Taking a deep breath, I survey the damage Bluebelle caused and consider where I’ll start first. The cushions have to be replaced—an easy fix. Although, I don’t know if that pattern is still available.

However, the yard... topsoil’s everywhere. Flowers are strewn about lifelessly in haphazard piles. The dang dog dug up almost everything. In fact, now I can take a moment, I realize just how much damage Bluebelle caused.

Glancing at the dirt-covered dog, I frown. “You’ve been so good. I don’t know why you’d do this to me.”

Bluebelle hangs her head, and my heart flips. While I’m upset, I can’t stay angry over things that can be fixed. Bluebelle hasn’t actually hurt anyone.

The doorbell rings.

I dust my hands off on my formerly pristine white capris pants. The matching boatneck blue-and-white-striped shirt hasn’t fared much better. My hair half hangs in my face, and I’m sweating instead of glistening like a Southern woman should.

An ominous crack makes me wince and wobble, then hop the rest of the way to the door. I answer it, half stooped over and clutching at the broken heel of my shoe to find Ryan on the other side.

One part of me practically melts while the other wants to hobble off the other direction, because looking like what the dog dragged around the yard is not my idea of how to answer the door.

“What can I do to help?” he asks.

I almost hug him right then and there for not commenting on my appearance. Instead, I shove my hair out of my face and say, “Everything.”

“First things first. Do you have any crazy glue?” He steps inside, closes the door, and then helps me to the couch.

“In my office. There’s a box marked art supplies.” Why in the world does he need my crazy glue? Does he think he can glue my cushions back together?

“Stay right there.” He strides away, down my hall.

I hear him rummaging around. When he returns less than a minute later, with the glue in his hand, I can’t help but ask, “What are you going to do with that?”

He kneels on the floor, then takes my shoe. “This.” Then he squirts glue on the heel, moving to push it firmly against the bottom. “In a few minutes, this very sexy shoe will be as good as new,” he says with a wink.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Oh geez, if I wasn’t falling for him before, I really am now. First, the donation, and now he’s repairing one of my favorite heels.

“Four sisters, remember?” His gaze rakes over me. “The glue won’t help those dirt stains. Sorry.”

Giving him a lopsided smile, I cup the side of his face. “I’m already feeling better.”

“I hear good-as-new shoes tend to do that to women.” His dark eyes met mine, and lashes longer and thicker than any man has a right to have slowly blinks. Gosh, I could stare at him for days.

“Especially this woman. Shoes are one of my weaknesses.” So is he. My gaze drops to his mouth. He has soft, full lips that can turn wicked, sensual, and drive me insane.

“You keep looking at me like that, and we won’t get a damn thing done, sweetness,” he says and I start, dropping his hand.

My cheeks heat as I lift a shoulder and bite my lip. “I’d say I’m sorry, but I like looking at you.”

The corner of his mouth kicks up, and he stands. “Okay if I put this on your kitchen counter?”

Nodding, I take off my other shoe. “C’mon, I’ll show you the backyard.”

“Is that where Bluebelle’s hiding?” he asks as he moves to the kitchen.

I follow a moment later. “She’s in time-out.”

“You’re not grounding her from her play date with Gunner, are you?” he asks.

“The thought has crossed my mind,” I joke.

He casts a look over one of his broad shoulders, and then turns to face me. “Then you’d just be punishing yourself.”

Crossing my arms, I tilt my chin up. “Just myself?”

Ryan moves closer, settling his hands on my hips. Despite having a fairly large kitchen, it feels tiny with him in it. Or maybe it’s his presence that takes up so much room. His head dips, and my chest rises and falls.

He’s going to kiss me again. I want him to kiss me again. The air between us becomes shared, and I breathe in the masculine scent from him. His hair’s slightly damp, and his cheeks are smooth.

Ryan turns his head slightly, so his breath pulses against my ear and jaw. I shiver. This is pure, delicious torture.

“Nah, Gunner wouldn’t be too happy.” Slowly, his lips graze my cheek, his nose following the path. Once more, his hot breath is on my ear, and I feel him nibble on the lobe. “Show me the backyard,” he whispers roughly.

I blink. “What?”

He steps back, the color along his cheeks high and his nostrils flaring. “I came here to help you.”

Ryan’s right. He showed up to help, not put an end to my draught or change my mind about football players. Although, he’s doing an excellent job.

With a sniff, I let out a huff and brush past him. “Right this way, Mr. Running Back.”

***

After a quick trip to the local lawn and garden supply store to buy more topsoil, flowers, and cushions, we work together in my backyard.

I’m now currently elbow deep in my flowerbed—after changing—while Ryan shovels in topsoil.

His dark shadow falls over me, and I look up. My mouth falls open, and the small shovel I’m holding drops with a thunk. He isn’t wearing a shirt, and his grey sweatpants hang loosely on his hips. I eye the eight-pack that glistens in the sun, and the smattering of dark hair that covers his muscular chest and his equally muscular arms. Most lickable of all is the tattoo of an anchor on his hip.

Oh, sweet Jesus and all the saints.

“Why don’t you shower and change, before it gets too late? I’ll finish this up for you,” he says, holding out his hand.

I almost knock it out the way, because the darn thing obstructs my view. But common sense tells me to take it. We’ve been working for hours, and I have to get ready to host.

Taking his hand, I let him help me up. He brushes a finger down my nose. “You have dirt everywhere.”

I wipe at his chest, pleased to see his stomach suck in. “So do you.”

“Shower.”

Taking a chance, I draw in a deep breath. “You could join me. I need some helping washing my back.”

His eyes go wide, but before I can get too excited, he says, “Ashley, I meant what I said earlier; I’m here to help. You don’t owe me anything.”

Embarrassment and anger collide, causing me to lash out. “I know what you’re here for! You’re here to make sure your dog can see his girlfriend, and to ease your conscience about blackmailing me into going out with you. So, thanks for saving me, once again, from making a big mistake.”

I storm inside the house, slamming the door behind me.