up-tight, high-octane, all-or-nothing attitude she projected about life in general.

She annoyed him and he wanted to kiss her, all at the same time. A deep, hot, wet kiss that would end with her moaning his name and ripping off her prissy business suit.

Giving into his worst side, Noah looked down into Addison Montgomery’s golden brown eyes, smiled and shrugged. “I said I’d try.”

“Seven days,” she repeated as if she thought those were the only words he would understand. “I need you to be finished and cleaned up after, with no lingering smell of stain or varnish, in five days.”

“You’re a real estate agent, aren’t you?” he asked, glancing away from her panicked face and her too-tense body to where he was loosening the stub of a broken spindle.

“Yes,” she replied automatically, as if she couldn’t see the significance of his question. “Can you get the job done on time?”

Sexy and surprisingly focused. Stubborn even, from the pugnacious jut of her jaw at this moment. Interesting combination, Noah thought, taking his time in answering her query. “Probably.”

Her sigh of relief took the starch out of her posture, but left Noah oddly sad. “So, the woman who owns this house? The one who’s coming back in seven days…she’s your boss?”

“Yes.” Addy’s response came back more quietly.

“You like your job?” he asked. “Like this kind of work, I mean? All the telephoning and sweet-talking people?”

She glanced up at him in startled surprise. “Yes. I enjoy selling real estate.”

“Seems like it might be a tad too stressful for some folks,” Noah commented, freeing the last of the splintered spindle from its hole.

“I love the work,” Addy said with simplicity. “It’s a profession where a woman can make her own future.”

“And your future is with this Miriam? The one you’re trying to hide the dog-staircase mishap from?”

“Yes,” Addy Montgomery said slowly. “She’s a very successful businesswoman and I respect her.”

“You respect her so much, you’re lying to her,” Noah murmured.

“What?” Addy’s head snapped up, sparks shooting out of her golden-brown eyes.

“Nothing,” Noah said, hiding a smile. “I didn’t say a thing, boss lady.”