Justin was going to enjoy seeing Elle get dirty. She showed up at the front of the big house looking like a rich blonde who was used to getting what she wanted. He watched her take a bite out of a croissant. She gnawed at it like she hadn't eaten in a year.

Justin raised a brow. "Hungry?" he asked. "Aren't you worried about ... what were you talking about on the phone? Carbs?"

"I love carbs," she said.

"Right," he said.

She glared at him.

Good. If she was pissed it would mean she'd keep her distance. Which suddenly seemed like a very important thing. The less time he spent in proximity to her, the better.

"Let's go," he said, hauling up his toolbox. “Lots of work to do."

He turned on his heel. She could follow him. Or not.

Not would be much, much easier.

The sound of gravel crunching behind him told Justin he wasn't going to be that lucky.

Justin stalked toward the cottage with the problem. The second he opened the door, he could smell the state of affairs. Elle stepped into the cottage behind him, then crinkled her nose.

He almost felt bad for her. Emphasis on almost.

"What is that smell?" she asked.

"It's a plumbing problem. Those tend to have a certain smell."

She paled. "I thought Jess meant there was a leaky faucet or something," she said.

He laughed. "Right." He decided to give her an easy out. He dropped his toolbox, turning so that she had to stop. “You know, I can tell my mom you helped out so you don't have to get your hands dirty."

Elle narrowed her eyes at him. If it didn't smell so damn bad, he'd take a minute to appreciate that she went from pretty to hot when she was mad. Her pale skin flushed, making the sprinkle of freckles across her nose stand out. It also made the freckles on her chest—

Don't go there.

Because he wasn’t going to think about her chest.

Nope.

He also wasn’t going to think about the way her blouse dipped down or the way it tucked in at her waist, emphasizing her curves.

But man-oh-man, did she have great curves. She was soft and round in all the right places.

It was a good thing she was so damn prickly.

Otherwise, he’d be in trouble.

"I'm here to help you," she said. "You're supposed to be nice."

Justin crossed his arms.

"Stop flexing your tattoos at me," she said. "It's distracting."

That made him grin. So he distracted her? Good. It was only fair.

"Look," she said. "I do want to help. And what I said to your mom was the truth. I had all of these romantic things planned for the next few days, and now ... well, I wouldn't mind staying busy."

He grunted, not ready to give in.

Elle gritted her teeth. "I'll help you if you let me," she said. "But if you're going to grill me about this some more, can we at least step outside? This place smells like something died in here."

He decided he liked it when she was snarky. It was like she shed the fake Elle, the one who wore all white and picked a guy like her Pretty Boy. Now, she was something else. She was someone he wouldn't mind getting to know better.

Elle snapped her fingers. "Let's go, Handyman. We're wasting daylight here. And I might pass out."

Justin shrugged, but picked up his toolbox and led the way to the bathroom. They'd had trouble with the plumbing in this cottage before. He'd helped unclog the sink and bathtub time and again. He was messing with Elle. It wasn't exactly sewage, but grey water wasn't much better than that. She didn't need to know the details.

He opened the bathroom door. The flooding had stopped, but the place looked as though a tornado—a very wet tornado—had hit. Gobs of wet paper and debris were everywhere.

"Ugh," she said.

"It's not so bad." He set down his tools and pulled on gloves. "I'll snake the drains, then we can clean up. Easy."

She looked like she was regretting her decision.

"You don't have to be here," he said.

Elle set her chin. "No, I said I would help, so I'll help. Quit asking me to leave, okay?"

He shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Justin got to work while she watched from the doorway. Even her shoes were white. It was enough to make him laugh.

"Are you this amused by clogged drains?" she asked. "Because if so I really think you should get out more."

"No," he said. "It's you." He’d already opened up the pipe beneath the sink. Getting the line in was the easy part. He fed it through, taking his time so that he didn’t bust anything. Once enough line was out, he reeled it back in, pulling out all sorts of gunk and brackish water with it.

"What's so funny about me?" she asked, sounding like she was holding her nose.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

"I'm helping you," she said.

"No, I mean, why aren't you with your family? You’re here for your sister’s wedding, right?"

He put away his tools after cleaning them, then looked at her.

She shifted. Then seemed to decide something. "My mother loves Carter."

"The Pretty Boy from the plane, your ex?"

"Yes."

"But you broke up," he said.

"Yes, but ... I don't want to tell her what happened."

“Won’t she find out when you show up at the wedding without Prince Charming?”

"Maybe," she said. "Or maybe things will just … work out."

"Right," he said slowly. "Things will just work out. That's the stupidest thing I've heard.”

She started. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

He stripped off his gloves and tossed them in a waste bin. The cleaning supplies were stored in a locked cabinet, and he removed a few, then pulled on a new set of gloves.

"You're not telling your family about what he did because you think they'll be mad about it or something. Instead, you're hiding out here, and hoping for—I have no idea. What are you hoping will change?" He waited a beat. "Oh, shit. You're thinking the guy will come crawling back to you. That's it, isn't it?"

She didn't deny it.

He shook his head. "You should just tell them the truth. Tell your mom that your boyfriend is an idiot. Go alone. Deal with it."

She put her hands on her hips. "You haven't met my mother. She'd rather I lied to her than know the truth."

Justin shook his head. He tossed her a pair of plastic gloves. Elle scrambled to keep them out of the muck on the bathroom floor.

"Whatever," he said.

"You're the one who asked," she pointed out. "If you don't like the answer, that's not my problem."

"Got it loud and clear, Princess. You're here to help, so let's get to work."

