“Explaining your personality disorder.”

“Best not to insult the woman holding the tweezers.” She extracted another bit of gravel. “I have combined degrees in computer science and sociology from U. of I. and eleven years working at desk jobs I grew to hate. I thought about giving my father a coronary and applying for the police force, but I didn’t want to be a cop. I wanted to work for myself. Fast-forward . . . I bought Dove Investigations from my stepmother after my dad died.” No way was she telling him how much she’d overpaid for what she’d ended up with.

“Bought it?”

One piece of gravel had gone deep, and she worked as gently as she could. “The alternative was murdering her. I thought about it, but they can put you in prison for that.”

“Good point. Straight or gay?”

“Me or the Wicked Stepmother?”

“You.”

The gravel was out, and she dabbed the wound with antiseptic. “Straight. Unfortunately.”

“Why do you say that?”

She cleaned the tweezers and put them back in the kit. “In general—and there are exceptions—I like women more than men. They’re more interesting. More complicated. And they’re loyal. One of my biggest regrets is my lack of sexual attraction to members of my own sex.”

He smiled. “Sounds like you’ve had one too many bad boyfriends.”

“Says the man who’s dated most of Hollywood. What’s it like to go to the Oscars?”

“Boring as hell.” He wiggled his fingers, as if he were checking to make sure she hadn’t stolen one of them. “Current boyfriend?”

“Your cop pal is working on it, but no.”

“Cop pal?”

“Eric Vargas. Officer Hottie?”

Graham laughed. “You’re kidding, right? Not to be offensive, but”—the evil glow in his golden eyes indicated he intended to be very offensive—“isn’t he a little out of your league?”

She grinned. “You’d think so, right? But I’ve never had much trouble attracting good-looking guys.”

He frowned, not liking that his deliberate put-down hadn’t made her curl up in the corner and cry. “You have a theory about that?”

“I do.” She applied one of the large bandages to the heel of his hand. “They think I’m one of them, and that makes them comfortable around me. Until they figure out I’m using them. Not callously. I don’t believe in that. But, really, how can you take most straight men seriously?”

He cocked his head, as if he wasn’t hearing all that well. “You’re using them for . . . ?”

“For—what do you think?”

She’d sacked him again, and he seemed temporarily at a loss. She loved her flippancy. He couldn’t see how short-lived her bed-hopping days had been or how lonely they’d made her feel.

“So you’re basically a man-eater?” Graham said.

“Oh, no. I’m not sexy enough.”

He started to say something—almost as if he wanted to argue with her—then he backed off. She snapped the kit shut and got up to look for the coffee beans.

***

Coop watched as Piper disappeared into the pantry. She wasn’t beautiful, but she was . . . what? He could only come up with one word. Infuriating. Maybe two words. Infuriating and intriguing. He looked down at his mud-splattered jeans. The tear in the arm of his jacket. His bandaged hand. Infuriating, intriguing, and . . . a little bit dangerous. Those quick reflexes; her dark hair, as jagged as old razor blades; those shrewd blue eyes, and thick slabs of eyebrows; that crazy-wide mouth; and a jaw nearly as solid as his own. Her body, too. There were no bones protruding. Her curves were right where they should be.

But . . . as soon as this gig was over, she was out. Now wasn’t a good time to have anyone unpredictable around him, even though she gave him this odd—not exactly a rush—more a hyperawareness. She was unexpected, and that meant he had to keep up his guard.

No, that wasn’t quite right, either.

He had to be attentive when he was with her, but not guarded. The opposite of guarded, really. He didn’t pull his punches. Didn’t even consider it. He was always polite, even to women who grated on him, but with her, he was like a junior high bully insulting a girl just to see if he could make her cry. But there were no tears from Mister Piper Dove. She could more than hold her own.

She came out of the pantry. Nobody who wasn’t smart graduated from the University of Illinois with a double major, and he chalked up her intelligence as another irritant. Considering his own dismal academic record, his attraction to brainy women was ironic. But his lousy grades had been the result of too many hours on the practice field, not stupidity.

Piper got the coffeepot working without a tutorial. She was lying about her male conquests. Or maybe not, because there was definitely something about her. By the time she’d poured her coffee, he’d figured it out.

It was the challenge.

The way she carried herself, the way she charged after what she wanted. She was a woman who attacked life instead of waiting for it to unfold around her. And her general imperviousness to him had stirred up some kind of primitive bullshit need to conquer. Which was exactly what other men saw in her. A test of their masculinity.

He doubted she understood that, but even if she did, he couldn’t see her playing the bitch card. She didn’t care enough about attracting men to deliberately make herself difficult. Her life centered around her job, and men were nothing more to her than a necessary inconvenience. Because of that . . .

He was going to nail her.

The thought came out of nowhere . . . or maybe it had been lurking in his subconscious all along. He wanted to take her right now. Against the sink. On the counter. Strip her naked and reassert the natural order of things. Male over female.

The sting in his wounded hand restored his sanity. He was disgusted with himself. Where the hell had that come from?

She set down her coffee mug. “What did I do now?”

He realized he was scowling. “Breathe.”

“Deepest apologies.” She raised her mug toward him, unscathed by his rudeness. “You did a noble thing today, Mr. Graham, whether you wanted to or not. Saving Jada from an untimely death is good karma.”

“Stop calling me Mr. Graham.” He didn’t mess with his female employees. Ever. Didn’t need to. And he wouldn’t mess with Esmerelda. Not yet. Not while she was working for him. But the minute her job ended, she was fair game. Before he saw the last of her, he intended to show her which one of them was the better man.