Free Slow Hands by Debra Dixon

had. Now, instead of straightforward lust, an undercurrent of tension rippled in the air at unexpected moments. No denying they struck a spark off each other. More than that. Tucker struck a nerve. She fought him every step of the way on every assignment, but he always managed to find out more about her than she was willing to tell.
    Learning to relax was making her a nervous wreck. She couldn’t keep her guard up constantly, and when her defenses slipped, Tucker stepped in. While they were together, Clare usually forgot that he was systematically turning her neat, organized routine upside down.
    Their opinions didn’t always agree, and there was something seductive about sparring. Because they weren’t really arguing about the world. They were arguing about the primitive push-pull that drew men and women together. Beneath everything there was the hunger in his eyes, the hunger in her soul. She’d forgotten about that—the hunger, the tiny space inside her thatwanted to be a part of somebody else’s heart. And she’d forgotten how addictive fun could be.
    Dragging herself back to the problem at hand, Clare let go of her head when she was certain it wasn’t going to shatter. She looked at Dave and tried to compromise. “Give Stuart the project. He and Sam are fly-by-the-seat-of-their-pants guys.”
    Dave flung his hands in the air and snorted. “Right. Like I’m going to let a sales manager put together numbers for the bid. You and I both know that Stuart can’t figure cost to save his soul, and he’ll promise the moon to close the sale! You’re the only one I trust to put this deal together. A deal we can live with, make a profit on, and actually have a shot at producing on schedule.”
    Sensing an opportunity, Clare decided it was time to make Dave swallow some of the platitudes he’d been handing out so readily the last few weeks. “I’m just one person, Dave. I can’t do it all. Not with my schedule.”
    His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What are you driving at?”
    “I’m not driving at anything. I’m flat telling you. My dance card’s full.”
    “Then sit out a few dances!” Dave roared.
    “Fine by me,” Clare roared right back, suddenly angry. “But I’m dancing to your tune! What do you suggest I do? Drop Tucker’s class? Forget about the computer and go back to stone tablets and chisels? Ignore the fact that purchasing exceeds their budget on a regular basis? Tell the bank I don’t have time to discuss our new credit line? Or maybe I should tell the cousin I haven’t seen in five years that now is not a good time for a visit. Maybe she could reschedule for next year!”
    Dave couldn’t have looked more stunned if she’dtaken a two-by-four and whacked him square in the face. When he finally spoke, he said, “Touché! I guess I had that coming.”
    Wisely, Clare said nothing. She hadn’t meant to shout, but she wasn’t sorry. Dave didn’t hold grudges, and this wasn’t the first shouting match he’d been known to have. With any luck, it wouldn’t be the last. Belatedly Clare realized that two weeks before, she wouldn’t have dreamed of shouting at Dave. Decorum had been her motto for so long, she’d forgotten her mother called her Quick because she’d had a short fuse as a young child and had been quick to anger. Maybe Sam was right. People didn’t change. They just rediscovered parts of themselves.
    A half grunt, half sigh escaped Dave as he dropped into a chair. A companionable silence settled around them. “I guess I’m as much to blame as you for your workaholic tendencies.”
    Clare grinned. “Let’s just say you nurture them.”
    “I need you on this project.”
    “I know. But that means you can’t boot me out the door at five, and I’m going to have to skip Mr. Tucker’s Saturdays.” Clare waited for him to absorb what she’d said. Then she dropped the other shoe. “Tomorrow’s Saturday.”
    He didn’t look happy, but when he heaved himself out of the