He grinned at her look of disgust. He had a feeling she'd work hard to prove her helpfulness. Which could definitely work out to Justin's advantage.

A new thought struck. Wasn't there a landscaping project underway? He wondered what her pearly white outfit would look like after a day of digging flower beds.

Justin chuckled and ignored the glare Elle sent his way.

His day just got a whole lot more interesting.

* * *

Elle hated Justin with the power of a thousand suns. The idiot was taking advantage of her, and every time she thought of quitting—of throwing her cleaning supplies or shovel at his head—he'd give her that, I knew you'd quit look.

The man was infuriating.

Staying busy had been first and foremost on her mind when she offered to give Justin a hand. That and wiping the unimpressed smirk from his face. But now it had morphed into some strange desire to prove herself to Justin.

Ridiculous!

After cleaning the germ-ridden bathroom with enough bleach to make her dizzy, Justin had suggested they help the landscaping crew. Unless she was too tired from the hard work. Or maybe she didn't want to mess up her nails. The jerk. She should have known what he was up to, but she blamed her stupidity on the toxic slurry in the air. Besides, Elle was far too prideful to admit she was exhausted, and she couldn't stand the thought of Justin being right.

She'd gone with him to where the landscapers were working to fix some damage done when a tree had fallen in a recent storm. They’d cleared most of the debris and were rebuilding flower beds.

The crew was nice, and she hit it off with their boss, Jo. Elle had expected a gruff, older man, but Jo was an effusive woman, whose dark skin and grey-tinged braids made her look suited for something like landscape photography or jewelry making, and not digging ditches with a group of rowdy men.

Jo won Elle over when she’d snarked at Justin for taking off his shirt, and for the fact that she didn’t give Elle too hard of a time for having no idea what it meant to ‘dig out a flower bed’.

Elle pushed her shovel into the ground with an unladylike grunt. The work gloves hadn't been able to keep her hands—which had never seen a shovel—from getting torn apart. She leaned back, wiggling the shovel until there was an amount of dirt she could move on it, then groaned as she lifted it and tried to toss the dirt aside.

Some of the dirt fell back in the hole.

Elle shrieked in frustration and threw down her shovel. As she wiped a dirt-streaked arm across her face, Elle looked for the man who was the root of her problems and swore when she saw him.

Because on top of every last annoying part of him, the man was a sight to behold.

Justin had stripped down to skin, leaving his work pants hanging low on his hips. Shovel in hand, Justin’s muscled back gleamed in the sunlight, shining with sweat and covered in tattoos. Even his ribs had muscles—something she hadn't known was possible. He didn't have the puffy gym-made muscles, either, but real muscles. Everything about his body looked strong like he was a proponent of good, clean living, fresh air, and exercise. Amen! As much as she was annoyed with him, she couldn't stop staring. It was like her eyeballs had Justin-specific magnets.

She was torn between wanting to impale him on garden shears and wanting to jump him.

Justin glanced up to tell Jo something and caught her staring. She looked away quickly. Over and over they'd played this game. Elle would ogle, Justin would catch her, and she'd pretend shoveling was the most interesting thing ever.

Which led to more blisters and a crick her neck.

This time, she couldn't bring herself to pick up her stupid shovel again. She thought about quitting—for the umpteenth time.

Justin, shirtless and shining with sweat, sauntered over. He stopped next to her and put his hands on his hips. She still didn't look at him, but inhaled deeply.

Since when was the smell of a sweaty male so freaking amazing?

"Looks like we're almost done here," he said, interrupting her olfactory orgy. "You did good."

She frowned. "Tell me that's not an actual compliment," she said. She wanted to call him some names. Special names that weren't made for good company. But she refrained.

Mother would be proud.

"Hey, look," Justin said. The tone of his voice made her turn. He sounded sorry. Almost. Not sorry enough, though. And again with the being shirtless thing, dammit.

Justin took off his baseball hat and ran fingers through his hair. It was damp with sweat, and the motion made it spike in different directions.

She tried to keep her eyes on his, but her gaze strayed down to his chest, and the lines along his hips running down to his—

She snapped her head up.

What was wrong with her? She had a boyfriend as of yesterday. Talk about quick on the rebound.

"Let's take a break," Justin said.

She swiped at her forehead again.

Ladies don't sweat. They glisten, her mother would say. But Elle was sweating. Dripping, really. No type of flattering word could hide this level of grossness. Elle was certain her mother wouldn't approve of her current state. Nor the man—the very, very sweaty man—who was keeping her company.

How long have I been staring at his chest?

She dragged her eyes back to his.

"A break?" she asked, sounding a bit strangled.

Justin grinned. He tucked a thumb into the waistband of his jeans, pulling them lower and making Elle lose her train of thought.

"Yeah. I thought I'd go swimming," he said. "Interested?"

"I didn't bring a suit," she said.

"I won't look."

Trouble. Definitely trouble.

She should say no. It was the safe choice. The proper choice. A good southern girl certainly wouldn't go swimming with a sweat-coated shirtless stranger. Then again, a good southern girl wouldn't have been caught dead digging ditches.

The midday sun hit her head and heat rose from the ground in waves. Sweat ran down her back and into the waistband of her shorts. She imagined a swimming pool, pristine blue and icy cold.

She could buy a bathing suit, couldn’t she? Surely they would pass a shop. Besides, on a hot summer day, the pool would be crowded, so it wouldn’t be like she was going on an intimate date with the man.

In the end, the sweat dripping down her back made the decision for her.

"All right," Elle said. "I'm in."