"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.
It was perfectly acceptable for her to toy with him. Having him turn the tables did not amuse her in the least.
"Thar was not amusing," she informed him coldly, wishing she could hide behind something now.
The ratty jeans she wore hung low on her hips, not because of fashion, but more because they were a bit too loose. The Tshirt she wore fit a bit better, but it was almost too snug. But she was cleaning house, not auditioning for Fashions R Us.
"I wasn't trying to be amusing." His grin was wicked, sensual. "I was being honest."
He was trying to get out of trouble. She knew that look for what it was. It wasn't the first time he had pulled it on her.
"I have three older brothers," she informed him coolly. "I know all the tricks, mister…"
"Jordan. Tarek Jordan," he reminded smoothly. As though she didn't already know his name. She had known his name from the first day he had moved in to his house with the honkin' Harley he had ridden across her front lawn. Damn, that Harley had really looked good, but he had looked even better sitting on it.
"Mister," she repeated, "you are not putting anything over on me, so don't think you are. Now keep your damned machines away from my property and away from me, or I might have to show you how they are used and hurt all that male pride you seem to have so much of." She shooed him again. "Go on. On your own property now. And leave my roses alone." His eyes narrowed on her again. This time, his expression changed as well. It became… predatory. Not dangerous. Not threatening. But it wasn't a comfortable expression, either. It was an expression that assured her that an abundance of male testosterone was getting ready to kick in. And he did male testosterone really well. He got all snarky and snarly and downright ill-tempered as he glared at her, his voice edging into dangerously rough as he growled at her and attempted to berate her.
She refused to back down.
"Don't look at me like that, either. I told you. I have three brothers. You do not intimidate me."
His brow arched. Slowly.
"It was very nice to see you today, Lyra." He finally nodded cordially. "Perhaps next time, you won't be in such a bad mood."
"Yeah. Sometime when you're not mangling the looks of the block would be nice," she snorted as she turned away from him.