A grin quirked his lips. She loved that little crooked grin, almost shy, with just a hint of wickedness. It made her wet. And she didn't like that, either.
Her eyes narrowed as she ignored the chill in the early winter air, her lips thinning in true irritation this time. He was obviously ignoring the chill. He didn't even have on a shirt. It was barely forty degrees, and he was using a weedeater like it was June and the weeds were striking a campaign to take over. That or he just didn't like her roses.
"Look, just take your little power tool to the other side of your property. There are no neighbors there. No roses to mangle." She gave him a shooing motion with her hand. "Go on. You're grounded from this side of the yard. I don't want you here."
A frown edged between his golden-brown brows as they lowered ominously and his eyelids narrowed. What made men think that look actually worked on her? She almost laughed at the thought.
Fine, he was dangerous. He was getting ticked. He was bigger and stronger than she was. Who gave a damn?
"Don't you give me that look," she snorted in disgust. "You should know by now it doesn't work on me. It will only piss me off worse. Now go away."
He glanced around, appearing to measure some invisible line between where he was to his own house several yards away.
"I believe I'm on my own property," he informed her coolly.
"Oh, are you?" She stood carefully to her feet, staring over the edge of her pitifully cropped rose bush to where his feet were planted. Boy, he really should have known better than that. "Go read your deed, Einstein. I read mine. My roses are planted exactly six feet from the property line. From oak to oak." She point out the oak tree at the front of the street, then the one at the edge of the forest beyond. "Oak to oak. My brothers ran a line and marked it real carefully just for dumb little ol' me," she mocked him sweetly. "That puts you on my property. Get back on your own side."
She would have chuckled if it weren't so important to maintain the appearance of ire. If she was going to survive living next to a walking, talking advertisement for sex, then some boundaries would have to be established.
He cocked his hip, crossing his arms over his chest as the heavy weed-eater dangled from the harness that crossed over his back.
He was wearing boots. Scarred, well-worn leather boots. She noticed that instantly, just as she noticed the long, powerful legs above them. And a bulge… Nope, not going there.
"Your side of the property is as much a mess as your bush is," he grunted. "When do you cut your grass?"
"When it's time," she snapped, pulling herself to her full height of five feet, three and three-quarters inches. "And it's not time in the middle of winter when it's not even growing." Okay, so she barely topped his chest. So what?
"I would get in the mood if I were you." He used that superior male tone that never failed to grate on her nerves. "I have a nice ride-on lawnmower. I could cut it for you." Her eyes widened in horror. He was staring back at her now with a crooked grin, a hopeful look on his face. She sneaked a look around his shoulder, stared at his grass, then shuddered in dismay.
"No." She shook her head fervently. This could be getting out of hand. "No, thank you. You hacked at yours just fine. Leave mine alone."
"I beg your pardon." He threw his shoulders back and drew up in offended male pride as he propped his hands on his hips. He did it so well, too. Every time he messed up something he pulled that arrogance crap on her. He should have known it wasn't going to work.
"And so you should," she retorted, propping her hands on her hips as she glared back at him. "You hacked your grass. Worse, you hacked it in the winter. There's no symmetry in the cut, and you set your blade too low. You'll be lucky to have grass come summer. You just killed it all."
He turned and stared back at his lawn. When he turned back to her, cool arrogance marked his features.
"The lawn is perfect."
He had to be kidding.
"Look," she breathed out roughly. "Just stick to mangling your own property, okay? Leave mine alone. Remember the line—oak to oak—and stay on your side of it."
He propped his hands on his hips again. The move drew her eyes back to the sweat-dampened perfection of that golden male chest.
It should be illegal.
"You are not being neighborly," he announced coolly, almost ruining her self-control and bringing a smile of pure fun to her lips. "I was told when I bought the house that everyone on this block was friendly, but you have been consistently rude. I believe I was lied to."
He sounded shocked. Actually, he was mocking her, and she really didn't like it. Well, maybe she did a little bit, but she wasn't going to let him know it.
She refused to allow her lips to twitch at the sight of the laughter in his gaze. He very rarely smiled, but sometimes, every now and then, she could make his eyes smile.
"That realtor would have told you the sun rose in the west and the moon was made of cheese if it would assure him a sale." She smiled mockingly. "He sold to me first, so he knew I wasn't nice. I guess he neglected to inform you of that fact." Actually, she had gotten along quite well with the real estate agent. He was a very nice gentleman who had assured her that the homes on this block would only be sold to a specific type of person. So, evidently, he had lied to her, too, because the man standing across from her was not respectable, nor was he family-oriented. He was a sex god, and she was within a second of worshipping at his strong, male feet. She was so weak. He was a rose assassin, she reminded herself firmly, and she was going to kick his ass if he attacked any more of her precious plants. Better yet, she would call her brothers and cry. Then they would kick his ass.
No, that wouldn't do, she hastily amended. They would run him off. That wasn't what she wanted at all.
"Perhaps I should discuss this with him." He tipped his glasses down his nose once again, staring at her over the rim.
"At least he was right about the view."
His gaze roved over her from her heels to the tip of her head as his golden-brown eyes twinkled with laughter—at her expense, of course. As though she didn't know she was too homey. A little too normal-looking. She wasn't the sexy, siren type, and she had no desire to be. That didn't mean he had to make fun of her.