Free Lure of Song and Magic by Patricia Rice

clothes. It wasn’t warm enough this time of year to go around sopping wet.
    When she returned to the kitchen wearing a lavender tie-dyed hoodie and purple capris, Oz was throwing her strawberries into a blender and ruining more fruit—while wearing no more than a towel.
    She was going to have to kill him.
    She could hear the dryer tumbling in the laundry closet off the kitchen. She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes to erase the image of rippling abdominals, swung on her heel, and returned to her bedroom.
    Next time she returned, she had a fluffy white robe in her hand. “Put this on. By Bungo, you’re disgusting. And presumptuous.”
    â€œYeah, people like that about me.” He hit the blend button and watched the fruit concoction spin while donning the robe. “By Bungo ?”
    â€œI write children’s books. I try not to swear, except in my head.” She reached for the raspberry-banana juice in the refrigerator, stopped the blender, and added it to the container. Then she poured water into a teakettle and proceeded to make tea. “Bungo is one of my characters, if you’ll remember.”
    â€œI’m trying to fix you something healthy to put meat on your bones, and you’re drinking tea?” he asked in disgust, watching her. “I don’t suppose you have coffee?”
    He managed to look dangerously sexy even in a fluffy white robe that was too short for him all over. Maybe she should just shoot herself. “I don’t suppose I do. And this is raspberry tea. It’s warm. I’m not. There’s a hair dryer in the bathroom.”
    If she could just keep this impersonal, pretend he was one of the kids, maybe she could survive without maiming either of them. Maybe.
    It was pretty much impossible to pretend a six-four hunk of muscle was a little kid. The man was huge . Damned good thing she wasn’t into huge men. They intimidated her. She liked her guys on the geeky side.
    Not that she’d had many guys since Robbie. Sex was problematic for her unbalanced state. One uncontrolled shriek in bed, and she might drive a man to rob banks or leap off high cliffs.
    Hmmm, there’s a thought. She wondered which Oz would do.
    He’d probably make lemon-banana smoothies and leave the peels on. With a sigh, she tested the blender concoction, added a scoop of yogurt, gave it another swirl, and filled two glasses. It wouldn’t kill him to drink something healthy besides coffee.
    By the time Oz returned with his flashy surfer-blond-streaked hair styled and wearing her hotel robe, Pippa had sipped her herbal tea and calmed herself as much as she was able. The dip in the pool had cooled any need to beat anyone up. She simply had to outsmart and outmaneuver a shark who probably brushed his teeth with minnows like her.
    â€œYou don’t get the right to use my house as your personal office, got that?” she said before he even sat down. “You need an office, you can rent one. You want to work with me, you call and make an appointment.”
    â€œRenting an office comes out of your share of the profit. Until I’m sure you won’t do a flit, I don’t want to waste any more money than I already have. I warned you, I’m not a big budget spender. It makes more sense to expect me to be here when you get home so we can work on this together.” He sipped the smoothie with suspicion and, apparently deciding it was potable, took a larger drink.
    Rather than sit across the table from a man she wanted to murder, Pippa rummaged in the refrigerator, producing smoked Gouda, spinach leaves, a small loaf of brown bread, and salsa she’d bought at the farmers’ market from one of the locals. “I have books to write,” she reminded him. “I can’t write with anyone around.”
    â€œI’ve talked to your agent. I’m paying you more than all your books combined earned over a lifetime. Get over it. You