“My father started collecting remnants of all our jobs and scrap material to put into future projects. Soon, it became more of an assortment of interesting items we didn’t want to get rid of. This used to be Dalton’s favorite place. Tristan’s too.”

The memories of him and his brothers hiding out in the shed to escape their father’s constant demands flowed past. They set up their own private fort under a massive cherrywood desk and pretended they were in a spaceship. Gathered late at night to tell ghost stories and munch on packs of Oreos, free from the eyes of parents, bonded by blood and circumstance and a friendship that got him through the days. He shook off the images, his throat tight, and watched Morgan’s face. Delight and a sense of adventurous joy gleamed in her eyes. She picked her way through the piles, pulling items out, discarding some, running her fingers over sharp edges and broken wood, seeing something beautiful in each part.

An intense shock vibrated through him. For such a practical female, she held an inner sense of wonder that intrigued him. He liked the way she saw the potential in failure, the whole in the broken. Cal wondered what she saw in him.

“This is better than the Barn,” she said. “My God, Cal, can I buy things? There are so many possibilities. I’ve decided to build each room around one special object, connecting a theme that resonates throughout the entire house. I think the Rosenthals can appreciate the concept.” Her touch was almost reverent to a half-shattered grandfather clock with calligraphy replacing the numbers to spell out the family name of the one who had owned it years ago. Her nose wrinkled, and her brows lowered in a frown. “I’m worried if it’s too subtle, they’ll be concerned about not making an overwhelming visual impression on guests. They’ve always been a bit more ostentatious than some of my other clients. Well, at least I thought so before they threw me a curveball, suddenly embracing the minimalist look.”

He crossed his arms in front of his chest, studying the slight frown on her brow. She was passionate about her job, and Cal knew she refused to settle for merely an acceptable house. Morgan intended to deliver the very best, every time. Frustration emanated from her petite frame. “You can buy anything that pleases you. Look, the Rosenthals hired you for a reason. That’s why you’re successful. Go with your gut. Instead of being limited by their own viewpoint, take them in a new direction.”

“If I fail, and they dislike the new direction, it will be a disaster.”

“You won’t fail,” he said. Oddly, he meant it. He had confidence in her abilities just by seeing her day to day on the job. She balanced a wicked work ethic with a creative energy and a vision of the goal. Not many people had the talent or the patience. “Have you ever let yourself go on a project and do what you want?”

She shook her head. “Too dangerous. The moment you disregard the client and his or her specific taste, you can veer off course.”

Cal gave half a shrug. “The side roads are usually more interesting than the highway,” he offered. “Maybe it’s time you took a leap. With Dalton and Tristan to help, this house could be your masterpiece. Almost like your signature stamp.”

“Maybe. I’d love to have more personal input. It’s just so . . . unpredictable.”

Her teeth pulled in her bottom lip and sucked. His dick wept and ached to be part of the gesture. He caught a glimpse of sheer hunger on her face, but unfortunately it wasn’t for him. No, this house held her in thrall, and she wanted to take it to the limit. He couldn’t imagine building house after house without inputting part of his own identity. Wasn’t she tired of limiting her creative vision? She needed more unpredictability in her life. And what would she be like if she put all that energy into sex?

Time to find out.

Cal barely restrained himself from licking his chops like the Big Bad Wolf. His body pounded with sexual energy, though he tried to leash it in. “Why don’t we discuss it over dessert?”

Morgan stilled. Scenting danger in the air, she ducked her head and pretended to study a dusty beveled glass mirror. “It’s late. I should go.”

His nostrils flared with the thrill of pursuit. “Not without helping me eat some banana cream pie. I’ll put on coffee, too.”

His tone brooked no argument. She hesitated, dragging her feet, then seemed to give herself a mental pep talk. “Okay. A tiny slice. It’s late.”

“Yes, you said that.” He didn’t try to take her hand this time, allowing her the space. The dogs danced around them, occasionally stopping to investigate a scent or sound, making sure their temporary mistress was safe from Jason or Freddy. Morgan seemed to tense a notch tighter with every step. When was the last time he had to work to seduce a woman?

Hmm. That would be never. It was more fun than he ever imagined.

Cal busied himself in the kitchen cutting pie and pouring two cups of coffee. She perched on the stool at the marble island with one foot dangling toward the floor, as if planning a quick escape. He smothered a grin and forked up some fresh cream and ripe fruit. It was pure sugar heaven in his veins.

“I love pie,” he managed in between bites. “How’d you know?”

She smiled and looked as happy as he was. “Didn’t. Good guess. You seem like a pie sort of guy.”

“All-American?”

She tilted her head. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Why?”

Her shoulders lifted in a delicate shrug. Her blouse slid slowly down, giving him a great view. “You have all the trappings. Dogs. A successful family business. You build things instead of making a living pushing paper. You have the American flag in front of your house. And you talk well about your mom.”