home yesterday, bone weary after a marathon taping session, the first thing she’d seen was the red light on her answering machine blinking rhythmically as if it was flirting with her. Danni had stopped only long enough to drop her purse and step out of her shoes before listening to the message.
She waited less than that to call Maizie back. Five minutes after that, she was on the phone, dialing the number that Maizie had given her.
Danni wanted to call while her lucky streak was still riding high. There was a part of her—a diminishing but still-present part—that expected she would wake from this wonderful dream, her alarm clock shattering the stillness and calling her to work at the insurance company back in Atlanta.
Before that happened, she wanted to take full advantage of this magic-carpet ride she found herself on.
The man who Maizie had recommended sounded nice on the phone. He had a deep, rich baritone voice that was made for long walks on the beach beneath velvety, dark, star-lit skies.
He looked even better, Danni thought as she brought her vehicle to a squealing stop in her driveway and all but leaped out of her car. He was on time, she noted ruefully. And she was not.
“Sorry,” Danni declared, approaching the man who looked as if the stereotypical description of “tall, dark and handsome” had been coined exclusively for him. She put her hand out. “Traffic from Burbank was a bear,” she apologized.
His fingers closed around her hand, his eyes never leaving hers.
Stone had been all set to leave.
He absolutely hated being kept waiting and felt that the people who were late had no regard for anyone else’s time and no respect for them, either.
But the attractive, bubbly blonde’s apology sounded genuine enough rather than just perfunctory and it wasn’t as if he were awash in projects and could turn his back and walk away from this one.
So far, it had been a very lean year for him and the savings he’d put aside to see himself and his daughter—and sister if need be—through were just about gone.
Danni suddenly paused just as she was about to unlock her door. She half turned and looked at him over her shoulder as a thought occurred to her that she had just taken his identity for granted.
“You are Mr. Scarborough, right?” she asked belatedly, punctuating her question with a warm, hopeful smile.
Even if he wasn’t, Stone caught himself thinking, he would have temporarily changed his name just to be on the receiving end of that smile. But, with a clear conscience, he could nod and say his full name, just in case the woman had any lingering doubts.
“Call me Stone,” he told her. There, that should set her mind at ease about his identity. After all, he reasoned, how many men were there with that first name?
“I’m Danni,” she said, her smile all but branding him. “But then, you already know that.” There was just the slightest hint of pink tint on her cheek as she turned away.
She opened the front door and despite the fact that it was July and the sun had yet to go down, the interior of the house was all but utterly enshrouded in darkness.
“The first thing I’m going to need is light,” she told him.
“That usually happens when you turn up the switch,” he pointed out dryly, indicating the one that was on the wall right next to the doorjamb.
Danni laughed then, even as she did exactly as he’d suggested. “I mean light from above.” She pointed toward the roof, which was some eighteen feet up, thanks to cathedral ceilings. “Like a skylight. This room appears incredibly gloomy in the winter, even when the drapes are opened. And I’d really rather not have to leave the lights on all day long.”
As she spoke, Danni dropped her purse near the front door and saw him looking. “I could use a small table there,” she admitted. “Haven’t gotten around to that, yet. Haven’t gotten around to a lot of things yet,” she admitted ruefully in a moment of truth. “They said the pace here in Southern California is laid-back.” Danni just shook her head about that. “They lied.”
“They?” he asked, curious.
“The people back East.”
There it was again, that accent he couldn’t quite pin down. This was probably his one chance to ask her the question.
“How far back East?” he asked.
“Atlanta.” She saw the look that came over his face. He assumed a triumphant air, as if he was congratulating himself on a guess well played. “Is it that obvious?”
“No, not that obvious,” he told her. “Just that you weren’t from around here.”
She laughed shortly, thinking of the people she’d been interacting with since she’d transplanted herself. She had the kind of face and manner that drew people to her. Not only that, but it drew them out as well. People would find themselves telling her things they wouldn’t even whisper into their priest’s ear.
“Is anyone from around here?” It was meant to be a rhetorical question, but obviously, not for Stone.
“My wife was,” he told her, then added, “and my daughter is.”
Is and was.
Danni was instantly aware of the switch in tense.
He mentioned his daughter in the present tense, but not his wife. Did that mean he was divorced, or—?
She’d always been interested in people, in the way they felt, thought, what their background was, but she also knew that men didn’t like having to answer too many questions at any given time, so she let the questions bubbling up within her all go for now.
Except for one.
“Are you hungry?” she asked Stone. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, I’m fine,” he assured her.
Yes, you certainly are, she couldn’t help thinking. But her Southern training couldn’t accept no for an answer. It wasn’t in her DNA.
“No coffee? Tea?” He shook his head at each suggestion. “How about water?” she coaxed. “Everyone likes water.”
He laughed at her comment and decided he was waging a losing battle. The woman would obviously remain uneasy until she’d given him something.
“All right. I’ll take some water,” he told her, all but raising his hands over his head like a prisoner being taken into custody.
“Great,” Danni declared. “Water it is. And dessert,” she added in a lowered voice, talking quickly. So quickly that he had to replay the words in his head in order to realize what she’d just said. “Kitchen’s this way,” she told him, leading the way to the rear of the house.
“I don’t need dessert,” Stone told the back of her head. At the moment, it was the safest place to look. If he lowered his eyes for even a second, he knew he’d regret it. The view was far too tempting. Her hips were moving at a tempo
