“Yeah? I know what I’m doing, and pine would’ve looked awful. How about this? Screw you! I’m done.”

Morgan jumped as a man covered in sawdust and wearing faded jeans came storming out and stopped before her. His long hair brushed his shoulders, and she caught the impression of toffee-colored strands, burning blue eyes, and swirling frustrated energy. Her mouth opened at his fierce scowl. The Cujos quickly left and swarmed around the man’s feet in adoration. He snapped his fingers, but they just jumped higher in obvious disobedience. “Who are you?” he grunted.

Her fingers clasped her throat. “I’m—I’m, umm, here to see Caleb Pierce?”

The man jerked his dirty thumb toward the door he’d just exited. “In there. Tell the asshole I quit.”

“Oh! I—I—”

He stomped out with the Cujos at his heels and left her alone. Morgan glanced at the half-open door. Low mutterings and tinkling glass drifted to her ears. This wasn’t how she pictured their first meeting, but then again, she had a job to do. Did this bode well? Running a family business with crazy dogs and family feuds seemed a strange way to retain and grow a client base. She paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts and trying to straighten out her clothes. A streak of mud from dirty paws now marred the clean white fabric of her skirt. Her right ankle throbbed, and the blister burned on her left heel. Dog hair clung to her once-spotless white jacket. Sweat had definitely done a job on her flawless makeup. Nothing like the adrenaline rush of looking death in the eye to put a healthy glow on a woman’s face.

Didn’t matter. She had to get it together and make her pitch. Morgan’s job was to make sure her clients were satisfied by getting the perfect house built to specs. Pierce was the best. She’d settle for no less. Steeling her posture ramrod straight, she walked through the door without hobbling and waited.

The man had his back to her. He had a somewhat filthy mouth, judging from the colorful curse words lighting up the room. Average height, but his shoulders were quite broad, with a plain white T-shirt stretched to the limit over a mass of bunched muscles. He seemed to be fumbling with a decanter, finally splashing amber liquid into the target, then shifting so that she caught his profile. The man brought the glass to his lips and tipped it back with one neat, smooth movement. Her belly did a slow flip-flop as those carved lips closed around the rim of the glass. The tanned, powerful column of his neck worked as he swallowed, and for some strange reason, she was fascinated by the almost pornographic images of the other things he could accomplish with such a mouth that were flaring to life in her mind. His hair was a mass of thick hazelnut strands that looked finger combed and a bit damp. Her gaze followed the line of his impressive back to his rear, and her blood suddenly heated.

Goodness gracious.

The man had a great ass. Full, defined, and filling out the seat of his jeans just perfectly. Morgan fought the instinctive blush that heated her cheeks, decided her moments of voyeurism were officially over, and gave a discreet cough.

The man whirled around.

Goodness gracious.

She stared into a pair of gunmetal-gray eyes that should’ve been cold and hard. Instead, they held smoky tones of a raw sensuality and confidence no man should hold. He had a large hooked nose and bushy brows, and his face was a mass of sharp, slashed lines that held together his features in an arresting way. Not classically handsome. Not pretty. But this was a man who knew what he wanted, took without apology, and never looked back.

Her thighs trembled and her panties dampened.

What on earth was happening?

“Who are you?” he demanded.

Who was she? Her brain clicked back on, and Morgan suddenly remembered. She had to tread carefully if she was going to leave with her goal accomplished. She gave him a warm, professional smile and made sure her voice was steady. “You must be Caleb Pierce. The, uh, gentleman outside said to come in. I’m Morgan Raines.”

One brow shot up, and he rubbed a hand over his head, messing up his hair even more. “I don’t know you. And if that was my asshole brother, you can tell him to grow up and stop acting like a toddler.”

She refused to bend to his rudeness. “Funny, he used the same term when he spoke about you.”

The man gave a humorless laugh and went back to his drink. “Yeah, we’re a real tight-knit family. Welcome to the fun house. Can you close the door on the way out?”

She lifted her chin. Great. Already she realized working with Caleb Pierce was going to be a bit . . . difficult. Lucky for her, she didn’t give up easily. “Mr. Pierce, I’m here on behalf of my clients, Mr. and Mrs. Slate Rosenthal. I contacted you a few weeks back about building a house for them in Harrington on a recently secured piece of property on the harbor.”

She hoped the celebrity name-dropping would make him turn back around, but he either lived under a rock or didn’t care. “Name sounds familiar. Wait, I do remember. I told you no. I’m dealing with some other shit now and can’t take on a new job. Sorry. Close the door, please.”

Her ankle had turned into a full-blown ache, but she refused to shift her position. A show of strength at the beginning of any encounter was key to setting up the dynamics of a business relationship. “Mr. Pierce, I’m here to change your mind. It’s imperative to my clients your company be the one to build their house. I’d like to discuss the benefits and terms with you. I’m sure you’ll change your mind.”

He had another long sip from his glass. She waited. Finally he glanced back. “I don’t change my mind, princess. Now, I’m sure you can find another company to get you what you need. My assistant can get you a list of names. Just leave your business card on the way out.”