Free He's the One by Jane Beckenham

her from the pickup. She didn't think—until that same tingling shot from her fingers up her arm. Her gaze snapped down to her hand, still in his, and she swallowed hard and shook her head.
    Stumbling away, she pulled her hand from his.
    Concentrate, Sullivan . Refusing to look at Cade, she walked up to the building and cast her creative eye over the scuffed brickwork, the wrought iron handrails either side of the well-worn stairs. Inside, a knowing excitement bubbled up.
    "I'm not sure I like the look on your face, Taylor Sullivan. Give it to me. You think the place is a dump and won't work."
    Taylor turned to Cade and smiled. “This is wonderful. It's so evocative of Auckland's history."
    "A pile of dilapidated bricks, you mean."
    "Of course not. It's..."
    "A dump,” Cade pre-empted.
    "Definitely not."
    A wary uncertainty crossed Cade's eyes. His countenance spoke silent volumes. This business venue meant more than dollars to him.
    Pride?
    She wouldn't damage that. Cade was going to give her something very important. She owed him her best efforts.
    "Okay.” She shrugged not put off by Cade's pessimism. “So there's quite a bit of work."
    "Tell me about it. The builders are all ready to start."
    "So I see.” Scaffolding framed the façade, and workmen had already begun scraping back years of grime and neglect from the brickwork. Raising her hand to the wall, Taylor trailed her fingers over the hand-hewn bricks, feeling their texture.
    "You touch them as if they speaks to you.” Cade sounded worried.
    "They do in some ways,” she confirmed. “It's sort of an intuition thing. They tell me what they want. A bit like a character in a book."
    "Characters don't speak."
    "They do to the writer, or at least that's what I've heard."
    Obviously impatient, Cade jangled a clutch of keys from one hand. “Sounds nutty."
    "Sounds exciting,” she corrected.
    "So, you approve of my purchase?"
    Taylor grabbed his forearm and spun him round to face the front of the building. “Feel this, the age of it,” she instructed. And she lifted his hand, holding it in hers and ran his fingers along the mottled bricks. “This building has seen so much, so many pass it. It has a sense of history, of pride of place in this city of ours. See the door. Okay, so graffiti has marred its elegance, but a bit of cleaning and it will be back to its stately proportions,” Taylor reviewed.
    "You feel all this from touch?"
    Taylor's head tilted to one side, and she looked at him, searching his face. “Don't you?"
    "Uh ... I suppose."
    "It's not simply touch, Cade, but all the senses. Sight, sound, smell, touch, and yes, probably even taste. We're close to where the fishing boats used to moor and deposit their catch, so the smell of salt and fish is integral to the building and its history. It's all there; we just have to pull it from the building's past."
    Seeing Cade's eyes flicker as if he thought her nuts, Taylor suddenly realized she was prattling and slammed her lips firmly closed. She shrugged, giving him an impish sort of grin.
    "You trying to get me in touch with my softer side, Taylor? It's bricks and mortar. Dollars and cents. Nothing else. At least, so my bank manager keeps reminding me."
    Taylor wagged her finger at him. “Cade Harper, where's your romance?"
    "Don't have any. Told you that."
    "Yes, you do."
    The air between them hung heavy with innuendo. Cade tightened his grip on her fingers imperceptibly and a liquid heat slid through her veins. Her breathing stopped .
    Hot became scorching as he brought her fingertips to his parted lips, just touching. The warm wash of his breath fluttered against their tips, and her expectation rampaged.
    Then, he kissed them.
    One fingertip at a time.
    Slowly.
    And he looked right into her soul.
    "Never confuse business with pleasure, Ms. Sullivan."
    And with that, he dropped her hand and stuck the key in the antiquated lock, turning it under protest. Shoulder to the door, he pushed it open and strode