The Professional by Rhonda Nelson

you very much, and a condom wasn’t foolproof—and, equally important, she’d have no expectations of a permanent relationship.
    If and when he ever decided to settle down, he was just old-fashioned enough to want to do things the same way his parents had. His father had always said that he’d known by the end of his first date with his mother that he was going to marry her. Jeb didn’t necessarily expect that kind of fanciful certainty, but he liked to think he knew his own mind well enough to know when he’d found the right girl.
    Presently, he wasn’t looking for a girl—right or otherwise, though admittedly, Sophie O’Brien was proving to be much more intriguing than was strictly professional—he was looking for a thief. Barging uninvited into Lila’s this morning was the closest he’d managed to get to her and that was only by happy coincidence. He’d seen her bicycle outside, an aqua blue retro number with a wicker basket attached to the front and his anticipation had spiked with victory.
    She’d bolted from her chair as though she’d been hit with a cattle prod upon seeing him, then had started immediately gathering her things, preparing to escape once again. It had been horribly rude to block the door, but as a momentary trap it had worked beautifully.
    Right up until he’d started flirting with her—he couldn’t have been any more shocked if he’d started speaking Swahili—and then, in another turn of unpredictable events, she’d started flirting back . After avoiding him like the plague.
    It boggled the mind.
    And spoke directly to his groin.
    Nothing a little time on her table couldn’t cure, indeed. Her soft hands, hot oil… He’d gotten the sudden mental image of her naked body riding him on that table, both of them slick with tingling oil and he’d gone rock hard.
    And that wasn’t even the most significant reaction.
    That bizarre yank behind his naval had given another significant pull, the balls of his feet had vibrated and a powerful bolt of heat struck his already tortured groin. Coupled with the irrational sexual attraction, he’d been hit with an even more illogical urge to protect her. From what? Who the hell knew? But the inclination to stand between her and harm’s way was undeniable. There was something distinctly vulnerable lurking in that warm, chocolate gaze, a hidden hurt she couldn’t fully conceal. He had no idea what had triggered the notion, but it was there all the same and, since he’d decided to never again disregard his gut instincts, clearly more intel on her was needed.
    He made a mental note to ask Charlie to dig a little deeper into her background. The preliminary report he’d received on her revealed that she was financially secure, having inherited a farm from her grandmother and running her own successful business. He’d spotted her soaps and lotions in the General Store—Wisteria Grove Farms—and had been impressed with the simple packaging and product. According to her website, her soaps were all organic and handmade and any scents were derived from essential oils. Completely natural. It was impressive.
    Judging from the soft-looking silky glow of her skin—up close he’d been better able to appreciate it—she undoubtedly used her own products. He’d never made particular note of a woman’s skin before, but Sophie’s was especially luminous. It seemed to shine as though illuminated through some sort of inner light, one that he was unaccountably drawn to.
    Had she not been his only suspect—though intuition told him she was not his thief—her avoiding him would have probably been best for both of them, Jeb thought grimly. For whatever reason, he suspected Sophie O’Brien—or better still, his mind-bogglingly severe reaction to her—was a game-changer.
    And didn’t have the time nor the inclination to play.
    Gratifyingly, though, he thought he’d isolated why she’d been so determined to avoid him and it was the same reason he’d been