“You’re in my way,” said a low, gruff voice from behind her.

Whirling, Taylor blinked into the cloud of dust as it slowly settled. Standing there among the dirt and grime was a man. He had one long arm propped on his hip, the other holding a huge sledgehammer, which rested against his shoulder.

Paul Bunyan, came the inane thought, if one substituted the sledgehammer for an ax. But why was Paul Bunyan standing in her building? Confused, a rare occurrence for Taylor, she found herself momentarily speechless.

Another rare occurrence.

The dust started to settle, and Paul materialized into her contractor Thomas Mackenzie, and though most of their contact had been handled by e-mail and telephone, she had seen him before. Clean and dressed up, that is. He wasn’t clean or dressed up now.

At least four inches taller than her own willowy five-foot-ten frame, she found it a bit of a surprise to have to tip her head back to see his face. The last time she’d seen him, they’d sat at her table, and for the life of her, she didn’t remember him being so…tall, so built, so imposing.

His mouth was scowling. His eyes were the color of expensive whiskey, two liquid, shining pools of heat and annoyance, and his hair, an exact match to his eyes, fell over a blue bandanna which had been tied around his forehead. Combined with his unsmiling, and rough and tumble expression, he looked more than just a little dangerous.

At the thought, a completely inappropriate shiver of thrill raced down her spine. Now was not the greatest time to remember that while she’d vowed to remain single for the rest of her life, she’d never vowed to remain celibate. She had a great appreciation for all things beautiful and finely made. And this man-tall and edgy and frowning as he was-was beautifully and firmly made, a magnificent male specimen, one who seemed to awaken every hormone and nerve ending in her entire body.