Free Curveball by Kate Angell Page B

for you to draw on while I’m away. Start the restoration, write yourself a paycheck, but don’t empty my account in one week.”
    “Franklin should have the initial sketches drawn up before you leave for Atlanta.”
    Franklin…he couldn’t imagine the old man moving that quickly on any project. Psycho still wasn’t certain he was the best architect for the job.
    He looked into Keely’s face, saw certainty in her expression. He didn’t understand his willingness to trust her. He’d never trusted another soul. And it made no sense to trust this blonde with the ability to lie as easily as she drew breath.
    “Work until six,” he told her. “Dinner’s on me; then we go to your place and pick up what you need. I want you moved in before I head out of town.”
    “It’s Sunday,” she reminded him. “You don’t leave until Friday.”
    “Doesn’t matter. I’m free tonight to haul your suitcases, boxes, and any furniture you might need to make yourself comfortable.”
    She shook her head. “You’re too impulsive. Once you return, I’m back in my apartment.”
    Stubbornness tightened his jaw. “Move in for the duration of the restoration.”
    “Live with you?”
    “It’s not a death sentence.”
    “I like my apartment.”
    “My Colonial’s better.”
    “If size counts.”
    A cocky smile curved his lips. “Bigger is better. In houses, home runs, and doing the dirty.”
    Her face flushed. “I’ve a yearly lease. I have rent to pay.”
    “I’ll pay your rent for seven months. Stay here until the restoration’s completed. You’ll save on gas and travel time.”
    Keely Douglas clenched her fists. The conversation had shifted from her moving in during his road trips to setting up house. The man didn’t understand her need to keep her own place. However small, it was her home. She had her independence, could come and go as she pleased. Even if it meant a two-hour commute.
    “It would put my mind at ease if you were here full-time,” Psycho said.
    “What about your privacy?”
    “I’d hardly notice you. You’re small and blend into the woodwork.”
    He saw her as paneling? Not much of a compliment. “I’d notice you,” she said. “You’re a nudist.”
    “Notice me all you want.”
    She bit down on her bottom lip. “How about I hang a bell around your neck so I can hear you coming?”
    “The bell wouldn’t hang from my neck, sweetheart.” Untying the knot over his hip, he let the towel drop. “I’m going to work on my dirt bike. Avoid the dining room unless you want a second peek. See you at six.”
    Keely watched him walk away. All lean and buff, a man of roped muscle and hewed sinew, he was self-confident about his body. Her stomach took a free fall and her breathing hitched. She’d only seen him from the back, yet it took several minutes for her to recover. Her heart couldn’t take a full frontal.
    The rest of the day passed quickly. Skirting the dining area, Keely and Franklin continued to measure the rooms. They discussed lighting and plumbing and a new staircase. On the second floor, Franklin stopped to check the window casements while Keely located Psycho’s bedroom.
    His room was easy to find. A sleeping bag lay on the floor amid scattered dog toys. Dozens of boxes lined the walls. A garment bag hung near his closet. The closet held plenty of empty hangers, but no clothes. Restless energy pulsed through the air, as if McMillan’s presence was captured in the walls.
    Across the room, an enormous black-and-white framed photograph grabbed her attention. She crossed for a closer look. Man and dirt bike were captured in a bold portrait of Psycho McMillan clearing a treacherously steep hill. He rode all out. Charged and unafraid. The camera caught him airborne, suspended in time, a risk junkie flying without a net. Concentrated power arced his body. His expression was hard and honed on winning. It was obvious that for Psycho, losing was never an option.
    His explosive energy